I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking ‘Hang on a minute,’ (I may be paraphrasing here,) ‘Australia? Part 10? How can this be?’ And of course you’d be thinking a very good question. Were you to continue by thinking, ‘Has he rediscovered some lost diary entries (not to mention memories) from his trip ten years ago and is now offering it as an addendum to the original, not unlike finding the Dead Sea Scrolls and hastily shoving them in amongst the pages of a Bible?’ Well, I would congratulate you on your imagination, but brush the notion aside. No, the truth lies with the other possibility. That’s right, I have been back to Oz. I was considering titling it ‘Return to Oz’, but I discovered the name had already been used, not to mention it would be an unforgivable contravention of the established naming convention.
Well I am sure, my readers, that you’re all champing at the bit to find out about my recent explorations of the worlds largest island, but before we get to the good stuff I will briefly outline what I have been getting up to since my last adventure ended. It has, I’m sorry to say, been a rather long interval. As you will doubtless recall my last adventure had taken me all around Ireland in only a week and had been part of my ‘closer to home’ explorations. Well these explorations didn’t end there, I continued to seek out and visit the UK’s best destinations. I finally (having wanted to go there all my life) got myself to Stonehenge, which didn’t disappoint, despite the crowds of other ‘tourists’. I went to Salisbury Cathedral and saw the Magna Carta. I returned to the Lake District to triumph over yet more fog and rain. One of these days when I go walking in the Lakes I will find out what it looks like. Then further north, to Orkney with it’s great array of Neolithic monuments and ruins. I also went walking there, also in the rain, and with the added challenge of electric fences. Back in the south I visited Shakespeare’s house in Stratford, and Warwick Castle in Warwick (which is well worth a visit – and they have peacocks. I like peacocks.) I went to the Greenwich observatory and saw the GMT line, from which all the time in the Universe is issued (if I remember rightly.) Oh, and somewhere in amongst all that I had a day in Amsterdam walking along canals and dodging cyclists (I know it isn’t technically in the UK.)
[Note: You know, I have just re-read that last paragraph and it sounds rather more gloaty than I had intended – oh well, can’t be helped.]
So, why then, you may rightly wonder, did I feel the need to put aside my little book of 100 Best UK Tourist Hotspots and jet off to Oz? Well, since Ireland, almost three years have passed (yes, time does fly and all that) and almost all of the above was done during the first 18 months. Then I did something silly and bought my first house, and ever since then I (amongst others) have been ‘doing it up’. This was something I had imagined would take several months, but here I sit almost 18 months later in a room with no carpet and next to no furniture. Although to be fair the vast majority of the work has now been done, but the process left me feeling the need for a real change of scenery. And being too far away to nip back and sand down some paint-work was also an attractive thought.
Of course, suffering from a DIY overload isn’t the only reason I chose Oz, I could have gone almost anywhere simply to escape the whiff of paint brush cleaner. And while there are few places my adventures have taken me that I wouldn’t love to return to, (I’ll resist the urge to name and shame) this time it just had to be Australia. I’ll be honest, it’s a bit of a favourite, and I can remember as I left Oz the first time, looking out of the plane at the smoke from the bush fires that were surrounding Sydney at the time, and thinking ‘I’ll be back’. Then, in the blink of an eye, ten years had passed, and though in that time I’d had a modest number of other adventures, I felt it was time to be drawn back to where it all began. There were places I wanted to see again, to be again, and others I had yet to discover.
I did, you may be surprised to learn, have one reservation. I am aware that part of what I was going to do was what I call ‘Nostalgia Tripping’. Returning to a favourite place in a different time can disappoint. There was a risk that over time I had somewhat romanticised my memories of these places and being faced with raw reality I may not only have a rubbish time, but it would destroy a cherished memory. Like trying to go back to sleep to return to a lovely dream; it doesn’t work, it’s never the same. But forewarned is forearmed, and so with the shield of trite aphorisms to protect my rosy recollections I switched on the glorious Interweb, and booked a flight.
As I have almost certainly mentioned before, flying really is the only way to travel. To just sit there and be served food and drink while watching movies would be good enough, but to know that all the while you are hurtling many kilometres above the planet towards adventures new, well, it’s the cherry on the cake. How people, even on such long flights as I was enjoying, can complain of boredom or discomfort or about the food I just don’t know, I can only assume they forgot to pack their childlike sense of wonder in their carry on bags.
Of course, right from the outset I was making comparisons. The first time I did this, which is to say, the first time I set out alone to cross the globe and explore anywhere, I was younger, less experienced and possessed of even more childlike wonder. Consequently the first time I arrived in Oz I was exhausted, I remember trying to force myself not to nod off on the bus from the airport into Perth. The reason for this wasn’t that I’d had a bad flight, on the contrary, I’d had an excellent flight. The problem was that I had been so excited about starting my first adventure that I hadn’t slept a wink, and by the time I arrived the adrenaline was finally wearing off. According to witnesses, when I arrived at my first ever hostel, I was as white as a sheet (which may have had more to do with the British winter I’d just left) and I lay down on my bed in my clothes and slept until the next day. Well, this time I did the sensible thing (on account of being older and therefore more boring) and got a little sleep. I arrived at Melbourne airport, stuffed the coat I had been carrying since I left home in my backpack (yes, the fabled ‘old green backpack’). The very same one that came with me the first time, and headed out into the crystal clear blue sunshine.
Now, Melbourne, as all of my long term (dare I say ‘faithful’) readers will realise fits in to the ‘Nostalgia Tripping’ category. During my first trip I stayed here for about three months, working primarily in an Italian restaurant and pizza place called Toto’s. The whole time there, I had stayed in a hostel called The Hotel Spencer (which I described in Part 3). Hostels like all businesses come and go, they get bought and sold and rebranded and renamed and refurbished and updated. Well, The Hotel Spencer still existed, and as I was to discover it had avoided all of these perils, for it was at The Hotel Spencer that I was to be staying. As I have already mentioned, I had some lurking worries that coming back to this place would be a negative experience. Well, I needn’t have worried. Although all the people I had known while there were as long gone as I had been for the last ten years, it was still oddly like coming home. Although, like me, it was a little older and shabbier, yet comfortingly the same. Like, whilst clearing out the loft, finding a favourite childhood toy. Although as a child it didn’t look shabby, now, seeing it for what it is doesn’t detract from its place in your past, it reminds you of that part of life’s journey it shared with you.
