Stella and Sydney

Theresa and sleepy Stella

Reluctant swimmer

Other people's toys are great

The Meerkat has muscles now

Chow time at Aaron and Theresa's

3 blokes and a BBQ

Back in Sydney

We hit Sydney at about 11ish at night. We've organised a shuttle bus to a nearby hotel as it's much too late to ask anyone to trudge down from the Northern beaches and pick us up. The shuttle bus is late and is driven by the type of truculent, ignoramus who really shouldn't be dealing with tourists, especially ones who've just travelled about 5,000 miles.

The hotel is, well, pretty crap really. I appreciate functionality and especially in what is essentially a stop-off for businessmen, but this feels more like a disused hospital. The bar is empty, apart from two pissed-up businessmen who feel the need to trumpet their puny attempts at humour as loud as possible to compensate for the lack of atmosphere. They are, of course, POHMs. The 'hilarity' is further enhanced by the introduction of a Swiss man into the bar. Hitler jokes and World Cup jibes abound, which only serves to confuse the Swiss guy, who remains predictably neutral.

The bar shuts early and we head for bed.

The next day we're up and off back to Avalon, where we started this journey, and, weirdly enough, it's a year to the day since we arrived.

We spend some time chilling out and figuring what our next step is.

Strahan to Hobart

This is one of those days that's all about travelling. We've had to squeeze as much as possible into our week on Tasmania, and we've tried to cover all four corners of the island, but this is our last day.

The trip from Strahan takes us right through the heart of the Tasmanian Highlands which is beautiful and bleak in equal measure. I wish we had more time here but at least I know we're heading back to Scotland soon so we'll get plenty of wind blasted moorland and craggy peaks there.

Since we have to hand the van back at 4pm then hop on a plane back to Sydney, there's not a lot of sightseeiong being done today. Though we do make a couple of necessary pitstops in Queenstown, and somewhere else I can't remember.

Queenstown is a mineral mining town and though it's lusher than Coober Pedy it still has that 'South Park' feel about it. I'm never sure how to feel about mining on this scale, on one hand it's visually quite awesome, but not exactly natural.

At about 3 minutes to four in the afternoon we drop the van off and walk across to the airport to spend a couple of hours waiting for our flight to Sydney.

And Tasmania gives us a delightful send off.

Cradle Mountain to Strahan

After our less than successful tour of Cradle Mountain National Park, we saunter down the highway to Strahan.

Strahan is a very pleasant coastal town, marred somewhat by a recent spate of mass suicides by whales and dolphins. Literally hundreds have floundered on various beaches around Tassie as this article shows.

Still, there are no signs of cetacean self-destruction today and we sip a few beers in the hotel beer garden overlooking the harbour before taking an early night.

Devonport to Strahan (and apparently Cradle Mountain)

We head down from Devonport to Strahan, although this isn't our intended destination. The main stop of the day is Cradle Mountain National Park. The road steadily climbs up into the tasmanian highlands through a series of twisty bends, and the scenery begins to remind me of wester ross in Scotland. Though a lot mossier(?)

As we ascend up to the plateau it becomes clear why moss loves it here, it's wet, very wet. And when we leave the camper to buy permits for the national park the rain is horizontal and bloody freezing. The kind of cold that 'would take the face aff ye'. This is more like December in Edinburgh, but it's Australia, but then again we're quite high up and on a small island poised above the Antartic Ocean.

We buy our permits and drive down to the car park which overlooks the Cradle Mountain track. As we arrive the cloud lifts slightly, and gives us a tiny glimpse of thPost Optionse magnificent peak. But only for about 30 seconds. The rising mountainous vista around us is slowly replaced by snow. Snow! In December, in Australia, Paul Hogan never mentioned this. But here it is, a complete whiteout.

The germinating idea about doing some hiking today is speedily withdrawn and we settle into the back of the van with cups of coffee and tea, and laugh heartily at the foolish attempts by a group of students, clad in hipster jeans and waffer-thin blousons, to tough out the blizzard.

