A week driving across Australia

Australia is an Island. It is a country. It has a single currency; and a single language is spoken across nearly all of the land - so it is not unlike most countries in those respects. But Australia is also a continent all on its own. It's vastness is incomparable in my admittedly limited experience, but I can now make some sense of the dimensions in terms I understand. Driving from one side to the other offers a unique and unparalleled view of what it means for a country to be 3500km from one side to the other.

We started in Fremantle; a beautiful town just south of Perth on the West coast. The Great Eastern Highway runs from this town across to our first stop, the twin town of Kalgoorlie-Boulder, 560km away. This was the first instance where I wanted to travel to a town hundreds of miles away without having a great desire to stop off at the other towns along the way. I'm sure these places we were to travel past had a reason for being there once, but nowadays most of them exist purely to serve the motorists trying to get somewhere else; supplying the inexperienced and unprepared with food, water, and petrol.

We stopped just outside 'Kal' for the night at a town called Coolgardie. This is where gold was first found by a pair of Irishmen who happened to camp nearby and within 2 days had collected over 200 nuggets of gold which were just lying in the dust. Now though, the original town is a network of dirt roads with small wooden signs to mark the places that buildings once stood, and what remains is a couple of shops to service the visitors, and a campsite we stayed in. Camping here was comfortable, both for us on an airbed in the back of the car and for the two other English guys we were traveling with in their tents outside. Power sockets and lights were conveniently close to our pitch, as was the bbq and 'kitchen' – a sink and draining board around the back of the toilet block. This sort of campsite was at the top end of the scale in terms of location and facilities – more often than not, we would simply pull up beside the road at a rest area and make our camp behind some trees!

The next day we entered Kalgoorlie-Boulder early on, and checked into our hostel – a converted 'tin-shack' brothel from the original gold rush days of the 1850's. Prostitution is illegal across Australia – but exception is made in towns such as this where the predominantly male population are so isolated from the more inhabited parts of the country – and several brothels still operate in the area, run exclusively by Madames, including an original tin-roof shack from the gold rush era in the same road we were staying in. It was a particularly classy area. Advertisements written in chalk outside one of the bordellos, the Red House, included the phrase "Nothing in the world is more expensive than a woman who is free for the weekend." And for the miners that don't frequent these places, or who are just having a night away from their favorite girls, there are many 'skimpy' bars where they can get a cold beer served by an even colder young lady!

Other than prostitution, Kalgoorlie's main industry is gold mining, which it does on a monumental scale. The 'Super Pit' is already 3.5km wide, 5km long, and almost 1km deep – and is set to get a lot deeper with the massive trucks, each with a digger the size of a small house at the front, capable of carrying 270 tonnes of material on each run. We were able to explore one of the old mineshafts which descended hundreds of levels, and see how the mining used to be conducted – with impossibly noisy 'screamer' fans and hammer drills that sounded like machine gun fire. We watched the smelting process, visited graves of old prospectors, and were even able to pan for gold, the profit of which now sits safely in my wallet and must increase my net worth by many hundredths of a penny!

After stopping off at the most remote pub we had yet come across: an apparently recently refurbished collection of graffiti-covered corrugated iron and wooden planks 40km from another building, we traveled 200km south to join the Eyre Highway which would take us the next 700km to the state border, our next destination, and beyond. We drove 192km down this highway to a small refelling town Belladonia where we set up camp for the night. This town was so remote that all commodities, even water, had to be brought in by truck – massive 88-wheel road trains known as big jiggers – and everything here was consequently hugely overpriced. Imagine the mark-up on everyday items in service stations on a UK motorway. Then imagine that the owners of that service station knew that you had been traveling for 3 hours and not past another building or sign of civilisation, and that the next place to get your petrol is almost a day's drive further down the road. This is not the sort of place you want to pull into with an empty tank, or a dry mouth! We pulled into a rest area, and made camp in the red dirt next to the vast expanse of bushland, and after trying to piece together the scattered bones of a sun-bleached kangaroo skeleton, settled down for a good nights rest. There were still a lot of miles to travel before we reached a real city again.

Just after Belladonia we reached the longest piece of straight road in Australia: the 90-mile Straight; 146.6km without a single deviation. Time to set the cruise control and take a nap! By now, the bush out of the window had begun to change from forests of trees to sparse brush with only the occasional tree – often just a lightning-burnt skeleton – intruding into the horizon. The red dirt that typifies Australia was everywhere, and when we camped up overnight the wind would whip it up into tornado-like willy-willies that covered everything. One guy we spoke to on the journey told us that he still has red dust staining a shirt he was wearing when he did the journey four years ago!

At the West Australia / South Australia border, Eula, we came across a signpost which gave us an idea of exactly how far we had traveled. It kindly informed us that since we left the vicinity of Perth we had traveled 1435km; but we still had 2522km to travel before we got to Sydney.

The rest of the journey to Adelaide, where we were to leave our driving companions to join a coach trip the rest of the way to Sydney, was a pleasant but largely uneventful drive as we watched the gradual change of scenery from desert, to bush land, to trees, and back to civilisation at Port Augusta. We stopped at several scenic points of interest to marvel at the vistas of beaches, cliffs, waves, and wildlife. The road we traveled was mostly in a straight line, or a very gradual curve, occasionally we would see signs that warned that it was also an emergency airstrip for the Flying Doctor service which can get to anywhere in Australia within two hours – an amazing feat considering it was taking us five days to cross it by car.

At several points on the journey we could see smoke on the horizon indicating a bush fire in the distance, and we later learnt that lightning from a storm had started several fires that had been burning across the Nullabor Plain for days. One such fire was still going when we passed it three days after the storm. At first it looked like the flames on the horizon were going to remain far away as we drove parallel to them; but after a few kilometers we were getting close to the fire and could smell the smoke as it blew towards the car. At its closest, the trees at the side of the road were in flames just feet away from us – so it was with windows closed and foot down that we went past the worst of it!

