A Day on the Great Barrier Reef

Magnetic Island is just under two hours from the Great Barrier Reef and so it is a great place for a day-trip. We set out early one morning on a catamaran bound for Kelso Reef and spent the trip out there sunning ourselves on the open top deck and learning about the marine life we were going to encounter.

We had around four hours at the reef but the time flew by. There was just so much to see that every second something new appeared and took our attention. Immediately after plunging into the water we saw massive Spangled Emperors, Red Bass Snappers and Yellowtail Fusiliers that had come to the boat-side knowing there would be food thrown in the water for them. Some were nearly a metre long and looked strong enough to tow us along if we had grabbed hold of them as they swam past. They were very used to people being in the sea with them, and brushed past me more than once without worrying at all. In fact most of the fish were like that, excluding a few of the more timid little fish that darted in and out of their hiding places in the corals.

There were also fantastic corals all around – such strange shapes and structures from the pointy Staghorn corals to the lumpy Brain and Lunar corals. Amongst them were Giant Clams, some a metre and a half across, brilliantly coloured Blue Sea Stars, urchins, and Sea Cucumbers. It was difficult to take it all in!

We were able to identify quite a lot of the fish thanks to ID cards we bought on the boat, and amongst my favorite sightings were the Moorish Idol, Bicolor Angel, Humbug Damsel, Bluegreen Damsel, Blue Devil Damsel – which were all small brightly coloured fish found darting around the corals; and the Spotted Unicornfish, Yellow Boxfish, Trumpetfish, Wrasse (including the Harlequin Tuskfish, Sixbar, Moon and Bird Wrasse), and many types of Parrotfish which were sometimes over a metre in length and much more docile as they cruised around in the waters.

There were a couple of highlights for me, though. Knowing that there had been a sighting of a turtle 50m from the starboard side of the boat I went looking for him and after fifteen minutes of drifting around the edge of the reef I spotted a big grey shape twenty-five metres ahead with flippers and a little head which was tearing at the coral, looking for juicy morsels to eat. He was well camouflaged, but I could see the patterned shell when I got closer, and the two Blue Angel fish swimming by his head picking up the bits he left behind. Swimming back to the boat a little later I came across two squid which were right in front of me, and even more impressive than the turtle. One tried to chase the other smaller squid away and emitted a pulse which effervesced through its body in a wave of multicoloured light. I in turn, chased that one for a while but couldn't manage to make myself glow in the same way that scared the little fellow off. But I had fun all the same!

It was a tiring but incredibly memorable day. To be immersed in the world of hundreds of fish, swarming around in every direction is indescribable – an assault of colour and movement from above and below, left, and right, in front and behind. As soon as we were out of the water and on our way home we were planning our next trip out there.

Living on a Tropical Island

When it came to extending our stay at the hostel 'Bungalow Bay' we found out they had a seven night maximum stay policy, so we sadly accepted that we would have to get back on the road and leave behind the tropical paradise of Magnetic Island. We were returning to Townsville later that day anyway to spend a final night there with Matt before he returned to the mines early the next morning, so we started saying goodbye to the people we had met.

One of the things about an isolated place such as Maggie or another frequently visited paradise of Katoomba in the Blue Mountains is that the people found there have decided to specifically spend their time in that place. You have no people passing-through, and rarely find day-trippers, so everyone there really wants to be there . Those that choose to make it their home are unique in their desire to be away from bustling cities and towns, and the small tight-knit communities they live in means only the most friendly and sociable can survive. So in retrospect, it was no great surprise that by lunchtime we had been invited to stay in several different houses throughout the island.

Anthony is a chef on the island, one of only a handful of trades that really exists here, and moved from a small flat in Sydney to a big house in Horseshoe Bay a couple of years ago. We met him briefly at a party the night before, but he was very eager for us to come and share his house with him and an English girl, Natalie, who worked at the wildlife sanctuary in the bay. And for the price of four nights at Bungalow Bay, we had our room for the month in a beautiful, spacious house with massive living area, pool table, huge kitchen, and lovely gardens.

When we returned from Townsville the next day the parties began again, starting on the beach and ending up back at our new house – and going on well into the night! We saw familiar and new faces come and go and made many friends very quickly. It helps having a pool table in the front room! When the first couple of days had passed and the house-warming had subsided we built up our connections with other businesses on the island – it never hurts to be friends with the local restaurant owners – including of course Ferrari's, the tapas bar on the beach front where we drank sangria on the hot afternoons.

Exploring the island was another joy that we immediately took to, and we found a track to the local pub which took us through a tropical wetland reserve past 40m high bamboo and palm leaves as big as houses. The locals called it the 'butterfly walk' – and hundreds of white-tipped crow and blue-spotted tiger butterflies flitted through the air above the path. The walk was also a great place to spot other wildlife – dozens of different types of kingfishers, impressive pheasants, bush hens, wallabies, kangaroos, pademelons, echidnas, and spiders – to name a few. On the opposite side of the bay was a huge lagoon filled with geese, moor-hens, lizards, snakes, dragon-flies, and much, much more. It was a wildlife paradise!

We found that the best way of getting to the other side of the island, about 8km away over quite a steep hill, was to hitch-hike. There's only one real road, so everyone passing would have to be going to where we wanted to go. It never took more than three cars passing before someone stopped to pick us up. This was how we went to Picnic Bay one evening to join in with a music jam and watch fire-spinning on the beach. The fire spinning was enough to inspire me and Matt to give it a try ourselves and we have the burn marks and bald patches to prove our incompetence! We also hitched to and from Arcadia one evening to watch the weekly toad races. My toad, Purple People Eater, came in third – but he looked like he tried hard!

We explored more of the bays on the island and found each one to be uniquely appealing. At the tip of the island is an area known as West Point where we went for sunset and saw that the water was as still as a mirror with ripples only made by the fish breaking the surface. Another bay was perfect for spear-fishing and snorkeling and others were ideal for sleeping on underneath a coconut or pawpaw tree. Living on this island for the last few weeks of our Australian adventure was going to be a real chore.

A Week on Magnetic Island

Townsville is one of the bigger cities in Queensland with a population of 120,000 who mostly serve in the armed forces or work in the mines in the outback and use Townsville as their base during their time off. The town itself is a sprawling mass of houses and bars, and the main attractions are often cruelly described as Cairns (a town several hundred kilometres north) and Magnetic Island, 10km off the shore. And after a day and a night in Townsville, where we caught up with Matt returning from the copper mine at Mount Isa, it was time to see visit of those attractions – Maggie Island.

