Australia 16/01/2010 to 18/02/2010

In this instalment: more pies, big things, strange wildlife, wine, fines, surfing and old friends.

Piccies are at http://picasaweb.google.com/vemcharrier as life is too short to put them pixel by pixel here.

Melbourne

We arrived late in the evening. Due to me being overeager to show the interior of my bag to a bio-customs official we were further delayed on grabbing our cab into town. It was Saturday night, and the cabbie had trouble discerning what I was saying. Perhaps V would have to do the talking.

Checking in at the hostel they had no record of us. I told the guy at the desk to look for a name close to mine. There was a Buddy booked in from the day before who had not shown up. They had already charged my card for that night. Not a good start. Our room had no private bathroom and the communal facilities were like an IRA dirty protest.

I went to chat to the bloke at reception once more and he informed me that none of the rooms had their own wet unit. ‘Not what I had been told on the ‘phone, friend’, was my reply.

In a royal huff we settled down to sleep only for me to be woken by some French outside our door at 4am. So woken up not by a rooster this time but by a bunch of Coqs.

Our neighbour had a word but they brushed her of and it was only when the night warden threatened them with expulsion – apparently they were repeat offenders – that they moved.

V slept all through this and the person throwing up outside our door at 6.00am.

Early, I went to take a shower and there was a girl who had been sleeping in the hallway and not booked into a room. There were bodies sleeping in the cinema, illegally too. A shambles.

V gave some expert chew next morning but we had to call back to speak to the manager to get our cash back (which we did). We checked out early and I called Rach (my friend from university) and begged to stay with her.

After getting a sim card for the phone (that took a day to be activated) we grabbed a train to the nearest station to where Dave and Rach have their ranch. Well perhaps it is not Camp David proportions but it is about the size of Kansas and they gave us the tour in a Land Rover.

Scones for lunch and following a fine dinner cooked by Rach they gave some pointers on what to see on our trip it was time for bed. A very fine bed it was too, as we had some serious trouble getting out of it the next morning.

With Dave and Rach at work, we took the train back into town for a bit of a look around. Munching on a kebab we chatted to a French lad who had left his hostel as they had hiked the prices for the Australian open. Everything was booked out and we gave him some directions of some hostels to try (and one not).

At the Melbourne Gaol we saw Ned Kelly’s armour, gun and the place where he was hanged. I had to explain to V who Ned was.

She thought he was just rhyming slang for a beer gut.

At the exhibition they talk of him being a political prisoner and being given an unfair hearing. My opinion? Just a villain who used police oppression as an excuse to murder and pillage.

Comparisons with Northern Ireland unwise, say Mike’s legal team and already damaged knees.

We met Rach and Dave for dinner on the riverside after a few beers, me scoffing kangaroo. Tasty, like deer. Steve Irwin would not be impressed (see later).

The day was finished off with some Wii at home.

The gravity bed worked its evil but extremely pleasing magic and we just could not get out of it in the morning.

It is a bad sign when a teenager is out of his w*nking chariot before you.

Note: This term no way implies what actions were being undertaken by aforementioned teenager in his cot.

Jack was kind enough to run us to the train station where the ticket selling guy had an attempt at being funny. Take the piss out of the tourists with the bags the same size as a bungalow. Easy targets for Australian humour.

Although our laziness denied a proper tour of Melbourne it was good seeing Rach looking so well, happy and successful. Finally meeting Dave – a sterling chap - and discovering that they are now married was all superb. 

Tasmania

Launceston

Flying into Tasmania and renting a car there is cheaper than bringing ourselves and one across on the ferry. Tiger airways is the name of the company, named after the now extinct Tasmanian Tiger.

The last died alone in a zoo in 1936. There is an AUS$1.3M reward for providing evidence of one alive, and they have been the subject of numerous sightings over the last 50 years. Although no-one has ever managed to trap the cat. A bit like the Beast of Bodmin Moor, where a large black feline is supposed to be at large in England. I don’t know of any reward there though.

After checking in we walked the gorge at the edge of town. We never spied a TT but we did see a wallaby and some ducks.

We grabbed a bottle of wine from a drive through alcohol store (a little oxymoronic for me) and a photo with a bright orange mullet car. Check out the photo.

Rachel had explained that these are actually called ‘utes’ (pronounced yoots) and are ideal for when you go to a drive through liquor store. The purveyor of fine alcohol places a slab (aka crate) of beer in your ute and hands a chilled one to yourself and your passenger.