Once we had crossed the Nullabor, we reached Port Augusta. The first proper town (with a population over 50) that we had come across for days. The trees, buildings, and people must have been a welcome sight for anyone that had spent serious time out in the desert and bushland that we had just come from – but the town held little charm after the romance and solitude of the desert – so it was a final trip through the back-roads that we took from there to get to Adelaide about 2-3 hours away.

And so we parked up in Adelaide: the capital of South Australia; Got out of the dirtiest car I had ever been in, that had been my home for the last two weeks, and collapsed into a real bed for the first time in a week. My head was still swimming with a thousand different views of the country, but I had the satisfaction of knowing I had done something most Australians never do; crossed one of the harshest deserts in the world – and I finally understood what being a big country actually meant.

Check out the pics below:

A week Hitch-hiking through the South West

So with our chores in Albany complete, we set about planning the next leg of our journey. We knew we wanted to be back in the Blue Mountains for Christmas – so that gave us five weeks to travel back across East; through Western Australia, Southern Australia, Victoria, and New South Wales. A journey that would probably be between 2000 km and 3500 km depending on our route.

So we set off back East in a way that typified all of our excursions so far. By heading West.

We had friends from Albany that were going to be travelling towards the eastern states, and we thought it would make sense to have a bit of an adventure and join them for part of our trip. The only problem was they were already several hundred kilometres away in the Margaret River – and Albany, being even less of a transport hub than the Isle of White is, did not give us any way of getting there.

So it was time to hit the highway, and try a bit of hitching!

Australia has attached a particularly negative stigma to hitch-hikers; partly because of the 1992 Backpacker Murders (which are still going through the Australian courts) but also because of the continued trouble that is being caused by some of the hitchers and the people that pick them up. In the last week for example, two stories regarding hitchers made the news: One where a hitcher pulled a knife on the guy who picked him up, and one where a young girl who was hitching was thrown from the moving car by the three guys that had picked her up. In the two months we have travelled so far we hadn't seen a single person thumbing a lift. So we knew persuading people to pick us up wouldn't be simple.

We got a lift to the highway with some friends from Albany Backpackers, and sat by the side of the road to wait. Main roads in Australia are not the same as you see in Europe. A car came along every few minutes. When it was a busy stretch. So we amused ourselves in between these periods with games, like noughts-and-crosses in the dirt; and by pretending the passing cars were listening to our pleas as they approached and curses as the zoomed straight past!

But after about half an hour we were picked up by a spiritualist called Sue, originally from Wales, who had seen us when she was driving in the opposite direction on the highway and had been told by her 18-year-old son that on her return trip she should help us out. And it seemed she was more than happy to! Everyone we were picked up by turned out to have travelled around and hitched in their past, so they knew what it could be like. We got a few stories about Sue's life – how she left her stressful career in the city to go and live on a farm in the middle of nowhere, received a few tips on hitching, and were dropped off about 100km down the road at a small town called Denmark.

For quite a while I stood by the road with my thumb pointed at the sky. Denmark was a little busier than the highway we had originally used, so cars came by about every 30 seconds. It had been half an hour, and it was now midday so I was getting hot. I took a break and went and sat on some swings out the back of the church we had been stood outside. And the second I had started swinging (it was good fun!) Sian managed to get us a lift! This turned out to set the president for the journey as apart from our very last lift, Sian managed to get every other one! We were picked up by an octogenarian called Ian who lived in a little community (15 families in 150 acres) in an area called William's Bay. He told us a bit about his travels (he'd just spend 5 months in Europe) and dropped us down the road from his place – telling us that if we didn't manage to get a lift then we should come and stay with him for the night. Everyone we met on this journey was really nice!

From this place, I saw my first Australian eagle! I think it was a wedge-tail, but I'm not too sure. It was circling a field next to us, and once or twice I saw it go down for the kill! There were also a couple of kangaroos in the field, though they didn't stick around for long. They were the closest wild kangaroos we had seen so far... but the day wasn't over yet! From this point, we were picked up by a guy towing a battered old ute – he'd been at a burn-out party that weekend. He introduced himself as Wombat and with his wild head of hair and ripped AC/DC shirt, we knew this character was going to entertain us for a little while!

He dropped us off at Bow Bridge, near Walpole, and here we waited for our next lift. It was getting on for evening time now, on a Sunday, so the traffic was non-existent. At times it would be ten or fifteen minutes between cars, and none were stopping. After about an hour, new got asked if we wanted to go to Peaceful Bay – but this wasn't towards the town we wanted to get to for the night so we declined. Another hour went by, and we again were asked if we wanted to go to Peaceful Bay. We'd had enough standing around by now, it was getting dark, and rather than sleep out in the open we thought we'd see if Peaceful Bay would provide us with anywhere to stay.

We got into the car with a retired couple who had been living in the Bay for the last 12 years, in a house that he, Owen, and his son had built 35 years previous. Anne and Owen turned out to be the loveliest couple you could hope to meet. They bickered away to themselves most of the journey, correcting each other as they tried to point out local history and interesting stories, and they took us to a caravan park they finally agreed would be the best place for us to stay. Peaceful Bay has a permanent population of 65, with a few roads of holiday-homes, a B&B, caravan park, and a small hotel. And it lived up to its name. After Anne and Owen had seen us into our caravan they insisted on giving us directions to their house and telling us to meet them for morning tea! So we thanked them, said goodbye, and went exploring.

We followed a little path through the bush land, enjoying the wildflowers and the tranquillity, and as we were leaving the national park and returning to our caravan park we saw the first kangaroo of the evening. Maybe 30 feet away and very aware of us, he allowed us only a few moments to take photos before he hopped up the road. So we kept walking up to the sea. The cove we came across was beautiful and completely devoid of people. Our own beach! And so we walked along the headland over the sand dunes enjoying the last of the days heat and light. And then we saw the rest of the kangaroos! Half-a-dozen were feeding on the beach as we reached the crest of a dune, only a few feet away. They bolted pretty quickly and I took great pleasure in having the opportunity to skip after them! At one point I was scanning the middle-distance looking for signs of them and two or three times looked across the horizon before realising that there were two 5-foot creatures just fifteen feet away, staring straight at me!