So, for the second day in a row, there are no photo opportunities.

Well, not of any great scenery anyway. We return to the visitor centre and take a small walk around the river and through some glorious deciduos woodlands, reminiscent of Hansel and Gretel (if it was set in a forest in Scotland in December). Further adding to the gingerbread atmosphere is the constant presence of wallabies and echidnaes.

And a group of doddery Italian tourists, whether confused by the weather or the wildlife, we know not.

Freycinet to Devonport

There reall isn't much to say about this day and I considered leaving it out to be honest. As we head north from Freycinet we aim for Launceston, but we stay about 15 minutes and decide not to bother staying any longer. The campsite is miles from town and it doesn't look like there's much to do anyway. So we head off to Devonport.

Which is not a great idea either. It's like any port I've ever been to, functional at best, and the weather has deteriorated so we make good use of our little LCD tv.

Freycinet Peninsula

Wineglass Bay

The Freycinet Peninsula is one of those world class destinations which Australia is crowded with.
Again it's a national park so access is controlled, which helps it to retain its natural glory.

Oyster Bay

There isn't really much to say that the photos don't convey better.

Back to Jail Again! What's the deal?

After a very relaxing weekend in Hobart we pack up our gear again and revert back to the moveable hotel that is the camper van. Our hi-ace did us a treat in Australia, but we're starting to get fussy now. It's not about having a huge van with plasma tv's, spa baths and the like, it's about finding the one that makes the best use of limited space. And I think this is the one.

I don't care how nerdy it is but I'm beginning to really enjoy this RV business, and here she is, basically a hi-lux but with a winnebago conversion. Toilet, shower, lcd tv, kitchen etc. but, best of all the bed is permanently erected in the space above the cab., so no faffin about at night.

So suitably chuffed at our luck we head from Hobart to Port Arthur.

Now there were obviously a few penal colonies in Australia in the early days, and most weren't exactly aspirational but, apparently, Port Arthur was a place where even the most hardened crims were reluctant to go.


To be honest though it's pretty difficult to get a sense of that now with it's picture perfect setting, beautifully coiffured lawns and perfectly preserved buildings. Even the dead have their own little island. One thing that does strike you though is the scale of the place, it is vast.

As you enter you are given a playing card with a name and a 'profession' on it, then you follow different paths round the exhibition depending on what hand you were dealt.




After the exhibition we wander round the colony, take a quick sail round the harbour and then head back to the camp site before returning for the Ghost Tour. Even for cynics like me the ghost tour is excellent. The placid nature of the place turns quite eery at night, and we are led into various creaky old buildings, the morgue and the nuthouse. And for my cynicism I am made to go at the end of the string of tourists with only an oil lamp to keep me from the dispondent hordes clawing frantically at the darkness outwith its feeble glow. Unlike me, our guide really plays the part without hammin' it up.


Despite all its history and the recent tragedy as well, (google it if you want to find out more as I don't want my ignorance of the facts to convey disrespect), Port Arthur is a strangely serene place, and well worth a visit.

The Perfect Saturday (?)

After the hectic pace in Melbourne it's good to spend some time in a more relaxed city. Mandy recommends the Salamanca markets, so we head down there.

As a rule I am fairly non-plussed by markets (unless they involve food), maybe it's something to do with my silversmith training, but generally I get a bit snooty about the level of craftsmanship at most markets. Swathes of 'efnick' jewellery, endless rows of tat and pieces of whittled burr elm do nothing for me.

However, Salamanca market is different. Firstly it's big. Secondly, it mixes music, food, clothes, drink and crafts. And thirdly, the quality of most of the stalls is pretty high.

Not a good indication of how large Salamanca Market is

Brunch beckons in the shape of a Bratwurst roll. The obligatory cheese is purchased and much tasting of local produce is pursued. I even buy a t-shirt, for the first time in over a year, a true indication that I'm more of an Edinbugger than a west coaster now.

