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
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Suburban Life
Wow. It has been a long time since I've been able to find the few minutes required to write an entry for my blog and actually been in a frame of mind where my thoughts can spill out onto the screen in a coherent and cogent fashion. But now, as I stare at the progress bar on my software installation screen, I can see I’ve got plenty of time to churn out a few reflections on the last couple of months.
The start of the year did not have a very promising or sustainable outlook as we ventured to the most southerly Australian state, Tasmania, with just a few hundred bucks between us. After a couple of weeks of exploration and despite living in the back of a van for the majority of the time our money ran out – and we were forced to take whatever work we could find in the local town of Ulverstone. We were very grateful when it was the simple sounding task of picking cherries that presented itself, and so began a two-week stint in the nearby orchard. If only cherry-picking was as satisfying to the wallet as it is to the stomach! After two weeks in the field, freezing in the mornings and roasting in the afternoons, we had earned around $200 less than it had cost to stay alive, and not even stolen enough fruit to make us ill every day.
It was time to move to the city and get a proper job before we started starving.
First choice was Perth. Living in Fremantle, and doing a 20 minute commute to the City would be a perfect balance of the vibrant culture and easy-going lifestyle of Fremantle, and the accessibility of work and big city life. Second choice would be Melbourne. The restaurants, cafes, and bars would help the time pass much more easily before we would hit the road again. And so it was little surprise that I was offered a contract in Sydney – renowned throughout Australia for transvestites and a big bridge. And I had a week to get there from Tazzy.
Sydney is the capital of New South Wales – the South-Easterly corner of the continent, and Tasmania is several hundred kilometers across the sea South of Victoria, being the most Southerly state on the Eastern mainland. So in keeping with the random and spontaneous nature of our trip so far, we returned to Melbourne, Victoria, and started heading West. We knew we had about 6 days until our holiday would seem a little more remote and inaccessible and so we were making the most of those last few days. We were going to travel the Great Ocean Road.
This stretch of coast-hugging road is a very popular 350km drive with tourists, and would normally take 2-3 days with a couple of good rests along the way. The scenery is Great, as you would expect, but when the mists roll in from the ocean there’s not a lot to do other than sit in the van, get out a map, and plan a route back! So half way through the second day we started to head East towards Melbourne and Sydney, and the lure of Australian suburbia.
This all happened two months ago – so I am now settled into my apartment on the North Shore of Sydney and into my job in the CBD, and have got used to having a bit of spare money again. It’s so much easier to embrace a culture when you’re not restricted to eating noodles in the back of a van, and pretending to enjoy drinking $10 wine from a 5-litre box. One thing that I was happy to return to Sydney for was the fish market, and when Matt came up to visit from Melbourne that was one of the first places we went to! In Tasmania I had been able to walk down to the shore and help myself to mussels and oysters for dinner – but there was a lot of food that I had been missing. The trip to Sydney Fish Market was a great opportunity to indulge in those missed foods. Lunch was a feast! Prawns, octopus, squid, mussels, oysters, fish, and chips. But that was just a starter for our late night dinner: A Thai-style soup of more mussels, yabbies, and lobster. The baby octopus and ‘bugs’ that we also bought just weren’t fitting in the pot, so we even had leftovers for the next day. And the price? Less than you’d spend on a weekday night down the pub. Marvelous!
But it’s not only the food and drink in my diet which has changed as remarkably as my fortunes since coming to the city. I am able to enjoy live music again! In celebration of my new job I went to see Iron Maiden in Melbourne. What a fantastic gig! Every song I wanted them to play, which is quite a few over their 15-album back catalogue, was played brilliantly and loudly – including an awesome rendition of The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner! Then in Sydney, it was all about the music and the restaurants. I went to a Metal festival and saw some awesome bands – though not too many local ones; and I was able to go to the Opera House which I missed on my previous visits. I saw Toumani Diabate and his Symmetric Orchestra – a 78th generation Kora harp player from Mali. Some of the songs he was playing were apparently 700 years old… though quite how anyone found a way of playing recordings that old I don’t know. I can’t even find a way of watching my 10-year old VHS cassettes!