After a very refreshing sleep we went to meet up with Anne and Owen again. We breakfasted on biscuits and freshly made tea, and had a lovely morning listening to stories and telling our own. This couple couldn't have been nicer or more helpful! They even insisted on making up some lunch for us, before taking us back to the road to Walpole.

The flies were out in force that morning. Within seconds we were both covered with what must have been more than 50, and they swarmed over our bags making them look like particularly bountiful choc-chip cookies. It was with great relief that we were picked up by Erika after about twenty minutes. She was leaving Peaceful Bay, having dropped her sister there for a week of Spring Break. She took us all the way from there to Bunbury – about 400 kilometres. And from there, we took a bus the last bit of the way to the Margaret River.

Margaret River is famous mainly for the wine and gourmet food which attract the tourists and Australians alike. But we didn't see much of that. After a couple of days of enjoying the countryside and the beaches myself and Sian were off again. We decided we'd try to hitch to Fremantle to be there for her birthday.

So we were waiting by the road with our thumbs erect once more!

The first person to pick us up was a trucker! Our first lift in a truck, and it was a little intimidating. It's the truckers hat spend 6 days of the week away from any other living person that most of the horror stories mention. But John turned out to be a great guy! With stories of life on the road, and life out on his boat, and his time travelling with underprivileged Aboriginal children. He told us about Bunbury and told us he'd love to show us around if we called him one day. He even called later that day to see if we'd managed to get to Fremantle! A typical friendly Australian!

After a couple of hundred kilometres we left John (he'd driven further than he needed to in order to drop us off in a better place to pick up lifts) and I adopted my position hidden behind a tree, leaving Sian by the road to reel in the drivers. We must have had about 6 people stop in the first 20 minutes, but none were going far. So it was with some relief that Henry pulled up in his BMW V8 and offered to drive us early all the way. Henry had travelled a lot, so it was good to talk to him about that, and I didn't even mind when he started talking about his car, because it was to say how fast it was... and within an hour we'd down about 160 km and it was time to get out again.

Our last lift of the day was my one successful attempt to get picked up! An elderly guy with a big white beard and long hair driving a very comfortable but old van pulled into the lay-by behind me, rolled up to where Sian was sitting before quickly reversing back to me. He didn't pick up women as a rule because they were 'the dangerous ones!' But he loaded our gear into his van and whistled, clicked, and popped his way to Fremantle.

We'd hitched a thousand kilometres in a few days, and it was time to kick back and have a party, in one of the most eclectic, interesting, foody and boozy towns I'd come across. Needless to say, it was a great weekend – filled with beer, food, drum circles, digeridoos, and lots and lots of sun!

Too long in Albany

As I write this, I see the end in sight!

Imagine that you're presented with a huge Christmas dinner with all the trimmings: turkey, stuffing, little sausages wrapped in bacon, roast potatoes, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, and buckets of veg – and then you're told you're only allowed to eat the sprouts. Albany is like the sprouts. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with the little green chaps, in fact, I really quite like them! But if you were stuck with just them when you knew what else was on offer, you'd understand what it is like to be in Albany for four weeks.

Albany has a population of around 35,000; is the site of the first English settlement in Western Australia in the 1830's; and was largely established as a whaling colony before turning itself over to tourism. And after doing very little here other than look for work, do the work, and resent the work; I was finally able to get out and see some of the real reasons people might visit this little 'city'.

After leaving the immediate vicinity of the high street and travelling just a few hundred meters in any direction, you are met with kilometre after kilometre of sprawling countryside. Albany itself seems to 'occupy' 40 or 50 km of coastline, which must make it one of the least dense cities I have come across so far. In some places, you can travel close to a kilometre before seeing a building! And during that time you might have to find ways of coping with the scenery: acres of brush; herds of cattle, deer, or kangaroo; picturesque mountains; and oceans and lakes peppered with black swan, ibis, and pelicans. And occasionally a sign pointing to a nearby tourist spot or winery.

Today we went to three of the key attractions of Albany: The Natural Bridge, The Gap, and The Blow Holes.

The first is a bridge. A naturally occurring bridge. Limestone blocks hang above the water, supported by the force of their own weight and sheer determination! The structure looked incredibly sturdy – and is easily big enough for several people to walk across abreast – but we chose a very stormy day to come down there, and I wasn't about to risk falling into the churning swells below.

The Gap was the primary attraction at this place, though. And we'd picked a perfect day to visit it! Erosion has torn a gash in the limestone cliffs that tower over the southerly waters of Albany, and has left a wide inlet, 30 meters high and 10 across, into which the waves can thunder. And on a stormy day the waters crash with such force they hurl themselves up the cliff side and shower into the air. The surrounding area was incredibly wet from the force of these waves, even though they had to expend much of their energy scaling the sheer faces of the cliff. Some of the jets of water were 10 meters over our heads, and there was a permanent rainbow hanging in the mists they left behind.

The last place we visited is a geological phenomenon I had not seen before – a blow hole! A similar principal to the Gap had created huge caves and caverns underneath the cliff at a point a little East of the Natural Bridge; but rather than the waves crashing up the cliff face, they found a way through the weaknesses in the rock and gush up through small holes at the surface, in a thunderous whooshing like a whale clearing it's own blow hole. I suppose that explains the name!

And having seen those three sites, and a couple more (such as walking through the tops of the 60m trees at the Valley of the Giants... check out the pictures!) it's time to be off. We now have an Australian driver's license and the rest of Western Australia is calling!

People in Australia

I think that as a tourist, you are treated a little differently wherever you travel. People who visit London often say how friendly and approachable the people there are; whereas the majority of people that have to suffer the place on a daily basis will swear that everyone they encounter are uniformly aggressive and self-absorbed. The fact that you are a stranger in someone else's country seems to open doors, and plays on some people's deep-down desires to help a fellow human being, spend time with someone from a different culture, and brighten someone's day just because you can.

