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.

Friendly Local

Alice to Tenant Creek

After such a poor night's sleep in Alice Springs last night it's a relatively short drive up to our next stop at Tenant Creek, and mercifully uneventful as well.

About 90km south of Tenant Creek we pass through the area known as the Devil's Marbles.

It's too hot for the camper van again so we decide upon an air-conditioned cabin in the Tenant Creek campsite. After settling a bit we pop over to the camps bar for a quiet drink where we meet Ron and Sandra.

Ron and Sandra fall into the grey nomad category, retired, kids grown up and then they bought a caravan and have been travelling round Australia for the past 3 years. Which kind of makes our trip seem a bit puny. We share a couple of cold ones and chew the fat for an hour or so, content with the knowledge that it's not all nutters up here.

A Different Country

Whilst buying four beers in a bottle shop in Alice, I was confronted by a situation which put a new perspective on this part of Australia. I was asked for I.D., as was everyone else in the shop. And my driver's licence was scanned into a system which can check ID from some 50 odd countries.

I know the reasons why, and I won't pretend that I understand the minutiae of the UN intervention in the Northern Territory because I've read enough patronising tourist drivel to know that it's not that simple, but it still takes you back when something that you take for granted at home and in most of Australia suddenly becomes quite sinister. My namby-pamby, artsy, lefty, liberal pretentions were offended (mildly of course).


But, as I say, I'm just a tourist.

Three Nights in Alice

14/11/08

Fatigue is slowly beginning to catch up with us and the temperatures are just getting warmer and warmer, especially at night. So, with this in mind, we book into a cabin in Alice springs for three nights.
The air-con is off when we enter it and the walls are just blasting out heat so we switch the fans on to DEFCON 1 and sit around like rednecks in our undies until it cools down.

Today we're deciding to go to either the Alice Reptile Park or the Desert Park. One is small and nearby, one is large and slightly farther away. The decision is made for us when we enter the Reptile Park and they're doing a snake handling session in reception. Off to the Desert Park it is.
Initially this doesn't seem like a great idea either. The park is deathly quiet, it's quite large and it's the middle of the day in the middle of the warmest part of Australia. But what the heck, we arm ourselves with a couple of audio guides and head round.

This proves to be a very good idea.

Thorny Devil

The Desert Park is a seemless recreation of all the desert habitats, flora and fauna included. It gives a really good idea of how what we've been driving across for the past week isn't quite as empty as it seemed. With a little bit of knowledge the desert can come alive.
After a couple of hours of wandering round the park we pick up some supplies in Alice, take them back to camp and then cycle back in to town for a cool one.

Mandy suggests Bojangles for some local flavour. This is a place where locals used to bring in their pet goannas, crocs etc. and the floor was covered with monkey nuts. It's not quite so rough and ready anymore but it still retains a good down-to-earth feel, whilst being wholly comfortable with it's tourist appeal.
Then something strange happens. Something distantly familiar is going on here. And eventually we realise, you can smoke in pubs in the Northern Territory! Not that Mandy is fussed about this but I'm quite happy to have a piece of good old pre-social-engineering pubbery back.

With this familiar feeling instilled we remain for a few more and sample some croc rissoles, kangaroo fillets and emu sausage before cycling home.

15/11/08

Today is gonna be a quiet one. Not only is there a hangover to be considered, but there is the realisation that there's still 1500km to drive to Darwin, and it's also raining again! We make an effort to head out to the MacDonnell Ranges but the weather is against us, and the very real threat of flash floods is upon us.
So we have a slow easy day, cycle into town to take photos of Bojangles and head back to watch England vs New Zealand in the RLWC.

After about 7ish things start to get weird. The guy in the cabin next to us starts shouting, initially we think our tv is too loud because the walls are paper thin. Then he keeps coming out onto his porch and shouting abuse, at who we have no idea. I figure on leaving it until the footie finishes. But it just gets weirder.
Not only is there shouting with no reply, but there is a lot of banging and thumping going on, interspersed with forays out onto the porch to call whoever he hates a 'gutless c**t'.
It's hard to write how serious this is beginning to sound, I've had plenty of experience of wasted neighbours making a racket and usually they exhaust themselves and fall asleep, or you go round and tell them to can it. But there's something about this guy's voice that sounds more than that. I can't see the guy so I'm finding it hard to judge what to do. He sounds more than drunk, he sounds psychotic. The banging and crashing continues as does the psychotic accusations, and still no other voices.
I think about phoning the police but of course we have no reception, and anyway we reckon they'll just come round, tell him to shut up, and then go, leaving us with an even more pissed off psycho next to us. Not a scenario for a good night's sleep. Also the campsite reception is closed and there's no mention of any security number or such.

I'm thinking about driving to the police station in town, even though I've had a couple of beers, but this just doesn't seem like a good idea. So Mandy suggests getting in the camper and moving over to the other side of the park.
And in what will seem to anyone reading this like a completely ludicrous scenario, we sneak out of the cabin, into the van and move it to the other side of the park in-between other vans. I wouldn't say this produced a perfect night's sleep, but I can guarantee it was a lot better than listening out all night for the slightest creak of a door. The van at least was a bed which was capable of driving away from (or over) people.


16/11/08
In the morning things seem a bit more manageable, as everything usually does. So we head back to the cabin to get the rest of our stuff and checkout whilst informing the staff of their maniac guest.
I briefly think about confronting the nutter now that it's daylight, but, unfeasibly, he has already left.

Mandy informs reception about what happened and they express disbelief, until she mentions that it sounded like he was trashing the place. Making it a bit more personal for them.
Then we leave, quite gladly.

Whilst looking for the road up to Anzac Hill I take a wrong turning and we find ourselves stopped in front of a rare sight; the Todd river is in spate. The saying is that if you see water in the Todd river 3 times then you're a local, and it's obviously a rare thing as everyone is coming down for a gander.


And I guess I feel slightly privileged, but I still want to leave as quickly as possible.

The Todd River (including water)

Alice from Anzac Hill

Uluru to Alice Springs

After a couple of hours sleep I think about getting up and going down to Uluru for sunrise. But when I open the curtains I witness the strange site of bucketfuls of rain pouring down.

This not only makes the decision void but cools the air enough for me to doze another couple of hours.

When we finally fully awake the rain has stopped and there is a nice cool feel like the desert is breathing again. We head down to Uluru for a closer look, but having had little sleep and with a decent drive ahead of us to Alice Springs, we opt not to walk around the rock. The option to walk up it is not available to us due to predicted high temperatures, but I'm fairly sure I wouldn't do it anyway. The real 'owners' of the place have stated many times that they would prefer people not to; not only is it a sacred site but the local aboriginals feel a very real and very deep responsibility for the rock and anyone who ventures upon it, and people being the idiots they are, it causes distress when something happens.



Everyone has their own view about this, but I'm quite happy to respect the people who've been here for thousands of years and besides, if you climb the rock all you get is a view of the surrounding desert, whereas if you stand at the bottom you get to see the rock, which is what we came to see.