Another hugely important part of Australian suburban culture is the Returned Services League. Ostensibly a club for veterans but in reality it means cheap booze, food, and entertainment for everyone within staggering distance… and my local RSL is about 38 seconds from my front door. I’m yet to go for an evening of poker or afternoon of lawn bowls with the locals (though that will be coming in time) but I’ve certainly enjoyed a glass or two and a snack from the barbecue on their veranda overlooking the hills of the city.
So for the next few months, travelling far is not really an option. Weekend breaks in the mountains or up the coast have been a pleasant occasional diversion from city life, and a week up in Queensland at the end of the month will be a good way to celebrate 3 months of working in Australia and 26 years of being alive. And other than that, you can rest assured I will be eating well, drinking plenty, working hard, and saving for that next big trip: across the North of Australia, through crocodile and digeridoo infested territory, and maybe back to Fremantle and the wicked wines of the West!
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!
Friday, January 11, 2008
First Impressions of Tasmania
Shortly after New Year's Eve – as shortly afterwards as our over-indulgence would allow, in fact – we headed over to Tasmania for what we expect to be a month. Nearly one-week in, my head is swimming with new experiences vastly different from those I had experienced anywhere else in Australia – but this is hardly surprising as not only is every state or territory in Australia very different from the next, Tasmania is a Southerly-island with unique wildlife and climate – making it not only the most southerly rainforest on the planet, but also the only known extant natural habitat for a huge range of strange animals such as the Tasmanian devils and the platypus.
Our first evening in the State started with a very bizarre set of circumstances! Wandering onto a caravan park in Ulverstone and finding no one in the office, I headed round the back to find what I later discovered was the park owner dressed as a clown, indulging in competitive wood-chopping to the backdrop of a country and western band playing out the back of an articulated lorry in the middle of the field. Upon seeing the clown, I foolishly made reference to my recent hobby of balloon-modelling and before you can say 'make me another sword; I broke the last one on Timmy's face' I had been attacked by 150 eager (and in many cases bloodthirsty) children with requests for every balloon model imaginable, from the ever-popular poodle to the slightly more strange teenage-mutant-hero-turtle. So it was several hours later (having made far more balloons in a day than ever before) that I collapsed exhausted into a chair by the van and sank my first beer to the continuing tones of the rock 'n' roll truck band. Bleary-eyed and out of breath, I wandered to the beach in search of escape from the ever-marauding children, and staggered up to a group of people around a fire at the water's edge. A few beers later, we were in a car, heading for god-only-knows, and a club that promising a night of 'doof' (the sound of the bass that travels through the town – doof – doof – doof). On the journey from the car park to the club we saw at least three groups of drunk kids starting fights, and I was then refused entry to the club for being in a vest-top, so it was with much complaint and traditional English whining that we turned tail and went back to the more more pleasant environment of our beach fire. The night would have ended on a disappointing note had we not discovered penguins were nesting next to our tent, having come home from an evening of fishing in the sea, and making the most disconcerting warbling and blood-curdling screeching noises as they waddled around their nightly business. They were fascinating to watch and listen to!
Perhaps for that reason, the next day we went to the intriguingly named own of Penguin, to visit a decent sized market full of local produce; from fruit and veg, to wine, clothes and so many gourmet sauces it was nearly impossible to decide which ones to taste and buy! After picking up enough ingredients to prepare a curry for a small army, and having a picnic lunch underneath a giant concrete fairy penguin, we headed to Latrobe in search of another of Tasmania's native curios: the platypus. The guy that took us up the river showed us how to spot the tell-tale signs that they were hunting under he water, and to watch for where they would likely pop up to feed, and when they were being elusive he had many other things to tell us about the native wildlife.