This has been my experience of travelling, anyway. As a Briton in Scandinavia, a Western European in the Czech Republic, a European in Hong Kong, and even as an Englishman in Scotland! Most locals see short-comings in their fellow countrymen that just aren't visible to the passing tourist.

And so it was without surprise that I found the Australian people to be charming, helpful, friendly, and cheerful. But I wasn't prepared for just how approachable most of them can be. It took only a few days before we had noticed that there was a new degree to the kindness of strangers. Someone overhearing a question would come up and introduce themselves; help solve the problem – or grab other passers by on our behalf to help out; and then stick around for a friendly fifteen-minute chat! Others would remark as we walked past that they liked the hat one of us was wearing, or a tattoo we had, or a tree we were looking at – and that would be the opener to thirty-minutes of stories, advice, jokes, and directions. It's amazing the conversations that could be going unsaid because of an irrational fear of saying 'hello' to a stranger.

Another example of a totally unprecedented level of kindness would be a bus driver we encountered when travelling through the Blue Mountains. A few of us had intended on taking a walk through a nearby canyon when we had car troubles and were forced to use public transport. Without a clear idea of where the bus route was going to take us, we tentatively boarded the first bus that came along and asked if they went near The Grand Canyon. After a few minutes of general chat, the bus driver had established we were travellers and exactly which hike it was that we intended to try. He gave us all concession rates as there were a few of us (???), a timetable for the return bus, and then continued his drive. He got to the road we needed, indicated to us which way his next bus stop is (for the return trip) and then promptly went the other way – a mile in the wrong direction, just to drop us nearer our destination! Seeing him returning to his route; doing a three-point-turn on a dirt-track with a full-size bus packed with other customers, waving goodbye to us as he did so, was hardly a sight I could imagine if the bus and driver had been from Brixton or Southend!

Most of the people we meet in the backpackers' hostels are not Australians. Some are almost full with Korean and Japanese tourists; others are dominated by Germans; and some are a refreshing mix of many nationalities. Most of the time there is a feeling of kinship that comes with shared experience. Many horror stories sound all to familiar, but lots are encouraging as well. The fact of the mater is that nearly all travellers are friendly, and nearly all Australians are too. So when you're lucky enough to come across an Australian Traveller, you know you're in for a good time.

Two weeks in the Blue Mountains

After a little less than a week in Sydney we headed for the hills in our newly acquired van. Katoomba is the main town of the Blue Mountains and whilst the houses sprawl out for quite a distance, the town centre consists of one street which is home to a few dozen pubs, cafés, and restaurants and a handful of little boutiques selling antiques, bric-a-brac and books. The town is now entirely reliant on tourism, and so every shop-front boasts their most enticing wares gratuitously and the few tour groups which conduct daily excursions to the surrounding areas shamelessly promote themselves with large posters on all available surfaces in the town.

It was a shock after leaving the energy of Sydney to find a completely laid back way of life in the Mountains. Several of the pubs don't open at all Monday – Thursday and those that do are generally quiet even with the abundance of tourists as they are mostly getting early nights ready for the tiring days that lay ahead of them. Because that is the real attraction of the local mountainsides – exhausting yourself on walks through the valleys; climbs through the gorges; and abseils down vertical cliff-faces.

The mountains have created a truly beautiful environment of green rainforests and valleys, orange deserts and rock outcrops, and colourful bursts of flowers wherever the water springs from the ground. They are home to a plethora of bush wildlife so varied that every morning I woke to the sound of a different animal that I had never heard before. The way of life that you can so easily slip into is a peaceful and sedentary one consisting of waking casually to a view down the side of a mountain; an afternoon of walks and taking in the spectacular views; an evening of conversation and wine-drinking around a camp fire; and a long peaceful sleep out with the wildlife, separated from the elements by only a thin sheet of canvass.

When feeling energetic though, a whole day can easily be filled by rigorous adventures in the numerous local hills. One such day, a 7 O'clock start meant that we were able to spend a morning abseiling down the cliffs around Mt. York before tackling the canyon of Wentworth – a 2km gorge consisting of treacherous plunge-pools to dive into and rocky outcrops to climb over, ending in a 30m abseil down the very wet and slippery Wentworth Falls. Terrifying. Exhilarating. Exhausting.

Luckily, we were camping out the back of an excellent hostel, The Flying Fox, where it is commonplace to retire after an energetic day with a bottle of wine and sit by the campfire out the back talking to Ross, the owner, and watch the sun set – or curl up inside by the fire and watch the flames dance.

Another day took us into the area of Jenolan and the largest collection of open caverns in the known world. There are over 300 caves here, several of which have openings into the cliff sides which gave us the opportunity to explore! The first cave we went into was called the Orient – slightly imaginatively named because of the vague resemblance to far-eastern locations that some of the rock formations took on. The caves were filed with the most amazing calcite formations I had ever seen – and I had been told that there are no finer specimens in all the world. The different crystals were in the traditional stalactites and stalagmites that most people are aware of; but also helactite formations, ribbons of crystal creating sweeping 'shawls' across the cave roofs and walls; 'cave mysteries' which are strange angular growths jutting in random directions from any surface and have no proven explanation for their existence... and more formations besides these. The cave took over an hour to explore and left me with a great thirst for more!

The second cave I went into was called the Imperial Diamond Cave. The Imperial cave is the grandest of all the Jenolan caves. Massive in size, with many different aspects. An underground river still flows in its depths with water so deceptively clear that although it looks only 1 foot deep is actually over 6 feet from surface to river bed. There was a strong but thankfully controllable desire to test this information and prove to my eyes that what they reported was a lie! We came across a shaft above us, and were informed that after a 10m abseil, there is just over 100m of vertical pothole that can be clambered down. I will be returning to this cave to do just that, very soon!
I will also be returning to see a recital of some of Paganini's work in one of the caves just before Christmas, performed on guitar and violin by some Romany gypsies. I don't know what the acoustics in a mighty limestone cave will do to the already schizophrenic-sounding melodies of Paganini, but I'm prepared to pay to find out!

