Boogity, boogity, boogity...

It all started with this - this entire eight-month trip.   As soon as I heard rumours of a Formula One race through the streets of Singapore I knew I wanted a piece of the action.  Up until the start of this season there was just one street race each year - the grand daddy of them all: the Monaco Grand Prix - and Singapore sounded like it had the potential to be the Monaco of Asia.  When official confirmation final came there was an extra twist: it was going to be held at night!  This was a first for Formula One and I decided then and there that I would be in Singapore for the race no matter what the cost.  This determination was a definite plus as the weekend would end up costing me a sum of money similar to the annual budget of Scuderia Ferrari!The decision made I waited until the date for the meeting was formally announced and then set out to book my flights.  Having failed to come up with an even vaguely sensible price, I contacted a couple of travel agents.  They couldn’t help but one asked what seemed at the time to be a very random question - “have you looked into a ‘round-the-world’ ticket?”  Well, no, I hadn’t but, crazy as it sounds, the price that she came back with was a fraction of the cost of a standard return flight for that particular weekend.  Crisis averted, I sat back and waited for the race tickets to go on sale a couple of months later.

Things are never that simple, of course, and this was no exception.  For a couple of months everything seemed to be telling me that my life wasn’t going anywhere and that I needed to make a change.  And, after all, I did have that round-the-world ticket burning a hole in my pocket, right?  Within weeks of finally booking my race tickets, I had quit my job and was getting dropped off at the front doors of Heathrow.  I was off on an eight-month adventure and it was all Singapore’s fault!

And here I was; five months after leaving home, heading off to Asia.  Boy, was I excited!  My flight took me into Singapore but, despite the sight of huge numbers of F1 team personnel heading throughthe airport - I wasn’t hanging around; I was catching a connecting flight up to Kuala Lumpur - in neighbouring Malaysia - where I would spend the first three nights of my time in Asia.  I knew very little about the city other than it is home to the impressive Petronas Twin Towers (which were, until recently, the tallest buildings in the world) but I figured the best way to find out was to go and experience it for myself.

I arrived in KL following a long and tiring overnight journey from Darwin, hopped on the fast train from the airport to downtown KL and then finished my journey to the hotel in a cab.  In that short ride it soon become apparent that KL is a place of huge contrasts - whether that be the contrast between the ‘haves’ riding round in their Mercedes and Maybachs and the ‘have-nots’ who live in the slums on the outskirts of town or the contrast between the absolute third-world chaos of the roads to the modern and superbly-efficient airport and express rail link - it sure is a fascinating mix and I loved the city.  It was fantastic to be able to walk the streets at night without fear of being robbed and then to return to the hotel and enjoy real luxury for a pittance. 

The Petronas Twin Towers were, as expected, the centrepiece of the city and I visited a number of times to take photos at various times of the day (and to take the free tour of the building) but what I really enjoyed was hopping on and off the excellent monorail system at random intervals and exploring those contrasting scenes that I mentioned.  For the second time on this tour I had to go looking for a new camera after mine decided to cry foul and finally died.  With the bargain prices on electronics in Malaysia it couldn’t have happened in a better place.

Having checked out of my hotel I hopped on the monorail one final time and head off to KL Sentral - the main railway station - where I was to catch a train to Singapore.  68 Ringits (something like £10GBP) took me south across the border at a fraction of the cost of flying and with the added bonus of a huge reclining seat which puts anything even Business Class could offer to shame.  The journey was quick and painless and took us through some stunning jungle scenery.  I wish that I had more time to get off and explore some of the fascinating looking towns which we passed by but I, and seemingly most everyone else on the train, had an appointment 330km south of KL.

Before we knew it we had arrived at the station at Johor Bahru where Malaysian immigration officials boarded the train and officially signed us out of the country.  I couldn’t help, as we crossed the famous causeway into Singapore, but promise myself that I would come back to explore the rest of this fascinating country someday.  A few hundred yards across the border we pulled in to the Woodlands Train Checkpoint where we all had to disembark the train and queue up to clear Singapore Immigration.  This was a short and painless procedure - although it was a pain to have to lug all our bags off the train - and we were soon on our way once again.

