Boogity, boogity, boogity...

I had heard great things about the Great Ocean Road and had become a little nervous that It had been overhyped to the point where it could only be a disappointment.  Regardless, I was here now and determined to enjoy the last leg of my mainland Australia adventure.  Excited about the journey which lay ahead - or unable to sleep due to the busy road running right behind my tent - I woke early and decided to hit the road straight away.  Not quite sure where the Great Ocean Road started I headed first to a small town named Barwon Heads - which appeared from the (not very good) map to be the start - only to discover that I had driven pretty much in to a dead end.   Over breakfast on the windswept beach I consult my map again and, still unable to work out where the road started, I figured it wasn’t so important to see the entire road in any case and decide I will head in the general direction and intersect the road later.  I pointed the car back the way I’d come and headed back towards Geelong before picking up the Surfcoast Highway to the outskirts of Torquay where, finally, I inadvertently stumbled across a sign announcing the official start of the Great Ocean Road.  It may have taken an hour or so longer than planned but, at last, I was up and running!

The Great Ocean Road is a 273km long stretch of road which runs - as I now discovered - from Torquay in the east to Warmambool in the west.  It was constructed just after the end of the Great War by 3,000 returned servicemen as a living memorial to those who were left behind.  When I visited Canberra on Sunday I had been disappointed to learn that there was no Remembrance Sunday parade and, for a short time, I considered hanging around for a couple of days until Armistice Day to pay my respects but, as eleven o’clock came around, I was pleased that I hadn’t.  Sitting atop a cliff enjoying a spectacular view that all those brave men, left behind in Europe, would never get to see again seemed far more poignant and I couldn’t help but shed a small tear. 

Running through vast areas of steep coastal mountains, it is a miracle that the road was ever finished and it is a true testament to the determination of those who built it.  Of course, given it was built by men freshly returned from the battlefields of Europe, it must have seemed like a holiday camp even though they were working with nothing more than pick and shovel.  It was intended to stand as a ‘living memorial’ to those who didn’t make it home and as I headed west, breathing in the fresh sea air mixed with the lingering smell of the dense forest to my right, it was clear to see they’d done each and every one of them proud.

I stopped for lunch at Aireys Inlet and found myself joining a tour of the Split Point Lighthouse - which was fun and offered some fantastic views of the stunning coastline - before heading up into the Great Otway National Park.  This was a huge park, full of waterfalls and wonderful short to medium length hikes: I was in heaven.  I ended the day racing to reach the Kennett River Campground before the sun set and arrived with impeccable timing.   Watched by a colony of koalas in the eucalyptus trees overlooking me, I quickly built my tent before forging a path through the undergrowth towards the sound of crashing waves.  Within ten or twenty metres I found myself stood in a sandy bay looking out over the Southern Ocean towards a spectacular fiery red sunset.  As I explored the nearby rocky headland by moonlight I realised I was smiling as I mentally replayed a perfect day.  Progress had been slow - it had taken me 12 hours to drive the 68km from Torquay - and I had taken far too many photos but I now realised why everyone I had met had been so excited when talking about the Great Ocean Road.  It is truly spectacular.

After a restful night, lulled to sleep by those crashing ocean waves, it was back into the car to continue my exploration of the Otway Ranges.  After enjoying a wander through the giant ferns and huge old trees of the Maits Rest Rainforest Trail I headed out to visit the Cape Otway Lightstation but, after a long drive along an unpaved road, I was saddened to arrive and be confronted by bus loads of visitors.  After a mooch along a couple of trails which started from the parking lot I decided that I couldn’t face the crowds so instead set off to find some peace.  After a couple of false starts I soon found that peace as I found myself stood on a beautifully secluded stretch of beach - located a short drive along a random unsigned side road - where I celebrated my good fortune by having lunch.

Having returned the esky safely to the boot of the car it was onwards towards Port Campbell National Park.  The limestone coast made for an interesting change of scene after the mountains & surf and, once again, I started to feel my progress slowing as I regularly found myself stopping for photos or to explore an intriguingly named roadside attraction.   The highlight, of course, would be the internationally recognised Twelve Apostles which proved to be striking even though a count would ultimately prove that just nine of the limestone stacks remained!  A short drive from there lay the Blowhole - which left me positively underwhelmed - and the historic (and very beautiful) Loch Ard Gorge.

I stopped one final time - at the formation known as London Arch (it was known previously as London Bridge until one of the arches collapsed into the sea) - before realising I’d seen enough limestone formations to last me for the rest of eternity and decided to press on and get some miles behind me.  I finally reached the end of the Great Ocean Road outside the town of Warrnambool and was sad to realise that a wonderful adventure had drawn to a close.  Worse than that, there was no certificate for having driven the road and survived: these Australians have a lot to learn!

A night in Narrawong was followed by a day of national parks.  I managed a nice hike in Mount Richmond National Park but Lower Glenelg National Park proved to be a washout as I’d managed to pass it before I found the entrance.  My next stop - Canunda, across the border in South Australia - was like many of the national parks in Australia in that there really isn’t a whole lot to see.  In fact my only reward for a long detour down a rough dirt road was a mouth full of particularly unforgiving flies; so much for the ‘spectacular dunes’ promised by my guidebook!   This seemed to me to be the perfect example of the differences between national parks here and those in North America; whilst here they are created to preserve the natural environment, in North America they are created with recreation in mind.  Whilst what they do here is probably more worthy, it really isn’t so much fun!

I would soon reach the town of Mount Gambier and set off to look for its famous Blue Lake.  Being right on the edge of town it wasn’t hard to find, nor was it hard to understand where it got its name.  The brilliant cobalt blue water instantly took me back to Crater Lake National Park in Oregon but the location of the two couldn’t be any different.  Whilst the Blue Lake is on the edge of a town, Crater Lake is miles from anywhere.  Both have their attractions and, whilst Crater Lake was more visually stimulating, I have to admit that the fact I could walk to town and buy a McDonalds if I so desired held some appeal too! 

And so, having climbed the steep 192 metre track to visit the (closed) Centenary Tower, I did.  The town was an interesting little place, full of characters.  Whilst chatting with a local, I learned that the lake is quite unique in that it actually changes colour throughout the year: no-one is exactly sure why but it only retains its signature blue for three months of the year.  Neither is anyone too sure when the volcano last erupted - estimates range between 28,000 and 4,000 years ago - and it struck me, given how little is known about the crater, is it really such a great idea that the entire town’s water supply comes from the lake?  Maybe it went some way to explaining the strange people that I’d met over lunch.

By now it was becoming obvious that I was falling behind and, if I was to make it to Adelaide before my onward flight, I would have to speed up.  I continued my journey west along the Princes Highway, stopping mid-afternoon in the fascinating little fishing port and the town of Robe, but otherwise pushing on, pushing on.  Several times I thought about stopping but now, maintaining an average speed somewhere in excess of 100km/h (no comment in case it’s incriminating!), I just blew on past before I reached the outskirts of the town of Kingston SE where I absolutely positively had to stop. 

Australia is known for its oversize roadside art: everyone knows Coffs Harbour for the giant banana alongside the highway and then there’s big pineapples, big apples, big chickens, big guitars, big wine bottles… even a big boxing crocodile!  But Kingston SE (no, I don’t know what the SE is there for either: South East of South Australia, maybe?) has what, to me at least, must be the amazing! I don’t know when the fad for these huge monstrosities caught on, nor where they were all made - I like to imagine they all came from one (very large) factory somewhere - but you can be sure that whoever made ‘Larry the Lobster’, as he is known, is no longer in the business of making big things.  Seems they misread the plans which clearly showed a big fibreglass lobster in feet and inches and went ahead and made him in metres.  Now that, to me, seems to have been one very big mistake! 

As I left Kingston SE, still smiling and shaking my head, I was quickly coming to the conclusion that something was going to have to give.  Dropping my trip to Kangaroo Island was the obvious answer but I’d heard great things about the place and I was desperate to see it for myself.  I pondered it as far as Meningie, on the outskirts of Coorong National Park, where local enquiries suggested a price of $160 for the ferry crossing.  The decision was made: Kangaroo Island would remain on my ‘must see’ list for a future visit.