The following day was a lazy one for all of us. Travelling can be really tiring sometimes! I spent the day walking the beaches and collecting rocks and shells. The range of sea-life washed ashore was amazing, and it's no wonder so many of the nearby penguins looked a bit on the chubby side! The day after we all trooped down to a wildlife park in nearby Trowunna to get our first looks at the Tazzy devils. Incredible creatures, despised by some and loved by many as one of the state's most recognised symbols. They have such strong jaws and digestive tracts that they eat whatever animal they set upon completely; right down to the bones and fur. Two or more of them would wrestle over a wallaby leg in not only an establishment of social hierarchy but also as a practical necessity in order to tear the meat into several smaller and more manageable pieces. There were many more marsupials in the park, too numerous to name and describe, but once again the loveable kangaroos were all around us like the pigeons of Trafalgar – waiting to be noticed, fed, and petted.
There really is so much to do and see on this little island – about the size of England but with only half a million inhabitants. Every drive is an uneventful and peaceful one, every café or restaurant is sure to be able to fit you in somewhere, and even in the major cities rush hour only lasts 10 minutes! We have spent several days wandering around mazes, looking for tea rooms, camping beside lakes and rivers. I even tried my hand at fishing, but have not yet had any luck – despite choosing the largest and most appetising grasshoppers to bait my hook with. We have swum in lakes in the morning, trekked through caves in the afternoon hunting glow worms and evil looking cave-dwelling crickets and spiders and been on whole afternoons of culinary exploration in honey farms (I must have tried 50 different sorts before settling on a red chilli honey, a strawberry honey cream, and ice creams made with leatherwood honey and boysenberry) and salmon farms, and every kind of berry farm you can imagine!
Even the thought of it is making me hungry again, so I must go and see about cooking up something delicious!
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!
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Christmas and New Years Eve in Australia
Our adventures over West finished, our plans were to return to the Blue Mountains for Christmas. We were a little earlier than we had intended to be, but were looking forward to seeing the Flying Fox again and getting back into our tent overlooking the beautiful valley below. We had a prime position when we got there – right on the cliff edge; and were only a little nervous once or twice when thunder storms came rolling over the mountains, or when it was pointed out that the cliff was eroding at a speed of around 15 feet a year!
Settled in, we started looking forward to the beginning of the festive season. It could very easily have passed us by, though – as it was so understated. No tacky decorations in windows, or lights in the streets. People are jolly already when it's the height for summer so there isn't the same need to cheer people up as there is back home where Christmas is celebrated in the middle of winter. But with a few cards arriving in the post from people back home, and a calling in the back of my mind reminding me of the need to go out and get a Christmas stocking, Christmas was celebrated in the usual drunken and bloated fashion.
Our first night out was back down to the Jenolan Caves, where previously I had enjoyed long afternoons wandering among the crystals and underwater streams. I started the day with a walk through one of the largest open caves I had ever been in, romantically named the Devil's Coach-house, in which I was able to find some formations only found in three other caves worldwide and a few small fossils in the limestone walls. After this, we trooped into a cave called the Lucas Caves (named after a politician that had done much work to ensure the preservation of these 450 million year old national treasures) and up to a 54m high cavern known as the Cathedral. It was in here that we had an evening of Hungarian gypsy music performed by two East-European musicians (a guitarist and violinist) to the dramatic lighting of crystal walls and stalactites and the eerie accompaniment of a dozen bats which flew around our heads throughout the performance. The evening ended in a very festive session of over-indulgence of cheese and wine and much chatting with the musicians.
A couple of days later, Christmas Eve was upon us. This is an important day for many of the people at the hostel – the Germans, French, and Danish, for example – as this would be the main day of celebration back home. Two of the French guys, Nic and Alex, organised a massive spread of salads, pastas, and cold meats to which 30 people sat down and gorged. Many a drink was spilt and mince pie dropped on the floor before the festivities were over!