25 minutes down the line and we reached the end of the line: Keppel Road Station.  Or Malaysia Station as locals know it.  Whatever you want to call it, you can’t help but be amazed at the long-faded colonial grandeur of the art-deco building which, despite being on Singapore territory, is still owned by Malaysians even though the Singaporeans have spent many years trying to buy it for redevelopment.  Due to their lack of success they have refused to provide connections to the rest of their excellent public transport system and this left me with a frustrating 30-minute wait for a cab to my hotel on the other side of town.  I had finally arrived in Singapore and the reality hit home as I sat looking out of the window of my 26^th floor hotel room at an amazing view of an amazing city.  I couldn’t stop grinning.

Early the next morning I took the short walk to Outram Park MRT (Mass Rapid Transit) station where I picked up an EZ-Link card - a pre-paid card used for all manner of payments across the city including public transit - and made my way to Suntec City to collect my race tickets.  The journey on the train was quick, easy and - at 66cents - very cheap (in fact I would spend less than 7 bucks on buses and trains all weekend including getting out to the airport!)  Suntec City, on the other hand, was anything but cheap: it was huge and had all manner of lovely things to spend my money on!  After several false starts, I finally found my way to the SingPost office where I had selected to collect my race tickets.  I flashed my passport, was handed my passes and was quickly on my way.  I stopped briefly at the Singapore Motor Show at Suntec Convention Centre but soon realised that it was a total waste of time and headed over to the nearby circuit.

Having spent even more of my precious money on T shirts, a programme and food I headed to the grandstand to find my seat.  I’d managed to get myself a ticket for row one in turn one which should have been one of the best seats in the house but I was disappointed to find my view of the track badly obstructed by a safety rail on the front of the grandstand.  Just before the on-track activity started I met my neighbour for the next few days who turned out to be a guy from Manchester.  We spent the next couple of days cheering on Lewis Hamilton, jeering Jenson Button, antagonising the Aussies in the row behind us, drinking beer and struggling to find our way back to our hotels afterwards.  Happy days!

Sunday came and it was a strange experience to wake at 10am then lounge around all day before heading off to the race mid-afternoon.   At any other race you have to be up at the crack of dawn, battle it out on the road to get anywhere near the venue and then fight your way through crowds to get to your seat.  In Singapore it was a simple ride on the MRT, a quick beer at a local bar and then a short unhurried walk to your seat past street entertainers and bands performing on nearby stages.  To put t simply - it was one hell of a party! 

Excitement built as the sun started to go down and, at 8pm, the race got underway.  It was an exciting race, full of unpredictable action, and it was over all too soon.  Fernando Alonso - long out of favour in the Antill household - ran out as winner, with Nico Rosberg a strong second despite a ten-second stop-go penalty and Lewis Hamilton happy to sit in third and pick up six more points than Felipe Massa (his main rival for the championship) who endured an awful race.

We’d been repeatedly warned to stay off the track at the end of the race but, following the lead of half a dozen spectators who made it onto the track as the final cars crossed the line, Dan and I leapt down from the grandstand, hit the track and set off towards the podium.  Having sprinted the length of the pit straight- thankfully now with scores of other people following - we made it to the podium just in time for the trophy presentations and national anthems.  It was quite an experience and fair play to the authorities who let us get away with it before politely asking us all to make out way back into the public areas.  The whole weekend was rounded off nicely when we went to buy a couple of post-race beers and were handed a hundred bucks worth of beer tokens by one of the hospitality people.   Magic.