Who says that the Aussies are a backward race? All very civilised.

It was now just after 9.00pm and we were on the look out for a restaurant so that we could fill our faces with food and our BYOB (bring your own bottle).

Everything was closed or no longer serving.

A little different from Argentina, where they would just be finishing brunch.

Last resort was a pizza place which turned out to be rather good. Extra bonus was that we still had a full pizza for breakfast the next day. And the bottle, too.

Next morning on the drive to Beauty Point the number of roadkill wallabies, possums and other beasts almost put V off of her cold pizza. Driving between dusk and dawn should really be avoided if you are not to crush a few of the critters and lose the damage excess on your hire car.

We visited the Beaconsfield gold mine, the scene of an incredible rescue in 2006 where 2 miners were trapped in a 1.5x1.5x1m cage for 14 days following an earthquake. Their colleagues devised ingenious ways to extract them while the world held their breath.

Worth a read on the web.

Also interesting (for me at least) was the ancient machinery that was used to power the ventilation and pumping systems in the deep (over 900m) and wet (75 litres per second) mine.

Next up was the platypus and echidna sanctuary where these two aberrations of nature (egg laying mammals) are protected and studied (and hopefully one day bred).

You just can’t stop laughing at their strangeness.

Just as strange but a lot more elegant were the seahorses and seadragons just next door. 

St Helens

Dodging logging trucks and roadkill on a road that Chubby Checker would find difficult to cope with we reached St Helens in good time to check in and go eat (17.30).

V devoured oysters and we feasted on other fine fare with an incredible view over the Binalong bay. The bill however was more painful than a Chinese burn from Hulk Hogan.

Bicheno

Heading south we stopped at a nature park to see Tasmanian Devils, Koalas, snakes, wombats, possums, peacocks, wallabies and kangaroos. The kangaroos and wallabies would eat from your hand, while the Devils would eat your hand. They are like a chimera only with the head of a bear and the body of a boar. The array of noises they make boil your blood, from the aggressive sneezes to the howls, the screams, the growls and the cracking of bones as they demolish a carcass. The young chap feeding them explained that they we were the vacuum cleaners of Tasmania. They devour the roadkill that upsets V’s stomach so much, leaving not a trace behind. He told us that in the morning on his way to work he picks up the dead animals to feed to the Devils.

That is taking your job seriously.

Unfortunately the beasts are threatened by a communicable cancer that affects their face, leaving them looking like Freddy Kruger and eventually killing them. Over 60% of the native population of the (poor) Devils are affected.

We put our smalls in the laundry and went to pick up 3 dozen oysters from the local farm. I washed them before V shucked them, giving some instruction to a Melbourne chap who was with his family in the hostel. Some wine, chat and V even gave away some of her oysters. Very rare.

Her charity continued when she read a bed time story in French to the elder of the kids; Oscar and Hugo.

Not satisfied with all the monsters (animal and human) we interacted with today we had signed up for a penguin tour late at night to watch them come ashore after a day foraging. Watching them waddle up the beach with their young waiting for them was an experience. The guide had bought the land and built shelters to protect them from dogs, cats and other predators (including humans). They had grown accustomed to the presence of people and torchlight and we shuffled around them as they ambled home to their nests. With no light pollution you could see more stars than in Hello! magazine. Fantastic end to a wildlife filled day.

Hobart

Stopping at the Spiky Bridge for a look – the Australians call everything as they see it; even more so than the Kiwis – we took our time on the drive south to Hobart.

There is a can of WD40-type stuff called ‘Start you B*stard’ that you can buy in Oz. Seriously. We reserved a kayak tour of the port, checked in to our beautiful lodgings at Battery Point (the cost hurt more than a box jellyfish in your grids) and then tried to find a café which would provide that elusive double act ; food and free internet.

Eventually we had to go to make our way to an actual internet café and pay for the right to book flights, reserve a car, send email and reserve a booze cruise (aka wine tour) in Adelaide.

The kayak tour was a tame and enjoyable affair with a 1 hour paddle in a tandem vessel to the port of Hobart, some fish and chips then a turn for home. The young guide explained how one of his colleagues lost 12 portions of fish and chips in a gust of wind on his first tour in the morning, then as he was explaining to his second tour in the afternoon the circumstances of his misadventure earlier that day, two sachets of tartare sauce bubbled to the surface mid-sentence.

The guides do a week at a time and depending on demand 3 tours per day. Some take it as a challenge to eat 3 helpings of fish and chips per day for a week. Some die.