I found a campground on the outskirts of Meningie where I spent the evening with a couple from the Netherlands who were about to embark on their own journey along the Great Ocean Road.  I was quite jealous and, if I wasn’t flying to Tasmania in a couple of days, would happily have turned around and gone with them.   It had taken four very busy days to make it over from Melbourne but I had missed out a lot of stops and I could easily have taken three times as long and still been busy.  The change in landscape - from the steep coastal mountains of the Great Ocean Road to the limestone cliffs of eastern Victoria to the sand dunes of South Australia - was surpassed only by the consistency of the people along the route who, without fail, were supremely friendly and welcoming. 

The drive along the coast from Melbourne to Adelaide must surely rank amongst the best in the world.  People rave about the Pacific Coast Highway in California but, and I know this is a bold statement, I would suggest that the Great Ocean Road is superior to a factor of ten and I can’t understand why it isn’t more popular with the army of Brits who visit Australia each year.  The few Wicked Campers - the brightly coloured vehicle of choice for the backpacker - to be found along the route were almost exclusively driven by Germans or the Dutch which, looking back, probably goes some way to explaining the plethora of signs reminding you of the need to drive on the left.

As if unable to let go of the coast I decided to extend my options by heading out around the Fleurieu Peninsular on the promise that Victor Harbour is the Australian version of Blackpool complete with kitsch attractions and volatile locals who enjoy nothing more than a good punch-up after a couple of shandys.  I couldn’t resist but I didn’t hang around there for long and left, shortly afterwards; cold, windswept and disappointed.   It was time for Adelaide. 

To get a grasp on the city I went first to the Mount Lofty Lookout which provides a panoramic vantage point from which you look down on the grid of streets below.  The talk around me was ‘ooh, isn’t it small’ and ‘now I see why it only takes twenty minutes to walk across town’ but, I have to be honest, it actually looked bigger than I expected and I felt a little daunted by it all and decided, before I tried to tackle the mean streets of Adelaide, I needed a little more scenery.  I was in luck there as I was in one of the most green and picturesque areas in the country and I headed off on a fun drive along windy country lanes, passing vineyard after vineyard, towards the National Motor Museum in the small town of Birdwood.

Although, or perhaps because, the museum focused on the Australian automotive industry, I found enough to keep me riveted for a good few hours before I was finally kicked out when they closed the doors for the evening.   I celebrated my arrival in Adelaide by leaving my tent in the car and splashing out on a cabin at a campground on the outskirts of the city.  To have such luxuries as electric lights and heating was a real luxury; especially as the night turned out to be cold, windy and completely unseasonal.  Money very well spent!

Early the following morning, unsure where to start my exploration of the city, I headed first to the home of cricket in the city: the Adelaide Oval. What I found was in stark contrast to the MCG in Melbourne but I found myself liking it a lot.  As I stood beneath the old fashioned scoring tower I could sense the history of the place and could almost see the ghost of Bradman & Co. fending off the English attack in that infamous ‘Bodyline’ test whose legacy still resonates.   It says everything that even Adelaide - the city of churches and all that is good - was almost turned upside down as a full-blown riot threatened to break out.  It remains one of the darkest moments in relations between the two nations; which says a lot given what we have done over the years!

Whilst the steel and glass of the towering MCG was impressive, the unspoilt grandeur and the greenery of the Adelaide Oval offered real charm and atmosphere.  After the magnificent English victory in the 2005 Ashes series in England I had so very nearly made it down to Australia to watch the return and Adelaide was one of the two tests that I would have seen.   At the time I wasn’t sad to miss out as we got a thorough spanking but now I felt desperately sad that I missed out - the atmosphere in that ground would have been fantastic.  In many ways I found the two grounds a good metaphor for the two cities: Melbourne big, bold and trying to impress the world with its modernity, whilst Adelaide remains proud of its history and unembarrassed by its country-town origins.  Both have their place of course but, in this modern world, I found Adelaide refreshing in so many ways.

It proved true: you could walk from one side to the other in twenty minutes, but what a fine twenty minutes they were.  The green of the parks and trees through the city sat easy on the eye alongside the intriguing mix of classic and contemporary architecture where, until Melbourne poached the race, Formula One cars would scream annually.  The simple grid layout of the city was a contrast to the windy roads in the hills above and I found myself wishing that I had more time to explore.  Alas -although managing to squeeze in a visit to the excellent Maritime Museum and a wander through the rejuvenated port area - my time in mainland Australia had come to its end.  It was a sad moment but, as I made my way to the home of Leonie and Micky Falzon who would be my hosts for my final evening, I couldn’t help but look back over the past three months and smile.  It had been one hell of a ride and, whilst I was sad to be leaving, I did so with very happy memories and a real desire to return soon.

After just one night in Sydney it was time to hit the road once again: the famed Great Ocean Road and Adelaide my ultimate destination.  I walked the short distance to the car rental office, fired up the satnav and headed off out of town.  I had visited Canberra earlier in my trip and, despite all the negative comments I’d heard prior to my arrival, I was surprised at just how I’d enjoyed the city.  I’d promised myself that I would return and so it was that I found myself dodging the innumerable rotting roo carcasses littering the Federal Highway as I headed back towards the Australian Capital Territory.

I woke a little later than planned in my motel room in Antill Street (what a rather lovely name for a street!) in Queenbeyan.  Suddenly it dawned on me: it was Remembrance Sunday and I was within spitting distance of one of the world’s capital cities.  I have always liked to pay my respects and the opportunity to visit the Remembrance Day Parade in a country which suffered such great loss in wartime was too much to pass up.  Hurriedly I checked out and sped through the deserted streets of Canberra - I swear I saw tumbleweed rolling past at one point - before finally arriving at the bottom end of Anzac Parade.  I was expecting huge crowds, road blocks and high security as you get in London but, as I turned left and headed up towards the Australian War Memorial, I was shocked to see… nothing.  Nothing at all.  Had I missed it?  Had I got the dates wrong; was it only Saturday? 

I was bemused and, passing the lines of memorial sculptures lining the grand old boulevard, I headed up to the memorial proper to find out what was going on.  Or, more to the point, what wasn’t.  It was politely explained to me that Australia doesn’t have a Remembrance Sunday; rather they remember their dead on Armistice Day and ANZAC Day in April.  Ooops.

I decided to have another look around the memorial’s galleries whilst I was there and, realising that I’d missed whole areas of the museum on my previous visit, I was rather glad that I did.   I found myself particularly moved whilst looking at photos and mementoes from the Great War in France as, with me being so far from home, it really hit home the tragedy of those brave young soldiers being cut down in a conflict that, literally, couldn’t have been further from their own homeland.  It was a tragedy in Europe too, of course, but at least it was on our doorstep and there was a reason to fight. 

I spent several hours exploring the exhibits but eventually had to drag myself away as I was only in town for one day and I had a whole list of other destinations to visit.  My first stop was Regatta Point on the shores of Lake Burley Griffin for the Captain Cook Memorial.  The memorial takes the form of a huge water jet sending water shooting 147m into the air which sounded impressive enough that I felt the need to visit.  If you aren’t impressed with that stat then let me give you a couple more facts: the exit velocity of water leaving the nozzle is 260 km/h and, at any one time, there is in excess of six tonnes of water in the air.  Here is one more fact - it is switched off from midday until 2pm daily - so, having fought my way through the Free Tibet and Chinese Human Rights protests, I was disappointed to discover that it was now five minutes after twelve.  

At a lose end and, realising I was stood next to the National Capital Exhibition, I decided that it would be silly not to pop in.  The exhibition told the fascinating story of how Canberra came to be: how the fierce rivalry between Melbourne - then the largest city in Australia - and Sydney - the oldest - meant that neither would ever be fully accepted as the capital city of the newly federated Commonwealth of Australia.  A compromise had to be found and, after much discussion, it was decided that Melbourne would become the capital on a temporary basis whilst a new permanent capital was built between the two cities.  A competition to decide the location was held and the rules stated that the winner would be located in New South Wales but at least 100 miles from Sydney. 