As we left the circuit we became aware of a commotion up ahead and were amazed to find ourselves walking through two long lines of event staff who were cheering and applauding us as we left.  I’ve really got no idea if this show of appreciation was spontaneous or not but one thing was very clear: they were genuine in their appreciation of those who had come and very proud of what they had pulled off.   And rightly so - it was an amazing weekend.

Monday morning came and I woke sad that it was all over and felt sad that I would be heading back to Australia later in the day.  I think that has to be the ultimate compliment - how many people can say they are sad to be heading to Australia?  Before I headed off to the airport I headed back to the circuit to see what was going on and was surprised to discover that the teams were still there working away.  I guess that is the difference between a fly away race and one of the regular European races that I had been to before where spectators will still be milling around as the last of the transporters roll out of the circuit before being driven through the night to be back at base on Monday morning.  

 It would be wrong of me to say that Malaysia and Singapore had been what I had hoped they would be. Far from it; they’d been  far better and I can’t wait until I get another opportunity to go back. As an Englishman who is more used to broken and failing infrastructure and negative attitudes, it was a thoroughly refreshing change to find a place which is forward-looking and positive. I’ll be back!

It hadn’t been a great start to the morning: I had been out of bed at 5am to try and phone Kristina in Copenhagen but had been unable to get through.  Now, with the time slowly ticking up to 630am, I couldn’t help but smile.  In a matter of a few minutes we’d be climbing aboard the big truck parked outside and heading off on the next leg of the trip up to Darwin.  After three days amidst the noise and commotion of the Cable Beach Backpackers Lodge, I couldn’t wait! 

Some of the other people joining the tour had been lucky enough to have spent the last few days elsewhere - presumably somewhere a little more salubrious - so, as we awaited their arrival, we were introduced to Garry, Helen, Trev 2 and Bubbles.  Garry was our driver, Helen was his truck, Trev 2 was the trailer (he broke the first one in case you were wondering!) and Bubbles was his fish.  Don’t ask!  The others boarding the truck (sorry… Helen) were Roger, Nicole and Bettina from Switzerland; Mathias, Ellen and Heinz from Germany; and Claus, Sam, Sandra, Isabelle and I from the Perth - Broome trip.  

I was sat up front with Garry as we headed out of town but soon became aware of a drama in the back of the truck.  Surprisingly it wasn’t down to my music selection - DJ Craig rocked apparently - rather it was due to rain.  Not much that can be done about the weather, I thought, until I realised the ‘rain’ was falling from inside the truck.  In fact it was issuing from the aircon units on either side of the truck; the ones directly above the seats.  Garry assured us that he would take care of it as soon as we stopped but, as the trip progressed, it would become increasingly apparent that he had no intention of doing so and we would just have to live with it. 

The first day went well and any fears that the new members on the tour would struggle to fit in were quickly allayed.  After a quick stop in Derby for lunch, and to pick up provisions, we turned on to the famous Gibb River Road.  The first 100km or so of The Gibb were paved and we tore along towards our first proper stop: Windjana Gorge National Park in the Napier Range.  All too soon though we bounced off the end of the smooth tarmac and on to the dusty and bumpy Gibb River Road that we had all been expecting.  We had to get used to it fast - it would be our home for the next four days - and I thought I’d left the Dempster Highway behind in Alaska! 

We dropped Trev 2 at the Windjana Gorge campground and headed off to nearby Tunnel Creek National Park.  We spent the rest of the day exploring the huge 750-metre cave system which was the hideout of Aboriginal leader, and outlaw, Jandamarra in the 1800s.  After years of playing hide and seek with the authorities he was finally tracked down and killed by another Aboriginal tracker.  Our exit from the cave was, despite having to dodge the hundreds of bats, somewhat more relaxed and we arrived back at the campground just in time to observe a spectacular sunset from the roof of the truck.  Whilst I was up top I threw down enough swags for everyone in the group.  Everyone but one, that is.  I had spotted the best sleeping place of them all and had firmly staked my claim to the ‘roof garden’!   Later that evening we discovered that we had a pyromaniac in our group - Claus doing sterling service in preparing the coals on which we would cook our dinner.