The 15 minute ferry journey from Townsville was choppy, but quick and after a short bus journey from the harbour to gave us a glimpse of the tropical island before dropping us of at our hostel, Bungalow Bay. The accommodation at the hostel is mainly A-frame 'bungalows' scattered throughout six acres of bushland, so we dumped our bags in one of them and headed straight for the beach. Standing with the sand between my toes, I realized it had been nearly six months since I had been on a beach; and although that was because I much prefer trekking through the bush than paddling at the water front, I vowed to spend some serious time laying in the sun and listening to the sounds of the waves whilst I was here.

Close to the beach was a convenient pub, so we sat outside with a few cold beers and discussed our plans for the next few days. Matt had been on the island several times, so with him as our guide, we planned a 12km walk for the following day to explore some of the islands secluded bays.

The day was hot, dry, and clear – so even though the scrambling through small tracks was hard work it wasn't too uncomfortable. And at each bay we arrived at we could cool down in the water and dry off in the sun before wandering on to the next bay. We even saw a group of humpback whales off the coast as we were sitting under a palm on one of the beaches. One of the peaks of the island is renowned for the beautiful views at the top and the koalas living in the trees on its slopes – so our final slog for the day was up to the old WW II lookout built at the top of this hill. It didn't take long for me to spot a sleepy grey lump nestled in between two branches, and I watched him yawning, growling, and dozing for about twenty minutes. He was completely indifferent to my presence and only looked up lazily when I made some noises to get his attention and quickly returned to his afternoon nap. Further up the track we found another large male who was also growling and grumbling to no one in particular – but the highlight of the day was coming across a mother and joey as we were returning down the hillside. They were awake and looking around when we spotted them, and gradually began making their way up the branches to get some dinner. The joey clung to the mother's back until her weight prevented her from getting any higher and then the joey set out on its own, under the ever vigilant gaze of mum, to get the tender eucalyptus tips on the thin top branches.

There is an amazing amount of wildlife on the island. Some of it uniquely found here, and a lot of it is indigenous but animals like the koalas and a few of the other endangered species were brought over here when extinction seemed likely on the mainland. The possums however are not endangered by any means, and manage to get everywhere. Some consider them pests and vermin but their playful demeanour and inherent cuteness makes it difficult for us tourists to dislike these animals that pop up as soon as people start preparing dinner in the evenings. They know exactly where to go to scrounge the best meals! And of course there are the usual hoards of wallaby and pademelon in the fields at dusk.

There are also 150 different bird species living on the island such as sea eagles wedge-tail eagles, ospreys, owls, hawks, bush hens, kingfishers, pheasants, lorakeets, parrots, and curlews. The lorakeets are beautiful and very tame, and swarm down in their hundreds to eat food offered by the tourists. Not so amiable however are the curlews, a type of plover, which gracefully struts around the island but enjoys shrieking a piercing, haunted scream when it feels threatened, or lost, or finds food, or apparently whenever it feels like it. Usually in the early hours of the morning.

There are plenty of interesting plants on the island, too. Massive tropical leaves line the roads, up to 30ft tall, and there are dozens of different palms on the island. I saw a sign that warned of falling fruit – quite a risk when the fruits are as big as paw paws or coconuts; and when you aren't looking out for attacks from above, it's helpful to keep an eye on the floor as there are plenty of vicious spiders and snakes around, including the notorious death adder which I'm sure needs no further explanation. There are also some pretty nasty ants with green abdomens filled with formic acid – the same acid that gives citrus fruits their sharpness – so you can imagine what it feels like when they bite. Like a lemon squeezed into a fresh cut. But also like a lemon, the ants can be turned into a tea, or just licked on the bum to get a lovely burst of sour freshness. Yummy!

One morning I got up early to have breakfast with the koalas in the neighbouring sanctuary, which gave me an opportunity to eat and drink loads (a breakfast is only worth getting up early for if its a self-service buffet served with champagne) and get close to some of the animals. Barney the koala was a heavy but cooperative lump of grey fur that smelt like a mixture between eucalyptus and sweaty arse, and quite happily went to sleep as soon as he found a comfortable way to nestle between my arms and chest – though being a 'boob man', he did seem to have a more contented smile on his face when the girls were holding him. There were also cockatoos, crocodiles and carpet pythons which came out to join us for brekky, and later we were able to explore the rest of the sanctuary and had an opportunity to handle some of the other animals like the lizards and echidnas that hadn't made it to breakfast. The guy that showed us around was an obvious reptile lover, and told us plenty of interesting things about them. He was particularly impassioned by the fate of the crocodiles – all twenty-three species of which are endangered, yet they are still being farmed for their leather and meat. People tend to turn a blind eye, maybe because it is a reptile and people have difficulty relating to them compared with cute and cuddly pandas, or maybe because of their reputation as man-eaters. Even though only thirty-eight people have been killed by crocodiles in Australia in 200 years, and all have been either drunk Australians or German tourists splashing through known crocodile infestations at night when the crocs are most active. Either way, I don't think the poor fellows can be blamed for getting a little snappy.

Yet more wild life lurked beneath the waters, so on a couple of days we hired some snorkelling gear and went for a swim around the reefs. Water is not something I'm particularly comfortable in and putting my head under the surface and breathing through the snorkel felt very unnatural at first, but the lure of brightly coloured curios swimming amongst the corals made me forget about my apprehensions and soon I was gliding along with the little box fish, rass, and huge green and blue parrot fish that had also come to spend a day out on the reefs.

Tropical islands encourage a certain way of life from their inhabitants, where daily activities start when the sun comes up and end shortly after it has set. The days here have been beautiful, with clear skies and extraordinary heat that invokes a fabulous laziness – whether that is spent lying on beaches or lazing outside bars. The heat can be quite energy sapping, so bars and restaurants close early so their employees and patrons alike can get a good night's sleep before the day's routines start again – but there are hidden pockets of night-life on the island for the discerning party-goer to seek out and enjoy! The hostel has a bar next to a pool which is open later than any other in Horseshoe Bay – sometimes 10pm – and it is there that the locals and travellers can often be found towards the end of the night. So when the number of beers consumed is just right, that is also where the plans for parties are hatched, and from there we met some great locals – Aussies and Brits – who were always up for a good time.

Let the parties begin!