To make things even more spookily the same, when I checked in and went to my dorm I thought I had been given the exact same room I had lived in before. It took a day before I realised I was in fact directly below, but in an identical room with the same layout and view. I know I said that going back to sleep to re-enter a dream couldn’t work, but this had to be about as close to it as reality will permit. I was back. Back in Oz. Back in the Spencer, with my backpack and my dreams and plans and nothing better to do than explore. Perfect.
Melbourne was largely unchanged. I’m not sure if I should have been surprised by that or not, but I think I had been expecting it to be more different. I’m not complaining, it just added to the feeling of walking back in to the past. Without thinking where I was going I appeared to be following the route I used to take between the Spencer and Toto’s (or home and work as I used to think of it.) Once at Toto’s I found that something was different. Toto’s, you may recall, claims to be the oldest (surviving) pizza place in Australia, and I was pleased to see that it was still there. However, when I had worked there it had also incorporated a large Italian restaurant. Now this restaurant area was a different business and Toto’s had reverted to what was probably it’s original size, and was only a pizza place. I didn’t go in, it would have seemed strange to have to pay for a pizza there.
Leaving my well trodden route I found my way to Carlton Gardens, which is a nice city park with tree lined paths and fountains. It is often parks such as this that determine how much I like a city. Truth be told, I am definitely a country mouse, not a town mouse. I enjoy cities and what they can offer for a time, but they can wear me down after a while. However, the ones with lots of parks and gardens and squares are the ones I am more likely to want to stay in for longer. In Vancouver there is Stanley Park, in Perth there is Kings Park, and I only really started enjoying London when I discovered the countless little gardens and squares that riddle the place, allowing me to cross the city by hopping from one square to the next, like joining the little green dots in the big grey landscape.
Anyway, the reason I mention this is because the next day (I got up bright and early, having not adjusted to the time zone yet,) I set off to explore the bits of Melbourne I was less familiar with, taking in as many green spaces along the way as I could find. It’s fair to say that despite having lived in Melbourne for three months I really didn’t get out and about much, mainly due to working and trying to save money. Another reason for my limited exploration before was the terrible maps I had to work with. In the intervening ten years the internet has advanced to the point where this need never be a problem again. So, with map in hand I set off to see what I could find.
The first place I found was the Docklands area. Having not been here before I can’t say what it might have been once (although the name suggests docks) but whatever it had been it had recently been transformed into a bright and breezy marina with associated shops, offices and venues (with all the tedious predictability of modern developments everywhere.) It was pleasant enough, and I came across statues of both Kylie Minogue and Dame Edna Everage, as well as some imaginative street sculpture. Moving on I came to Docklands Park, a narrow strip of parkland which despite not trying hard enough to hide itself from the major road that runs along its length, was still better than the road alone. It also contained an interesting sculpture resembling a large hoop on a stick with pivoted perpendicular rods all around the circle. The rods had colourful hollow hemispheres on their ends and as the wind blew the whole thing moved and spun. A footbridge across the Yarra brought me past the Crown Casino complex, it looked rather more dated than I remember, although casinos are in my view somewhat intrinsically dated. So I passed it by and continued my stroll along the river to King’s Domain, which in turn leads to the Botanical Gardens.
I had technically been to the Botanical Gardens before, but only for a very short time before someone in the group I was with suddenly needed to go back to the city (I don’t know if I ever knew why), so I never really saw very much, although I do remember seeing lots of bats hanging is the trees. Well, whatever the reason I saw so little of it before I can only say that it was a great shame. In the following hours that I spent exploring its every winding path it became my favourite part of Melbourne, and a part I would return to before I left. I shan’t describe every bit of it to you but I will just mention a couple of highlights. The first being Fern Gully, which is fairly self explanatory, except for those of you not familiar with the full range of ferns (which are plants I particularly like, though I’m no expert on them) this isn’t just a load of bracken in a gully. No, there are many and various ferns including several varieties of tree ferns, which look a bit like palm trees only with fern leaves at the top. They look kind of prehistoric and in Fern Gully they have created a dense naturalistic environment resembling bush/jungle with a gloomy interior speared by occasional shafts of sunlight, which when it hits a fern seems to illuminate it from within. The second highlight was called Guilfoyle’s Volcano, which on account of the name I didn’t seek out as I wrongly thought it sounded like a children’s exhibit of some kind. Anyhow, through the natural fortune that springs from random wandering I found it all the same, and a good thing too. Guilfoyle was the second director of the gardens and is largely responsible for how it now looks. The volcano is in many ways camouflage for a circular reservoir that stands above ground level (forming the ‘crater’), originally to provide gravity fed irrigation for the gardens. Apparently it fell in to disuse sixty years ago and has recently been restored, but all of this is academic because the reason I liked it is because it is covered in cactuses. Again, I’m no expert, I just think they look cool, and so I spent some time looking at them.
As I said, I’ll be back in the gardens later, but next on my tour of green spaces was Fawkner Park, so off I went. It was a decent size grassy green space with shady, albeit utilitarian, tree lined paths. I don’t mean to be harsh, it’s a far better thing to have such parks than more tower blocks but after the complexity, variety and splendour of the Botanical Gardens, well, perhaps I had been spoiled. From the bottom corner of Fawkner Park I wove my way through some rather busy roads to gain access to Albert Park. This park had a huge lake, there were lots of black swans on it, and people rowing. The only thing I would change about this park is to increase the number of shady trees, as by this point despite the ultra-factor sunscreen, I was starting to look slightly cooked. From here it was a short walk through St. Kilda to Catani Gardens with it’s towering palm trees and then down to the beach. The beach on this occasion was packed tight with people baking in the sun, it was only my second day in Oz and I had definitely not acclimatised yet, the day had really heated up and I soon left the beach to retreat back into the shade.
After a spot of lunch under a palm tree I made my way back to the city via a similar route, once again passing through the Botanical Gardens, this time determined to rediscover the bats that I remembered from my first ever visit. Alas, either I looked in the wrong tree, or they had moved house. No bats.
