Boogity, boogity, boogity...

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I’d heard it long before I’d even left home: the two main islands of New Zealand are a complete contrast.  With the charm of the South Island inexorably linked to a seemingly never-ending series of narrow scenic byways winding their way over mountains and round fjords; the scene from the open deck continue reading...

My first task when I arrived in Dunedin was to buy a tent to replace the shredded canvas dumped in the back seat of my car.  Thankfully Dunedin boasted what is reputed to be one of the best outdoor stores on the South Island and, within five minutes of walking through the door, I was walking back out again with an absolute bargain of a tent.  I was very happy with my acquisition and even happier when I discovered that the local campground was one of the friendliest and best equipped that I had visited for several months.  

With my house built for the evening it was time to head out to see the penguins and I decided to take the campground manager up on his suggestion that the best way to see them would be to visit the Penguin Conservation Preserve.  At $35 it certainly wasn’t a cheap option but it was all in a good cause so I handed over my cash and boarded the rickety old bus which would drive us out to the network of hides which they had built adjacent to the beach.   I had somehow expected hundreds of penguins to be confidently strutting about the beach so was disappointed to learn that we weren’t guaranteed continue reading...

Just a single night after returning to Sydney the unthinkable happened: it was time to leave.  And, this time, for good.  The atmosphere in the car was subdued as I was driven across town by my faithful chauffeur Dan.  It was horribly early, my head was a little cloudy from the previous evening’s exuberance and, frankly, I wasn’t in the mood for talking.  The only sound to be heard was the CD playing quietly in the background and the occasional screech of tyres as we sped through the empty streets.  As we passed the familiar landmarks of Woolloomoolloo Naval Yard and Harry’s Café de Wheels for the last time I had a lump in my throat.  “I’m gonna miss this”, I heard myself say as the famous Sydney Harbour Bridge slipped out of sight and we headed down into the Cross City Tunnel which would lead us out towards the airport.  As we entered the darkness of the tunnel the reality of the situation became clear: three months after I arrived, my time in Australia was continue reading...

Mention Tasmania and a million different images - some good, some not so good - will fill your mind so I was excited to finally be boarding a plane in my quest to find out what the real Tasmania was and whether it bore any resemblance to those images.  I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect of a place with such contrasting history but, as I glanced out of the window as we started our approach to Hobart Airport, I was starting to wonder if we ourselves would become part of history.  That runway looked mighty short for such a large plane and, well, I couldn’t help but notice there was a lake at one end and the Tasman Sea at the other…

As you’re reading this after the event you will, no doubt, have guessed that we made it back down to earth safe and sound (albeit with an almighty thud).  After an interminable delay at the baggage carousel I picked up my rental car and headed off to find somewhere to camp for the night.  Virgin Blue’s tiny baggage allowance meant that I had travelled light and, before I could start thinking of a place to stay, I faced a race against time to buy the camping gear that I needed continue reading...