The site was eventually chosen in 1908 and two years later the government of New South Wales ceded the area now known as the Australian Capital Territory to the Commonwealth Government.   A further competition was held to select a design for the new city and, eventually, the American architect Walter Burney Griffin was appointed to design the still nameless city in 1913.   Progress was painfully slow - admittedly the First World War didn’t help matters - and it wasn’t until 1927 that the original Parliament House opened.   One of the very first items of legislation dealt with in the new parliament was an act to repeal O’Malley’s prohibition laws which had meant that the ACT was dry.  I liked that a lot and I hoped that the politicians toasted their achievements with a cold beer.  Very Australian!.   

I’ve never really been much of a person for museums but I had been utterly enthralled by two in a single day - it was time for something different.   The National Carillion was a short drive away and, although it was entirely different in that it wasn’t a museum, it was precisely the same in that I had cocked up my timings and arrived to find everyone else leaving.  I had arrived right at the end of a recital which, initially, frustrated me but I soon realised that it was actually a blessing as I sat beneath a shady tree and admired the view across Lake Burley Griffin undisturbed by anyone.   On the shores people could be seen, randomly milling around, as if looking for somewhere they should be.  Clearly this was where the locals would spend their Sundays; picnicking, walking, jogging, soaking up the sun.  I found the whole thing rather intriguing and sat there trying to decide whether I could live there or not.  It wasn’t just an idle daydream - back in the seventies my parents had come close to emigrating to Canberra - but, although I loved the place, I just couldn’t imagine living in such a clinically clean and ordered place.  And, with that, the Captain Cook Memorial started up in the distance.

Back at the giant fountain I was disappointed to discover that the spectacle didn’t quite match up its impressive stats and, against such a large background canvas, 147m wasn’t actually so high.  Maybe I was being a little uncharitable (or maybe it was the fact I was wet through after the wind changed direction and blew six tonnes of airborne water right across those of us who were trying to take photos) but I decided not to dwell on it and headed off to Black Mountain which sits imposingly above the CBD.  The ascent to the summit was steep and winding but the view across the city proved to be rewarding.  I paid an exorbitant $7.50 to climb to the observation deck of the 195.2m Telstra Tower which sits proudly atop the mountain and, on reaching the top and realising the view was no different to that from the ground, promptly returned to my car and headed off out of town.

The drive from Canberra to Melbourne is 660km of particularly uninteresting tarmac so I had already decided to break the journey in the country town of Albury which lay roughly equidistant between the two.   It is the favoured place to break the journey for most people but I had a friend who lived in the town so it was a no-brainer for me.  Unfortunately, as I headed out of Canberra after a busy day, it was starting to get dark and I had no choice but to stop at the first motel I came across.  If you’ve never driven in Australia let me explain: unless you have a death wish (or a road train) you don’t drive after dark as the wildlife - and Australia has a lot of wildlife - has a tendency to come out and try to ruin your day.  Hitting a roo is sure to cause serious damage to your car and, if you are unlucky, yourself as it rolls up your bonnet and through your windscreen.  It is such a problem that rental car insurance is void for accidents after dark.

Continuing my drive the following morning I decided to stop off and visit Calder Raceway which was located just off the main highway.  Until that point I hadn’t encountered anyone who was truly unhelpful during my entire stay in Australia but the security guard on the gate at Calder made up for that in spades.   At one point I was unsure if he was going to set his dog on me (he was too fat and lazy to do anything himself) but eventually he settled on a verbal attack.  I have been thrown out of many places in my time but never by someone with a bigger attitude!

When I reached Melbourne I knew exactly where I was heading: the Immigration Museum which is located in the Old Customs House just along from Flinders Street Station.  What I didn’t know was where I was parking and, having circled the area half a dozen times looking for a parking spot (and carefully dodging the trams), I settled on an expensive private parking lot.  The museum proved to be fascinating; living up to the hype and well worth the expense (though, if you plan on going yourself, take the train!)  I found myself particularly touched by the stories of those who’d left everything they knew to spend six weeks on a disease ridden ship in search of a better life.  Being so far from home myself I couldn’t help but feel a connection to them but I knew I could be home in 24 hours if I decided I had to go.  They would more than likely never see home soil again after sailing out of Southampton.   It hit home what a huge deal it would be in those days to leave everything you have ever known - and everyone - to head off to a new life in a new land.

Strangely this started me thinking of what awaits me back at home and, for the first time in a long time, I started to feel confused: worried about what awaits me back home whilst, at the same time, feeling terribly homesick and alone.  It was apparent that a change of scene was what was needed and I headed off, a lot earlier than planned, towards Geelong where I am spending this evening before I head out on to the fabled Great Ocean Road tomorrow.  I can’t wait!

My first day in Hervey Bay was very leisurely and mainly consisted of sitting doing absolutely nothing whatsoever other than enjoying the sun.  Suitably rested, however, my second day was far more constructive as I’d signed up for a trip over to the nearby Fraser Island.  I was collected from outside the campground and, after a trip across town to pick up my fellow passengers, we headed off to Urangan Harbour to board the barge which would carry us and our big 4wd truck across the bay to the 120km long UNESCO World Heritage Site.  I had chosen a tour with the imaginatively titled Fraser Island Company and our guide for the day was the ever-so-crazy German, Henning who explained, as we crossed to our arrival point at Moon Point, what was on the agenda for the day.

We arrived on the island with the engine running, as if arriving in France in 1944, and roared off the barge-the moment the ramp was down.  Throwing up plumes of sand as tore across the beach, we made straight for a gap in the mangroves and lurched onto a narrow track.  With trees rubbing along both sides of the truck we headed off through the wetlands, past an American wartime folly where they repeatedly attempted to construct an airstrip (they finally gave up three years after the war ended) and out to the shores of Lake Allom.   Fraser Island may be the world’s biggest sand island but the diverse ecology took us through a quickly changing landscape of wetland, sand dune and rain forest.  Despite the constant rolling and pitching of the truck - which was making me feel a little queasy - I couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of the place and smile at Henning’s amusing, self-effacing commentary.

The drive from the beach to Lake Allom was the longest (and toughest) piece of driving that we would do all day so it was great to be rewarded with the sight of dozens of freshwater turtles swimming in its red waters on our arrival.  The lake takes its colour from the trees growing around its shore and the entire scene, like much of the island, painted an other-worldly picture.  A couple of the guys decided to go for a dip but I preferred to keep my feet on dry land and, a few photos in the bag, I wandered back to the truck to discover that Henning had laid on tea, coffee and muffins to welcome us back.  As we awaited the return of the swimmers, the rest of the group excitedly chatted about what they’d seen already but Henning, knowing there was much more to come, simply smiled before wandering back to the truck and re-firing the engine - our signal that it was time to move on.

You can cross to Fraser Island from several points on the mainland but we soon learnt that, having crossed on the Urangan - Moon Point barge, we would have to cross the island at its widest point.  We would have to content with many miles of slow and trying sand roads before we would reach ‘the widest highway in the world’ - Seventy-Five Mile Beach.  I initially greeted this news with disappointment but, in the end, I actually think the crossing of inland Fraser Island was vital in offering us an insight into the real insight into the diversity of the island.  That’s not to say that our arrival on the soft sand of Cathedral Beach wasn’t a welcome moment and it was a real luxury to be able to tear along at 100km/hr.

After a stop at The Pinnacles - a section of coloured sand cliffs where many photos were taken - we turned into Dundubara where a feast of steak, fish and other goodies was being prepared for our lunch.  Henning finished this on the barbeque whilst we tucked into nibbles, drank beer and wine and got to know each other better.  It was a good group and the conversation flowed but soon our lunch was ready and we all tucked in with abandon.  To round off the meal a number of kangaroo steaks were cooked, cut into strips and passed around.  For the first time there was no-one turning their nose up and trying to make you feel guilty about enjoying the taste and I’m pretty sure everyone tucked in. 