Four Days on the Road to Townsville

It is just over 1300km from Brisbane to Townsville, and much of that stretch has been described as 'famously uninteresting' in at least one guide book we have with us. So we were lucky that we travelled in a shit-heap of a van which made our journey far more remarkable!

The van had been 'affectionately' named Basil after the plant of the same name that lived in the van with us for a few months and also after Basil Fawlty, on account of the tendency for the thing to break down at the smallest sign of pressure. Breaking down was in fact the van's speciality, and we had spent many times the original cost of the rust bucket on repairs over the last few months. Knowing this, we had tried to limit the driving to a couple of hours a day in order to give him a bit of a break, but now we had a long distance to travel and not much time to do it in. The first day was fine, stopping at a caravan park overnight a few hundred kilometres from Brisbane overnight, but the fun began half way through the afternoon when Basil decided it was too bloody hot in Queensland, and that he'd had enough. So with many breaks and a decidedly sluggish pace, we made our way to the closest town of Gladstone to let him have a nice long break. But even with this rest and a fresh radiator of coolant, we hadn't even made it to the edge of town before he started protesting again, and we accepted that we were spending the night there.

Luckily for us, the nearby yacht club had excellent food in massive portions, so after having our dinner and taking away the leftovers (which lasted us each another 2 meals) we retired to the still smouldering van for an early night. On the way back we noticed a warning sign close to where we had parked. We had seen plenty before – warning about spiders or snakes – but this one told the tale of a terrible blight on the local community: vicious kamikaze magpies. Even the Aussie birds are out to get us!

The next day we continued driving through fields of ripe sugar cane and yellow grass, watching the landscape slowly change from the green of New South Wales to the dusty tones of much drier Queensland. Mountains sprung up, blue and hazy in the distance, and then seemed to approach as we continued on, turning greener as we neared and disappearing into the distance as we passed into new countryside. More signs warning of the proximity of the elusive koalas appeared at the sides of the road, and plenty for the cattle which dotted the fields that we were driving through and occasionally spilled onto the road. But rather than wildlife, it was the bloody van which dominated our attention again that day. Guzzling water, belching steam, and grumbling all the while. We made it a little under 400km before we had to stop to give it a 4 litre drink, and then plodded onwards again, ever wary of the temperamental temperature dial.

Finally, after consuming what must have been close to twenty litres of water, we pulled into Townsville, an industrial town nestled below a huge red rock escarpment. Now my only hope is that we can find an honest mechanic!

A Weekend in Brisbane

Our last morning in Byron Bay started slowly on account of the beers consumed the night before, but by midday we were on the road to Brisbane where we were meeting our friends Mike and Bex. We had originally met them in the Blue Mountains before Christmas, and seen them a few times since, but just a couple of weeks after we moved to Sydney they moved away to Brisbane (though they assured us there was no connection) and we were keen to have a weekend of drunkenness with some familiar faces.

Being on the road, or even when settling in a town for just a short while, most friends that you make are for one night only! Stories exchanged in the pub or round a fire at night are always entertaining – you always remember and retell your most exciting tales – but the start of the night tends to follows a tedious pattern of introductions and exchanging background stories and that level of familiarity that defines the relationship between good friends is rarely reached. So when you hit it off with fellow travelers, spend some time together and stay in touch, it's always worth the effort to ensure your paths cross again.

So it was with no lack of excitement that we made the uneventful journey 150km north to Brisbane and the state of Queensland to visit our friends that we hadn't seen for nearly six months. They had been living in a beautiful 'Queenslander' house; a roomy wooden structure on stilts with various levels and open spaces to encourage a cooling flow of air. But it was straight out to the garden we went to discuss our latest adventures and plans for the upcoming weeks. The weather was noticeably better than it had been in Sydney – staying warmer further into the evening and without a cloud in the sky all day.

That evening we went into the city to see a band that had been recommended to Mike – and to our surprise it was a band we knew! I had spent a while discussing slide-guitar with the main guitarist/singer in Byron Bay before his solo gig, but then missed most of his set that evening. So now was my chance to catch him again and this time with his band The Lapdogz. He didn't disappoint and neither did the opening act, Mark Easton Limousine, who played two equally impressive blues sets.

It was a little late when we finally stumbled out of the pub and into a cab that the more inebriated of us were very surprising to find waiting outside. And so it was with a slightly fuzzy head that we found ourselves walking to the market early the following morning. We'd missed most of the markets on the way up, so I was keen to dive headlong into the throng when we arrived. One of my favourite things about markets is the abundance of food stalls – and so I strolled through the crowds with a skewer of pork balls in one hand, a cup of freshly squeezed sugar cane juice in my other hand, and a lady finger banana in my pocket waiting for one of my hands to become free. The fruit and veg were amazingly fresh and cheap, but it was the temptation of the fried foods that mostly won out. As we left the market we saw a corner of a main street that looked like an allotment – and that was more-or-less what it was. An organic community garden where everything from broccoli to paw paw was being grown; with no fences or gate, and no vandalism either! It's a shame when a thought like that occurs, but when it did I felt it illustrated the difference between Australians and Brits perfectly – and markedly increased my resolve to stay amongst these people.

With a couple of brief stops on the way home for cakes, smoothies, and sausage rolls, we made it back shortly after midday. I was stuffed and ready for a kip; but managed to hold out until around midnight and spent the rest of the day strolling through parks and sitting in the garden with jugs of freshly made sangria and great friends.

A Day and a Night in Nimbin

When the tourists came in droves to Byron Bay, the hippies had to find a new place to hang out which still had the charm and character of a tiny peaceful community. And that was how Nimbin had been sold to us. Even before we arrived though, I began to wonder how charming and tranquil a place could be when I had seen at least four different companies running day trips from Byron to Nimbin bringing in bus-loads of tourists each and every day. So what we found there was unfortunately not too much of a surprise.

The place now subsists almost entirely on tourism, and their unique selling point is their willingness to sell and promote dope smoking in every way they can find. As we entered the high street we were instantly bombarded with people trying to sell weed, cookies, and chocolates to the stream of tourists flowing past in the street. The Hemp Embassy was filled with relatively little information on hemp, but plenty of extortionately priced natural products and Nimbin memorabilia. It lead through to the Hemp Bar where people drank tea in a suitably dimly lit room and sold their dodgy wares to the tourists. Across the street was the Museum – which documented the history of Nimbin; from the indigenous owners of the land, through the arrival of the hippies and now the reliance on tourists. Most of the 'exhibits' were nothing more than photocopied newspaper articles stuck randomly on the walls of this small converted house, but a few surprise finds amongst the mountains of tat raised a smile, like the original placard for Dr Poppy's Wonder Elixir (with cannabis extract) which was sold as a cure-all not long ago. A few other places were interesting to look around – the apothecary was a small shop with very strong odours coming from the doorway, and a good collection of natural oils and crystals inside if you had money to burn, and there were lots of clothes shops selling the latest trends for the alternative scene at hugely inflated prices. But again, looking hard enough, a few bargains were found. Even another item for me to wear on days where black doesn't feel necessary... however rare those days might be!