Christmas Day, on the other hand, was a considerably more relaxed affair. Morning started with the traditional opening of presents (in the tent, of course) before the making and serving of canopies in the hostel began. Smoked salmon, cream cheese, pates, and exotic fruit were the main things on the agenda – but again, the mince pies stole the day (I now have a new personal record for consumption throughout the day). Unlike the previous day however, when it had been warm well into the night, Christmas Day was dull, dreary, and cold – so it was with nostalgic but familiar resignation that the day was filled with board games, log fires, and warm brandies.
The lull between Christmas and New Year's Eve was filled with many more evenings of indulgence. As most people at the Fox were there throughout the period, it was starting to feel like a close family, so t was reluctantly that we said goodbye to our friends and went for a couple of days excursion down the coast. Myself and Sian enjoyed a couple of lovely sunsets and sunrises on picturesque beaches, early morning swims, and late afternoon pub-lunches in places with beautiful names like 'Fairy Meadows'.
We returned to Sydney for New Year's Eve – one of the biggest parties in the World, and one of the first areas the New Year is welcomed in. We met up with friends from Katoomba and went in search of fun and festivities in the town. Our initial attempt to get into the Botanical Gardens was scuppered at the last minute when they declared the place full-to-capacity; but it wasn't long before we found a bar in which to collect our thoughts and plan a new strategy. When the New Year arrived we were stood on Piermont Bridge where we had views of several of the barges in the water, much of Harbour Bridge, and most of the buildings throughout town where more fireworks were to be launched. When they started erupting, they were all around us. It was impossible to know where to look! Everyone shouting 'look over there!' and pointing in every direction imaginable. And the vibe of the whole city afterwards was fantastic. Everyone in the whole city seemed intent on congratulating everyone on being alive at the start of a new year for at least the next 36 hours. And although everyone had warned us of the crowds, it wasn't uncommon to be 40 feet behind the person walking in front as we strolled through the festival!
New Years Day was a scorcher! Starting the day earlier than ever before, we headed for the swimming pool where we cured hangovers with ice creams, sangria, and swims until we were regrettably sunburnt, but deeply satisfied.
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.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
A week driving across Australia
Australia is an Island. It is a country. It has a single currency; and a single language is spoken across nearly all of the land - so it is not unlike most countries in those respects. But Australia is also a continent all on its own. It's vastness is incomparable in my admittedly limited experience, but I can now make some sense of the dimensions in terms I understand. Driving from one side to the other offers a unique and unparalleled view of what it means for a country to be 3500km from one side to the other.
We started in Fremantle; a beautiful town just south of Perth on the West coast. The Great Eastern Highway runs from this town across to our first stop, the twin town of Kalgoorlie-Boulder, 560km away. This was the first instance where I wanted to travel to a town hundreds of miles away without having a great desire to stop off at the other towns along the way. I'm sure these places we were to travel past had a reason for being there once, but nowadays most of them exist purely to serve the motorists trying to get somewhere else; supplying the inexperienced and unprepared with food, water, and petrol.
We stopped just outside 'Kal' for the night at a town called Coolgardie. This is where gold was first found by a pair of Irishmen who happened to camp nearby and within 2 days had collected over 200 nuggets of gold which were just lying in the dust. Now though, the original town is a network of dirt roads with small wooden signs to mark the places that buildings once stood, and what remains is a couple of shops to service the visitors, and a campsite we stayed in. Camping here was comfortable, both for us on an airbed in the back of the car and for the two other English guys we were traveling with in their tents outside. Power sockets and lights were conveniently close to our pitch, as was the bbq and 'kitchen' – a sink and draining board around the back of the toilet block. This sort of campsite was at the top end of the scale in terms of location and facilities – more often than not, we would simply pull up beside the road at a rest area and make our camp behind some trees!