After dinner was wrapped up and packed up we all hopped back onboard the truck and headed back through the dunes towards the highway (or, should I say; beach).  Our path back through the dunes was blocked by an embarrassed driver who had got his car bogged in the sand and we were forced to use the truck to put an end to our temporary incarceration.  As we watched his girlfriend gave him a serious ear-bashing from the passenger seat we all concluded that they could only have been English.  A very amusing moment but one which, according to Henning, is becoming a real nuisance on the island as it becomes more popular and visitor numbers increase. 

Also increasing on the island is the size of the dingo population.  This is something which, following the death of a nine-year old Brisbane boy at Waddy Point in 2001, has been worrying parents and park rangers alike.  After the fatal mauling, the rangers overreacted and panicked; going on the warpath - as if they were playing a part in a dodgy Hollywood movie - and massacring a large part of dingo population.  Eventually, after an uproar, they saw sense and admitted their mistake but it was too late for the poor dingoes that had been on the island for thousands of years.  It is always a sad event when someone dies - more so when it is a child - but, at the end of the day, they are wild animals and, when we go into their domain, you must take adequate precautions such as keeping your kids under direct supervision.  In the case of the poor lad on Fraser he had been left to play on his own and, when the dingoes approached he panicked, ran and then tripped.  The natural instincts of the animals kicked in and the result was never in doubt.  I don’t buy in to the ‘dangerous dingoes’ tag which flashed up on news bulletins around the country - if I’d have been the editor I would have run with ‘irresponsible parents’ - what the hell were they thinking?  I wonder if, on a visit to an environment inhabited by bears, would those parents still let their children run loose?  Sadly they probably would.

It’s not just kids that can come to grief on Fraser.  The passenger liner S.S Maheno was once said to be more luxurious than Titanic but, in the period following the Great Depression, there was a lack of passengers for the crossing of the Tasman Sea where she plied her trade.  Her owners, in an attempt to stave off financial difficulties, placed her up for sale.   There was just one interested party - a Japanese scrap yard - and she was decommissioned and the keys handed over.  As she was being towed to her final resting place a huge cyclone suddenly blew up, the tow line broke and she was washed ashore on the east coast of Fraser.  A party of salvagers arrived from Japan with the intention to refloat her but they took one look and declared that she wasn’t going anywhere.  They removed anything that had any salvageable value - holding an auction right there on the beach - and then left.  In the war years she was used for target practice by the Australian air force (not their finest moment as, if rumours are to be believed, 200 bombs were dropped with just two actually being on target) but she was left in peace afterwards to slowly rust away.  The rangers estimate that there are another five or ten years left before the once great liner is gone.  Whilst she survives she makes a striking sight sat on the beautiful white sand whilst trucks straight from the Paris - Dakar Rally roar past at 100 km/h and flightseeing planes take off mere metres away.

Eli Creek - a fast-moving crystal-clear torrent delivering millions of litres of freshwater each hour into the ocean - was our next stop and, after a paddle down it’s fast moving (and icy cold) waters we headed to nearby Happy Valley for tea and cakes and to warm up.  It was then time for the long trudge back across the island which we break halfway with a walk through the rainforest area.  Everyone is fascinated by the contradiction of rainforest and sand dunes within such a small distance but Henning does a fine job at explaining how this could happen.  Of course, with so many different nationalities within the group, it took a little time to explain such a complex situation and, by the time that he had, we were pushed for time if we were to make the 5pm deadline for us to board the barge which would return us to the mainland. 

Confident that it will not go without us - there are three trucks from the Fraser Island Company going back to the mainland and only one of them had successfully arrive back at the barge - and we carried on at a sensible but not particularly urgent pace.  Suddenly the situation changed and, as we were passing through the wetland area, Henning pulled the truck to an abrupt stop.  He handed back a bottle of insect repellent - surrounded by swamp, we couldn’t have stopped in a worse place for bugs - before jumping down from his cab and leaping into action.  Losing a tyre wasn’t a rare occurrence, he explained as he worked furiously to remedy the situation, but it usually happened at a more opportune moment.  It was obvious from the way he was going at his task - he wouldn’t have looked out of place if he was wearing Prodrive Subaru overalls - that he had done this a hundred times before but, despite digging down, he just couldn’t get a patch of ground which would support the weight of the truck.

A huge roar could be heard approaching from behind - it was the third and final truck heading for the barge - causing the passengers milling around in the road to jump out of the way.  As he pulled to a stop behind us, the other driver was already calling back to base on his satellite phone to alert them and then he too leapt from his cab and started working furiously beneath our truck.  It may have been a nervous moment for some - talk was turning to missed dinner reservations that evening - but it was fantastic to see these two guys working as a team to get us back home. 

We eventually made the barge - arriving twenty minutes late - but the vehicle ramp was already up and we had to abandon both trucks on the beach and run onboard.  Once we were all aboard, and the boat was backing off the beach, we asked Henning what would have happened if we’d missed the barge.  He explained, when they’d missed it in the past, the company had chartered the 100km/hr whale watching boat ‘Awesome’ to get everyone back home in time for tea and, on one memorable occasion, had three planes land on the beach to ferry the passengers home.  Our expressions must have turned from relief to have made the boat to downright disappointment right there but then, if we’d been sped back to the mainland, we’d have missed out on the fantastic sunset to which we bore witness: a beautiful end to an amazing and thoroughly memorable day.  The Fraser Island Company is a small family concern but their attention to detail and customer care was second to none - I only wish that I’d signed up for the two or three day trips so that I could have spent more time with them.

My final day in Hervey Bay saw me heading back to Urangan Harbour to meet up with the Perry family who would be taking us out on ‘Awesome’ - the insanely fast boat that we almost got to ride the previous evening - to go find some whales.  Everyone had been telling us that the whales had gone but the Perry’s insisted they could find us some; or they would give us a full refund.  Despite this guarantee there were just nine of us on board as we slipped out of the harbour and opened up the four 300bhp engines.  We were soon tearing past the two big green 4wd trucks that we’d abandoned on the beach and pressed on into deeper waters as went in search of the Humpback whales.  The whales stop off annually in the sheltered waters of Hervey Bay whilst returning home from their annual migration to the warm waters of Northern Australian waters where they mate and calve.  I don’t know about you but if I was halfway through an 11,000km swim back home to the Antarctic I would probably fancy stopping off for a rest too.

Around twenty minutes out of the harbour we spotted something in the distance and Sarah - our skipper for the day - swung the boat round to the left.  Within seconds we were upon them.  She cut the engines and we sat there, bobbing up and down in the water, wondering what was going to happen next.  We would soon find out as a whale leapt clean out of the water - scaring the life out of most of the passengers who leapt backwards from the side of the boat - before it spun around and crashed down with huge splash just metres away from the boat.  It had been one hell of an entrance and everyone was waiting for the next act: but nothing happened!  Sarah explained that the pod was beneath the boat and turned up the sound on the hydrophone so that we could hear them singing.  It was a magical sound but one which was suddenly interrupted by another pod of Humpbacks fifty metres away. 

Suddenly, as if trying to outdo each other, the two pods put on a stunning performance - one which was worthy of an Oscar at the very least.  After almost an hour of tail slapping, breaching and singing under the boat, it was one which no-one on board will forget in a hurry.  That included a beaming Sarah who, despite shrugging it off as being ‘all in a day’s work’, was as excited as the rest of us.  She may not have been hanging over the side, camera firing away like a machine gun, but she was as moved as everyone else at the amazing show.  We would eventually see five pods before our time was up and we had to head back to the harbour.   Just after we sighted the mainland Sarah came forward and asked “is everyone up for a bit of fun?”  We weren’t quite sure what she had in mind but we agreed anyway. 