But other than the rampant commercialism of the place, there were other things that quickly put me off. The town was superficial. Existing solely because you could go there to buy and smoke drugs on the street. Not that I think there is anything wrong with having a place like that, but I expected – and needed – more to make the place worth visiting. Where were the hippies? The fires? The drum circles? The community? I saw three fights, one of which ended in a local being taken away by three policemen for threatening a shop owner and her customers whilst dozens of other locals shouted abuse from across the street. People were friendly when they thought I would buy their products, but didn't want any more from us than our money. I suspect that the hippies had long ago abandoned the town and now tried to avoid it whenever possible, choosing instead to live in communities out of town.

Unwilling to accept that this highly talked about place is a complete sham, we will try and find one of those communities to stay in when we come back down the coast, but our night in Nimbin was still ahead of us and we hoped something would happen after dusk that would renew some of the implied appeal of the place. We went to the solitary pub on the main street, below one of the hostels, and waited. Dinner time came around, and the feast we had placed before us was excellent! But still the pub was nearly empty. When talking to the locals, it seemed that nothing ever happened at night. They were out during the day harassing tourists, but just sat at home in the evenings waiting for tomorrow to come. So we decided not to sleep in our van down the road and instead to go looking for something that might be happening a little way out of town.

We headed for the two main hostels in Nimbin down a very dark road. In fact, when the moon disappeared behind the clouds it was pitch black and with only the sounds of the animals in the bush at the edge of the road to help us determine our direction, we tentatively walked on. It seemed like a long way. In fact, after 10 minutes of stumbling on in darkness, across bridges and round sweeping bends which we hoped were part of the road and not someone's driveway, we decided to return to the van and get a torch (and people wonder why it's called 'dope'!) We could have walked right past the hostels and never known. When we returned from the van we found out that was exactly what we had done. It looked like we had only gone twenty meters further than the entrance to the hostel, but we had definitely strolled past without noticing it at all.

But it was a fantastic hostel! Called the Rainbow Village, it was similarly set up to the Arts Factory but with far less coordination. There were old VW camper vans converted into dorms, old gypsy wagons, tree-houses, and teepees. We sat around a fire in a teepee and played cards whilst listening to the bats flying around outside; and when morning came and we could get a good look at the place, it really did have a feel of a commune about it. Beautiful surroundings, with higgledy piggledy structures dotted amongst the trees and a couple of bearded backpackers sat around a camp fire discussing the world's problems. But until we found the real communes – we were going to leave Nimbin and head back to Byron for another night. Even with the commercialisation of the town, Byron still had a far superior air of relaxed acceptance and laid back people. And plenty of choices of pubs to go to and people to talk with!

From Billengen to Byron

Eager to get on up the coast, we left Billengen after a slow morning in one of the town's cafés and a bit of browsing around the few shops in the high street. It was Monday morning and the town was a completely different place after the weekend of parties and crowds. But keen to keep going on our trip through some of the most alternative and laid back parts of the country, we headed for the quiet town of Mullumbimby. The countryside we drove through was stunning; across marshland and lakes, and alongside beaches and forests. Stopping in one small town and asking whether there was a bakery nearby resulted in a very perplexed look from the barman. Of course not! The town will probably have a second pub before they do something crazy like build a bakery. But if we wanted, we could drive 3km down the road and take a ferry across to a nearby island which sold bread!Madness!

After several hours of driving through similarly small hamlets that we came to the contrastingly larger township of Mullum – with pub, golf club, AND a rugby club.

Despite all this choice, we headed straight for the rugby club (which offered camping at the rear) where we parked the van alongside a river behind the clubhouse, and headed in for a drink. No sooner had we sat down, the power went out. In the bar, over at the camp site, and to the disappointment of the players outside: on the pitch. So in the darkness of the bar, we drank our beers and listened to stories about shark and crocodile attacks that the barman seemed to delight in telling us.

So it was with the torch on full-beam that we returned to the van, now uncomfortably close to the riverbank. And with half an eye on the surface of the water looking out for anything with more than fifty teeth, we made a quick but excellent curry which we ate whilst watching the myriad stars twinkle above this almost unpopulated corner of the world. Just like everywhere else we had been to, the people we spoke to were so friendly and genuinely interested in our stories that we felt right at home. Whether it was talking with the old guy in the caravan next to ours who had sat with his rod, dog, and reefer by the river for the last five and a half months, or being with the group of regulars in the club that we chatted to long after the lights had gone out. The small Australian towns seemed to have been populated by wonderful people that brought contagious positive energy with them that has consistently left me feeling energised and uncharacteristically cheerful. I've even started wearing bright colours!

After a night in Mullumbimby we headed straight for Byron Bay. The famously alternative end of Australia, popularised decades ago by hippy travellers, and continuing to be one of the must-see locations on the East Coast. First impressions were mixed. There were brightly coloured paintings on the walls and the roads and cool looking people walking through the streets, but just as many cosmopolitan cafés filled with solitary people on their laptops, and shops selling over-priced and unremarkable tat to tourists, as you would expect from a city which has been a popular focal point of travellers for the last thirty years.

But as we explored, the place quickly warmed to us. Many of the boutiques turned out to have plenty of bargains on offer and the food and drink seemed to range across all possible budgets, and all of it was excellent value. And when my stomach is happy, so is the rest of me!

As we arrived we received a text message from our friend Lachlan who we had last seen in Katoomba on Christmas Eve, asking where we were and what we were doing. When we told Lachlan that we were in Byron for the day, we were very surprised to find out that he was here, too – just for the day! And being an Aussie from the Gold Coast, a few hours North of Byron, we were keen to employ his services as a tour guide and point us in the direction of the best action in town. He took us to a couple of excellent pubs for beers and a massive dinner, and helped us find the best hostel in town – a place called The Arts Factory Village which is renowned throughout the travelling scene of the country.