The next day we entered Kalgoorlie-Boulder early on, and checked into our hostel – a converted 'tin-shack' brothel from the original gold rush days of the 1850's. Prostitution is illegal across Australia – but exception is made in towns such as this where the predominantly male population are so isolated from the more inhabited parts of the country – and several brothels still operate in the area, run exclusively by Madames, including an original tin-roof shack from the gold rush era in the same road we were staying in. It was a particularly classy area. Advertisements written in chalk outside one of the bordellos, the Red House, included the phrase "Nothing in the world is more expensive than a woman who is free for the weekend." And for the miners that don't frequent these places, or who are just having a night away from their favorite girls, there are many 'skimpy' bars where they can get a cold beer served by an even colder young lady!
Other than prostitution, Kalgoorlie's main industry is gold mining, which it does on a monumental scale. The 'Super Pit' is already 3.5km wide, 5km long, and almost 1km deep – and is set to get a lot deeper with the massive trucks, each with a digger the size of a small house at the front, capable of carrying 270 tonnes of material on each run. We were able to explore one of the old mineshafts which descended hundreds of levels, and see how the mining used to be conducted – with impossibly noisy 'screamer' fans and hammer drills that sounded like machine gun fire. We watched the smelting process, visited graves of old prospectors, and were even able to pan for gold, the profit of which now sits safely in my wallet and must increase my net worth by many hundredths of a penny!
After stopping off at the most remote pub we had yet come across: an apparently recently refurbished collection of graffiti-covered corrugated iron and wooden planks 40km from another building, we traveled 200km south to join the Eyre Highway which would take us the next 700km to the state border, our next destination, and beyond. We drove 192km down this highway to a small refelling town Belladonia where we set up camp for the night. This town was so remote that all commodities, even water, had to be brought in by truck – massive 88-wheel road trains known as big jiggers – and everything here was consequently hugely overpriced. Imagine the mark-up on everyday items in service stations on a UK motorway. Then imagine that the owners of that service station knew that you had been traveling for 3 hours and not past another building or sign of civilisation, and that the next place to get your petrol is almost a day's drive further down the road. This is not the sort of place you want to pull into with an empty tank, or a dry mouth! We pulled into a rest area, and made camp in the red dirt next to the vast expanse of bushland, and after trying to piece together the scattered bones of a sun-bleached kangaroo skeleton, settled down for a good nights rest. There were still a lot of miles to travel before we reached a real city again.
Just after Belladonia we reached the longest piece of straight road in Australia: the 90-mile Straight; 146.6km without a single deviation. Time to set the cruise control and take a nap! By now, the bush out of the window had begun to change from forests of trees to sparse brush with only the occasional tree – often just a lightning-burnt skeleton – intruding into the horizon. The red dirt that typifies Australia was everywhere, and when we camped up overnight the wind would whip it up into tornado-like willy-willies that covered everything. One guy we spoke to on the journey told us that he still has red dust staining a shirt he was wearing when he did the journey four years ago!
At the West Australia / South Australia border, Eula, we came across a signpost which gave us an idea of exactly how far we had traveled. It kindly informed us that since we left the vicinity of Perth we had traveled 1435km; but we still had 2522km to travel before we got to Sydney.
The rest of the journey to Adelaide, where we were to leave our driving companions to join a coach trip the rest of the way to Sydney, was a pleasant but largely uneventful drive as we watched the gradual change of scenery from desert, to bush land, to trees, and back to civilisation at Port Augusta. We stopped at several scenic points of interest to marvel at the vistas of beaches, cliffs, waves, and wildlife. The road we traveled was mostly in a straight line, or a very gradual curve, occasionally we would see signs that warned that it was also an emergency airstrip for the Flying Doctor service which can get to anywhere in Australia within two hours – an amazing feat considering it was taking us five days to cross it by car.
At several points on the journey we could see smoke on the horizon indicating a bush fire in the distance, and we later learnt that lightning from a storm had started several fires that had been burning across the Nullabor Plain for days. One such fire was still going when we passed it three days after the storm. At first it looked like the flames on the horizon were going to remain far away as we drove parallel to them; but after a few kilometers we were getting close to the fire and could smell the smoke as it blew towards the car. At its closest, the trees at the side of the road were in flames just feet away from us – so it was with windows closed and foot down that we went past the worst of it!