Perhaps stepping up to a tuna salad or sushi is the future.

A night on the town in Hobart beckoned and we stepped out for a pint or two. Bewinged Japanese sports cars (from 1990) toured the square with the same sound a fat upstairs neighbour makes when going to fetch more pies, and the clientele of the pubs and clubs swayed under the weight of too much alcohol. Some were just under the influence of too much weight.

Melbourne to Torquay

It was a driving day to make it back to Launceston for our flight to Melbourne. We did manage to stop off and look at something other than dead wildlife on the side of the road. The Scottish connection is all too evident with towns named Hamilton and Bothwell. I hoped to see a Blantyre in-between but obviously the original is too grim to have another. Before any pedant comments I know that there is a Blantyre in Malawi, named by its most famous son, David Livingstone on his jaunt through Africa. Cruel sense of humour, our David.

On arriving in Melbourne it was the first night that we had no accommodation reserved. Rachel was out of town and we had assumed that we could pick up a room as easily as we did the hire car. How wrong we were.

Nothing. I had called a couple of days before places in North Melbourne and they were full. Geelong and onwards were the same. Finally with my eyes under more strain than a Hobart female’s bra we stopped for a night in the car on the esplanade in Torquay.

A restless night where the sleep I did manage was interrupted by some drunken lads wrestling then re-enacting an Errol Flynn (A Tasmanian, for your info) sword fight with some 4 by 2’s. All harmless fun.

More harm to my wallet was the Enforcement officer who awoke V and I from our improvised scratchers with a $125 fine for sleeping in our vehicle. ‘I am just following orders’, he opined. The Gestapo said the same, mate.

He did say ‘have a nice day’ afterwards though. A mannerly fink.

In a local café we had some breakfast while I scribed a pleading letter to the local council. I have a month to pay and by that time we will be put of the country and on Torquay’s ‘most wanted’ list. Torquay is beautiful. Lovely beaches and a nice town. Just make sure you have a room (or a place to park your camper. The fuzz pinched a brace of couples who had stayed the night in their camper vans next to us, too. He’s efficacious even if he is creepy).

Great Ocean Road

So not the dream start we had expected for one of the world’s best road trips. Not to be disheartened off we set. We were not to be disappointed. Rolling surf with graceful board riders, arcing perfect beaches, cliffs carved by the sea and some history of the road itself made a great melting point of memories.

The road was constructed after the First World War as a memorial to their fallen comrades by returned Australian soldiers. Australia lost 60,000 of her sons in the war, with another 160,000 injured of the 300,000 she sent to the battlefields of Europe. Per capita, the most casualties of any nation during the Great War.

Apollo Bay

A Shower. A proper Bed. Brilliant. We swapped stories with two Australian gents in their mid 40’s. Rob and Tony’s were much better than ours, although they laughed at our sleeping-in-car fine. Tony had travelled by car around Australia. Twice. On one occasion his car broke down and he camped by the side of the road for 17 days while awaiting a repair. Just 10km from the nearest town the mechanic ordered the wrong parts first of all and when the correct parts did arrive the grease monkey was AWOL on a bender. In the meantime, passing motorists provided food and water.

One lorry driver even returned with bacon and eggs and cooked a fry up for them.

Rob is a project manager for Engineers without Borders (have a look on the web) and at the moment is assisting an Aboriginal Community to become self-sufficient in providing their own electrical power. They were good company.

For balance I also have to mention the American students who swarmed the hostel as they do every year. They were well mannered, educated (I never heard one ‘like’) and were really quiet for kids who were now legally entitled to drink booze.

Port Fairy

Contrary to popular belief there is not a statue of Donny Maclean at the entrance to the town.

On the way we had viewed the Twelve Apostles (even though only 6 of them remain), sandstone rock formations standing against the onslaught of the sea. A formation called London Bridge had partly fallen down, in compliance with the nursery rhyme.

It is a truly stunning coastline.

Before checking into our hostel we swung by Tower Hill Reserve. Recommended by Tony, it is a caldera from an ancient volcano. Emus, Kangaroos, rabbits and Koalas call it home. The big birds walk right up to you looking for treats. We watched the sunset stretch the shadows of the trees and the animals.

Next morning was Australia day and we had a walk onto the nearby Griffith Island. At 10.30 am some youngsters had already set up base with their sofa, barbecue and tunes in the park in the port.  Epitomising Australia on its national day.