The village was originally formed by arts students and hippies that wanted somewhere of their own in town where they could get together, and a mess of teepees, huts, and shacks built up over the years to form the 4-acre Arts Factory Village – now populated by permanent residents, travellers, 2-foot long monitor lizards, and big colourful brush turkeys. We stayed in a canvass hut known as an Island Retreat out on the creekside with verandas leading to the board-walk to the main buildings at the front and hanging precariously over the tee-tree stained water out the back. The sounds of the wildlife from this secluded place at night and at dawn made it very easily to believe that you were really hundreds of kilometres from the rest of society. The hostel boasted every form of entertainment you could imagine from pool tables, ping-pong, pinball, arcade machines (even classic table-top pac-man!), beach volley ball, plenty of hammocks and sofas to relax in and daily activities to enjoy like making a digeridoo or learning how to massage. But this time through we were on a schedule and were keen to have a look at the surrounding villages. So we stayed for a night and set off the next day for the equally hyped alternative-town of Nimbin.

An Unexpected Festival in Billengen

The journey northwards from Dungog took us through more beautiful mountainous country and then past stunning coves and beaches as we started heading up the coast. We stayed in a caravan park at Nambucca Heads where we took full advantage of the bouncy-castle and urgently required washing facilities, and took in some amazing sites of pristine beaches and bright blue and white surf.

The next significant stop on our route was the sleepy hippie town of Billengen, a little way inland and a few hours south of Byron Bay. The place had been recommended to us by one of the first Australians we had spoken to – a trucker we met on our first day in Sydney – and was reputedly an unspoilt, tranquil little township that had sprung up to serve the community of hippies that had bought land in the surrounding area in the 60s and 70s to escape from pressures of society and city life. It sounded like an idyllic lifestyle, living a free and heedless life subsisting from the land that was bought at a bargain price, but in reality most of these people now worked hard to provide for their families. Until the weekend came around!

As we neared the village, we found out that there was a festival occurring in Billengen, and that for a couple of days the sleepy hamlet would become an entertainment hub for all the nearby communities. People had come from two and three hours away, and everyone seemed to be out for as long as the party would last! Not quite the relaxing break we expected – but never being one to turn down a party, we soldiered on.

Walking down the high street the sounds of music poured from every doorway, street corner and patch of empty grass in the village square. Saxophonists, guitarists, singers, digeridooers (?) and many more were out and having a good time in the sun. The first outstanding act was a pair of singers, one of whom was a keyboardist, who called themselves The Wizard and Oz. 'The Wizard' was the keyboardist – a real virtuoso with a huge white beard and an ability to play incredibly complex jazz melodies with his eyes closed and his head back, lost in his own world of musical ecstasy. They played under a huge fig tree off the high street and they had every onlooker's undivided attention!

The town has one bar, but luckily it's a good one! With several rooms, food served in huge portions, lots of outside space and a big enough stage for some more impressive acts to play on. And so after thoroughly investigating the pub, we left to merrily wander the town looking for a musical end to the evening. We heard a band warming up in a café on the main street – Noam and the Lounge Lovers (a 'lounge' being an Australian term for a sofa) who were an interesting lounge-jazz act playing in a very comfortable and cosy looking café. The only trouble was that the evening's entertainment included dinner. So we grudgingly (ha ha) decided to have a second evening meal and settled in for some great tucker and tunes.

The food was great, spicy Lebanese style cooking, and the bring-your-own booze policy suited us too, as a tasty drop to drink is something we never allow ourselves to run low on! Towards the end of the meal though, after enjoying the music and food to the best we could manage, a group came in who changed the atmosphere completely. Very obviously well into their evening of entertainment, half a dozen women with big smiles and brightly coloured ponchos took over our end of the restaurant, and were quick to strike up conversations with us and assimilate us into their group. It wasn't until we were all hurtling down the cobbled streets to who-knows-where on a horse and cart that we found out their names and discovered that they were hippies from all over the surrounding area who had got together to party over the weekend, exchange cookie recipes, and escape their husbands and children. They had mostly moved to the countryside in the '70s and bought up cheap land to quietly subsist on where they had made lives for themselves in the most beautiful of settings. One even remarked on one of her grown-up sons returning to their idyllic retreat in the mountains where he had grown up, and fitting their home with four much needed walls – though the family had quite happily lived with just a roof suspended in the trees for the last seventeen years!

They all had wonderful stories, lived in places that sounded fantastically picturesque, and had such beautiful personalities. As the night progressed the dancing continued and became more and more amusing to watch. The little sleepy town had become alive with choruses of 'far out' from the hippies, scat and bebop coming from the stages and perplexed remarks from anyone who saw the dancing cross-dresser and were a little unsure exactly what kind of restaurant they had walked in to. It was a brilliant night!

And the next day was just as good. Jazz by the river. Blankets, hippies, and hampers. Jeff Lang particularly stood out amongst the musicians – a slide and rock 'n' roll guitarist who had written songs with people like Chris Whitely – so we decided on seeing him perform again in the evening. In the meantime, there were balloon models to be learnt (Cookie The Clown taught me how to make an great crocodile in return for my kangaroo), plenty of food to be enjoyed, and lots of home-made Anzac biscuits from our new friends to fill up any holes and keep us smiling.

We left with so many new friends that have insisted we visit them in the next few weeks I don't think we're going to be able to get round them all – but I've got a feeling they'll find a way of arranging it so there will be a bit of a get-together when we come back down the coast, and I certainly don't want to miss another opportunity to hang out with these beautiful people.

Heading North

Our plans upon leaving Katoomba were simply to go North. Find some sun, and get back on the road. Our first day of driving brought us to a town a couple of hours north of Sydney called Newcastle, where we spent the night with Rai, a friend we met in Freo on the opposite side of the country. The next day we set off early, and on the recommendation of one of the guys living in the house we had stayed in, we went heading for the Barington Tops and a little town called Dungog.

The drive to Dungog was along small roads girded by dense woodland and meandering river tributaries, and the town itself seemed to be almost entirely situated along one very wide road with a huge pub at each end, and just beyond the town's edge lay the outlying slopes of the Barington Tops – a 25km long plateau of forest which were a pleasure to walk through.

As we were leaving the town after lunch, wondering where we would camp for the night, we saw a hitcher at the side of the road and of course picked him up. His name was Toby and he was going a few kilometers up the hill to the house he and his brother lived in, and it was really something to behold. His family were architects and builders, and this was one of their current personal projects. It was nestled into the hillside amongst a forest of native trees and shrubs. There were patios, porches, perches and decking attached to every side of the house – and from every direction the views were astounding. It was a little spot of pure tranquility.

