My Travels

A Backlog of Blogs

2010-01-07T03:45:00.000-08:00

2009 was like the Friday of the decade. It had been a long week full of excitement, adventure, and life-changing experiences – but I was tired and went home early to have a very lazy afternoon.

That’s not to say I didn’t accomplish much that year, just that it was the more sedate and simple things that entertained me such as catching up on missed television programs, drinking with old friends, and certainly not blogging about my experiences.

But 2010 is now here: ‘The Year of the Future’, ‘The Year of Change’, ‘The Year of Progress’ (and apparently also ‘The Year of the Girl Guide’.) And for me personally it will also, at least in part, be the year for catching up on my blogs.

I wrote many travel blogs in 2007/2008 because I was doing lots of things which I felt were exciting, for myself and hopefully for one or two others that know me. I enjoyed writing them immensely, and the occasional feedback I received was always very encouraging; and given my tendency to forget – I think it was a valuable way for me to consolidate the memories that otherwise might have drifted off into obscurity.

So now I start a mammoth task: to remember 2009! I have a few photos at hand to try and stir my hippocampus into something resembling normal activity, a pot of fresh coffee at my side, and a host of music from the last year at my disposal to try and awaken those forgotten thoughts and emotions.

I will be organising my posts not by the dates they are eventually written, but by the dates the events I discuss actually happened. In that way, I hope to produce a diary of 2009 which doesn’t all occur in the first few weeks of 2010! I will publish them in no particular order, but will add a note to this blog as each one is written.

So it is with a promise that I will try to make my next blogs much more interesting than this one that I now begin....

Addendum...

‘Back in the UK’ added – 20th September 2009

Back in the UK

2009-09-20T03:50:00.000-07:00

It was with much sadness that I left the wonders, warmth and whimsy of Australia behind me and returned, prematurely I felt, back to the UK. I had made so many friends, seen so many fantastic things, and been to so many exotic places that the previous year had swept past me with the speed and force of a tornado, leaving me a little dazed and dizzy in much the same way.

The plan was to arrive at the beginning of October 2008, find a job as soon as possible, and be back Down Under three months later. I was determined to make that happen! I spent the first two weeks mainly locked away in the eaves of a barn with Internet-based recruitment portals as my only friends, and took the first role that was offered to me. The money was average, the project was vague, but I could work remotely, and that would give me plenty of time to catch up with my friends!

Rather than live in Leigh where I had been immediately before I departed, I was staying in the countryside of Burnham-on-Crouch, as my family home had been sold in my absence (parents are like toddlers when they get to a certain age – you should never leave them unsupervised!) And Joe, my mother’s partner, very kindly agreed to take me in. So in a back room of his converted barn I worked away on my employer’s website during the week, and returned to civilisation at the weekends to catch up with the friends I had missed whilst I had been abroad.

I managed to balance my life pretty well. I was saving money by not having to travel to work and by sponging off my mum, and so fairly quickly I had paid off my debts, paid for my next visa for Australia, and had money in the bank for the flight back.

Realising time was short, I was keen to resurrect Super Monster Destroyer – the greatest comedy metal band to ever wear Christmas lights and stuffed turkeys on stage – and we organised a Christmas Spectacular, rocking loud and long into the night, and even managed to have Santa Claus deliver presents to all the good (and bad) boys and girls that came to see us. This was certainly the highlight of my first few months back in the UK – to play again with some of the most amazing friends and musicians I have had the privilege to be amongst, and get royally wasted in the process.

After Christmas, for various annoying reasons, the return trip to Australia was not yet ready to happen. So I postponed for another three months, and decided a change of strategy. I had my money, I had worked hard and been far away from my friends, so now was the time to start celebrating being back in England throughout winter and spring.

I sensed that my mother and Joe wanted their space, and I would be omitting all the facts if I said that it wasn’t at the forefront of my mind too, so I moved in with some great and longstanding friends back in Leigh. The house was large and very comfortable, the entertainment was always on hand, and the pool was freezing cold. What a daft time to live in a place with a swimming pool! It really made me miss Oz and the warmth! So before long I was planning some trips away! If I was going to be stuck in the Northern hemisphere, I didn’t have to remain in England!

And so in February I visited my family in the Prague. In March I visited my friend in New Delhi, and we spent some time in Manali in the Himalayan foothills. And in so doing, being unable to return to Australia wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

Truth be told, I loved being back around all my friends. Most of whom I had known for so long that the time apart was like it had never happened. I was able to see friends’ bands, like Scratton Road and Dark Matter Transfer; Meet new additions to the various social circles I had left behind like the new role-players and photographers I met. We had some excellent reunions in familiar and homely locations like the Leigh Seafront and The Elms pub; and had I not so often been drinking a little bit too much, I would probably be able to categorically say (rather than assume) that I had some very deep and meaningful conversations!