We were instructed to hold on tight and this was followed by a 1200bhp roar from the engines as the throttles were thrown wide open.  We thought that we’d been travelling pretty fast up until then but instantly we were flying along at what seemed like an impossible speed, passing everything on the water.  Once we’d cleared all the other boats she started to pitch the boat from left to right to demonstrate just how stable it was but then, suddenly, the noise stopped and we sunk back into the water.  Surprised - thinking she’d broken the boat - we turned round to discover that someone hadn’t been holding on very well at all: he’d banged his head on the side of the boat and almost toppled overboard!  He’d scared himself (and Sarah) silly and it put a sudden end to our fun but it was a memorable (and somewhat amusing) end to an amazing morning.  As we were returned to our accommodation our driver - Sarah’s mum, Jill enquired with a straight face, “so, everyone’s been telling me the whales have all gone…?”  If they really believed that then they must have had a bang to the head.

I spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying the sun on the campground and reading my Lonely Planet.  Originally I’d planned to spend just one or maybe two nights in Hervey Bay but, by the time I checked out the following morning, I had been there for four.  It was just one of those places which somehow drag you in. 

Way back when I was planning the trip from the comfort of my armchair I had nonchalantly decided to drive all the way up to Cairns (according to my trusty UBD Atlas of Australia Cairns is 2395 km from Sydney).  I knew that it would be a push to get there and back in the time that I had available to me but I was determined to give it a go.   I wasn’t helped by losing those four days to mechanical breakdown but the reality of it was that, in the end, I just didn’t see the point - my attitude had changed from a tourist - intent on zooming around seeing everything - to a traveller happy to go with the flow.  I made it just about halfway but wasn’t too fazed.  It simply gave me another reason to come back again!

I was supposed to visit Brisbane ‘on the way up’ and plans were afoot to meet up with Dan and his parents for a meal but I never made it due to the mechanical gremlins.  I made it this time around but didn’t arrive until late in the afternoon and, having spent two hours driving from campground to campground in a vain attempt to find one with a TV room (where I could watch the Grand Prix that night), I ran out of time to do any sight-seeing. Eventually I checked myself into a cheap motel for the night and vowed to check out the city the following morning.

I got some odd looks from the other guests at the motel when I drove up in a camper van but I wasn’t gonna miss seeing the race just to save a bunch of curtain-twitchers from having to put on their best confused look.  As we all know now, Lewis finally (that sounds insane being it was only his second year in the job) became World Champion.  It was worth getting up at 3am to see him achieve his dream and become the youngest champion in history (did you see the look on Alonso’s face?) and the fact that it was all decided at the final corner of the final lap of the final race of the season made it all the sweeter.  I am sure those confused faces were in evidence again when, just before 6am, I could surely be heard throughout the block jumping up and down on my bed and shouting at the top of my voice.  Sorry guys.

Early on the Tuesday morning, proudly wearing my McLaren shirt, I could be found heading south to the workshops of Dick Johnson Racing where Cam had kindly offered to give me a tour of the facility.  Unfortunately, some time before I arrived, the team and cars had departed for their next race in Bahrain which was most inconsiderate of them, I have to say. I had to console myself with checking out the team’s small museum instead before heading inland to the renowned Lamington National Park where I had arranged to camp for the night.  The drive up the mountain would have been a spectacular drive if it had not been for slow campervan what I was driving so I had to content myself with admiring the view as I rose up into the clouds.

I did a number of hikes before - in the middle of the rain forest, would you believe - the heavens opened and I had to don full waterproofs and make my way back to the camper as quickly as I could to avoid being washed out to sea.  I spent the remainder of the afternoon huddled inside the campervan before emerging, when the rain had finally subsided, to go and admire one of the most abundant collections of wildlife to be found anywhere in Australia.  Wallabies were to be found hopping around in huge numbers whilst flocks of rare and colourful birds flapped overhead.  It made quite a spectacle.

Once the sun went down I was able to spend time admiring the clear night sky - Lamington NP is one of those rare places unaffected by light pollution from our towns and cities - and marvel at the stars on display.  The following morning I was surprised to awake to heavy clouds which stopped you from  seeing more than a couple of metres and, with it looking set for the day, it pretty much brought a premature end to my visit to Lamington and Tamborine National Parks.  I decided to head instead for Byron Bay but, as I got closer, the weather was still poor and I carried on driving instead before I finally stopped for the night just outside of Coffs Harbour.

Now ahead of schedule I found myself driving off the campground the next morning with no idea of where I was going.  I stopped for petrol and got chatting to a bunch of guys who were heading north who recommended a campground where they’d spent the previous evening.  It was about five hours away which meant a nice short day and about the same amount of time to kill before I needed to arrive.  Nothing jumped out at me on my map as a likely place to stop - even my trusty Lonely Planet failed to come up trumps - so I figured I’d just drive and see what happened.

Halfway between Coffs Harbour and Port Macquarie I spotted a sign pointing off the highway to the wonderfully named Hat Head National Park.  Before I had time to digest the name - or what it may mean - my indicator had come on and I was turning off the main road.  I blindly followed the road for 20km with no idea where it would take me before I eventually emerged at an area known locally as The Gap.  There were beautiful views of the ocean and I knew that I had to explore.  First I trudged down to Conners Beach then, 50 photographs later, I decided to try the 3.2km Korogoro Walking Track.  It was very ‘up-and-downy’ so you had to sing for your supper but, footstep for footstep, it had to be the most rewarding hike that I have done in Australia; maybe even on my entire trip.  It was utterly beautiful and worth every drop of sweat which, given the changeable east coast weather had swung back to 30-degree plus mode, was a lot. 

It was rewarding too to realise that, even when you have no idea what direction you are heading, things have a habit of working out for the best if you keep your eyes open and go with the flow.  I will try very hard to remember that when I am back in the UK; cold, fed-up and jobless!  As someone very wise once said: everything happens for a reason!

Despite all of the problems in the early part of the trip I was really gonna miss the freedom of the camper van and it was a sad moment when I handed the keys back to Dirk and made my way back to the station for my trip back into Sydney.  It had been a disastrous start but, against all odds, it turned out to be one of the most memorable parts of the whole of my trip.  It also marked the end of my pre-planned itinerary so, for the final 45 days of my trip (how did that happen?), I’ll be winging it like a proper backpacker… watch this space!

I don’t know what it is with us Brits - maybe there is some sort of chemical imbalance - but we do seem to have a strange desire to hire a camper van when we travelling around Australia.  I don’t like to play up to a stereotype but, here I was, Pacific Highway… in a camper van.  I wasn’t trying to be ironic or predictable - it just didn’t make sense not to.  It all started when I decided to head up to the Gold Coast for the Indy 300 race weekend at Surfers Paradise and, having booked my race tickets, I was shocked to discover the average room rate in town was running at around 500 bucks a night whilst the race was in town.  Being the tight arse that I am, I wasn’t prepared to pay that and frantically scoured the internet for alternatives.  I soon discovered that I could get a camper van for three entire weeks for less than the cost of two nights in a hotel in Surfers.  It was a no-brainer.

I was keen to end my first day on the road nice and early so that I could get used to the evening set-up routine whilst it was still light.  After brief photo stops at the Observatory, on the Northern Shore and at St Kilda’s Luna Park, I found myself heading towards Wyrrabalong National Park out on the coast.  It wasn’t that there was anything in particular there that I wanted to visit - in fact I don’t think that there actually was anything to visit - it was simply the right distance out of town and, well, I had to stop somewhere.  I decided to forego the tempting prospect of a visit to the Australian Reptile Park and instead headed straight to Dunleith Tourist Park in the wonderfully named town of The Entrance.  I was sure glad not to be sleeping in my tent that night as the most spectacular electrical storm blew up  and I have no doubt that both me and the tent would have floated off into the sea in the rain which followed.

It had been suggested that an inland route along the New England Highway was the best route to take up to Surfers Paradise - it was said to be far more scenic than the Pacific Highway - and the following morning saw me heading out through Singleton and Muswellbrook to Tamworth where I had planned on spending the night.  For some reason, having arrived in the self-proclaimed Nashville of Australia, I felt compelled to press on a little further and ended up in the small country town of Armidale.  It was a pleasant evening - I cooked a nice meal and had good neighbours in the form of Brad and Pammy from Coffs Harbour who suggested a couple of places to check out as I made my way north - and I went to bed happy.