So, who among you have heard of Australia Day? Anyone? Well, maybe you have and maybe you haven’t but until I went back to Oz I had never heard of it. Incidentally, until I went to Canada I’d never heard of Canada Day either, and quite by accident arrived in Ottawa (the nations capital) on that very day. These days are, perhaps obviously, national days, and they are holidays, and people all celebrate them in some way. The reason I am treating this whole idea as if it is odd, is because England (nor Britain nor the UK) doesn’t have a national day, and if we did I can only imagine what we’d do on it. The realisation that other countries have national days caused me to look them up on the internet, and it is claimed that St. George’s Day is England’s national day. To which I would say ‘No it isn’t’, not only is it not a holiday but until just now if you’d asked me when it was I wouldn’t have even been able to guess at a month. Australia Day (in case you’d forgotten how I got on to this subject) in Australia is a big deal.
My Australia Day started with me getting up bright and early. This, I soon discovered, isn’t what most Australians do. I took a stroll through the almost deserted streets of Melbourne, (which was rather peaceful) it seems that unlike at home, here when it’s a national holiday, everyone actually gets to take the day off. So, no shops open, and even some of the streets had been closed to traffic. I stumbled across a parade warming up, which had already drawn a crowd of tourists despite the fact that they were only doing sound checks. There were military bands, a diva belting out the national anthem and some guys dressed as kangaroos, hopping about on those springy leg extension things, handing out flags. Beyond this I arrived at Treasury Gardens where crowds of workmen were busily setting up stages and fences for the celebrations later that day. Treasury Gardens had a bigger surprise for me though, for as I explored those parts I could get to without tripping over scaffolding I came to a statue. Can any of you guess who it was of? That’s right, it was the omnipresent Scott, Robbie Burns. No trip would be complete without him.
Leaving behind all the activity of Treasury Gardens I crossed the road and strolled in to Fitzroy Gardens. Here things were more serene. The only Oz-Day activity being a treasure hunt for young children confined to the vicinity of Cook’s Cottage. Cook’s Cottage once belonged to the parents of Captain Cook, and was built in Great Ayton in North Yorkshire. In 1933 it was sold and moved brick by brick to Australia where it was reconstructed and donated to the people of Victoria. Apparently even the ivy that covers it was grown from cuttings of its original ivy covering.
Cook’s Cottage was not the only treasure of Fitzroy Gardens, for in addition to the statues and fountains, there was a small but perfectly formed miniature Tudor village, and a Fairy Tree. The Fairy Tree is a large tree stump that has carved and painted figures all over it of animals, birds, flowers and obviously, fairies. Not sure why, but it was a bit of fun.
By this time people were gradually becoming more common and I could hear distant music. I decided I should head for it and see what I could see, so I strode off through uncharted streets to try and reach it. I had a bit of bother getting through on account of some major roads and a tramline to cross, but eventually found a rather novel footbridge. Novel because along its length (it was rather long) there were evenly spaced speakers that each played a different sound clip. The different clips melded and got louder or faded out as you passed causing it to create a strange ambient music track. It was a bit spooky. The bridge dropped me down on the city side of the Yarra where there was a steady stream of people (many with Oz flags on or about them somewhere) heading along the river to the next bridge. I joined the procession and soon found myself once more in the King’s Domain where people were having bar-b-q’s and lounging on the grass – it was all very civilised. I headed up hill in the general direction of Government House but got distracted on the way by the huge war memorial. I arrived here literally seconds before they started the twenty one gun salute. The guns were vintage artillery and were amazingly loud, not to mention smoky. After this, while a military band played Waltzing Matilda in the background, I joined the queue to enter the grounds of Government House, which is usually closed to the public as it’s the official residence of the Governor of Victoria. Once inside, having passed through security, I was surprised to see (although I shouldn’t have been, Australians are refreshingly laid back about these things) that the grounds were being used by everyone for yet more picnics and lazing about. There was a band playing covers, but not just any band, no it was the police band, all in uniform. I had a wander around, and it was very nice. Then I went and got a sausage in a bun. I could, had I been prepared to queue in the blazing sun with about a mile of pensioners, gone inside and had a look at the state rooms and such. I decided to pass up the opportunity, finished my sausage and headed back out to wander through the park absorbing the Australia Day vibe. I really don’t know what Britain Day would be like if we had one but I have a nagging suspicion it wouldn’t be like this. Perhaps we’re just not a National Day kind of Nation, a nation too long in the tooth to enjoy such simple pleasures without cynicism (and anti-social drunken yobbery).
The remainder of my time in Melbourne was spent pleasantly wandering about filling in the gaps in my memory and rediscovering forgotten gems. One such gem that I remarked upon in a previous adventure was the sculpture of the three rather run down looking brass business men. They’re still there, waiting forever to cross a road, and they still amuse me. A further gem (that it’s odd I haven’t mentioned already) is Flagstaff Gardens. This medium sized and pretty park is Melbourne’s oldest and is named after the time when the hill in the gardens (called Flagstaff Hill, rather appropriately) was home to a flag staff or flag pole used for signalling the arrival of ships in the harbour. These days there is no flag staff and you certainly can’t see the harbour from the hilltop anymore. What I had hoped to see however were possums. Possums are nocturnal and so despite having been through the gardens every day (it’s very close to the Spencer) I hadn’t seen any. I had also noticed that almost all the trees had large plastic collars on their trunks, which I don’t remember being there last time. A sign I had read in Fitzroy Gardens had explained that these were one of a number of methods to naturally control the possum population, which had been finding city gardens to be an all to prosperous place to live. I worried that these methods had been too successful and that I wouldn’t get to see any. I had always hoped to see them when I walked home at night after a late shift at Toto’s and I was determined to see them again, so on my last night in Melbourne I set off at dusk to do a tour of the parks and gardens until I found one. Well, I started at Flagstaff but I was probably a bit early so I headed all the way across town to Fitzroy, but despite wandering around in the near darkness for twenty minutes I didn’t see a thing. So, somewhat disheartened I started wandering homeward. I was passing back through Treasury Gardens (no longer full of scaffolding) when as I passed a tree I heard a scratching sound. I hadn’t paid much attention to these trees as they all had their plastic collars on, but there poking it’s head out of a hole was a possum. I went for a closer look and after it emerged from its hollow and scampered off up the tree another one came out, and then another and another. The whole tree must be practically hollow. I watched them until they had all disappeared up the tree out of sight. So, happy that I’d reacquainted myself with a fluffy favourite I headed back to the Spencer, content. Of course my route took me back through Flagstaff where, now that it was dark, the possums here were out and about. I even saw one with a baby possum on its back. I was also slightly amused that all the possums I saw were up trees with plastic collars on them. Cleaver possums.