Sleeping under the stars was new to most people in the group and most were awake as soon as the sun came up next morning.  Of course, I had the experience of the ‘midnight sun’ in Alaska under my belt - as well as a good few beers the previous evening -  and I stayed asleep until just a few minutes before we set off for the day when luckily someone remembered I was up on the roof and decided to wake me!   After exploring Windjana Gorge itself we headed back to the truck, hooked up the trailer and headed off along an increasingly rough Gibb River Road towards Bells Gorge.  There were no changing rooms at Bells Gorge so we stopped at a rest area 30 minutes away prior to our arrival there - it was lucky that we did as we found a nasty surprise waiting for us.  The trailer hitch had broken en route and it was only by some miracle that the trailer hadn’t completely fallen off some way back along the road.   It was debateable whether it would have stayed attached for another 30 minutes of driving but, with us stopped, it took us a full twenty minutes of struggle to even unhitch the trailer.  With a dozen faces peering at him, Garry announced that the trailer would have to wait - the cooling water of Bells Gorge was far more important… and how right he was!

A couple of hours later, we headed back to the rest area to be reunited with the trailer and, whilst the others prepared lunch; Claus, Garry and I tackled the broken hitch.  With a lot of brute force and ignorance (as well as the tried and trusted method of smashing seven shades of shit out of it with a length of scaffold bar!) we finally managed to re-couple the two.  Of course it would be impossible for me to go anywhere and not upset someone and, sure enough, I received an ear-bashing from an old couple who were enjoying the peace and quiet before our arrival back at the truck.  Quite how they expected us to recover the situation so far out in the bush without making any noise I have no idea. 

All safely hitched back off we headed off towards our accommodation for the night - our first night of proper bush camping alongside the nearby Adcock River.  Dinner was a nice curried-chicken affair, cooked in a pot on the open fire.  It was quite an atmosphere - especially when we were introduced to Dougie; the spade.  I will leave it up to your imagination as to the purpose of said spade!

The following day was all about getting some kilometres behind us and we spent the majority of the day in the truck with just a couple of hiking and swimming stops at Galvins and Mannings Gorges.  Both gorges were beautiful and we spent a lazy couple of hours relaxing in the sun and cooling off in the water before getting back on the bus.   By now the trickle of water from the broken air conditioning units above our heads had become a torrent and, combined with the incessant bumping along the Gibb River Road, it took a little bit of the shine off a great day which ended with us abruptly turning off the road - knocking down bushes and trees as we went - before arriving in a clearing out of sight of the road.  Garry claimed that the site was a new discovery but it was clearly a regular little show he put on for his passengers.  Either way it was a hell of a way to end a great day.  Except the sun hadn’t set on the day quite yet - we watched that, sat in a long line, down the centre of The Gibb.  When we were done with the sunset  we turned to return to the camp and promptly sat down again - to watch the moon rising from the opposite direction!   All in all we were sat there for over an hour - in which time not a single car came along.

The novelty of The Gibb was quickly wearing thin so it was good news to wake up with the knowledge that day number 16 was our last full day on the road and that we had a reward for our perseverance in the shape of the El Questro campground.  After another long day in the truck we finally forded the Pentecost River and turned left into El Questro mid-afternoon.  After another well-deserved cooling dip - the temperature was increasing exponentially as he headed north - we set off on the short drive to the nearby campground.  With hot showers, a laundry, a payphone and a bar it was like stepping out of the dark ages and we arrived all smiles.  Initially we didn’t pick up on it but very quickly we began to sense an atmosphere around the place and it wasn’t due to us pitching our tents in the wrong place.  Whatever - it would have to wait - I had a date with the laundry and there was a hot shower with my name on it.