The Blue Mountains have a lot to offer, both aesthetically and spiritually. The place is so peaceful yet entertaining that I know I'll return there several times before I have to leave Australia. Once at Christmas, as I mentioned, and maybe again before that when we're next in New South Wales. Just to say 'Hi' to Ross, and chill by the campfire outside the Fox with a bottle of good wine.

The best made plans of mice and men oft go awry

Even before I embarked on this trip, the phrase came again and again into my mind: 'Even the best made plans of mice and men oft go awry'. I can't remember who plagiarised who – but the phrase has been quoted, revised and quoted again many times over the last century. And as is often the case with such things, it has been reused so often with good reason. There's a lot of sense in that simple sentence.

Everyone I spoke to that had been on extended travels had warned me not to make plans, as they will always change. You cannot guess what places you will like and want to stay in for longer; or what places will disappoint. But even so – when people asked how I was intending to see Australia I would still give them a month-by-month breakdown of the next 12 months... and then add: “though that might change a little”

How much of an understatement was that!?

Rather than spend the first three months of our trip in New South Wales travelling the Gold Coast we have instead gone in the opposite direction, crossing three state-boundaries in as many days. We've hopped from state capital to state capital going from Sydney in New South Wales to Melbourne in Victoria to Perth in Western Australia.

The reasons for the drastic change in direction are many, but suffice it to say that they have certainly taught me not to make or rely on any plans beyond the end of the current week! We have generally made our travel arrangements one day in advance (or less) and travelling like this, every day subject to whim, is a lot more fulfilling and exciting than thinking ahead and looking at a 'big picture'

So next time someone gives me some advice like: 'don't make plans'; 'travel light'; or 'trust the hippies' I'm actually going to listen to them and assume there is a reason they think they know best.

Hostels

One thing I have quickly learnt here in Australia is not to have any expectations. If you have high hopes then they could be dashed by the smallest disappointment; and if you don't expect anything special then there's always room to be pleasantly surprised. Hostels are no exception to this rule, and this has already been proved time and time again.

You come to find certain sounds, sights, and smells unfortunately very familiar. The sound of someone coming into the dorm at 4am; the sound of someone else getting up and leaving the dorm 5am; the smell of a fridge with long abandoned food hidden in its depths; the site of long abandoned cups/clothes/linen gathering dust and new lifeforms from its hidden den – and of course combinations of all three senses: The sound/sight/ smell of someone bending over next to your bed and letting one off in your direction when you're still too asleep to recoil or retaliate. Yes – that actually happened (and I'll get the b-----d back if I get a chance.)

Staying in a dorm is not for me. For a few extra bucks I can get a room on my own – and as it's only ever somewhere to sleep, I don't feel like I'm missing out on any community spirit that might be happening elsewhere in the hostel. And if it means I don't need to listen to eight other guys snoring and farting all night I think it's money very well spent.

And when you come across a true 'gem' of a place you understand how apt that phrase can be. Shining through the mud and detritus of most other hostels you sometimes come across a gleaming retreat with a personal touch that makes all the difference. Somewhere, which straight away makes you feel at home; with people that you come to consider family; and an atmosphere which is contagious (in an altogether different way to other places) and comfortable. And when such a place is found, a value cannot be put upon staying there.

I've learnt that the sort of places worth staying in are small personally-run hostels and lodges where the manager and owner is on the premises most of the time. If that is the case, then hopefully they won't be prepared to live in squalor – and that will mean you won't have to either. In a smaller place, everyone can get to know each other pretty easily and the staff will know you as well. Small personal touches can make all the difference when all the normally-familiar faces are thousands of miles away.

Without a shadow of doubt, my favourite place I've stayed in is just such a place: The Flying Fox in Katoomba, The Blue Mountains, NSW. The setting helps tremendously – waking up in the morning and being able to look down in to the valleys of misty-blue eucalyptus, exotic birds and animals, and glowing sunshine. But everything about the hostel itself is just as pleasant – from the log fires at night; hours of conversation and drinking of wine with the owner every evening; the sense of community everyone who stays there experiences. (And of course it is very clean, well-priced, and comfortable.) I'll be spending Christmas there later this year... it helps to book somewhere early... and I know there will be a fantastic celebration with much food, booze, and probably the odd present or two changing hands. So if I don't call anyone this year – you now know why. I'll be having way too much fun to remember!

Animals in Oz

Today I saw my first hopping marsupial. And my second not too long after that! On the way down to the Jenolan Caves (where the most amazing calcite crystals can be seen) I saw a small, dark-furred, fluffy walabe hopping from the roadside up a little bank, before turning to stare at us as we drove past - not more than six feet away from us. And after spending the afternoon in the caves, I saw two large kangaroos in a field - apparently looking at something in the distance (I like to think they were admiring the sunset).

So now I really feel like I'm in Australia!

There's been a lot of interesting wildlife to see since we arrived. Some of it has been in the trees, some of it has been in the fields, and the best of all has been in freezer-compartments in the fish markets!

I went to Sydney Fish Market for a day last week, and there was plenty which appealed to me! As I walked through the main building's entrance, I grabbed a bunch of octopus on a skewer and went searching for some more tasties! After half an hour of walking between the vendors I had a pretty good idea of where the best bits were. I started with a half-dozen Sydney Rock Oysters. Little things with a beautiful flavor! I went on to try the Pacific Oysters - which were much bigger, stronger-tasting, but not actually as nice. The lobsters, king-prawns, and salmon and tuna sashimi I won't even begin to describe. Just the thought of them is making me dribble down my T-shirt all over again!