Bright and early the following morning I tiptoed through the slumbering Hotel Spencer (for the last time?) and out into the cool dawn air, with my backpack on my back. My journey took me through a peaceful Flagstaff, just glowing golden in the early morning sun, before depositing me on the steps of a different hostel. I wasn’t staying. This was the pick up point for my tour. The last time I left Melbourne I flew to Brisbane, thus missing out on the south east corner of Oz, and though I had travelled south of Brisbane to Sydney there was still a chunk left unexplored. This tour would show me what I had missed out on the first time, and deposit me in Sydney in three days time.
The tour started with the usual round of pickups and then we motored off out of the city on roads that became progressively emptier, narrower and more remote. One of the star attractions of this trip was really the Australian countryside, be it farmland, bush or beach. Of course we’d been promised some wildlife too. Fortunately I rather enjoy sitting watching lovely scenery passing by the window, as we were going to be covering a lot of ground. It was 6:30 when I got on the bus and about midday when we parked up in Wilsons Promontory National Park. By this time the day had really heated up and getting out of the air conditioned bus was a bit of a shock, not that Oz is known for its cold weather and it was the middle of summer. The only minor drawback of these two facts are that it was the last day of the Oz summer holidays (thus increasing visitor numbers) and apparently even native Oz critters don’t like to go out and about when it’s really hot, so wildlife sightings were minimal. Anyway, we set off up a steep sandy path to a rocky lookout where many photographs were taken. Seeing that I had taken my fill of pictures and had already recovered from the climb our tour guide, ‘Squatter’, gave me directions and sent me on to the next lookout in the hope I may see some animals. I looked, but apart from a couple of small birds I didn’t see a thing.
From the next lookout we could see our main goal, South Point, which is a narrow peninsular and also the southernmost point of mainland Australia. To either side of this, and some way below, lay gorgeous golden sandy beaches washed by crystal clear blue ocean. Nice. Once the group had caught up Squatter explained where we could go next, and where we had to end up to find the bus again. It was only a few minutes after I had set off with half the group that it became clear that I was the only one who had both heard and understood his instructions. I managed to point them in the right direction, but it was probably because the instructions included a choice that they got confused. Our final goal was to reach one of the two beaches we had seen from the top (apparently a ‘Squeaky Beach’ but I’ll come back to that), however those who wished to go to the point had to take a detour. Well, as is so often the case, of the group members I was with I was the only one not to opt for the short walk down to the beach and so carried on to the point alone. I had hoped that I would once again have a chance to spot some wildlife, but despite scrutinising the surrounding bush I only managed to find one rather small brown lizard.
The view from the point was spectacular and as there was also a slight breeze I sat on a rock and had my lunch. While there some of the rear guard of the group also turned up, which pleased me. I don’t understand why people would fly halfway around the world to Oz then go on a tour that visits the southernmost point, only to not bother walking the extra two hundred metres to reach it. Especially as I was one of the oldest people on the tour, the rest were certainly able enough. Anyway, it was their loss. After lunch I headed back and down to the beach which Squatter had told us was Squeaky Beach. Now, some of you, my longest standing readers, will recall that I visited a squeaky beach once before in Western Australia (part 2) where sure enough the sand did squeak as you walked on it. Here however, it was a lovely soft sandy beach, but not a squeak to be heard.
Well, The Prom (as it’s also known) had been great despite the lack of wildlife, and though the weather was excellent, it had left me feeling a little wilted. It was a relief to be back on the nice cool bus (I’m getting soft these days), but only for a short drive before we were pulling off the road on to some scrub land which was apparently near an abandoned air strip. The reason for this unscheduled stop was to go wildlife spotting, although we were warned that the scorching windless day was going to make things tricky. Squatter however had a few Crocodile Dundee style tricks to better our chances. After several minutes of picking our way across a field absolutely covered in kangaroo poo, we spotted a group of three emus. They were a long way off, but Squatter explained that emus are creatures of habit and as such like to follow a set route and use the same search pattern when looking for food. He also claimed that they are quite stupid. As such, all you have to do to get close to emus is basically get in the way of where they want to go next. I had my doubts, but following Squatter we crept closer until the emus couldn’t ignore us anymore and they stopped grazing and started at us. But, it worked, because they just stood there, they could have run off in almost any direction, but they didn’t. So, some decent emu photos were had.
Leaving the emus to resume their pre planned route we headed further and through some bushes to where the abandoned and overgrown airstrip lay. Here we were looking for kangaroos, of which Squatter assured us there were many. There weren’t any in sight. About halfway down the airstrip Squatter turned over a half-tyre on the ground to reveal the hiding place of a pair of redback spiders. I have seen these deadly little creepies before but never had a chance to photograph them up close. From here we passed some wombat burrows, but no sane wombat comes out in the heat of the day, perhaps one day I will see a wild one, but not today. Well, that left the kangaroos. Squatter instructed us that we must stay as a tight group so as to appear less threatening to the ‘roos, then he led us off the airstrip and in amongst the clumps of bushes and scrub. Before long we were face to face with a group of about ten kangaroos. They spotted us and seemed a bit nervy and so we didn’t get all that close. As we progressed through the bushes back towards the bus we encountered group after group of kangaroos, and I assume our group was improving it’s hunting skills as we were managing to get closer and closer. To be honest, the area was absolutely infested with kangaroos, I have never seen so many in one go.
Back on the bus and it was another long and lovely drive to a place called Lakes Entrance, so called because a large area of coastal ‘lakes’ are separated from the sea by a long thin strip of land in which there is only one gap, or entrance. The strip of land is called 90 mile beach and is actually 94 miles long and not to be confused with the 90 mile beach in New Zealand (which I have yet to visit) which is only 55 miles long. This was our overnight stop, and after a rather hurried chip shop dinner, with beetroot as is the Oz custom, there was time to catch sunset on the beach before hitting the sack in a rather shabby hostel.