Back at the truck word had begun to spread about an accident at the nearby Purnululu National Park which had closed the park.  There were no details of the accident at the time but it was disappointing to hear the park was closed as we were heading there ourselves the following day.    A friend who had done the tour previously had told me how the highlight of her trip was a helicopter flight over the Bungle Bungle area of the park and I had been talking it up amongst the group.  I was desperate to do it and a good number of the others were up for it too.  Slowly though the full story began to trickle through: one of the helicopters had crashed, killing the pilot and his three young passengers.  The news hit the group like an Exocet and there was nothing else to do but retreat to the bar.  Whilst we sat at the bar we learned that one of the girls who had been killed had been working at El Questro and, understandably, there was a sombre mood around the place.  It truly was a surreal evening and I was pleased to head off for an early night.

Early - very, very early - the next morning we rolled up our swags and headed off to Zebbedee Hot Springs.  Being up before the sun was a real pain but it proved to be worth sacrificing our precious sleep as we had the hot springs entirely to ourselves.  It was a fantastic start to the day; and it only got better as the it went on.  When we headed back to the truck we discovered that Garry had made us all breakfast pancakes which we devoured before heading to the stunning Emma Gorge where we spent a couple of hours hanging out, drinking in the scenery and relaxing.  Whilst most of the group were swimming I spent some time in another hot spring chatting to Bettina and a girl named Helen who had been working at El Questro.  But the best part of the day?  The very best, most exciting, part of the day?  Simple: finally hitting the other end of The Gibb and turning onto tarmac again.  Beautiful, smooth, lovely tarmac…

Purnululu National Park, it transpired, was open again.  More than that, the helicopters were flying again.  This gave everyone something to think about whilst we were hiking through the Beehives area of the park and, when we reached the natural amphitheatre of Cathedral Gorge, we sat down to discuss the matter.  Out of the group just five of us still wanted to do the flight.  Understandable, I guess, but I thought it a little sad that the others missed out.   Sure enough it was a strange - some may say eerie - atmosphere at the helipad but it was obvious that the pilots there were very skilled and professional and I am sure that the investigation will prove that it was just a tragic accident.

Later in the day it was apparent that the atmosphere amongst the group had deteriorated with Bettina and Heinz now completely refusing to talk to each other.  They had had words earlier in the trip - about what I have no idea - but I was finding it increasingly frustrating that they couldn’t act like the adults they were and sort it out.  The whole thing wasn’t helped in the least when we got back on the truck only to be drenched within a few kilometres by the aircon.  I finally lost my cool with the whole situation and, having fired a few f***s into a shocked Garry, I sat back down.  I felt better at least; if not drier.  Later that evening he was heard on the satellite phone to his office demanding that the fault be looked at when we reached Cunnanara the following day.

Cunnanara itself was a bit of a hole but it was memorable for Bettina and Heinz’s feud finally coming to a head.  Having arrived at the campground; she showered, grabbed her bag and headed off in the direction of the Greyhound Bus Station.   It was an amusing way to end the day and a spectacular way to end her tour!   Garry was fuming and, his pride having taken a knock, switched to the full charm offensive to try and keep everyone else happy.  It was apparent that there were underlying tensions but with us so near to Darwin most people seemed content to count down the days. 

The final couple of days saw us take a cruise on the man-made Lake Argyle, enjoy the hot springs at Katherine and swim at Edith Falls.  The thing that will stick with me most from those last few days was the amazing Archerfish of Lake Argyle which can spit jets of water at its prey.  Traditionally this would be insects but in this case it was little bits of bread we were holding over the side of the boat.  It was quite a remarkable sight to see them spitting up to 2 metres with such accuracy. 

And then it was all over.  I had enjoyed the trip up the west coast and through the Kimberleys but I was relieved that it was all over and I could get back to my trip.  I knew at the time that it wasn’t winning me any friends but I couldn’t help but grin inanely as we rode through the outskirts of Darwin.  We were dropped at the bus station and, having made my way to my hotel room, the grins turned to girly giggling and me dancing round the room as if I had just won the FA Cup.  I was that happy to see the back of that truck!