Other than the edible life here, there's plenty to catch the eye. Crimson Rosellas are pretty common up in the Blue Mountains, so we've seen a lot of them. And paraquettes, cockatoos... I even saw a lyre bird this afternoon... a lot like a peacock. Maybe even tastier!

Last week I saw my first marsupial - a collection of tiny possums up a tree waiting for their parents to bring them dinner! ANd not long after that, I saw another possum - with baby in the pouch - sitting out in the open in the Sydney Botanical Gardens. The pictures I got were amazing (available in my Sydney album: http://s238.photobucket.com/albums/ff134/rickginer/ then click the Sydney sub-album)

I've seen a few different lizards. A handful of different types - but mainly a large tree-gecko in the Botanical Gardens, a huge water dragon in the Blue Mountains - and a few fresh water skinks as well (little and very quick buggers) skitting across the path.

In the way of spiders, I have seen a funnel-web - one of the deadliest spiders ion the world. And a few huntsmen whcih will not do you any good either! Checking under toilet seats, behind cushions, and in shoes has become a sort of ritual that has been surprisingly easy to get into. Not surprising when you think of the consequences for not paying attention!

The list of unusual and amusing animals that have entertained me in the day and annoyed me throughout the night goes on and on! I could write for hours about the cigadas, flying foxes, ibis, crows, magpies (none of which are the same as I have been used to)...... but with the smells of dinner wafting from the kitchen, I can think of little else but what's next going in my stomach (which itself reminds me of a few more tasty animals I saw) but look at the pictures online - and if there's anything you want to know about send me a mail!

Much love,

R

An afternoon with Clarence

Clarence is an aborignal tribesman born close to the Clarence River in Northern Australia. His totum is the Salamander which means he shares the same blood as it, it is like his brother, and to allow one to come to harm would make him physically ill. He is also the head of Aboriginal Studies at the Botanical Gardens in Sydeny. But beyod all that - he was our guide for one afternoon last week as we walked around the artificial 'bush' that is the Gardens.

The walk was scheduled to be a little over an hour, and should have cost $10. In reality, it lasted over 3 hours - cost nothing - and included some extra-curicular studies in the pub on the way home.

We learnt a great deal about the land, the people, and the spirituality that is so important to the aboriginals, and I don't intend to recount much of that here - but I will say that we had an amazing time, and came away buzzing with excitement at the thought of trying to live off Bush Tucker!

The aboriginals sem to find a use for nearly everything that grows or lives within their domain. Bark on trees which peels off in neat sheets can be used for bandages, to wrap and cook food in, to write on, or to make soft padding... fruits which can't be eaten can be ground down to make oil - or burned with a wick to make a candel. But most importantly - I learnt what is good for a headache, stomach upsets, keeping the flies away, and recovering from a hangover.

The bush awaits.... we're off into the Blue Mountains now for a few weeks of roughing-it, and camping in the wilderness. If I survive the first few nights of experimentation with the local flora and fauna expect a new blog soon!

A week in Sydney

I arrived in Sydney just a few minutes behind the girls. Siân and Rachel had gone the opposite way round the globe to get to Sydney, changing planes in San Francisco and Los Angeles - with no more than an hour in each airport between flights. I don't envy them at all (but I did take delight in telling them about my 12 hour stop-over in Hong Kong). It was about 7 in the morning, and it was already over 20 degrees outside the airport. Once we were clear of the terminal building, we were greeted by palm trees, sun, and the promise of a glorious few days in the unofficial capital of Australia.

It turned out to be the hottest day so far in what is only really the beginning of Spring in Australia. Temperatures in the heart of Sydney reached 35 degrees - which was paradise compared to the hottest day I can remember of my Scottish summer (an abismal 26 degrees with rain and wind). We headed straight for Sydeny Harbor, and the panoramic views of the Opera House and the Bridge were just as you've seen them in pictures. There were very few people out and about... a few tourists, an aborigine on the digeridoo (accompanied by the less than traditional drum & bass backing beat), and a few locals who had come to the water's edge to cool off. We dipped our toes in the the cool harbour waters and went off into the Botanical Gardens which make up a huge proportion of the city's centre.

At first glance, Sydney appears a lot like many British cities. The flora and fauna seem familiar, the cars are on the right (correct) side of the road, and there is a mixture of tower blocks and department stores which you would expect to find in any central business district. But looking closer, everything is startlingly different. The black-and-white birds in the trees are not magpies but piping shrikes. The white birds circling overhead are cockatoos and not seagulls. The birds around the ponds which seem to be geese from a distance are in fact ibis. And in amongst the nearly-familiar pines and spruces are an abundance of fig trees, palms, and exotic and strange plants which you would not believe should exist (more about them later)

Another sure way of knowing that we are not in Kansas anymore are the attitudes of everyone we meet. From the trucker who stops to comment on a tattoo and ends up spending 25 minutes telling us about his secret creek a few hundred miles north of Sydney (on our route up the coast) to the random strangers who hear our obviously perplexed and touristic questions to each other and feel obliged to interject with advice and wisdom that has made our time so far a lot more enjoyable, rewarding, and less stressful. Everyone is only too happy to help, whether that means driving us 2 hours into the mountains to find a good camping spot for us, or just giving us directions to the best local pub!

Oh - and Iron Maiden are coming here in February.

I think I'm going to like this place.

A day in Hong Kong

In order to break up a horrifically long journey to the other side of the world, I had a 12 hour stop in Hong Kong. With the build-up to Australia, my trip to HK was slightly dwarfed (what's 12 hours when you're planning a year-long trip?) and so I arrived without any plans at all. Without knowing a thinking about the place (I'm embarrassed to say I didn't know what the exchange rate was - and worse: I wasn't even sure what the currency was!) But I was determined not to that that spoil my day. I was going to experience Hong Kong! To learn as much as I could, see all that was on offer - and eat as much as I could squeeze into my belly. And I think I experienced Hong Kong as it really is: A bustling hive of people running around seemingly with purpose but actually in a state of perpetual confusion.