Those three months passed quickly – and instead of getting straight in a plane and returning to the place I was still thinking of as ‘home’, another delay scuppered my plans. Spring was now here, and summer was approaching as fast as it could in England, and it seemed silly to delay another three months just to disappear as the Australian winter was in full swing and the British one just beginning – so I decided that I would wait out the summer. Before I left Australia everyone had told me that if I went back I would be gone for at least a year but I refused to believe them, and here I was making plans that would ensure I would be doing just that.

I was determined to make the most of my time in England though. I arranged to go to the mighty Roskilde Festival in Denmark to see some astounding bands, and meet with some very beautiful people; the new Dark Mills alternative festival in London, and I was also keen to have another Edinburgh festival before I ventured to the other side of the world.

In between these various trips I spent my time working for the same awful company, and tempering the irritation that came with that by role-playing with my friends, visiting shows and gigs, photographing anything and everything I saw, and trying to meet new people.

I ended up living in Burnham on Crouch again. For a while back at the barn – which in just the few months I had been away had transformed into something so drastically different it was practically palatial – with beautifully tended flower beds, large daisy-speckled lawns, newly planted trees and pot plants on a newly constructed patio, and decking around the swimming pool which was just crying out to be exploited on a long summer evening. When I had out-stayed my welcome again [or maybe a few weeks after that point] I moved into a cottage down the road where I could have my own space, leave my mess around the house, cook stinking foods in the kitchen, and not worry about disturbing anyone with the screeching noises coming from my guitars or computers.

Moving to this place was more of a blessing than I had expected. I was further away from the expensive temptations of the town, and so began slowly to save up some of the money I had spent on my too-frequent overseas trips and jaunts down the pub, and met several new people who really made my time there fantastic. The sort of people that made sure they were around to see me off before I finally left the UK, and brought more wine than sense to make sure that we had a fantastic night to remember (through the little windows the booze left us to look back through). I learnt to shoot traditionally longbows, made by Joe, and even cooked my first bit of road-kill (if you want a recipe for worm-stuffed pigeon give me a call!) The evenings by the water were as stunning as those spent cycling through the corn fields, and to have that last glimpse of quintessential English life before I left was just what I needed to temper my normally all-too-jaded outlook.

So sincere thanks and love goes out to all who made that year more than bearable (and apologies for including such a corny ending to my first blog in a year.) Thanks to all of my family who I know made sacrifices to bring me much happiness. Thanks to Robbie, and Darryl for being so much fun to rock out with; Gaz, Vince, Mark, Matt, Stu, and Jim for being very entertaining role-players and great friends; Liesl, Jeni, Keeley, Tina, Joel, Leo, Pete, Dan, Hayley, Jeff, and many more for being wonderful people to talk to and to listen to me – in and out of good times, and in and out of the pub! Steve and Scratton Road, and the crew from DMT for making my ears cry with joy and scream in pain (respectively); Fatts and Amy for their generosity and humour when we were up in Edinburgh, and Juan for his amazing cooking and unparalleled cheerfulness; Ian for being a constant source of provocative thought, inspiration, technical and spiritual guidance, Mike and Dave for being wonderful friends I would love to have known for longer, and everyone else (I know there are many of you) who I have not mentioned here but who I will always love very dearly.

A Day on the Great Barrier Reef

2008-09-21T19:28:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-14T19:23:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-02T18:33:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-26T18:43:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-24T18:42:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-21T18:41:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-21T18:37:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-19T18:34:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-17T16:49:00.001-07:00

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

2008-08-11T16:42:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-07T00:50:00.001-07:00

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

2008-04-02T19:17:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-01T22:04:00.000-07:00

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

2008-01-11T17:42:00.000-08:00

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

2008-01-02T17:37:00.000-08:00

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.

A week driving across Australia

2007-12-23T20:04:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-08T22:11:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-24T18:20:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-18T18:52:00.000-08:00

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

2007-10-29T03:03:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-28T19:50:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-28T19:49:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-17T04:20:00.001-07:00

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

2007-10-09T05:07:00.001-07:00

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

2007-10-09T04:37:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-04T05:32:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-13T01:37:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-06T01:36:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-26T01:35:00.000-07:00

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

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

2007-06-25T01:40:00.000-07:00

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.