Robe

Another driving day but we managed to pass by the aptly named Blue Lake (it is bluer than the nose of David Murray) and arrived at our hotel in good time to eat and get plastered along with many Australians.

Beautiful town before it became all blurry.

Adelaide

The GOR behind us but not forgotten, the last stage was to drop the car off in Adelaide as intact as our hangovers with 1000km more on the odometer than when we picked her up in Melbourne.

All ready for the wine tour we had reserved for the next day.

We were lifted by the tour organisers at 07.45 and taken first of all to see the biggest rocking horse in the world.

Perhaps it is because their country is so big, but the Australians love big replicas of stuff. Apparently there are over 60 ‘big’ items in Australia; a banana (the first offender – see Coffs Harbour), a prawn (Ballina) and an oyster (Taree). Not all are seafood related. There is also a merino, a bull (with swinging testicles) and of course Ned Kelly (without testicular articulation).

First stop on the wine tour was Jacob’s Creek. This place is vast. 12 million cases of wine per year. Irrigation by the drip method and harvesting by machine. Very un-French.

At the same time there was camera crew filming for the Jacob’s Creek Facebook page. As V and I were hanging about and not socialising with the other members of the tour we were pounced upon by the lovely Renee, for an interview. V was not keen but we did it and received a free bottle of wine for our troubles. I would like to see the result as V mentions the ‘protectionism of France towards its wines’ and I mention that being Scottish we embrace all alcohol. Classy.

I have to say that of the 5 vineyards we visited, there was not a lot of great (even good) wine on show. Jacob’s Creek did had some good stock, though.

Between vineyards we stopped at a dam with the moniker of The Whispering wall. Due to the its curved structure you can whisper at one side (over 100m away) and be heard clearly on the other side.

Back in the hostel we played bingo hosted by the most enthusiastic German girl.

No ‘two little ducks, 22’ for her. It was ’35……..people’. Mental.

Early night as we were mildly toasted from all the day’s wine and up early (03.45) to catch a plane to Perth.

Perth

Arrived at 07.00 in Perth to be greeted by…Jim! The lovely soul had dragged his idle self (he’s not been working for 3 months either) from his crib to pick us up at the airport. Truth be told, Ella, his young daughter gets up between 05.30 and 06.30 so it was normal for him.

Great seeing Rhona and Ella. Ella has grown so much.

A steady day with V having her hair cut by Rhona and highlighted in a salon while Jim and I played ‘gay dads’ with Ella in the park.

A bit of a Barbie on the beach and we watched the sun go down over the sea with some beers and wine. Marvellous.

Rottnest Island

When Dutch explorer Willem De Vlamingh discovered the island he thought the local inhabitants, Quokkas, were large rats. So it was named ‘Rats’ Nest Island’ (in Dutch). They are of course not steroidal vermin but mini-marsupials. We hadn’t seen any until we picnicked under a bush for some shade and the plucky fellows (and lassies) came to see if we would feed them.

Australian wildlife just makes me laugh. God was on crystal meth when he made the animals here. New Zealand too. For you Richard Dawkins fans, the genetic isolation of the islands allowed them to adapt and evolve in bizarre configurations. There we go; both creationist and evolution camps satisfied in one paragraph.

If you see the photos V was even braver (they are harmless, unlike the venomous snakes that also live on the island). Before taking our spot under the bush we stamped around to scare any lurking serpents away and Jim was on high alert around the sleeping Ella.

Then it was time for a swim in the ‘refreshing’ sea.

We had hired some bikes and cycled a way around the island before returning to catch our ferry.  I almost collided with a red-headed lady. I made the error of ringing my little bell as she meandered across the road in front of me. She froze in her tracks and I just avoided hitting her. Ginger people have feelings, too.

We ate in cosmopolitan Freemantle and took in the stunning views over the city of Perth at night from Kings park. The war memorial also has a whispering wall. A tree has benn planted for every fallen soldier in the park and Jim and Rhona recounted the emotions of the dawn service at the park on Remembrance Day.

On Sunday, Jim and I took in the last one day international cricket test between the Aussies and the Pakistanis at the WACA stadium.

Settling into our chairs with our beer, we were told that we could not have alcohol in these seats. But we could just across the aisle, 1 metre away. Fair enough, we thought and shuffled across.

It was a long day with the crowd being more interesting than the match for large spells. The second pitch invader rugby tackled a Pakistani fielder. Aus$5000 fine. Sorer than the physical warning from the security.