The second day of the tour also involved a great deal of gorgeously scenic driving, but again due to the distances it was another 5:30am wake up call, a hasty breakfast and off we went. A few hours later we ran off the sealed road and on to the dirt track through the Snowy Mountains. We made occasional leg stretch stops at the few points of interest along the way, but the real point was to be driving through the mountains. These leg stretch stops however did allow us to see the tiny wooden Suggan Buggan School House built in 1860ish. We also got to go down to the edge of the Snowy River, so called as it floods with melt water in spring. The stopping point had no name but they had put up a sign to indicate the entrance to the parking area and titled it ‘No Name’. At one point we stopped and all piled off the bus in the middle of the road, as it was a particularly good view and there was almost no traffic. Here Squatter explained that the blue haze that hung over the mountains was caused by the oils in the eucalyptus trees evaporating in the heat. This is apparently why the Blue Mountains are so called, where as these blue mountains are called the Snowy Mountains on account of seasonal snow.
Our final destination for the day was the Alpine Village and occasional ski resort of Thredbo. Skiing in Oz is, perhaps obviously, not their biggest industry. The fact that Thredbo is there at all is, in my mind, a bit questionable. I was told that the ski season often only lasts for about eight weeks a year and because of this skiing here is incredibly expensive. Also, the rest of the year there isn’t much need of an Alpine Village, so those eight weeks need to justify it and all the associated infrastructure that goes with it. Anyway, seeing as I’m not their accountant I don’t much care about all that. Fact is, they built it, and now it was summer and so we got to stay in a hotel (in a dorm) and were the only people in it. It also meant that when it came to getting to the best bit of the day, we could ride the ski lift most of the way there. So, what was the best bit of the day? It was walking to the top of the highest mountain in Oz, Mount Kosciuszko. It’s 2,228 metres high and was named by the Polish explorer Count Paul Edmund Strzelecki, in honour of the Polish national hero and hero of the American Revolutionary War, General Tadeusz Kosciuszko, because of its perceived resemblance to the Kosciuszko Mound in Krakow. Or at least he named the neighbouring mountain this, but when the mountains were more recently surveyed it was found that Mount Townsend was slightly taller, so in order to keep Mount Kosciuszko as the highest mountain they swapped the names, which in my view is a very Australian solution – I approve.
The walk from the top of the ski lift to the top of the mountain was pretty easy as most of the way we were walking on a raised iron grille. Once this ran out at the slightly steeper final climb there was still a decent path. The view from the top was expectably excellent. All my previous experience of Oz had been fairly mountainless (except Tasmania) and so to stand and see mountain peaks and ridges like crinkled land stretching to the horizon was an education as well as a pleasure. Apart from the view the only other thing to do at the top was stand on the trig point and have my photo taken. And there I stood, on top of Australia, and to all intents and purposes on top of the world. Oh, and did I mention, it was my Birthday too. Perhaps I should climb a mountain every Birthday, although January in Britain, not so good for that stuff, I may have to settle for Ilkley Moor.
The next morning we’d been allowed a lie in until 7am. Outside something was wrong. I’d heard it earlier but it hadn’t really registered, but then I ventured out the front door and found that not only was it not sunny, it was absolutely chucking it down. I’d heard that further north they had been having heavy rain and some flooding, but had been assured it would have drained away before I reached it, however this downpour was a bit of a surprise. Of course a quick tot up of our blessings reminded me that at least it waited until the final day of the tour when we would be visiting Canberra, so no mountains to climb or dirt roads to get bogged down in. We all fished whatever we had by way of wet weather gear out of our packs and got on the bus.
Several hours later we reached the outskirts of Canberra. Much of the way there Squatter had been regaling us with historical info about the city and also about wars. I’ll start with the city, which is the capital of Australia and was custom built when Sydney and Melbourne couldn’t decide which of them should be the capital. It occupies it’s own state, the Australian Capital Territory. On my previous visit to Oz I didn’t go to Canberra, which meant there was one box left unticked on my personal list of Australian States visited. So, why hadn’t I gone before? Well, it has a reputation for not really being worth the trip, as it is mainly just government, statues, memorials and embassies. Squatter however loved his history and politics and as such did his absolute best to make us enthusiastic about it all. The other thing he talked a lot about was war. This was mostly because Canberra is home to a huge number of huge war memorials. Squatter talked us through the countless terrible uses of ANZAC troops in just about every armed conflict since Australia was founded. Frankly I found it all rather depressing. Our first stop of the day was at the largest of these war memorials, and it was still raining. Now, as memorials go, this was an impressive monument, but the fact that such a massive memorial is needed is in my view only more massively depressing. After this we drove down a long central avenue lined on both sides with yet more war memorials to all manner of individual wars, battles or battalions.
Anyway, when we finally emerged from pointless-death-alley we took a more light hearted detour around what looked like residential streets, but all the properties were embassies. It was quite fun to see how all the various countries built different style buildings that represented their culture (and sometimes stereotypes). Also interesting to see where countries had labelled plots but hadn’t built anything. This tour then led us to the old parliament building. There is a huge new parliament building, and upon it’s completion the old one was meant to be removed. It had originally been built as a temporary parliament but had been used for such a long time (in the context of a country as young as Oz) that people wanted to keep it, so now it’s costing huge sums to refurbish it. It sits directly in front of the new parliament and so partially blocks the view as you look down the main avenue (from the big war memorial).
We couldn’t go into Old Parliament House but had stopped in front of it for both photos and to see if Squatter could arrange for us to visit the tent embassy. The tent embassy is a makeshift campsite and home to activists who seek (or claim to seek) to draw attention to indigenous rights and land issues. It’s been a permanent camp since 1992 (4 years after the new parliament was opened) but was first established in 1972. It is a point of some contention; Squatter was unusually pro. He knew one or two of the leaders and went over to see if he could find someone to invite us all into the camp and tell us about it. However we had arrived a few days after Australia Day, whilst many who had joined the camp for this were in the process of packing up and leaving. Squatter couldn’t get hold of his contact but another man recognised him and agreed to give us a quick talk. He was (unlike some in the camp) of indigenous appearance and was called Mick. He arranged us in a circle around one of the permanent fires and explained about the camp. Then he handed out gum leaves for us to put in the fire and ‘think positive and peaceful thoughts’ while being protected from evil spirits on our journey, by the smoke.