Once we had crossed the Nullabor, we reached Port Augusta. The first proper town (with a population over 50) that we had come across for days. The trees, buildings, and people must have been a welcome sight for anyone that had spent serious time out in the desert and bushland that we had just come from – but the town held little charm after the romance and solitude of the desert – so it was a final trip through the back-roads that we took from there to get to Adelaide about 2-3 hours away.
And so we parked up in Adelaide: the capital of South Australia; Got out of the dirtiest car I had ever been in, that had been my home for the last two weeks, and collapsed into a real bed for the first time in a week. My head was still swimming with a thousand different views of the country, but I had the satisfaction of knowing I had done something most Australians never do; crossed one of the harshest deserts in the world – and I finally understood what being a big country actually meant.
Check out the pics below:
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:
Saturday, December 8, 2007
A week Hitch-hiking through the South West
So with our chores in Albany complete, we set about planning the next leg of our journey. We knew we wanted to be back in the Blue Mountains for Christmas – so that gave us five weeks to travel back across East; through Western Australia, Southern Australia, Victoria, and New South Wales. A journey that would probably be between 2000 km and 3500 km depending on our route.
So we set off back East in a way that typified all of our excursions so far. By heading West.
We had friends from Albany that were going to be travelling towards the eastern states, and we thought it would make sense to have a bit of an adventure and join them for part of our trip. The only problem was they were already several hundred kilometres away in the Margaret River – and Albany, being even less of a transport hub than the Isle of White is, did not give us any way of getting there.
So it was time to hit the highway, and try a bit of hitching!
Australia has attached a particularly negative stigma to hitch-hikers; partly because of the 1992 Backpacker Murders (which are still going through the Australian courts) but also because of the continued trouble that is being caused by some of the hitchers and the people that pick them up. In the last week for example, two stories regarding hitchers made the news: One where a hitcher pulled a knife on the guy who picked him up, and one where a young girl who was hitching was thrown from the moving car by the three guys that had picked her up. In the two months we have travelled so far we hadn't seen a single person thumbing a lift. So we knew persuading people to pick us up wouldn't be simple.
We got a lift to the highway with some friends from Albany Backpackers, and sat by the side of the road to wait. Main roads in Australia are not the same as you see in Europe. A car came along every few minutes. When it was a busy stretch. So we amused ourselves in between these periods with games, like noughts-and-crosses in the dirt; and by pretending the passing cars were listening to our pleas as they approached and curses as the zoomed straight past!
But after about half an hour we were picked up by a spiritualist called Sue, originally from Wales, who had seen us when she was driving in the opposite direction on the highway and had been told by her 18-year-old son that on her return trip she should help us out. And it seemed she was more than happy to! Everyone we were picked up by turned out to have travelled around and hitched in their past, so they knew what it could be like. We got a few stories about Sue's life – how she left her stressful career in the city to go and live on a farm in the middle of nowhere, received a few tips on hitching, and were dropped off about 100km down the road at a small town called Denmark.
For quite a while I stood by the road with my thumb pointed at the sky. Denmark was a little busier than the highway we had originally used, so cars came by about every 30 seconds. It had been half an hour, and it was now midday so I was getting hot. I took a break and went and sat on some swings out the back of the church we had been stood outside. And the second I had started swinging (it was good fun!) Sian managed to get us a lift! This turned out to set the president for the journey as apart from our very last lift, Sian managed to get every other one! We were picked up by an octogenarian called Ian who lived in a little community (15 families in 150 acres) in an area called William's Bay. He told us a bit about his travels (he'd just spend 5 months in Europe) and dropped us down the road from his place – telling us that if we didn't manage to get a lift then we should come and stay with him for the night. Everyone we met on this journey was really nice!