All that changed the next day when, just a couple of kilometres out of the campground, the camper ground to a sudden and abrupt halt and refused to restart.  After trying everything that I could think of - including swearing at it - I decided that I really had to phone for some assistance and called Dirk at Keen As Campers.  He apologised profusely and called out the NRMA (the Australian version of the RAC) who arrived quickly and broke the news that the problem wasn’t fixable by the roadside.  Soon a wrecker arrived and towed me off to a nearby workshop which was staffed by the most disinterested bunch of monkeys that I ever had the displeasure to deal with.

It took the entire day for them to diagnose the problem but the news wasn’t too bad: it was a simple matter of replacing the ignition coil.  The problem was, due to the remote location, a replacement would take another 48 hours to arrive.  Now Armidale wasn’t a bad town - I had walked right around it, twice - but I really didn’t want to be stuck there any longer than I absolutely had to be.  Especially as it was bitterly cold and, unseasonably, snowing (the TV news reported that it was the coldest October day for 45 years) but I didn’t seem to be in much of a position to argue.  It wasn’t all bad news though: Dirk had bought the ‘Gold’ option when joining the NRMA and I found myself with a rental car and put up in a nice local hotel for a couple of nights.  I’d much rather have been on my way to Surfers Paradise but as I sat in my nice warm room, with the miserable weather outside, I did wonder if being confined to barracks wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Determined to make the most of my ‘lost’ day I headed off to check out a few local national parks the following morning.  When I say a few what I really mean to say is, well, five!  Oxley Wild Rivers NP, New England NP, Cathedral Rock NP, Guy Fawkes River NP and Cunnawarra NP were very scenic but, in reality, they would be called State Parks in any other country (later that evening I discovered that New South Wales has over 200 National Parks within its borders!) so they were pretty limited in options and were quickly ticked off the list.  I headed back to the workshop just before it closed and was delighted to discover that a new coil had been sourced from elsewhere and we were back in business.  I dropped the rental car back, collected the camper and headed for my second night in the hotel.  I could have headed off a couple of hours down the road and in any other country I would have done just that but this isn’t any other country.  In Australia it is not advisable to drive at night as the local wildlife has a penchant for wandering (well, hopping) into your path as drive along minding your own business.  And that is really going to ruin your day - just as much as theirs - when they are quite as bulky and unpredictable as they are.

The drive to Surfers Paradise was around 500 km and would take much of the day so I checked out and headed off early on Friday morning.  My route took me back along the Waterfall Way (the route that I’d travelled the previous day) before turning on to the 106km back route from Ebor to Grafton.  I hadn’t realised just what a tricky proposition this section would present - particularly the section through Nimboi-Binderay National Park - and would have given anything to be in a well prepared Lotus rather than the lumbering beast that I was driving!  But I made it to the end and turned on to the Pacific Highway to complete my journey north.

Shortly after passing Byron Bay the exhaust note started to deepen and sound a little more ‘manly’.  But there was no stopping me now - I had to get up to Surfers Paradise before the end of day (I had missed two days of the meeting already) - and I’d worry about this new problem in a couple of hours once I’d arrived.  Life is never that simple, of course, and it would take me more than a couple of hours to get there as going up a hill, with huge road trains bearing down on me, the van started to misfire and the engine died.  I managed to re-fire it for long enough to drag it to the top of the hill from where I was able to coast down the other side and roll into a rest area before it died again.  My attempts to re-fire the van were starting to draw a crowd and, realising I wasn’t going anywhere quickly; I hit the steering wheel with my head.  It didn’t help.  One of the spectators wandered up - smoking something which in most countries will get you arrested - and lent me his mobile phone to call Dirk again.  He suggested a couple of things to try but we had no choice but to resort to calling the NRMA. 

The guy arrived quickly enough but his attitude wasn’t helpful in the least: when the van re-fired on the first turn of the key he shrugged his shoulders before announcing, “seeing there’s nothing for me to fix I might as well get going.”  Gee, fella, thanks.   I pressed him for suggestions and he eventually settled on the idea that the hot gasses from the leaking manifold were causing the fuel in the system to evaporate and the engine to cut out.  It seemed plausible - especially as I was now underway again - and I headed off with the passenger seat (which doubles as the engine cover) cranked open to aid airflow to the engine.  The noise and the heat were pretty much unbearable but I eventually made it to my destination.  The looks from pedestrians were mildly amusing but the looks from the police as I drove through the centre of Surfers Paradise were less so.  I think I was quite lucky to get away with that one! 

I finally pulled into my home for the next four nights - Broadwater Tourist Park - around four hours later than planned.  To celebrate, I headed to the liquor store across the street to pick up a bottle of Jack.  In deference to the sponsors of the DJR team, I decided to change the habit of a lifetime and picked up a bottle of Jim Beam instead.   After such an epic effort to get there, it went down an absolute treat!

Raceday came and I was somehow less than excited about the prospect.  I’d spent the previous day up at the circuit and I was soon to learn that it was no Bathurst when it came to viewing possibilities.  I was relieved that I‘d booked a grandstand seat - something that I very rarely do as I like to roam around the circuit - otherwise I wouldn’t have stood a chance of getting so much as a sniff of the cars much less actually being able to see them.  Of course, if I hadn’t been able to see them, I wouldn’t have been so disappointed in the procession that played out in front of my eyes.  Still, after such a run of great racing experiences, I shouldn’t be complaining. And, despite the lack of action on-track, we did get the odd bit of entertainment such as Fabien Coulthard running off the road in front of us and causing a log jam of cars whilst the officials did a laughable job of sorting the problem out. 

The best bit of the day?  It was tough to decide between the unbelievable pre-race air display, the crazy Red Bull motorbike stunt team and the lump-in-the-throat when they sang the national anthems.  But the winner was… the return to what I would know as Australian weather - and it was about time after the cold, rain and snow of recent days!

The weather just got better and better for the next couple of days which is more than can be said for my mood.   Dirk had booked the van in to a local garage for 8am on Monday morning to have the manifold fixed but I didn’t get it back until 4pm that afternoon.  I’d decided that morning, as I drove across town to drop the camper off, that I would take the bike that I had rented and explore town but, having done a couple of laps of the Indy circuit - now re-opened to traffic - the wheels came off that idea.  Actually, it wasn’t the wheels; it was the pedals.  Yes, believe it or not, the bloody pedals fell off the bike and I was forced to walk back to the garage and wait it out.   Eventually I managed to persuade the Neanderthal that was charged with fixing it to, erm, fix it and I headed back across town to the campground in blissful silence and sat on the beach to soak up the sun for the last few hours of the day.

When I woke on Tuesday morning I was in a far better frame of mind and hurriedly packed up the van and headed north towards my next destination: Australia Zoo.  This was one of the first places on my ‘must visit’ list when I decided to come to Australia so I was happy to put the mechanical disasters behind me and be finally heading in that direction.  Besides, overnight I had received an email from Dirk apologising again for all the problems and offering a $500 discount on the rental.  I was very happy with that - he didn’t have to offer anything at all - but he was really looking after me as he had all along.  I admire that.  As I said in my reply to him, “the true mark of a company is not that these problems never happen, it is how they are dealt with”, and he dealt with them admirably every time.  

20km down the road the unbelievable happened: I broke down again!  Dirk called out the RACQ and, sensing my frustration, he also sent a mobile mechanic to make sure the problem was fixed once and for all.  The guy from the RACQ determined that the problem lay with an intermittent spark and, as the guy0 from the NRMA had before, announced that there was nothing that could be done at the roadside and that I would have to be towed in to the workshop again.  I could have cried.  With that - like a knight in shining armour - the mobile mechanic arrived and quickly spotted the problem.  Unbelievably it went back to the cretins who fitted the replacement parts back in Armidale who, despite having the thing for two days, neglected to tighten two electrical terminals properly.  My heartfelt thanks must go to Graham Betts Holden of Armidale for making such a tits arse of what should have been a simple job and ruining four days of my holiday.  Regardless, I was now on the road, and I felt mighty relief at that. 