Next up it was a visit to the huge, new and rather concretey, New Parliament House. I did wonder if the real reason for keeping the old one was to hide this one behind it as it really isn’t very pretty. After going through security checks, where I was selected to be tested for explosives (again) we began our tour. There was an official tour, it lasted about three hours, and we weren’t going on it. No, Squatter was doing our tour and he promised to get us around the place in an hour, and that it would be much less boring. Once again Squatter did a great job of trying to make all the history and politics interesting, and whilst I appreciated the jokes and enjoyed his patter, I still have no love of it all. As I think I have said before, give a rock a name and I’ll go see it, but this stuff – boring. That said, I’ll tell you what I saw. We saw the House of Representatives and the Senate Chamber, and Squatter told us all how great the Oz political system was, as it is apparently fairer and more democratic. Then he took us past all the portraits of the past prime ministers and gave an amusing appraisal of their time in office that made it seem more like a rogues gallery. Oh, and they have one of the few remaining original copies of the Magna Carter (so now I’ve seen two) which he told us the British want back, although I can’t think why, we have a couple of others.
And that was basically the end of the tour. The drive to Sydney was less scenic and more busy the closer we got. I got dropped off at my hostel and suddenly had to look after myself again – it’s very easy being on a tour. It was late and still raining, so I busied myself with making arrangements for the next day and then got some dinner and went to bed. I got up to bad news. It was chucking it down again and the forecast wasn’t promising. I dithered a bit, as I had intended to get the local bus out to Palm Beach, which is the beach used in the TV show Home and Away. Obviously this was an outdoorsy kind of thing, where sunshine would have been ideal. After some thought I went and got my coat and headed out, after all I would get soaked wandering around Sydney if I stayed, and as the next day I was leaving it would be my only chance to visit. I enquired at the hostel as to where I should get the bus from and set off. Arriving at the rather grand Queen Victoria Building I searched the bus stops for my bus number but didn’t find it. On about my fourth tour of the area I spotted a well camouflaged info booth and enquired. I had been sent to the wrong place and had to walk a few streets in the rain to a bus stop with no shelter at all. Oh well. The bus ride was fairly long and mainly urban. As we neared my stop, it’s final destination, the bus got emptier and emptier until I was the only one left.
Home and Away was a programme I used to watch in my school days, at least in part because it was on shortly after I got home from school. Then for many years I stopped watching, but having decided I was going back to Oz I, somewhat inexplicably, sought it out and discovered I could now watch it on the internet at whatever time I chose. So, I started watching it again, and decided I would have to visit the beach so that from that point, if I so wished, I would have to do no more than watch Home and Away to be able to almost revisit one of the places of my travels. Well, on the TV show Palm Beach is called Summer Bay, and when I arrived there was certainly no denying that it was in fact a bay. The wind was coming in fast across the moody ocean, the sky was grey. The sand of the beach which always looks so golden on the telly was darkened by the rain and stuck to my shoes, it was orange and coarser than I’d imagined, like golden breadcrumbs on fish fingers. I carried on up the line of the beach to find the surf club, the exterior of which is also used in the show and it even has a Summer Bay sign on it. Continuing past this I entered a maze of narrow sandy pathways through fenced off areas of bush covered dunes. Here I found huge spider webs across the path with threads stronger than any I have encountered before. It had been my intention to head up the rocky point to visit the rather iconic lighthouse, but frankly it was so little fun battling the elements (especially as I really hadn’t come to Oz equipped for this – it’s not the Lake District) that I crossed to the opposite beach which was a little out of the wind and headed back. Passing the surf club now from the other side I noticed film trucks parked up and some people trying, against the wind, to set up chairs and things for the crew to use. I don’t imagine they got much filming done that day.
Now suitably drenched I waited for the return bus and went back to the hostel to dry off. Having spent less time in Palm Beach than I had expected it left me with a few hours to kill in Sydney and by the late afternoon the rain had reduced to occasional showers. So, I set out to do a quick tour of the city to check it was all still where I’d left it last time. I went to the botanical gardens (good but not as good as Melbourne’s) and saw the Harbour Bridge and Opera House. I also reacquainted myself with Hyde Park, where as dusk was falling I saw fruit bats flying out from the trees. My memory of Sydney from my first visit was that aside from the famous tourist ‘must see’ stuff, it was just a busy city, but somehow that evening after the rain, with the density of the rushing crowds reduced, it seemed calmer and thus pleasanter. I was pleased that I would be leaving Sydney this time thinking more favourably of it, even if I am unlikely to ever consider it a favourite.
Next day it was a very early start, although not a bright one, as I wandered through almost empty streets trying to hide from the rain. The bus ride was 7 hours, the destination Port Macquarie, it rained with varying intensity throughout the journey and at one point water was dripping onto me from the air vents. Upon arrival however, it stopped. A hostel minibus was waiting for me and soon I was settling into a very nice hostel indeed. It made me wish I was able to stay for more than just one night, but alas time was not on my side (it seldom is) so I prepared to make the most of what time I had. By the time I was ready to head out to explore the rain was at it again, so I borrowed an umbrella from the hostel and set out to find the Kooloobung Creek Nature Reserve. The reserve was really good, with much of it being quite dense bush, which on account of the rain was more like rain forest. The paths were waterlogged where no boardwalks were provided and the creek was flooded. This may have contributed to the lack of other people as they probably thought I was mad wading ankle deep in water with an umbrella, but I did get to see some wildlife. There were bats hanging in the trees, dragon flies dog-fighting, an Australian water dragon clinging to a tree root in the creek and something darted away from me through the water too fast for me to see it. I’d hoped it was a platypus, but it probably wasn’t. Oh, and I found some mosquitoes too. They were hungry. I was passing. You know the rest.
The rain was having another rest by the time I headed away from the creek and over to where the Hastings River flows out into the Tasman Sea. I’d been told that dolphins can sometimes be seen, but not today. And that was about all I managed to find in my time in Port Macquary. There was more to see and do, beaches, more nature reserves and a koala hospital to name but a few. I said at the beginning I hoped to discover new places to dream of coming back to, well, this one will have to go on that list. That night I opted into the hostel pizza night, where I met some Scots, some Danes and some Norwegians and we discussed travel and European national differences, which as I recall were quite funny.