A drunken lad in our section was forcibly removed for being a bit noisy. And pissed. We also saw some fisticuffs in the platinum stand next to us. Those rich boys can’t scuffle. Too much XXXX and sun. We declared before what became a tense finish so that we could catch Andy Murray being humped at the Australian Open final by Roger Federer on telly back home. A case of premature jock-elation.

Jim made a return to a working life the following morning and V and I spent it in Jim and Rhona’s pool before venturing into town.

We visited the Dinosaurs Alive exhibition (not seen since my time at Newcastle) and then took in the views of the city from the Belltower and the Eye. After Jim had finished his first day of work for 3 months we met him for a pint. Walter and Rosemary Black joined us as I had called him in the day to meet up. They looked happy and well. Rosemary only complained for 5% of the time about Australia (an amazing statistic) and even complemented France (even more surprising) on some aspects. This is a measure of how content she is.

Margaret River

Leaving most of our stuff at Jim and Rhona’s we hired a car and began our drive to Margaret River, further South than Perth. We stopped at Bussel to see the longest wooden jetty in the Southern Hemisphere and eat the largest plate of deep fried seafood in Australia. Remember what I said about Australia’s love for big things.

We arrived in Margaret River to see the kite and windsurfers battle with (and sometimes conquer) the mighty surf and hurricane winds. Truly magnificent.

Having been rather disappointed with Adelaide’s Barbossa Valley wine offerings we were hoping for a better result from Western Australia’s vineyards. Although we never made it onto Facebook we did fill our faces with fine wines. Wine for Dudes took us to around 6 wineries (it was a bit of a blur when we reached the token brewery at the end) and we were educated, watered and fed in equal measures.

A New York chap had a bit of a sense of humour failure when the tour group ribbed him in extended Paul Merton-style abuse. His faux pas? We were passing a venison farm and he enquired ‘venison. Is that deer?’ The response from the tour guide was immediate ‘no, it’s quite cheap.’ Ayefangyoooo. When he didn’t smile the rest of us knew we had a hook into him.

Being full of wine it was an early night.

We had toyed with the idea of a surfing lesson and we managed to sneak 2 hours in with Arron before leaving for Albany. Since I swim like an engineblock , I had a little apprehension. The water was warm, the surf (fairly) gentle and we managed to stand a few times on the board. V surfed right up the beach like a killer whale chasing a seal on one occasion.

Sunkissed, bent by the waves, aching from paddling like demented Labradors but satisfied we made our way to Albany.

Albany

The windfarm at Albany is the largest in the South West, apparently. Of the 12 generators, only 8 were turning, the others in maintenance.

Graham, there is a job for you here.

Although we couldn’t get close to these majestic giants because of their ill-health (the doctors were in administering technical repairs) we watched the equally elegant surfers catch waves. A pod of dolphins approached a lone surfer before moving on to investigate the others who were at a spot where the ideal waves were more frequent. On seeing the fins and then their snubby noses I am sure the surfers would have been relieved. Or needed a change of wetsuits.

Next stop was the last commercial whaling station in Australia now turned into a museum and educational centre, Whaleworld. It ceased operation in 1978 and one of the whale chasers is still there, complete with sonar, explosive harpoon and double acting steam engine. She is a child of Norway, built in 1948. Interestingly it provides the human story of the whalers and the effect the closure had on the town of Albany. Tales of the injuries the whalers experienced (legs torn off or broken, being struck by shrapnel from the harpoon) plus their bravery in the rescue of a tourist swept out to sea by a rogue wave give a more balanced approach to the sorry tale of our hunting of these magnificent creatures. Videos show the harpooning, flensing (stripping of the blubber) and the broiling down of the fat into oil. All rather medieval. Skeletons of a number of whales are on display and their size is staggering. A mention to the plight of sharks, 30 million of them killed per year by ourselves – sharks in return kill about 7 humans per year – with many including the Great White heading for extinction. Perhaps the Sea Shepherds need to look further than whales, as do we.

Perth

It was a long drive back to Perth so much so that we missed out on seeing Bill Hughes and Tanya. Sorry Bill. But we made it in time to cook dinner for the Smiths.

Brisbane

An early morning flight to Brisbane and we a meet up with Steve and Alison Brown. Calling all friends around the world.

We had a posh dinner on the waterfront. Steve had a little bit of trouble entering the restaurant as he was sporting a pair of Jesus sandals.