As I hit the road again, with the van now running better than ever, I suddenly felt an overwhelming feeling of freedom.  I continued north but, as it was now too late in the day to head for Australia Zoo, I stopped at a visitor centre to seek their advice on what I could do for the rest of the day.  A visit to Glasshouse Mountains National Park was suggested and, although never having heard of it, I was suitably intrigued to go and visit.  I was very pleased that I did as the collection of 20 million year old volcanic cones presented a stunning sight emerging as they did, Jurassic Park style, from the flat green surroundings. I was able to get a little bit of proper hiking in and it felt good to take out my pent up aggression on the hill!

 I am sure that we’ve all seen Steve Irwin’s appearances on TV and most of us will have felt that we knew him to some degree - me included - so it was a fantastic feeling to finally drive through the gates of Australia Zoo.  The Irwin family have built up an amazing facility and, even though I don’t normally like zoos (I don’t like to see animals caged up), this one was very well done.  All of the animals were very well cared for and had plenty of room to roam around and live as natural a life as possible.  Some of the enclosures - though not the ones containing the Bengal tigers or crocs, for obvious reasons - were open for the public to wander through at their leisure.  Push through a big metal gate and you suddenly find yourself in kangaroo country.  I thoroughly enjoyed the whole experience; even though I kept imagining I might bump into Steve as he went about his business.  I felt sad in the realisation that it was something that was never gonna happen and I only wish that I had been able to visit a couple of years ago.  Wherever you are, Steve, you did those animals proud.

Before I headed off from Australia Zoo I sat in the car park for some time looking at my travel guide and my road atlas.  I really wanted to push on north to visit the Great Barrier Reef but the reality was starting to sink in: with the lost days, it was simply too far.  I couldn’t make my mind up which direction to head and, eventually, settled on closing my eyes and pointing to a random point on the map.  When I opened them again, my finger was sat right in the middle of Hervey Bay - four hours away - so off I went.  Energised by my day with the animals I completed the drive in one sitting and arrived on the Happy Wander Campground just as the office was closing for the evening.  Even though I had delayed his departure for the evening the guy was happy to stop and chat as he checked me in.  When I mentioned that I fancied heading over to Fraser Island, he even offered to call and book me a slot. His enthusiasm was infectious and I knew then that I was gonna enjoy my stay in Hervey Bay.

Having a car was great but the city of Sydney - particularly the area around Potts Point and Kings Cross where I was staying - is decidedly unfriendly to the motorist and, unless you want to spend big bucks to park in the private car park, you have no choice but to take your chances with the on-street parking lottery.  This usually involves driving round and round in circles in the vain hope of finding a vacant space where you can park for a couple of hours before having to return to move it to a different zone.  The process is time consuming, frustrating and, if you are hoping to spend your day exploring the city, a royal pain in the arse.  I decided that, to save stress, the best thing would be to return the car early or make use of it by heading out of the city for the day so, early on a cold Tuesday morning; I set off across town to visit the nearby Royal National Park.  Established in 1879, Royal National Park was Australia’s - indeed the world’s (Yellowstone was originally a described as Yellowstone Recreation Area) - very first National Park and I figured it had to be worth the trip.

It may have been a cold and dark morning - very English, I thought - but I had convinced myself that the weather gods were gonna smile on me.  As I emerged from the visitor centre, clutching my day permit, I realised they weren’t smiling on me but having a laugh at my expense: by adding strong wind and heavy rain to the equation.  Much to my annoyance it simply wasn’t the weather that I had been banking on so I settled for exploring the park from the questionable comfort of my car.  Whilst the secluded beaches, lush rainforest and waterfalls were undoubtedly a pretty and interesting place to spend a day I couldn’t enjoy it in its weather-challenged state and I eventually gave up and continued south along the Lawrence Hargrave Drive to visit the dramatic Sea Cliff Bridge. 

In August 2005 the existing road from Coalcliff to Clifton - part of the famed Grand Pacific Drive - was lost to the sea due to a huge embankment slip. It was a regular occurrence and they NSW Government had decided enough was enough and had closed the road indefinitely causing a fierce public outcry.  They would eventually back down and invited tenders for a replacement.  Just two years later the Sea Cliff Bridge was completed and, to much acclaim within the community, the Great Pacific Drive was once again complete.  It was an amazing feat to design, finance and construct a project of that scale in that timescale - a process that, anywhere else in the world, would surely drag on for many years. 

I had first seen the bridge on that classic Shell advert - the one where they race various Ferrari F1 cars through, around and past some of the world’s most recognisable cities and landmarks - and I had been keen to visit and see this striking example of spectacular form meeting everyday function ever since.

The weather was still antisocial when I reached the bridge but the sight presented as you approach - much like the Millau Bridge in France - somehow manages to lift your spirit and take your breath away.  I couldn’t help but park my car and walk its length in an effort to get my head around its scale and to appreciate its beauty.  Part-way across I met a couple from Tokyo who were also braving the elements.  They had also seen that commercial and had decided that it might be nice to travel to each location and grab a photo of them standing there holding a large photo grab from the commercial.  I wish I had their time and money and, even though they seemed excited enough to be there, I really wish that they’d had better weather for their photo. 

I headed back to Sydney with no choice but to play the parking lottery game and was lucky to only have to move the car twice before the restrictions ended in the daily 10pm free-for-all.  Later that evening Dan suggested that we head out for a few hours and we ended up visiting the Sydney Olympic Park on the outskirts of town.  I have been lucky enough to have visited various other Olympic sites on my travels (including Montreal and Atlanta as well as the Winter Olympic sites at Lillehammer and Vancouver) but Sydney was in a league of its own.  The entire site was very impressive and it had clearly been a lovingly maintained facility since the Olympians packed their bags and left town after one of the most successful games of all time.  Given the propensity for each host city to try and outdo the last (Beijing was said to have offered facilities which were superior even to Sydney) I look forward to seeing what London can offer in 2012.  I suspect that, once again, we’ll see low goals set and have to sit and watch as we fail in our efforts to meet even them.  Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Wembley Stadium, the Millennium Dome, the… oh, you get the idea.

Early the next morning saw me taking another cross-city dash as I headed off to the airport for my flight to Ayers Rock where I would join a three-day tour of Uluru, Kata Tjuta (The Olgas) and Watarrka (Kings Canyon).  Ayers Rock Airport is, like Gustavus in Alaska, one of those small airports where every landing turns into an emergency landing.  Given the recent regularity at which Qantas has tried to kill it’s passengers it was surprising that there was no real panic as we slammed into the tarmac and screeched to a rather exciting halt. Just three hours after leaving the cold and rain of Sydney I stepped out of the cabin and into 36 degrees of blistering heat.  I could have kissed the tarmac!

We were ushered onto buses and ferried the short distance to our various hotels in the nearby Yulara Resort.  I was staying in the Outback Pioneer Hotel which was very nice indeed but, given the cost of the tour that I’d signed up for, I would have expected no less.  I figured that, having slummed it at Bathurst, I deserved a little bit of luxury and, much as it went against the grain, I decided to splash a little cash.  Sometimes in this life you get what you pay for and this was definitely one of those times.  Despite the cost the entire tour was excellent and, after previous experiences, it was a real treat to be on a bus that didn’t rain inside, which was immaculately maintained and driven by a competent driver who offered interesting and informative commentary whilst delivering us to some glorious locations.  It was also a treat to spend each evening in quality accommodations rather than sleeping in the open in a swag. 