Of course location helps, and Salamanca is pleasantly located right next to a row of coffee shops, bars and restaurants.

So after perusing the stalls for a couple of hours with the pleasant strains of pan pipe music wafting over us, we make for an apperitif.

Taswegian Times

As Perth is quite far out of the way we head down to Tasmania for a week. It's only a 40 minute flight from Melbourne to Hobart so we're in at around 8.30am.

There is always a part of your brain which struggles to come to terms with travelling. Some small piece just can't quite come to terms with new surroundings and desperately searches for familiarity.

Sometimes you think you see a familiar face from back home, and sometimes it's just the vibe.

And so it is, when we arrive in Tasmania, that my brain convinces me that we're in New Zealand. And though this feeling shrinks as the days pass it never fully leaves.

I have to watch what I'm saying as people are as proud (or parochial) here as anywhere else.

The shuttle bus drops us off at the Tourist Information office as it's too early to check in to our hotel. We heave our bags into the office and I ask the 'mis-information' officer for distance and directions to the hotel.

He is aware of the weight of our baggage, he is also aware of the geography of Hobart. I am aware of only one of these facts. He does not, however, put these two facts together and tells me that it is an easy 10 minute walk to the hotel.

And so after struggling up a 45 degree slope for 40 minutes we arrive at our hotel. Luckily enough our room is ready.

The Mayfair on Cavell is a quirky (not in a bad way) place. Our room is full of retro furniture from the 50's till the present day, all fully functional. It's not some tacky attempt at retro chic, nor has it just not been updated, but manages to blend a feeling of homeliness with it's quirkiness.

If you like minimalism, it's not for you.

I Wanna Be a Spaceman

Not a particularly early rise today and we head to Federation Square for brunch. We stop at the 'installation' on the corner. The 'Eco-Cafe'. It's a fully functional experiment in making a cafe/bar as environmentally responsible as possible.


A simple construction of recycled wood lined with straw. Tables made from recycled wood, chairs from recycled roadsigns, glass jars for mugs etc.
A good idea, considering how wasteful the hospitality industry can be.

I realise that I haven't bought a t-shirt in almost a year so we head to Victoria Markets for a look round. No joy.

A bit more wandering, stopping off at Hosier Lane to view the excellent graffiti on show.





Then down to Chinatown for a chaotic meal before having an early night. The taxi picks us up at rude o'clock tomorrow morning.

I almost forgot to mention that on the way to Chinatown we come across the cheesy hilarity of the 'Sonic Manipulator', busking alter-ego of artist, musician, inventor Claude Alan Woodward. Wrapped in a bacofoil suit, trimmed with rope lights and armed to the teeth will all manner of 'theramine', effects pedals and sonic trickery, I don't think I can explain how funny this was and maybe it was a 'you had to be there' moment, but a visit to his website will help. http://www.sonicmanipulator.com/

The Martians are Here

Heath Robinson Sculpture

Of all the cities we've been to in Australia, leaving Melbourne is the hardest. The place has a buzz about it and ticks all the buttons whether you like high art, street art, sport, food, drink, walking or whatever.

Fitted Up Like Kippers

View from Rialto Towers

It's time for a bit more activity today so we walk into town and head for the Rialto Towers to get a bit of perspective on the city.
Although at 253m high it's only Melbourne's second highest building, the thought of the glass floor in the Eureka Skydeck is just a bit much before breakfast.

Romantic Architecture

We wander for a bit deciding what we want for breakfast. Melbourne is just a top notch city for eating in, there's thousands of restaurants, cafes, bars and every type of cuisine you can think of.
But in this instance the outdoor crepe bar wins, a decision which is helped along by the fact that they're playing Manu Chao on their stereo.

After brekkie we spend a good few hours wandering around the city and hopping on and off of the tram.

Then we decide to go to jail.