It took me an hour to find my way out of Hong Kong central station. I managed to leave it without too much of a problem, but all the streets, bridges, tunnels, and walkways seemed to lead me round in a huge circle and back into the place. But when I finally found a bus that didn't seem adverse to letting me on with the huge monetary denomination which was the only note the bank had dispensed to me - I was off to see the country!

I started in a typical Hong Kong market, wandering up and down alleyways marveling at how cheap everything was.. it was only 9 in the morning, but already approaching 30 degrees, so I didn't manage long in the busy hive of bargains. It was off to the beach where I sweated my way along the cove in hunt of a few Chinese monuments. And when I found them I was pleased I had made the effort. Ten-meter tall Budhas, deities, and other mighty statues guarded the coastline, and if it weren't for my semi-naked dripping body and the other tourists - I'm sure it would have been a deeply spiritual place.

I left the Island of Hong Kong around midday to go to Kowloon where I had read there is a restaurant in which the best Peking Duck in all the world is found - thinking with my stomach as usual. And it was awesome! There was so much food, and the people in the restaurant were incredibly friendly. The wine waiter made me promise to comeback and bring Siân with me., and tel him all about our travels.

After the food, I started to plod back to the airport via a huge park. I was tired and sore after an intense day of sight-seeing, eating, and the horrible 11 hour flight from the UK. I casually crossed the street to view an advert for a massage, which was a very tempting prospect and before I realised it I was lying half naked, face down in a darkened room waiting for my little Chinese girlie to come and work me over. Unfortunately SHE never came. But HE was very good at his job. I got one hell of a workout! I can't go into the details, as this blog should really be family-friendly, but once I got over the fact that a man was rubbing oil into my buttocks (though not exclusively) I actually started to feel really good. All over. The two-hour session cost about 15 quid. A bargain. I think.

It made the flight onwards to Sydney much more comfortable. Though I didn't sleep. In fact, I arrived in Australia having had six hours sleep in four nights. But that's creeping into the realms of the next post.

Stay tuned.....

Rick.

Making the most

With the sands of time not showing any signs of relenting their persistent trickling away, I have started to realise exactly how little time I have. The list of things I have yet to accomplish or enjoy whilst I am still in Scotland is an intimidating and embarrassingly large one, and one I am sure I'll not be able to address in its entirety. I'm going to have a good bash at it over the next three weeks though!

The most recent thing I was able to strike from the list was a trip to Loch Lomond. A place I have heard in song since primary school, and I thought it would be nice to explore those bonny, bonny banks whilst I am still close by. I didn't quite realise the size of that loch though…. 23 miles long, and up to 5 miles wide! Those bonny banks are going to remain largely unexplored by me for a little while longer, but there's a small stretch in the middle which I now know intimately. Well, as intimately as you can come to know a stretch of countryside in half an hour.

A weekend of excess and not enough sleeping has left my body aching and exhausted but it is a small inconvenience for the complete rejuvenation my soul has undergone!

And next on the list (apart from enjoying another week of the Fringe Festival with continued and unadulterated boozing) is a trip to Loch Ness next weekend. It'll be really nice to get back up into the Highlands for a little while and as we move through the more wild lands of Scotland I'm hoping to see a few more herds of deer in the passing forests and a couple of lone buzzards guarding the skies. And a few less swarms of midgies would be nice... but I think to hope that might be a bit daft!

Knowing that you're going to be leaving a place you love makes you think about the specific things that make you happy and realise that there's a lot to miss. I'm going to miss the smell of the brewery in Edinburgh as I go past it in the morning – that smell of warm Weetabix which remains one of the most homely smells of the city. I'm going to miss the restaurants I love and the people that make them such a pleasure to visit, and the bars I collapse in and the people that put me in a taxi home.

And when I'm in Australia there's even more that will make me look back with fondness on my time in the UK, and maybe create a pang of yearning in the pit of my stomach: cooking mighty feasts with the best ingredients; drinking good British ales in traditional British bars; playing my music at window-shaking volumes; electric guitars hanging and sitting on every surface in the room.

And there's bound to be some things that I have never thought about before: being on the same continent, that same piece of rock, as nearly all of my friends and family; the familiarity of knowing which direction the water will circle down the plughole; knowing that the if I were to get in a fight with a spider I'm certainly going to win…

So for the moment, I'm going to bask in all of these things. Over-indulgence of these simple pleasures whilst they are available is the order of the day. So expect to see me in my favourite bar with my favourite pint; or listening to my favourite band on my favourite sound system – maybe playing along on my favourite guitar through my favourite amp, and with my favourite friends around me.

...Whilst pointing and laughing at every little spider I see cowering in the shadows.


"On soft grey mornings widows cry
The wise men share a joke;
I run to grasp divining signs
To satisfy the hoax.
The yellow jester does not play
But gently pulls the strings
And smiles as the puppets dance
In the court of the crimson king."

Preparation and Trepidation

Who'd have thought emigrating from the country would require so much planning?

I suppose the circumspection isn't really required - I know I could step off the plane having given no thought to my next move and get along fine - but I feel an obligation to my current lifestyle of structure and order to organise at least the first few days into some semblance of a plan, and to have a vague idea of what else I might want to do in the following year.

So far though, I don't have much.

I want to use this journey as an opportunity to change my outlook on life, and my goals and ambitions for the future. Move away from the humdrum and the rat race that I'm currently a part of, and get back to experiencing the things that happiness of the soul truly emerges from.

So with that in mind, what have I got planned for my first week in Australia?

I'd love to have a list of plans so exciting that you're immediately convinced to regularly come and check this blog to find out how I'm getting on with my croc-wrestling, wreck-diving, emu-riding, and training for the international off-road pogo-stick mountaineering championships – but so far, the only concrete plan I have is… a job interview. I depress myself.