We drank tea with Toby and walked around his amazing house. Every feature was unique and full of character, from the layout and shape of the network of rooms, to the details of carved possums running up the redwood beams in the living room and around the eves of the house. Tea turned to beer, and looking around the house became looking around the grounds. They had built a pool in a separate building a little way up the slope, and outside that had ponds and fountains, but it was to the boules sandpit that we went, to talk more and lob metal balls until our arms were tired. And as the sun went down we made plans to go to the local pub where we played pool in a huge and nearly empty back room and listened to deafening rock anthems blasted from the jukebox. Toby's brother John joined us when he finished work, and they insisted that we stayed with them for the night. Coming from such a small and remote town they were both always keen to meet new people, so we spent the evening sitting on their patio, or round the fire inside, listening to music at a volume that would have disturbed the neighbors – if there had been any – and telling each other stories about life in Australia.

We set off the next morning and talked about the beautiful people we had met, and how lucky we were to have their hospitality. And as we drove round the sweeping vistas we talked about how lucky they were to have this landscape on their doorstep. And we talked about how we would love to have stayed longer. And how kind it was of them to stay we could have stayed longer. And with those thoughts uttered, we had turned around and were heading back to the 'Hole In The Wall' – named after an Irish pub by Toby's dad, Martin.

Toby seemed glad to see us heading back up the steep driveway, so after another cup of tea we all headed back into Dungog for more beer and pool. When we got back to the house that evening we cooked for Toby and John, and their parents Martin and Heather, and sat on the patio telling more stories and drinking more wine. When their parents headed home we continued to gorge on cheeses and more drinks, and when we were able, headed outside. We went into the woods to look at the huge possums running around, and the views from one of the outer buildings John stayed in, which was like being in a tree-house. And when we could handle nothing more, we watched a classic Aussie comedy called the Castle.

The next day we really did head off. But not before walking around some of the myriad paths that extended in every direction away from the house. Several kangaroos bounded off as we approached the nests they had built for the night, all of whom had been quite happily resting just meters from the house. But if we had to be up this early in the morning, so did they. And so we headed on up the road.

A Surprise in Katoomba

The Sunday before we were due to leave Sydney it occurred to me that I was living my last Sunday in the city and from the moment of that realization I knew that my week would be filled with mixed emotions. There wasn't the faintest element of sadness when I had to walk in to work on the last Monday morning, but strangely there was when I left the office for the last time on Friday. People and places would be missed, but the expectation of things to come made it easier to say goodbye. So with a final meal at the top of Sydney Tower, we said that 'goodbye' and headed on to the next one in Katoomba.

As the little town in the Blue Mountains had always been one of my favourite places, we had plenty of friends there to see before we set off. Clay, who we met in the first week we arrived in the country, had promised to take us to a lookout we hadn't been to before where the rock comes out at on a spur and you can stand with a valley on each side of you and the beautiful mountains stretching away in every direction. But we hadn't counted on one thing restricting the normally distant horizons. A downpour of snow.

It's not uncommon for the temperature to be about 10 degrees cooler in the mountains compared to Sydney, but snow is still a rare sight. And to see it blowing up the side of one valley and being sucked back down the other must have been an ever rarer one. And it was so much colder than we expected, but luckily three-quarters of the van was currently packed with blankets – so we hoped it wouldn't be too bad when we had to start sleeping in it.

But for the moment that wasn't going to happen. A fire in the chill-out hut at the Flying Fox kept out the cold for a while, as did chopping the snow-covered logs, but it wasn't long before the draw of a cozy fireside seat inside drew us in. We had a feast of bread and wine, traditional backpacker fare, and soon forgot all about the covering of white outside.

Off again soon

I have one more day on my contract in Sydney and then I'm off again. 7 weeks meandering up the East coast. I'm hoping to make it as far north as Cairnes (though if I get that far I probably won't chose to spend my time in the city and will push on a bit further) but there seems to be a lot on the way that could prove to be very distracting!

Living in Sydney for the last six months has been great - it's a wonderful city to live in, beautiful to look at by night, and as vibrant as you would hope during the days. I wish I had spent more time out and about town and less time in the office, but I expect now I'll be able to spend the rest of my time in Australia living off fresh fruit, veg, and kangaroo rather than rice, noodles, and more rice; and visiting some of the more revered spots like the beautiful Whitsundays. I might try and get out on a yaught for a few days and see some of the reefs... try bungee jumping or sky-diving... and all those other things I vaguely planned to do when I left the UK 10 months ago.

So the months following my time in Sydney should be a little more action-packed than the months immediately before my arrival. I only hope I don't come across too many good restaurants too soon... always my biggest weakness!

Despite the fondness I have developed for Sydney I can't wait to get back on the road and away from civilisation. First stop is Katoomba to say goodbye to friends there and then I hope to be in Newcastle early in the week to pick up a friend from Freo and we'll all travel together up towards Byron. Beyond that, we've no plans at all. It took a while, but I've learnt that's the only way to travel in a place as vast and constantly surprising as this one!

There are a couple of outdoor raves happening near Byron Bay and I expect I'll make it to at least one, and I hope to meet up with Matt in Townsville, and persuade him to spend a week travelling around the Whitsundays, Fraser Island, Magnetic Island, etc. Then we'll see if I have any money left for anything else!

So take care whatever you're up to, and watch this space for the latest news!

I'll speak to you all soon,

Rick

Photos from all over Australia

Pictures from Tasmania
Pictures from the Blue mountains
Pictures from the Jenolan Caves
Pictures from Albany, WA
Pictures from Western Australia
Pictures from a road-trip across the Nullabor plain
Pictures from Sydney

Suburban Life

Wow. It has been a long time since I've been able to find the few minutes required to write an entry for my blog and actually been in a frame of mind where my thoughts can spill out onto the screen in a coherent and cogent fashion. But now, as I stare at the progress bar on my software installation screen, I can see I’ve got plenty of time to churn out a few reflections on the last couple of months.

The start of the year did not have a very promising or sustainable outlook as we ventured to the most southerly Australian state, Tasmania, with just a few hundred bucks between us. After a couple of weeks of exploration and despite living in the back of a van for the majority of the time our money ran out – and we were forced to take whatever work we could find in the local town of Ulverstone. We were very grateful when it was the simple sounding task of picking cherries that presented itself, and so began a two-week stint in the nearby orchard. If only cherry-picking was as satisfying to the wallet as it is to the stomach! After two weeks in the field, freezing in the mornings and roasting in the afternoons, we had earned around $200 less than it had cost to stay alive, and not even stolen enough fruit to make us ill every day.