Next day it was back on the bus and I was sorry to be leaving so soon, but on the upside the sun was out. It was a nice scenic bus journey with many a kangaroo to spot in the fields along the road. Arriving in Coffs Harbour didn’t give me a great first impression. I had to walk right through town to get to my hostel and along the way I found it to be a busy and utilitarian country town, which seemed rather at odds with what I’d been told. I also only had one day to spare here and so I dumped my bag on my bed and went straight out to explore. I headed to the beach and looked out at the small islands in the sea, then took a path on top of a seawall that both formed one side of the small marina and also joined the land to Mutton Bird Island. This island is a small grassy hill in the water, it gets its name from the large population of mutton birds. I walked up the hill and though I didn’t see any mutton birds, as they dig burrows, I could smell them. From the top the views of the town and surrounding area were excellent and the clear day let me see right to the distant mountains. Below I could see another beach, it had what I would have called a pier but my tourist map called an historic jetty, apparently built by a once thriving timber industry. I had a wander over to it and walked along it, I rather liked it, you don’t see much stuff like this in Oz, although I thought it odd that where the boards had broken they’d replaced them with tarmac, not the most sympathetic restoration.
Much of the rest of my time in Coffs was spent similarly wandering in the sunshine along lovely beaches and coves, and that evening back at the hostel I opted into the (very reasonably priced) sausage sizzle for dinner. A good end to a good day, and I am happy to report that my first impressions of Coffs Harbour were misleading. I have no doubt that there was more to see and do but that will have to wait for another time as the next day I boarded the bus once more. It was time once again to return to the business of Nostalgia Tripping, I was heading back to a place I had taken rather a liking to on my first trip, a place I had hoped to return to ever since I last left, a place I hoped hadn’t changed too much.
Having only been able to get the afternoon bus I arrived at night in Byron Bay, and despite getting off the bus on the main street, I didn’t seem to recognise it at all. To make matters worse the guy driving our hostel pickup bus took us on a quick tour of the town, pointing things out along the way. It was probably meant to be helpful but it was actually rather disorientating, and I’d been here before, it must have been useless to first time visitors. Anyway, the hostel I had chosen was not the one I had stayed in last time, although that one did still exist (it’s name had changed though), and when I arrived I found I had been put in a room right next to the outdoor eating area where music was playing loudly. I’ll be honest, this wasn’t turning out how I’d imagined, I worried that I had stumbled into a ‘party hostel’ which was something I generally avoided even on my original trip. Fortunately the hostel stuck to its night time noise curfew, so I went to bed hoping that in the morning I would wake in the Byron Bay I remembered.
Well, when morning did come, I walked out into the sunshine and it was as if while I’d slept someone had put everything back where it ought to have been, and the Byron of my memory was laid out before me. I did a quick tour of the town which still contains a strong mix of surfer and new age shops, and is by and large the same as it was before. Whilst comforting to find it unchanged, the town itself wasn’t the main attraction. I headed for the beach, or perhaps I should say beaches, as there are a few. The first of these beaches was reached by walking out the back of my hostel, across a disused rail track, and through some dunes, it’s called Belongil Beach and it’s long and golden and generally very nice. Continuing along the coast I crossed on to Main Beach, passing the spot where Beautiful (the old hippy I met last time) used to sit and hand out flowers to passers by, surrounded by paper signs covered in inspirational sayings. I don’t think I really expected to find him still there. As usual Main Beach was very busy with sunbathers and at the far end, surfers. I walked the length of the curving sands, noting once again that the building of sand castles is not common in Oz, for here beach life doesn’t seem to involve buckets and spades. Reaching a rocky outcrop called the pass, I climbed the steps up to the top to watch the surfers, but as the tide was in too far to walk around the pass I headed inland to the cliff path. I passed some black bush turkeys scratching about under the trees and then walked under a large lizard sleeping on a branch over the path. It was a steep climb and then a similar descent to reach Wategos Beach, which was also fairly busy with people making use of the beachside bar-b-qs. Carrying on up and over another small ridge I came down into Little Wategos Beach (which is a lot smaller than the other one) and then up to a look out point at Australia's easternmost point. A sign told me that dolphins can often be seen, but not on this occasion. From here it was a further steep climb up to Byron’s iconic white lighthouse, where I enjoyed the coastal breeze as I studied the view. As I headed down the other side I caught sight of my favourite of all Byron’s beaches, Tallow Beach, which was still as deserted as I remember it being. The path now took me through some inland bush on my way back towards the town and along the way I first saw a bush wallaby and then, alerted by a scratching sound, saw a large monitor lizard climbing a tree. All in all an excellent day.
The remainder of my time in Byron was spent doing very similar things. Of course I went to Tallow Beach and walked a great deal of its great length. It always puzzled me that this beach was so often completely empty, it’s on the tourist maps, it’s five minutes walk from Main beach and there is even a car park, yet it is reliably empty and peaceful. Also the slightly firmer sand near the waterline is perfect for walking along, which is what I did while keeping an eye on the bush covered dunes for the shady spots I used to sit in, but dunes shift with time, and the bush seemed to have got denser. And so, Byron Bay was a favourite before and is a favourite still, it’s difficult to say exactly why this particular small Australian beach town is somehow more perfect than so many others, but it is. Nothing remarkable happens here, and yet it is remarkable for being such a nice place to be, and as I sat on the early morning bus out of town I wished I could stay longer and hoped to be back again.
And so we come to the final stop, the place from which I would be flying home. It is a place I have been to and through on several previous occasions, though never for very long. Despite this it doesn’t really fit into the nostalgia category as I don’t have any fond memories of the place. The place in question is Brisbane. Arriving early I had the best part of two full days here before going to the airport and I decided it was only fair to wipe the slate clean and give Brisbane another chance, to see if I could do or find something that could become a fond memory.