We met one final time that evening for a few beers at Shennanigans - surely the least Irish Irish bar ever - before a few polite handshakes and us all going our own separate ways.  It was quite different to that final night in Anchorage and, looking back, such a shame as it was a good group of people and a great bit of country.  I’m not sure why it didn’t gel as well as it should but, hey, that’s life.  The only thing that I can come up with is was the lack of options.  By that I mean we were always together - 24 hours a day - whether it was sleeping as a group, eating as a group, swimming as a group, hiking as a group… you get the idea.  Perhaps we were just naive to imagine it being any other way in such a remote and, at times, inhospitable location.

I had just 24 hours to explore Darwin and, if I’m honest, that was about the right time.  Whilst wandering through town I heard a familiar voice calling out my name - it was Bettina.  She had made her way from Cunnanara to Darwin on the Greyhound bus and had been staying locally.  The break from the confines of the group had done her the world of good and she was a new person.  We decided to hop on a bus and head off to the Darwin Museum that we had both read about in Bill Bryson’s book.  He was fascinated by it and I can see why.  Well worth a visit if you are in the area.  We spent far longer than we expected there and, by the time we had headed back to town and had a beer and a bite to eat, it was time for us to say our goodbyes and for me to head off to the airport.  Singapore beckons!

After such an amazing trip through Alaska I was more than a little nervous about joining up with my second Trek America tour.  It couldn’t possibly top my previous experience, could it?  There was only one way to find out so I grabbed my bag and walked the short distance to the bus station where I’d been told to meet the others doing the 21-day Western Xposure trip up to Darwin.  I was somewhat surprised to find 40 or 50 people waiting huddled under a small canopy trying to keep out of the early morning rain but, having introduced myself to a number of them, I learned that ours was just one of many tours departing that morning.   Before long four or five buses emblazoned with the Western Xposure logo drew up to collect their passengers.  The last one to arrive was accompanied by blaring horns as it pulled a spectacular u turn across the front of the oncoming rush-hour traffic… guess which bus we were on?  I knew right away that me and the driver - the ever-smiling Jenai - were gonna get along just fine and those nerves went right out the window.

There were just 12 of us on the bus - later to be named, for reasons quite beyond me, the Yippee Yippee Bus - which was fantastic as it meant we had loads of room to spread out and it made life very comfortable.  Certainly more comfortable than on the other bus which would be running in tandem with us up to Exmouth as their bus was not only full but a dodgy speed-limited meant it wouldn’t go above 80kmp/h (despite the best efforts of Jenai who took her tool box to it a couple of times!) 

Our group consisted Sam, Sarah, Sandra and myself from the UK, Sanjyot, Ross and Joan from Australia, Claus and Anne from Germany, Peter from Ireland, Enis from the Netherlands and Isabelle from France.  Apart from Anne and Peter, we were mostly old farts so I was confident that we would all get along well. 

The first four or five days were fantastic: the weather was improving the further north we went, the group was really starting to gel and we had a huge range of activities to choose from.  In the space of a few days I went sand boarding, tried abseiling for the first time, went ATVing and shared the water with the dolphins at Monkey Mia.  It truly was going well.  And then we reached Exmouth.

Our visit to Exmouth had started well when we stopped to rent snorkelling gear for the following day’s visit to Cape Range National Park before heading for our cabins and enjoying fish and chips from a nearby take away.  But the following morning it all changed.  The rain had returned and spirits had dropped: maybe tiredness was starting to creep in from the hectic first few days or maybe it was early signs of tension within the group.  I was the only one to so much as get in to the ocean but, being both a terrible swimmer and someone who is capable of sensing the bad atmosphere, I was soon out and changed back in to warm clothes.  We visited Yardie Creek before spending some time in the visitor centre but were soon heading back to the cabins where we spent most of the day.    