It was time to move to the city and get a proper job before we started starving.
First choice was Perth. Living in Fremantle, and doing a 20 minute commute to the City would be a perfect balance of the vibrant culture and easy-going lifestyle of Fremantle, and the accessibility of work and big city life. Second choice would be Melbourne. The restaurants, cafes, and bars would help the time pass much more easily before we would hit the road again. And so it was little surprise that I was offered a contract in Sydney – renowned throughout Australia for transvestites and a big bridge. And I had a week to get there from Tazzy.

Sydney is the capital of New South Wales – the South-Easterly corner of the continent, and Tasmania is several hundred kilometers across the sea South of Victoria, being the most Southerly state on the Eastern mainland. So in keeping with the random and spontaneous nature of our trip so far, we returned to Melbourne, Victoria, and started heading West. We knew we had about 6 days until our holiday would seem a little more remote and inaccessible and so we were making the most of those last few days. We were going to travel the Great Ocean Road.

This stretch of coast-hugging road is a very popular 350km drive with tourists, and would normally take 2-3 days with a couple of good rests along the way. The scenery is Great, as you would expect, but when the mists roll in from the ocean there’s not a lot to do other than sit in the van, get out a map, and plan a route back! So half way through the second day we started to head East towards Melbourne and Sydney, and the lure of Australian suburbia.

This all happened two months ago – so I am now settled into my apartment on the North Shore of Sydney and into my job in the CBD, and have got used to having a bit of spare money again. It’s so much easier to embrace a culture when you’re not restricted to eating noodles in the back of a van, and pretending to enjoy drinking $10 wine from a 5-litre box. One thing that I was happy to return to Sydney for was the fish market, and when Matt came up to visit from Melbourne that was one of the first places we went to! In Tasmania I had been able to walk down to the shore and help myself to mussels and oysters for dinner – but there was a lot of food that I had been missing. The trip to Sydney Fish Market was a great opportunity to indulge in those missed foods. Lunch was a feast! Prawns, octopus, squid, mussels, oysters, fish, and chips. But that was just a starter for our late night dinner: A Thai-style soup of more mussels, yabbies, and lobster. The baby octopus and ‘bugs’ that we also bought just weren’t fitting in the pot, so we even had leftovers for the next day. And the price? Less than you’d spend on a weekday night down the pub. Marvelous!

But it’s not only the food and drink in my diet which has changed as remarkably as my fortunes since coming to the city. I am able to enjoy live music again! In celebration of my new job I went to see Iron Maiden in Melbourne. What a fantastic gig! Every song I wanted them to play, which is quite a few over their 15-album back catalogue, was played brilliantly and loudly – including an awesome rendition of The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner! Then in Sydney, it was all about the music and the restaurants. I went to a Metal festival and saw some awesome bands – though not too many local ones; and I was able to go to the Opera House which I missed on my previous visits. I saw Toumani Diabate and his Symmetric Orchestra – a 78th generation Kora harp player from Mali. Some of the songs he was playing were apparently 700 years old… though quite how anyone found a way of playing recordings that old I don’t know. I can’t even find a way of watching my 10-year old VHS cassettes!

Another hugely important part of Australian suburban culture is the Returned Services League. Ostensibly a club for veterans but in reality it means cheap booze, food, and entertainment for everyone within staggering distance… and my local RSL is about 38 seconds from my front door. I’m yet to go for an evening of poker or afternoon of lawn bowls with the locals (though that will be coming in time) but I’ve certainly enjoyed a glass or two and a snack from the barbecue on their veranda overlooking the hills of the city.

So for the next few months, travelling far is not really an option. Weekend breaks in the mountains or up the coast have been a pleasant occasional diversion from city life, and a week up in Queensland at the end of the month will be a good way to celebrate 3 months of working in Australia and 26 years of being alive. And other than that, you can rest assured I will be eating well, drinking plenty, working hard, and saving for that next big trip: across the North of Australia, through crocodile and digeridoo infested territory, and maybe back to Fremantle and the wicked wines of the West!

First Impressions of Tasmania

Shortly after New Year's Eve – as shortly afterwards as our over-indulgence would allow, in fact – we headed over to Tasmania for what we expect to be a month. Nearly one-week in, my head is swimming with new experiences vastly different from those I had experienced anywhere else in Australia – but this is hardly surprising as not only is every state or territory in Australia very different from the next, Tasmania is a Southerly-island with unique wildlife and climate – making it not only the most southerly rainforest on the planet, but also the only known extant natural habitat for a huge range of strange animals such as the Tasmanian devils and the platypus.

Our first evening in the State started with a very bizarre set of circumstances! Wandering onto a caravan park in Ulverstone and finding no one in the office, I headed round the back to find what I later discovered was the park owner dressed as a clown, indulging in competitive wood-chopping to the backdrop of a country and western band playing out the back of an articulated lorry in the middle of the field. Upon seeing the clown, I foolishly made reference to my recent hobby of balloon-modelling and before you can say 'make me another sword; I broke the last one on Timmy's face' I had been attacked by 150 eager (and in many cases bloodthirsty) children with requests for every balloon model imaginable, from the ever-popular poodle to the slightly more strange teenage-mutant-hero-turtle. So it was several hours later (having made far more balloons in a day than ever before) that I collapsed exhausted into a chair by the van and sank my first beer to the continuing tones of the rock 'n' roll truck band. Bleary-eyed and out of breath, I wandered to the beach in search of escape from the ever-marauding children, and staggered up to a group of people around a fire at the water's edge. A few beers later, we were in a car, heading for god-only-knows, and a club that promising a night of 'doof' (the sound of the bass that travels through the town – doof – doof – doof). On the journey from the car park to the club we saw at least three groups of drunk kids starting fights, and I was then refused entry to the club for being in a vest-top, so it was with much complaint and traditional English whining that we turned tail and went back to the more more pleasant environment of our beach fire. The night would have ended on a disappointing note had we not discovered penguins were nesting next to our tent, having come home from an evening of fishing in the sea, and making the most disconcerting warbling and blood-curdling screeching noises as they waddled around their nightly business. They were fascinating to watch and listen to!