The doorman called over the manager who appraised Steve’s dress sense. A pass but he was only allowed in the restaurant, not at the bar. Men’s feet are never the most aesthetic but there are women with howling toes (am not saying Steve’s were) so why did the rule not apply to the women and their open shoes? Also to be told that your dress sense is not up to scratch by an Australian is as insulting as an American telling you that you have an annoying accent.

Next day we wandered to the maritime museum. On the HMAS Diamantina you can elevate and rotate the main armament. Brilliant fun. Another rotation, this time on the ‘Eye’ a big wheel just as in Perth that we viewed the city from. We came home on the catamaran that zig-zags up the river.

Australia Zoo is about an hour North of Brisbane. Started by the parents of Steve Irwin, he and his wife transformed it into a wildlife sanctuary for native and foreign species. In a marked contrast to most zoos, the feeling is one of hope and fun for the animals. Perhaps it is down to the Steve Irwin speak notices everywhere, bejewelled with ‘Crikey!’, ‘unbelievable!’ and ‘this big fella!’ but also to the wombats, elephants and other animals that are walked through the park by their keepers. We fed kangaroos and wallabies (they hold your hand as you feed them). During our visit there was a downpour, invigorating the mosquitoes. While I fed a ‘roo, a mosquito was perched on his nose taking its fill. As she became bloated, she turned a brighter and brighter red. It was as if skippy had a Rudolph the reindeer nose.

Apart from smacking mosquitoes and having to wipe patches of blood from my arms and legs the zoo was a great day out.

Gold Coast

In a similar fashion to the Great Ocean Road we decided to drive down to Sydney. A little bit of coordination between Queensland and New South Wales could provide the sensations that the GOC provides (without the history of course). The Gold Coast is a concrete jungle, but good surf apparently.

Byron Bay

Byron bay is an oasis of non-concrete and we walked along the beach at sunset, watching the surfers of all ages and abilities. It really is beautiful. After some wine and good sushi (BYOP is a great idea) we headed out on the lash after some good sushi.

Another great idea (well I thought so after the half bottle of wine and subsequent 3 pints) is for a mobile sushi train that you can install at home. Similar to Scalextric race track you can transport it to your friends place and have your own sushi night. As long as you have someone who can make sushi, you’re in business.

I still thought it was a good idea through the havoc of the hangover the next day. We had planned to continue the surfing adventure, but really we were in no shape to walk to the beach never mind get pounded by waves while trying to stand on a plate balanced on jelly.

As a consolation we stopped to see the ‘big prawn’. Sadly you can’t get close to it, but it is a magnificent er…..crustacean effigy.

Maclean

There is tartan on the telegraph poles, signs in English and Gaelic and great pies. On our stop on our way to Coffs Harbour I had a Surf and turf with steak and a layer of prawns inside. It was the temperature of magma so we took some time to eat them on the only shaded bench in town. I think we stole the spot of 4 old guys who subjected us to them pacing up and down the street in front of us. This does not sound too oppressive but the guys were the executive board of the manky legs brigade. One had both legs heavily bandaged and no big toe on his left foot. The other looked as if his stems had been attacked by a shark then been stitched up with a knitting needle. I somehow managed avoiding adding to their physical scars by not projectile vomiting the nuclear fission filling in their direction.

In the butcher’s we picked up some lamb for our dinner. We hoped for haggis at the other butcher’s (he didn’t have it) but although he did have lorne sasage it looked like it had been there from when the last person who could speak Gaelic in the town passed away.

At the hostel, from the barbecue (they have everything, including a pool) the lamb went into my gaping maw as V was still too broken from our misdemeanours from the previous night.

Coffs Harbour

The Big Banana. Where it all started with ‘big’ items. Unfortunately we never took a photo of it as V was flat on her back in the car dozing when we passed by and never drew her camera in time. We can both testify it is big, yellow and banana shaped.  

We had a walk along the beach and then onto Muttonbird Island. An Australian genteman we passed walking with his wife said that we were too fit. I replied ‘do you not mean fat?’ but I think he thought I was referring to him. Oh dear.

Back on the beach I returned an errant rugby ball back to some teenage girls who were out on a school trip. Am sure not many Australian kids skip PE. The ball didn’t travel quite as it should, possibly indicating that the Scots should not play rugby. Or that no-ne should play rugby.

We swam in the crystal clear and warm water.