Having had time to check in and grab lunch - a kangaroo wrap washed down with a pint of Guinness - the tour commenced with a drive out to Kata Tjuta.  We stopped for photos at alookout before heading the short distance to Walpa Gorge.  I had expected that the average age of passengers travelling with APT to be significantly higher than those who would travel with a company such as Western Xposure and had been concerned that the whole thing may be slowed down by a bunch of old women with pacemakers.  Our next stop dispelled that preconception and, although the spread of ages and fitness levels was greater than I was used to, the level of personal determination was far higher.  Everyone made it to the end of the Olga Gorge hike relatively quickly and without any heart attacks: a successful afternoon all-round then. 

By the time that we headed to Uluru to watch the sunset the group had already started to gel but it really took off when, with typical APT style, the spectacular sunset was marked with a huge table full of snacks, nibbles and some very nice wine.  It was very civilised indeed and pretty surreal to be standing in such beautiful surroundings, drinking wine and making new friends.  I could get used to that life.  There was certainly something to be said for spending that little extra money and, whilst I can’t afford to do it very often, I was certainly gonna make the most of it whilst I was there.   

The following morning - with a slight hangover from the wine; including an extra bottle of red that I had liberated from the table at the end of the previous evening - we had to pack our bags, check out of the hotel and meet the bus at the ungodly hour of 4am.  We were then driven out to see the sun rising over Uluru (hot food and drinks provided, naturally) before we were led on the guided Mala Walk.  The commentary was fascinating and, along with the stunning scenery, I don’t think that there was one person on the tour who didn’t leave with a love and respect for the place and the Anangu people.

After a couple of hours to be spent at our leisure, we hopped back onboard the coach and headed off on the 279 km drive to Wattarka National Park.  Known to most people simply as Kings Canyon, Wattarka was declared a national park as late as 1983, the land being handed back to the local Luritja people at the same time.  Today the Luritja are now heavily involved in the management of the spectacular sandstone gorge and the surrounding areas.

After 150km or so we stopped for a rest break at the Mount Conner Lookout which would normally present an excellent photo opportunity.  Such a great photo opportunity, in fact, that it is said to be the outback’s greatest red herring as, on first sighting, many mistake it for Uluru itself and start snapping away!  Regardless, due to the huge dust storms blowing through the area on that day, we could see next to nothing of the 350m high mesa.  In frustration I wandered across the Lasseter Highway where I clambered to the top of the huge sand dune and was surprised to discover that the vantage point presented a great view of the salt lake which was previously Lake Amadeus.  Even our driver hadn’t realised previously that it was there.  In reality it wasn’t much of a discovery but I was excited.  You can only imagine what went through the mind of W.E Gosse when he ‘discovered’ Uluru in 1873.

At the junction of the Luritja Road and Lasseter Highway we stopped again to rendezvous with another APT tour bus for a passenger transfer.  We had a 10-15 minute wait which could have been frustrating but, 48 hours after being amongst the hubbub of Sydney, it was surreal to sit (literally) in the middle of the main north-south arterial road (it runs from Darwin to Adelaide - a distance of over 3,000km) and be passed by a single.  Eventually the other bus pulled up and, with passengers and luggage cross-loaded, we turned off the main road and headed out through the spectacular George Gill Range towards Watarkka National Park.

There was yet another rest stop at the Kings Creek Station, where I sampled a camel burger for lunch, before we finally arrived in Watarkka.  Our options for the following day were explained and we were offered the choice of two different hikes before we were driven out to inspect the route.  The Kings Creek Walk was not only shorter and easier than the Kings Canyon Rim Walk - which was described as tough - but it also missed out on all the good stuff such as the Garden of Eden (a lush pocket of cycads around a natural pool), fossilised jellyfish in the rocks, ripple marks from an ancient sea which went out one day and never returned and, of course, those 100m sheer canyon walls.  The climb certainly looked tough - it started with a steep climb up ‘Heart Attack Hill’ - but I didn’t see the point in coming all this way and not doing it.

Decisions made, we were driven to our hotel in the nearby Kings Canyon Resort, where we had the remainder of the afternoon to do as we pleased.  Time was getting on and - with some choosing to go to the bar and others choosing to go for a meal - I decided to sit on my balcony and enjoy the baking sun until it finally disappeared into the horizon amidst a spectacular display of colour.  There may not have been the wine or company of the previous evening but it was every bit as spectacular as the Uluru sunset.

The good news, as our guide had put it, was that we weren’t meeting at 4am on the final day of the tour.  No, we had a lie-in… Until 6am.  There were no plans for watching the sunrise today - we were up early to avoid the heat of the day as we set off on our walk and, as we headed off up Heart Attack Hill, I was certainly pleased that we’d sacrificed a little of our precious sleep.  Our driver was leading the group doing the Kings Creek Walk so those of us who were man enough (!) to tackle the Kings Canyon Rim Walk were with a ranger by the name of Helen. 

Now, don’t get me wrong, Australia is huge.  Vast.  If you’re not sure how huge, it is comparable in size to the entire continent of Europe or the ‘Lower 48′.  So you can imagine my amazement when Ranger Helen turned out to be none other than the Helen who I’d spent some time chatting with when we met a month previously in faraway El Questro.  Let’s think about that for a moment: it’s about as likely as me meeting someone in a bar in Prague and then, one month later, opening my front door to find them stood there trying to sell me double glazing.  (If you’re reading this - which you obviously are - and you’re in the double glazing business - which hopefully you’re not - don’t even think about it: I’ve already got nice shiny new windows thanks. 

It turned out to be one of those mornings as one of the couples on the walk with us turned out to be from a small town in Nova Scotia named Mahone Bay.  The very same Mahone Bay where I’d stayed back in May.  They lived about five houses along from the Bed and Breakfast where I stayed and know the owners - who in turn emigrated from my home town - quite well.   Bizarre… truly bizarre.

The walk wasn’t that tough even though, once again, it forced me to confront just how unfit I had become recently, and was definitely well worth the effort.  The views were to die for but, sadly, the end of the walk also signalled the end of the tour.  All that was left was the long drive up to Alice Springs where I would catch my flight back to Sydney.  The company on the tour had been excellent, the operators were thoroughly professional and it had been thoroughly enjoyable.  I would definitely recommend travelling with APT and hope that I can travel with them again in the future.  On the route into Alice we stopped at a roadhouse where we shared the forecourt with a tour bus full of backpackers.  After the luxury of the past few days it looked horrendous.  I knew there and then that I was getting very old.

Back in Sydney I was surprised to be greeted at the airport by Dan who took me back to his apartment to freshen up before we headed out to Penrith to meet up with a friend of his for a meal.  It wasn’t much of a meal - we went for the easy option of a McDonalds in the end - but afterwards we had a grand old time doing our best to destroy the local bowling alley.  I can’t believe that we didn’t get thrown out for holding an impromptu ‘let’s see how far we can throw the ball down the alley’ competition but somehow they let it slide.  A couple of games later, the sound of that ‘thud’ as the ball would hit the floor firmly etched on my mind for eternity, we went our own separate ways.  After a tiring few days I sure slept very well that evening.

One of the problems with having used Sydney as a hub was that, with just one full day left before I was due to collect a camper van and head up the east coast, I suddenly realised just how little I’d actually seen of it.  I figured there are times to do your own thing and times to play the tourist and, with time running out, this was most definitely tourist time.  I took myself off to the nearby bus stop and, having handed over forty bucks, I got to ride the ‘Sydney Explorer’ - a hop on-hop off service which takes you to all the highlights - for the remainder of the day.  It was surprisingly good but, having ‘hopped off’ at half the stops I then ran out of time and had no choice but to ‘hop on’ the final bus of the day having seen just a fraction of what was available.  The entire city of Sydney is majestic  but, even though I managed a bite to eat at the institution that is Harry’s Cafe de Wheels - as well as having shopped at Paddy’s Market, explored Chinatown, eaten at the Fish Market, sat in Mrs Macquaries Chair and enjoyed a couple of pints on the banks of Darling Harbour - I can’t believe that I didn’t get to visit the Opera House, The Rocks, Circular Quay or the Maritime Museum.  Not to mention the lack of a tick in the ‘climbed Sydney Harbour Bridge’ box.  If I needed one, I think I just discovered an excuse to come back again soon!