So the search for activities to indulge in whilst in Australia has begun. I arrive in Sydney so I suppose I should take advantage of that… A trip to the Opera House has to be made! Maybe oysters under Harbour Bridge before catching a show. I understand there's good drinking in the city… so I'll be on the look out for a nice bar or two. Then there's the Blue Mountains not far from Sydney… my time in Edinburgh has got me used to hills - I reckon I'm ready to tackle a mountain.

Has anyone been to Sydney before? Heard anything about the place? Can anyone make something up? If you suggest a plan: a place to go, a thing to see, a drink to consume, or a person to throw jelly at – I'll do it in your honour!

Wherever I may roam

It's been a while since I last got in touch with a lot of my friends. I've been rubbish as usual. I could come up with a dozen excuses: working hard, being too tired to get from my sofa to the phone, new girlfriend living with me - but in reality, whilst most of those aspects have an element of truth - I've been sitting on my arse smoking lots of pot and watching copious TV. (Just finished the second series of Battlestar Galactica actually - absolutely awesome!)

So feeling very ashamed, I decided to write a bulk email – something I generally detest – to get in touch with my estranged friends, and to put a bastardised version of that email online, which I hope to turn into a relatively interesting blog documenting my newly defined plans.

There were two things that have prompted this new-found impetus. Firstly, I'm reading a book: The Yes Man by Danny Wallace. He realised he was saying 'no' to too much and never did anything with his life so he started saying 'yes' to everything. Everything! And he went from watching Eastenders and eating crisps on his sofa to meeting hundreds of new people, travelling the world, and discovering uncountable new experiences. I like the fact that such a small change helped him reaffirm friendships and make new ones. So I'm making my own small changes! Well - it's only been one or two so far, this blog being one of them, but it's a start.

The other thing that prompted me to write a few emails and get in touch with people I haven't spoken to for a while, is also on the same theme: wanting to have new experiences and find new places to explore (new to me - not necessarily untouched by Man). I realised I should probably get in touch with my friends in the immediate future because yesterday I bought myself a one-way ticket to Australia. I am leaving at the beginning of October.

Some of you may know that it was the fact that Sian was going to Australia that made me first consider the idea. And for that, and everything else she has brought into my life recently - I think I will always be grateful! I don't know what adventures may await us, but when I look forward I can see many great things happening! [I re-read and re-wrote that paragraph many times, and try as I might - I can't find a way of saying what I want to without it sounding so incredibly cheesy. But if you've ever had a conversation with me before, I'm sure that won't be much of a surprise!]

I may have discussed Australia with a few people, but until yesterday morning, I wasn't at all sure if I would be going! I'd been toying with the idea for a while... well - maybe a couple of months - and I'd almost decided that it was going to be too costly, has come at the wrong time in my life, and generally come up with a whole bunch of other excuses not dissimilar to those I used when convincing myself I didn't have time to call my mates or drop them a line; But I figured I'd always have some excuse - so like preparing for a sky-dive or bungee jump (both of which I am hoping to soon be able to comment on from recollection rather than supposition) the best way to accomplish your ambitions is to close your eyes and jump. So I bought my ticket!

Since then I've starting looking into life in Australia a lot more, mate. And one of the things that I'm looking at, mate, is how to fit in with the locals, mate. I found one site, mate, which suggests using the word 'mate' a lot more, mate. Apparently, mate, there was even a proposal to include the concept of 'mateship' as part of the constitution for the Australian Republic in 1999, mate.

But to be honest, I've already annoyed myself in just that one sentence. Maybe I'll concentrate on swearing and drinking more beer. Both of those seem to have been close to getting a mention in the constitution as well.

I'm flying out of London on the 1st October into Hong Kong. I arrive very early on the 2nd, and will spend the day there, then off to Sydney on an overnight flight - arriving very early on the 3rd. I wonder how much I'm going to be able to cram into a day in HK. As long as I get a good traditional bowl of fish heads for lunch and can drink my way through the jet-lag I reckon I'll be OK.

I'm going to be in Edinburgh for most of the summer - I have lots of shows booked for the Fringe (maybe I should be saving money, but I'm a sucker for comedians and cheap beer) - and my contract runs until the beginning of September, but then I'll be done with Scotland for the time being. I want to spend a lot of September travelling the UK and saying "g'day" to people I might not see for a while. Maybe go on a few trips.... anyone got any ideas? I think it was Clive who suggested a week camping somewhere... I know a few friendly cows and sheep who wouldn't mind sharing their fields with us if we promise to keep them entertained with stories, jokes, and music.

Whilst I'm away - and in the weeks and months leading up to my departure - I intend to keep a blog. And I hate blogs. Too many people voicing their half-baked opinions on nothing of any real consequence. The pseudo-word 'blog' has for a long while become synonymous with 'detritus' in my mind, but I'm hoping to add to the miniscule fraction of blogs that actually have something interesting to say. So sign up if you're interested in what relatively exciting experiences I might decide to share. And do please tell me if I'm just adding to the hordes of irrelevant crap clogging up Da Interwebs and I'll take a spaghetti-rake to my face in some kind of ritualistic self-punishment. And then probably write another equally-irrelevant entry about my experience with pasta-serving utensils.

Get in touch if you think you can get up to Edinburgh before the summer's gone. Not that it has arrived in Scotland yet, but I've been informed it might be on its way. If you want to stay with me whilst the Fringe is on we'll be bound to have some fun! Otherwise, I'll have to look you up when I'm next in your area. Or in September when I'll drag you all out camping!

Peace and bruises,

Rick

The weblog begins

I've never really understood blogging. The thought that someone else may be interested in the banal ranting of my or any other demented and/or deluded mind is one that I don't easily comprehend.

Occasionally I come across a video on that site which features some bored self-obsessed teenager who has decided to make a vlog (I can't believe I acknowledge the existence of that contraction) which consists of a two-minute discussion on how they have nothing to say! It would appear they can think of nothing better to do than personally contribute to the billions of gigabytes of useless, pointless, and thoughtless wastes of space and time which I have to sift through in my essential day-to-day web browsing.

And with that in mind, I commit my own irelevant rant to the ethos.