After towelling off we drove up to the Captain Cook Lookout at Nambucca Heads. Chatting to Alan Smith, volunteer marine rescue member he informed us that a boat in trouble off the coast. It was windy and choppy out. He let me have a look through his binoculars while he was awaiting word from his colleagues in the search party. He later discerned that this was due to him being on the wrong channel on his radio. He is a lovely chap and we said our thanks, good-byes and good lucks and off we headed.

A practice in this part of Oz is to paint messages and pictures on the breakwater blocks. Banksy has nothing to worry about yet.

Next stop was for something to eat at Fredo’s pies. Famous throughout the land, I had lamb and mint, V had venison and we shared a crocodile. Steve Irwin would not approve. There were some famous people (that I didn’t know – they looked like politicians) who received free baseball caps and had their pictures taken while we scoffed or pastries. The pie war was hotting up.

Port Macquarie

V’s legendary love of oysters had us signed for an oyster cruise. We did tour the oyster farms but there was no scoffing of the little blighters to be had. Instead we filled ourselves with cake, the cornerstone of any nutritious lunch.

To make up for our gastropod shortfall we stopped at Taree to see the Big Oyster. With V taking a photo, the car salesman (it is perched above a car showroom of all things) just walked past without a word. This must happen all the time. It merits more attention than the majority of cars for sale in Australia.

A detour took us to see some flying foxes – note that flying foxes are in fact big bats, not good looking ladies with wings - and then on to Tea Gardens to continue the pie wars.

Just one more thing on the flying foxes; They sound like Huey helicopters (the ones used in Vietnam and still used in Angola to fly you offshore). In flight their wings make a ‘whup-whup-whup’ just like the eponymous chopper. Last thing about flying foxes (I promise); you can’t get them in pies.

The east coast is all about three things; ‘big things’, pies and surfing. In that order.

Prior to more pies we stopped on the road side to see the famous Ayers Rock, or Ulura (in aborigine). To tell the truth it is not the real Ayers Rock/ Uluru, the largest monolith on the planet. It is in fact a highway service station/ restaurant. In an ironic reversal of the ‘big things’ genre it is smaller than the real thing.

Pie Man (motto; we only have pies for you) was supposed to be located in Tea Gardens, but after not succeeding to find the shop I enquired of a friendly local. He told us of the demise of the pies.

Not too disappointed, V made do with oysters instead. In Oz they serve the oysters without their juice, opened for sometime and therefore a little tasteless and rubbery. Just so you know if you like the taste of the sea (as V does) to the sensation of licking phlegm off a tortoise.

Newcastle

Just like the Scottish connection in Tasmania, Newcastle is surrounded by the same towns that her English cousin is; Morpeth, Wallsend and Hexham. Expecting to see fat, tattooed bald headed men wearing no shirts and speaking in an incomprehensible dialect, instead we arrived to find barely clothed Shielas, screeching indeterminably and staggering through the streets. So really just like Newcastle.

None were not bald though some did have tattoos.

Pilot* or greyhound** skirts barely concealed their modesty (or not).

To be fair to the original Newcastle denizens, they are slightly better dressed (even when not wearing their shirts) and more classily tattooed (back to the drive through bottleshop juxtaposition) than their Australian counterparts. This must be the only fashion contest Newcastle could ever win. Any Geordies who do wish to argue should remember both ‘Geordie Jeans’ and the ill-fated Newcastle United fashion label. The latter still failed even with the preening David Ginola as a model.

The sheilas at least make an effort with their dresses 2 sizes too small for them. Haut couture for the guys is to exchange the sleeveless vest for something with arms. A T-shirt.

To keep their beers cold Australians use a little insulated foam sock called a ’stubby holder’. Now this is a great invention for the aforementioned reason but it does have the unfortunate side effect of an Australian being poorer dressed than his beer.

* at the cockpit

** an inch from the hare

The hostel was 30°C overnight and my wee was the colour of the local ale in the morning. Fortunately not many of the residents deemed it necessary to take a shower so we easily secured one of the 3 showers (3 floors below us) that were available for the occupants full building.

We strolled along the port to eye the beautiful beaches and the surf. Then it was on to Port Nelson for more of the same.

Sparsely populated golden sand with a temperate sea; truly paradise, but very different from Tahiti.

Our ulterior motive was to sample Red Ned’s award winning pies to continue our judgement on the best pastry product in Australia – the bits we visited anyway. V had a mince, bacon, eggs and cheese pie. For myself it was a little more extravagant with a lobster, prawn, barramundi, celery and white sauce.