From this place, I saw my first Australian eagle! I think it was a wedge-tail, but I'm not too sure. It was circling a field next to us, and once or twice I saw it go down for the kill! There were also a couple of kangaroos in the field, though they didn't stick around for long. They were the closest wild kangaroos we had seen so far... but the day wasn't over yet! From this point, we were picked up by a guy towing a battered old ute – he'd been at a burn-out party that weekend. He introduced himself as Wombat and with his wild head of hair and ripped AC/DC shirt, we knew this character was going to entertain us for a little while!
He dropped us off at Bow Bridge, near Walpole, and here we waited for our next lift. It was getting on for evening time now, on a Sunday, so the traffic was non-existent. At times it would be ten or fifteen minutes between cars, and none were stopping. After about an hour, new got asked if we wanted to go to Peaceful Bay – but this wasn't towards the town we wanted to get to for the night so we declined. Another hour went by, and we again were asked if we wanted to go to Peaceful Bay. We'd had enough standing around by now, it was getting dark, and rather than sleep out in the open we thought we'd see if Peaceful Bay would provide us with anywhere to stay.
We got into the car with a retired couple who had been living in the Bay for the last 12 years, in a house that he, Owen, and his son had built 35 years previous. Anne and Owen turned out to be the loveliest couple you could hope to meet. They bickered away to themselves most of the journey, correcting each other as they tried to point out local history and interesting stories, and they took us to a caravan park they finally agreed would be the best place for us to stay. Peaceful Bay has a permanent population of 65, with a few roads of holiday-homes, a B&B, caravan park, and a small hotel. And it lived up to its name. After Anne and Owen had seen us into our caravan they insisted on giving us directions to their house and telling us to meet them for morning tea! So we thanked them, said goodbye, and went exploring.
We followed a little path through the bush land, enjoying the wildflowers and the tranquillity, and as we were leaving the national park and returning to our caravan park we saw the first kangaroo of the evening. Maybe 30 feet away and very aware of us, he allowed us only a few moments to take photos before he hopped up the road. So we kept walking up to the sea. The cove we came across was beautiful and completely devoid of people. Our own beach! And so we walked along the headland over the sand dunes enjoying the last of the days heat and light. And then we saw the rest of the kangaroos! Half-a-dozen were feeding on the beach as we reached the crest of a dune, only a few feet away. They bolted pretty quickly and I took great pleasure in having the opportunity to skip after them! At one point I was scanning the middle-distance looking for signs of them and two or three times looked across the horizon before realising that there were two 5-foot creatures just fifteen feet away, staring straight at me!
After a very refreshing sleep we went to meet up with Anne and Owen again. We breakfasted on biscuits and freshly made tea, and had a lovely morning listening to stories and telling our own. This couple couldn't have been nicer or more helpful! They even insisted on making up some lunch for us, before taking us back to the road to Walpole.
The flies were out in force that morning. Within seconds we were both covered with what must have been more than 50, and they swarmed over our bags making them look like particularly bountiful choc-chip cookies. It was with great relief that we were picked up by Erika after about twenty minutes. She was leaving Peaceful Bay, having dropped her sister there for a week of Spring Break. She took us all the way from there to Bunbury – about 400 kilometres. And from there, we took a bus the last bit of the way to the Margaret River.
Margaret River is famous mainly for the wine and gourmet food which attract the tourists and Australians alike. But we didn't see much of that. After a couple of days of enjoying the countryside and the beaches myself and Sian were off again. We decided we'd try to hitch to Fremantle to be there for her birthday.
So we were waiting by the road with our thumbs erect once more!
The first person to pick us up was a trucker! Our first lift in a truck, and it was a little intimidating. It's the truckers hat spend 6 days of the week away from any other living person that most of the horror stories mention. But John turned out to be a great guy! With stories of life on the road, and life out on his boat, and his time travelling with underprivileged Aboriginal children. He told us about Bunbury and told us he'd love to show us around if we called him one day. He even called later that day to see if we'd managed to get to Fremantle! A typical friendly Australian!