Initially we just want to wander round Melbourne's old Gaol at our own pace, but the guide suggests that we take the 'tour'. And although a bit wary, we do.
From the moment that the Sergeant opens the Gaol Doors, brings you in one at a time and gives you a charge sheet, you start to get an impression of what life was really like in this place when it was active.
The role playing element is very lightly used, but the tour guide is an actual police officer who plays his part pretty convincingly.

We all knew it would happen sooner or later

We are filed into the charge room, spared the cavity search, then marched into the jail where our hands and feet are checked for contraband. We are then taken into an actual cell and locked in darkness for 3 minutes.
Even though there are about 8 of us in a cell it's still quite an eery experience with an audio background of deranged mumblings and threatening jibes.

Happiness is a padded cell

When you gotta go.....

It may not sound like it, but this was a lot of fun, and a better experience than just wandering around a disused building.

After we are freed we then wander round the older Gaol which was where Ned Kelly was hung (hanged?).

Then down to the beer cafe at Federation Square.

We're hungry from jail so it's down to the South Bank of the Yarra and some Turkish tapas (meze) at Kouzina.

South Again

We arrive in Melbourne in early afternoon and get an extremely informative and amusing shuttle bus to the hotel. It's good to be back in the leafy city and experiencing comfortable temperatures again.

After checking in we wander into town. Melbourne is one of those cities which you can just wander around, sit down and watch the people go by. I think I've mentioned before that it doesn't have Sydney's geography, but this just seems to have given it the impetus to make itself that much more easy to live in. It has a very human scale. And it also has an integrated transport infrastructure. The city circle tram is free and the ideal way to get your bearings as a tourist.

This is a take it easy kind of day, so we do.

Darwin in a Daze

19/11/08

Somewhere in mid-afternoon we arrive in Darwin, capital of the Northern Territory. We go to the Tourism Office and ask for available accommodation. We are given the option of a hotel room for a reasonable price or a room with kitchen for slightly more, we opt for the kitchen option as this means we can save a bit of money by cooking for ourselves.
The room is booked for three nights and we drive down to the hotel. We check-in, take the lift up to the room and discover that it doesn't have a kitchen. It's 35 degrees, really humid and we've just driven 7000km so we're a bit cheesed off.
I go to reception and tell the receptionist what has happened and she offers no solution, and to be honest we really couldn't be arsed moving hotels now, so I tell her to at least phone the Tourism Office and tell them that they've screwed up. Again there is a polite but impenetrable response. The room is nice, there is a good swimming pool and we're knackered so we call off any hostilities for the moment.

We spend the rest of the day chilling and avoiding the fierce sun as much as we can.

20/11/08

Apart from a visit to the Northern Territory Desert Park the rest of the week here in Darwin is spent recovering from the journey; combating the heat and humidity whilst still trying to get out and about; and realising why this is the beginning of what is known as 'suicide season'.
I've never fully understood humidity having never been in the tropics for any length of time. And my cursory glances at my google homepage often told that Sydney was 30 degrees and 48% humidity, where Edinburgh was 10 degrees and 78% humidity. But after a few days in Darwin I understand that humidity has almost no relevance until you apply the notoriously harsh Australian sun.







So basically it's somewhere between 35 to 40 degrees, which in itself makes you feel like the 'long pigs' we supposedly are, just stuff an apple in your mouth, turn round a few times and you're done. But given that the air is saturated with moisture, your body sweats and the sweat has nowhere to go. So it doesn't evaporate and carry off body heat with it. It's at this point that I wonder how much of the humidity is previously evaporated sweat. Hmmm...

All in all it takes its toll and after a couple of days we both feel a bit 'crook' from dehydration and overheating.

Luckily there is 'Hairy Lemon' to save the day (basically a yellow berocca). Like revenge, 'hairy lemon' is definitely best served cold as it's one of those things that tastes like it's doing you good. But once it has warmed up the yellow liquid takes on a more 'uric' quality.