That evening we headed for a local bar and were introduced to a new member of our group - trainee tour guide Andy.  I try never to judge people on my first meeting as I am often proved to me wrong about them later but this time my instincts would prove to be right.  The first time I met him I thought he was an utter tool and that feeling would only intensify.   I’ll spare you all the gruesome details but let me just say that his arrival was the final nail in the coffin for any chance of the group regaining the spirit of the first few days.

We left Exmouth at the crack of dawn on day six and headed off on the long drive to Karijini National Park.   Following a brief stop for provisions at the mining town of Tom Pryce, we turned on to the bumpy dirt road that led us out to Karijini where we would be spending the next three nights sleeping under the stars in swags.  We had been warned that we would need to sacrifice a pair of clothes to Karijini’s red dirt so it was something of a surprise to arrive to the sight of a wedding being conducted in the campground.  Not something that you see every day!  I do hope that she found a way to remove the dirt from her long white gown afterwards as, despite my best efforts, I’ve been totally unable to shift any of the dirt from my clothes!

Despite the ruined clothes and the increasing tension within the group I liked Karijini.  I liked it a lot.  That had little to do with the fact that Andy disappeared to spend the day with his friends (though it definitely helped!) and everything to do with the hiking and exploring that we did there.  The entire trip would see us exploring some beautiful gorges and water features but, for me, Karijini was the best of the best.  The gorges are rated on a scale of 1 to 6 in terms of difficulty with 1 being for beginners and 5 being the toughest before you have to gin for advanced training, certification and special equipment.  Rather than mess around we were straight in to the tough ones and hanging off of sheer rock faces like spider man.  Looking back it was terrifying but, with the adrenaline pumping, it was huge fun and a great way to see an amazing national park. 

‘Leaving Karijini was a sad moment as it was the last major stop before the group reached Broome and went their separate ways.  We spent the day driving - stopping at Port Hedland for lunch - and ended it on the campground at Indee Station.  Some of us headed off to the nearby beach to watch a spectacular sunset before returning to the campground to enjoy a fantastic meal and to be entertained around the campfire by another camper with a guitar and an amazing talent.  It was a perfect evening and, for a time, the tensions were forgotten.

And then, after a brief stop at 80-mile beach, it was all over.  We arrived in Broome and, following a group photo on the beach, we headed to our accommodation for the night.  Most of us were staying in the Cable Beach Backpackers which turned out to be a miserable experience.  After the last four or five nights sleeping in the peace and quiet of the bush we were suddenly confronted by party central at the hostel.  It was a shock and I for one was grateful when it was time to head to the nearby restaurant for our ‘farewell meal’.  It was a great evening - despite the unbelievably long wait for food! - and we agreed that we should meet one more time for breakfast the following morning.

After we’d eaten breakfast, and said our farewells once again, we headed off to explore the town of Broome.  The highlight of the day was finally managing to get some new flip-flops (mine had fallen apart back in Exmouth) whilst the lowlight came after we had taken the bus back to Cable Beach.  Whilst some of the group had left Broome, those that remained decided, yet again, to meet up for a final get together.  Having been on the end of a bit of a mouthful from one of the others as we waited for the bus into town I finally lost my cool and informed them politely that I would not be joining them!  Instead I spent the next few hours in a local bar chatting with a young couple who used to live in my hometown and who were doing a mammoth tour of Australia in a rented camper van.  As the saying goes - everything happens for a reason!

Our final day in Broome was merely an attempt to kill time before joining the next leg of the tour: the drive up through the Kimberly to Darwin.  The day started with another visit to Broome, continued with a look around the local cemetery (seriously!) and a visit to the local crocodile sanctuary (where I held a baby croc in my hands) before ending back at the pub where we were entertained by a live band.   Back at the hostel I had the commotion of the four-hour ‘happy-hour’ going on outside my window but it was somehow easier to endure today as, at 630am in the morning, we are getting the hell out of this town.  I honestly can’t wait!