After a couple of hundred kilometres we left John (he'd driven further than he needed to in order to drop us off in a better place to pick up lifts) and I adopted my position hidden behind a tree, leaving Sian by the road to reel in the drivers. We must have had about 6 people stop in the first 20 minutes, but none were going far. So it was with some relief that Henry pulled up in his BMW V8 and offered to drive us early all the way. Henry had travelled a lot, so it was good to talk to him about that, and I didn't even mind when he started talking about his car, because it was to say how fast it was... and within an hour we'd down about 160 km and it was time to get out again.
Our last lift of the day was my one successful attempt to get picked up! An elderly guy with a big white beard and long hair driving a very comfortable but old van pulled into the lay-by behind me, rolled up to where Sian was sitting before quickly reversing back to me. He didn't pick up women as a rule because they were 'the dangerous ones!' But he loaded our gear into his van and whistled, clicked, and popped his way to Fremantle.
We'd hitched a thousand kilometres in a few days, and it was time to kick back and have a party, in one of the most eclectic, interesting, foody and boozy towns I'd come across. Needless to say, it was a great weekend – filled with beer, food, drum circles, digeridoos, and lots and lots of sun!
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!
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Too long in Albany
As I write this, I see the end in sight!
Imagine that you're presented with a huge Christmas dinner with all the trimmings: turkey, stuffing, little sausages wrapped in bacon, roast potatoes, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, and buckets of veg – and then you're told you're only allowed to eat the sprouts. Albany is like the sprouts. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with the little green chaps, in fact, I really quite like them! But if you were stuck with just them when you knew what else was on offer, you'd understand what it is like to be in Albany for four weeks.
Albany has a population of around 35,000; is the site of the first English settlement in Western Australia in the 1830's; and was largely established as a whaling colony before turning itself over to tourism. And after doing very little here other than look for work, do the work, and resent the work; I was finally able to get out and see some of the real reasons people might visit this little 'city'.
After leaving the immediate vicinity of the high street and travelling just a few hundred meters in any direction, you are met with kilometre after kilometre of sprawling countryside. Albany itself seems to 'occupy' 40 or 50 km of coastline, which must make it one of the least dense cities I have come across so far. In some places, you can travel close to a kilometre before seeing a building! And during that time you might have to find ways of coping with the scenery: acres of brush; herds of cattle, deer, or kangaroo; picturesque mountains; and oceans and lakes peppered with black swan, ibis, and pelicans. And occasionally a sign pointing to a nearby tourist spot or winery.
Today we went to three of the key attractions of Albany: The Natural Bridge, The Gap, and The Blow Holes.
The first is a bridge. A naturally occurring bridge. Limestone blocks hang above the water, supported by the force of their own weight and sheer determination! The structure looked incredibly sturdy – and is easily big enough for several people to walk across abreast – but we chose a very stormy day to come down there, and I wasn't about to risk falling into the churning swells below.
The Gap was the primary attraction at this place, though. And we'd picked a perfect day to visit it! Erosion has torn a gash in the limestone cliffs that tower over the southerly waters of Albany, and has left a wide inlet, 30 meters high and 10 across, into which the waves can thunder. And on a stormy day the waters crash with such force they hurl themselves up the cliff side and shower into the air. The surrounding area was incredibly wet from the force of these waves, even though they had to expend much of their energy scaling the sheer faces of the cliff. Some of the jets of water were 10 meters over our heads, and there was a permanent rainbow hanging in the mists they left behind.
The last place we visited is a geological phenomenon I had not seen before – a blow hole! A similar principal to the Gap had created huge caves and caverns underneath the cliff at a point a little East of the Natural Bridge; but rather than the waves crashing up the cliff face, they found a way through the weaknesses in the rock and gush up through small holes at the surface, in a thunderous whooshing like a whale clearing it's own blow hole. I suppose that explains the name!
And having seen those three sites, and a couple more (such as walking through the tops of the 60m trees at the Valley of the Giants... check out the pictures!) it's time to be off. We now have an Australian driver's license and the rest of Western Australia is calling!
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!
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