This is however quite appropriate as it tends to dye your pee bright yellow if you drink enough quickly enough. This is something that wouldn't have bothered me had I not forgotten about it and stood at the top end of a busy public urinal. Cue concerned looks.

Anyway, enough about bodily fluids, and onto the more important subject of facial hair. It's been about 6 weeks since I shaved, not entirely a conscious decision but more some kind of half-hearted sacrifice to the gods of road safety. Though I'm not sure that giving up shaving can be considered a sacrifice.
Either way it's time to get rid of the growth as it really doesn't suit the conditions up here.

Also it fits in nicely to the peculiarly Aussie tradition of Mow-vember, whereby Aussie men (and possibly some women) sport various extravagant beard and moustaches during the month of November. The serious side of this is that it's done in an effort to promote awareness of prostate cancer and other male health issues.

As ever, humour is the best way to deliver a serious message and a large amount of the populace partakes in the 'event'.

So in the spirit of this, I decided to join in with more than a small nod to good old Rolph. Judge the results for yourself.


21/11/08

The rest of the week in Darwin was spent sorting out what we're doing from here on in. The fickle deities of immigration have at last been kind and we've been allowed a few weeks extra in Aus.
This gives us the chance to explore a little bit more and also to visit Aaron and Teresa and their new daughter before we finally leave the rain forsaken island.
So as we're in the far North of the country, the only sensible thing to do is to head down to Tasmania (?).

Before we do any of this we have to get rid of all the camping miscellany we have gathered over the past few weeks, and Darwin is backpacker central so that shouldn't be too difficult. You'd think.
The first hostel Mandy goes into looks at her with a mixture of disbelief and contempt.

'You want to do what?'..
'Give us a load of free almost new camping gear which we can sell to backpackers and make a 100% profit?'
'I'm sorry we don't do that.'

Whit?

Anyway, I have better luck at the next place and they are quite grateful, especially for the Scrabble set. Anyone who has spent several weeks camping with their partner will understand.

We then leave our bikes unchained in the hotel car park and hope that fate delivers them to deserving owners, although it will probably be a speedy dissolution into rusty puddles.

Thus the great road trip is over and we're back to aeroplanes, check-in, baggage allowances, economy seating and airport security.

Mataranka to Darwin

This is our final leg to Darwin and sees us pass termite mounds in increasingly large cathedrals. This one at Pine Creek was a good medium sized one.
Next stop is Darwin where we have a couple of days to decide how we are getting back home, and where I can stop concentrating on what might be about to bound out from the side of the road.

We've been lucky though, not one road train has overtaken us all the way up the middle, and no suicidal animals have interrupted our termite mound spotting. So all in all it's been a relatively easy trip.

Time to relax.

Tenant Creek to Mataranka

Our last stop before Darwin is Mataranka. The outstanding feature of this drive are the termite mounds. The belief is that there are more termites on earth than all other creatures added together. It's one of those facts that it's hard to appreciate until you visit somewhere like the Northern Territories, but for the past 1000km we've been driving alongside termite colonies which line the side of the road as far back as you can see, and who knows how much further than that. So if there are millions in each one then it's perfectly plausible that there are more termites just in Northern Australia alone.

To combat boredom we try to see who can spot the biggest one. Here's just a tiny sample...

Inbetween termite mound spotting there is the unnerving site of smouldering trees and bush at the side of the road. Again we're suddenly reminded of our vulnerability out here. Luckily enough there has been rain passing over head and the fires have dampened down, but you never know what's round the corner.

What I didn't expect round the corner was peacocks. Surrounding us while we were filling up with petrol.
Arriving at Mataranka Homestead we opt again for a cabin as the sweat is pouring from us as soon as we leave the van.

There is a mildly disconcerting drive along the nearby Flying Doctor Service runway to reach our cabin. Here we are greeted by, well, you guessed it...

A very pretty concierge.

Mataranka Homestead has natural hot springs running through it and a large colony of fruit bats, which should keep the mozzies down a bit.

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