Getting off the bus, the day was hot and very humid. I set off to a hostel that I had chosen because it looked like it should be a good old fashioned hostel – a proper hostel. Well, my impression having got checked in was that it probably had been a good old fashioned hostel once, but that was some time ago. Since then it had passed through tired, then shabby and now, well now it was worn out – suffice to say you could see through more of the carpets than the windows. All the components of a good hostel were in evidence but it really needed someone to spend some time and money on it. Also the guy running it was a bit of an oddity. He was middle aged and from his accent probably originated in the north of England, his manner was a touch down-trodden but he seemed keen to be of help in any way possible. Having settled in and got prepared to explore Brisbane I put him to the test, asking if he could arrange me an airport pickup for the day I was leaving (most Oz hostel desks act as mini-travel agents arranging local tours and transport). But he could only direct me to the bus station I had just come from to enquire there.
Anyway, I stepped out into the muggy day and found my way over the three humped Grey Street bridge to discover the huge concrete museum complex. I went in for a look, and though it was good it was far smaller on the inside than it looked on the outside. They did have some models of Australia’s extinct megafauna which looked almost exactly like its remaining fauna only much bigger. From here I wandered through the South Bank Parklands where I found the ‘City Beach’ which is a manmade beach and swimming pool free to use in the park, it was quite busy. There were also some boardwalks through an area of trees and ponds where water dragons lazed, and a Nepalese Peace Pagoda. I considered this park to be a bit of a find, and an encouraging one at that. I crossed the Goodwill Bridge and after getting lost in a maze of construction work arrived at the Botanical Gardens. These were small and park like, nice enough but nothing to challenge Melbourne’s crown. I spent some hours crisscrossing the city centre finding it to be much as I remembered, which is to say busy, utilitarian and frankly, nothing special. Then as I headed to the bus station the afternoon downpour started, and after sorting out my pickup I took a seat and watched the rain bouncing up off the ground outside. I wasn’t sure how long these bouts of rain lasted, but after about half an hour it seemed to get less intense, so I made a dash for it, but still got fairly wet.
Back at the hostel I started to think about what I would do with my final day in Oz. I’d given Brisbane it’s chance and whilst I had found some new good points the place as a whole really wasn’t my idea of fun. I’d read about a wildlife park out of town and went to ask my helpful hostel manager about how I might get there. But again he sent me back to the bus station. Well, I’d seen enough of that place so I tried the internet instead.
I woke early after a poor night’s sleep. The room was very hot and as there was no air-con the windows had to be kept open, which let in the sound of freight trains passing on the tracks the hostel backed on to. I set off to buy supplies and was slightly shocked at just how powerfully hot the sun was even at that early hour, then started on the long walk across town to where the bus stop was. I felt that there must be countless other closer stops I could have used but the internet had told me I had to go to the furthest possible one, and none that I passed bore the number I needed. To be honest, having not got up in the best of moods I was half tempted not to bother, but I couldn’t even laze about at the hostel all day as they had chosen that one day to get a team of industrial cleaners and pest control specialists in to deep clean the place. The bus was late and almost three times more expensive than I’d been told, which did nothing for my mood, but I got on anyway, and I’m glad I did. The Lone Pine koala sanctuary was several miles out of the city, and as soon as I stepped off the bus I realised that it was exactly where I needed to be. The air was cooler, the park was shady, and immediately I felt a hundred times better. As I said before; country mouse not town mouse.
As the name suggests the park was principally a koala sanctuary, where they cared for koalas who, for one reason or another, could not go back to the wild. In captivity however, koalas live rather longer than they otherwise would and so they have quite a large collection, in fact they have one hundred and thirty. I have never seen so many koalas in my life, and better still their enclosures had no cages around them as koalas aren’t the hurdling type, and they had given them stout tree branches for them to cling to. These upright branches were only a little higher than I am and so you really do get very close to them. The park is also sanctuary to other animals and birds many of which can’t go back to the wild either. So there were lots of kangaroos, wallabies and a one eyed emu, but also almost the full compliment of other Oz critters that I hadn’t managed to see in the wild this trip, including some favourites. These favourites included the platypus, the Tasmanian devils and the wombats. The platypus was kept in a posh aquarium in a dimly lit room. It was hyperactive, and seemed to be following a search pattern of all the places he would normally find food. I went back a few times throughout the day and he just didn’t stop. Then when it was feeding time, he vanished, and the keeper who was giving us a talk about him was pointing to an empty tank.
The devils were getting on a bit, and apparently don’t live very long anyway, but it is always fun to watch them snarling and crunching through their dinner, bones and all. The wombats however were being lazy and refusing to emerge from their concrete tube burrow substitutes. I had to check back several times during the day in the hope of seeing them. Eventually, I got lucky. One of the keepers came along and deposited a blue tartan picnic blanket in one of the wombat enclosures. Shortly after this, Mr. Wombat came out for a bit of a run around and then got hold of the blanket in its mouth and dragged it back into it’s concrete tube to lie on. So, I may never have seen a wild wombat, but I have seen a cosy one.
Another highlight of the day was various animal talks and demos. The best of these was the bird of prey demo. We had all assembled under a large white tent roof on rows of fold out chairs. Before us a gentle grassy slope swept down to a lake. I had expected that the demo of the birds flying and catching food would be performed over this area. I was wrong. With the exception of the biggest eagle all the birds were flown under the tent roof with us. First flying right over our heads, then one was flown down between the rows of people, it was brilliant, best bird show I’ve ever been to.
Well that about wraps things up. The end of the last day. I had worried I would be leaving Oz on a low point due to the Brisbane effect, but thanks to a collection of needy animals I was leaving on a high. Back at the newly cleaned hostel (which looked and smelled exactly as I’d left it) I made preparations for my early morning departure. Although I wasn’t sorry to be leaving this particular hostel I was still sorry to be leaving. The morning came, bright and sunny and hot, I got on my minibus and all too soon was being sniffed by a dog on my way through security. Then it was time to sit on the plane, staring out the window down through cloudless skies at Australia’s vast red interior, wondering when next I might be back. I had set out to see places old and new, and having discovered that revisiting past favourites is more like re-entering a dream than bursting a bubble, it does rather open up a whole world of past favourites. But ‘where to next?’ is an open question, and one I will enjoy thinking about while scraping off that flaky old paint in the cellar or choosing carpet. There may be so much more I need to get done between adventures these days than was once the case, but this trip has reminded me of the value of making time for them. So rest assured, my readers, even if years pass without word since this adventure ended, there will one day be another, and when there is, as ever, you’ll be amongst the first to know.
David.