The winner? I have to say I liked the size of the Maclean pie and its meatiness but Red Ned’s was a work of art. If I did have to take one pie for the rest of my life it would be the Maclean surf and turf. It would probably remain warm for the rest of my life too, powered as it is by nuclear fusion.

Chris, you know where to go.

On our way to Sydney we stopped to see the 39km sand dunes that back the half moon beaches from Newcastle out to Port Nelson. Like Dubai, you can take tours in 4x4’s, sandboard, get lost in them and die. We did not partake as we were running short of time to make the drop for our hire car. On speaking to Hertz they just told us ‘drop it in tomorrow before 12.’ Australians, how laid back can you be without falling over and doing yourself an injury?

Sydney

I was expecting the worst from our hostel as we were arriving on a Saturday, just as we had in Melbourne. In contrast, our room was clean and well appointed and the hostel was not in full party mode even though being close to Bondi Beach.

I remember fondly a New Year in Scotland my dad commenting on the drunken antics and noise emanating from some revellers returning home. He uttered with disdain, ‘once a year drinkers’. You see, my dad was a professional and never let his alcohol content sully his disposition in public.

Australians in hostels are amateur drinkers. They seem to believe that because they have more ethanol in them than an indy car everyone should be as relaxed (or prone) as them.

I think their hangovers the next day were more than retribution for waking me up. Just as in Melbourne, V slept through the cacophony, blissfully unaware.

We returned the car then had breakfast in Hyde Park, sheltering from the rain and watching young and old playing chess on a big board.

Still being a little damp we hid in the Australian Museum (hid being the operative work as V lost me for an hour. Thinking I had had a stroke on the toilet she even crept into the mens’ bogs to have a look for me). The wildlife photographer of the year pictures were on display and are truly mesmerising. Also stunning, but not in the same sense at all was the section of the museum dedicated to the aboriginal people of Australia. Their treatment, from early settlement to very near present day is abominable. Thankfully, steps are being taken to reduce their low life expectancy, poor health, high infant mortality and lower than average education levels (and therefore employment opportunities). The present Aussie Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd issued a formal apology to the first nations for the endurances heaped upon them from the colonials.

With the weather drying off and the museum closing we strolled through the botanical garden and on to the opera house. I don’t know how to describe the famous work of Jorn Utzon. It has been likened to a ‘nun’s scrum’ amongst other things but it reminds me of the original cylons from Battle Star Galactica.

Again, I show my class.

Entering, we tried to book some tickets to see an opera, or show, or just chat to anyone but this being Australia on a Sunday after 5.00pm, there was no one at the box office nor at the information desk. I suppose that is what the internet is for. We retired to the opera bar on the nearby harbour to drink in the views along with our Peroni. We must have stumbled into a gay conference as we were surrounded by muscled men a little bit light in their loafers. On the subject of clothing (once more) even gay men in Australia are badly dressed. I would have expected them to lead by example and pull Oz out of its vest/ short/ flip-flop fashion lethargy. Saying that I was dressed in a T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops. I stood out because I was with V, not due to my attire.

The following day after a bit of a lie-in we headed back towards the bridge and opera house, such is their allure. We ate lunch on the quayside, the bridge towering over us, the opera house in the near distance. There was even an impromptu dance show from some drunk twenty-something, beer in hand, saluting Sydney’s showpiece architecture.

The South East pylon is a little museum showing the construction process of the bridge and we climbed that for an education and some views. The ferry brought us back to our side of the port where we grabbed a bus back to Bondi to watch the sun set over the beach and the beautiful bodies (ours included). There was a skateboard show in the adjoining skatepark with locals and pros demonstrating their skills. The local goth kids with no protective gear (one had ginger hair so if he fell on his skull this thick wiry pubis would have been as effective as a helmet) out-styled their paid peers. 

We had been determined to be as relaxed as an Australian in Sydney so after a day of walking along the beaches and eating sushi it was off to the opera to experience Tosca. This Puccini work is a little bit of opera for Sun readers, but the wine was good and the venue outshone the spectacle as a whole. There were some fabulous performances from the leading characters, notably the baddie, Scarpia. We had another drink in the Opera Bar where we were earlier in the week to round off the day.

Australia is just too big to spend only a month. We covered only a small segment of the country, but thankfully we managed to meet up with most of our friends who are there. Sorry, Bill that we missed you.

Every city is different (a little like Britain) and there is always something to see or do, no matter how wet or warm the weather. Save for a shocking first night and one spent in car, we loved all of it.