Perhaps for that reason, the next day we went to the intriguingly named own of Penguin, to visit a decent sized market full of local produce; from fruit and veg, to wine, clothes and so many gourmet sauces it was nearly impossible to decide which ones to taste and buy! After picking up enough ingredients to prepare a curry for a small army, and having a picnic lunch underneath a giant concrete fairy penguin, we headed to Latrobe in search of another of Tasmania's native curios: the platypus. The guy that took us up the river showed us how to spot the tell-tale signs that they were hunting under he water, and to watch for where they would likely pop up to feed, and when they were being elusive he had many other things to tell us about the native wildlife.

The following day was a lazy one for all of us. Travelling can be really tiring sometimes! I spent the day walking the beaches and collecting rocks and shells. The range of sea-life washed ashore was amazing, and it's no wonder so many of the nearby penguins looked a bit on the chubby side! The day after we all trooped down to a wildlife park in nearby Trowunna to get our first looks at the Tazzy devils. Incredible creatures, despised by some and loved by many as one of the state's most recognised symbols. They have such strong jaws and digestive tracts that they eat whatever animal they set upon completely; right down to the bones and fur. Two or more of them would wrestle over a wallaby leg in not only an establishment of social hierarchy but also as a practical necessity in order to tear the meat into several smaller and more manageable pieces. There were many more marsupials in the park, too numerous to name and describe, but once again the loveable kangaroos were all around us like the pigeons of Trafalgar – waiting to be noticed, fed, and petted.

There really is so much to do and see on this little island – about the size of England but with only half a million inhabitants. Every drive is an uneventful and peaceful one, every café or restaurant is sure to be able to fit you in somewhere, and even in the major cities rush hour only lasts 10 minutes! We have spent several days wandering around mazes, looking for tea rooms, camping beside lakes and rivers. I even tried my hand at fishing, but have not yet had any luck – despite choosing the largest and most appetising grasshoppers to bait my hook with. We have swum in lakes in the morning, trekked through caves in the afternoon hunting glow worms and evil looking cave-dwelling crickets and spiders and been on whole afternoons of culinary exploration in honey farms (I must have tried 50 different sorts before settling on a red chilli honey, a strawberry honey cream, and ice creams made with leatherwood honey and boysenberry) and salmon farms, and every kind of berry farm you can imagine!

Even the thought of it is making me hungry again, so I must go and see about cooking up something delicious!

Christmas and New Years Eve in Australia

Our adventures over West finished, our plans were to return to the Blue Mountains for Christmas. We were a little earlier than we had intended to be, but were looking forward to seeing the Flying Fox again and getting back into our tent overlooking the beautiful valley below. We had a prime position when we got there – right on the cliff edge; and were only a little nervous once or twice when thunder storms came rolling over the mountains, or when it was pointed out that the cliff was eroding at a speed of around 15 feet a year!

Settled in, we started looking forward to the beginning of the festive season. It could very easily have passed us by, though – as it was so understated. No tacky decorations in windows, or lights in the streets. People are jolly already when it's the height for summer so there isn't the same need to cheer people up as there is back home where Christmas is celebrated in the middle of winter. But with a few cards arriving in the post from people back home, and a calling in the back of my mind reminding me of the need to go out and get a Christmas stocking, Christmas was celebrated in the usual drunken and bloated fashion.

Our first night out was back down to the Jenolan Caves, where previously I had enjoyed long afternoons wandering among the crystals and underwater streams. I started the day with a walk through one of the largest open caves I had ever been in, romantically named the Devil's Coach-house, in which I was able to find some formations only found in three other caves worldwide and a few small fossils in the limestone walls. After this, we trooped into a cave called the Lucas Caves (named after a politician that had done much work to ensure the preservation of these 450 million year old national treasures) and up to a 54m high cavern known as the Cathedral. It was in here that we had an evening of Hungarian gypsy music performed by two East-European musicians (a guitarist and violinist) to the dramatic lighting of crystal walls and stalactites and the eerie accompaniment of a dozen bats which flew around our heads throughout the performance. The evening ended in a very festive session of over-indulgence of cheese and wine and much chatting with the musicians.

A couple of days later, Christmas Eve was upon us. This is an important day for many of the people at the hostel – the Germans, French, and Danish, for example – as this would be the main day of celebration back home. Two of the French guys, Nic and Alex, organised a massive spread of salads, pastas, and cold meats to which 30 people sat down and gorged. Many a drink was spilt and mince pie dropped on the floor before the festivities were over!

Christmas Day, on the other hand, was a considerably more relaxed affair. Morning started with the traditional opening of presents (in the tent, of course) before the making and serving of canopies in the hostel began. Smoked salmon, cream cheese, pates, and exotic fruit were the main things on the agenda – but again, the mince pies stole the day (I now have a new personal record for consumption throughout the day). Unlike the previous day however, when it had been warm well into the night, Christmas Day was dull, dreary, and cold – so it was with nostalgic but familiar resignation that the day was filled with board games, log fires, and warm brandies.

The lull between Christmas and New Year's Eve was filled with many more evenings of indulgence. As most people at the Fox were there throughout the period, it was starting to feel like a close family, so t was reluctantly that we said goodbye to our friends and went for a couple of days excursion down the coast. Myself and Sian enjoyed a couple of lovely sunsets and sunrises on picturesque beaches, early morning swims, and late afternoon pub-lunches in places with beautiful names like 'Fairy Meadows'.

We returned to Sydney for New Year's Eve – one of the biggest parties in the World, and one of the first areas the New Year is welcomed in. We met up with friends from Katoomba and went in search of fun and festivities in the town. Our initial attempt to get into the Botanical Gardens was scuppered at the last minute when they declared the place full-to-capacity; but it wasn't long before we found a bar in which to collect our thoughts and plan a new strategy. When the New Year arrived we were stood on Piermont Bridge where we had views of several of the barges in the water, much of Harbour Bridge, and most of the buildings throughout town where more fireworks were to be launched. When they started erupting, they were all around us. It was impossible to know where to look! Everyone shouting 'look over there!' and pointing in every direction imaginable. And the vibe of the whole city afterwards was fantastic. Everyone in the whole city seemed intent on congratulating everyone on being alive at the start of a new year for at least the next 36 hours. And although everyone had warned us of the crowds, it wasn't uncommon to be 40 feet behind the person walking in front as we strolled through the festival!

New Years Day was a scorcher! Starting the day earlier than ever before, we headed for the swimming pool where we cured hangovers with ice creams, sangria, and swims until we were regrettably sunburnt, but deeply satisfied.