PWWBVA - Part VII

Lake Barrine, Atherton Tablelands, Queensland.

Lake Barrine, and it's sister, lake Eacham are crater lakes high up on the tablelands. The road from Cairns starts off snaking through fields of tall sugar cane before entering the lush vegetation of the hills. If you don't like the road, you can take the single gauge railway up to Kuranda. It's dead touristy but it's one of those things you just have to do, and the return journey is via cable car suspended above the rainforest. You fly higher than the cockatoos and have a view out to the barrier reef. There's no finer place.

We'd never have gone to Lake Barrine, but we were guests of a friend's Auntie, who lived in Malanda (start of the longest milk run in Australia). She'd started life in the UK, married and emigrated to Queensland where she'd raised a family mad on the outdoor life. They live in a proper old Queenslander house on a large plot with lemons in the garden, possums sniffing in the attic and wild platypus mooching about in their creek. We watched them through the binoculars early in the morning, it was magical.

The spider in the laundry cupboard, however, was unwelcome.

Next day they took us to both lakes and to the curtain fig tree. We picnicked on home-made banana loaf and coffee from a thermos flask and saw giant turtles swimming in the lake. I've never forgotten their kindness.

PWWBVA - Part VI

Perth, Western Australia. The most isolated city in the world.

We've been to Perth twice; once by design and once through circumstance, when the Australian Cricket Board changed the dates of the Adelaide Ashes match in 2002. We'd already booked the flights to Adelaide and decided to switch to Perth to catch the cricket. The cricket was atmospheric but the England team were abysmal and the game was over in two and a half days. We should have gone to Adelaide.

Perth is a perfectly lovely city. What else can you say about a city where your fingernails are still immaculately clean at the end of a hard day's sighseeing? It has a lovely position on the Swan River, some beautiful beaches on the Indian Ocean and a plethora of flowers and palm trees. God it's dull.

The other thing about Perth is the proximity to the relatives in Rockingham. It's the fastest growing city in Australia but not one we'd consider living in, even for twelve months.

PWWBVA - Part V

Kata Tjuta (The Olgas), Northern Territory.

I loved being in the Northern Territory. The place looks and sounds like the ends of the earth. Dingoes hang about at dusk and there's no ambient light after the sun goes down, which makes for spectacular views of the Milky Way. It's the sort of place you can spot the southern cross in the night sky the very first time you look for it.

The Olgas are the poor relations of Ayers Rock (Ulhuru), which lies about 40km away. They are part of the same rock formation; it pokes up out of the ground as Ayers Rock at one end and The Olgas at the other. We stayed at the Outback Pioneer Lodge because we couldn't afford "Sails in the Desert". Darren ate barbequed crocodile and we went to the night-time observatory to learn more about the stars. It was awesome.

My regret is that I didn't explore Ayers Rock. I had no desire to climb it (not just because I'm chicken - the local aborigines object to people climbing their sacred place), but I stayed in bed rather than take the early morning bus to the base of the rock with Darren. I had a nice kip but I've paid for it many times since as I've looked back at my photos and wished I'd actually held it in my hands.

One for the backburner, I reckon.

PWWBVA - Part IV

Monkey Mia, on the northwest coast of Western Australia. Wild dolphins have been coming into the shallows here for years hoping to interact with humans. Okay, it's all about the big buckets of fish on offer every morning. We had no concept of eco-tourism back then.

This place is about as far as you can fly from Sydney and still be in Australia. It's also the only place in Western Australia where you can watch the sunrise over water (as Western Australia faces the Indian Ocean to the west they get the sunsets but not the sunrises. Monkey Mia is positioned at the head of a peninsula, which is how this becomes possible).

We travelled up the west coast on an overnight Greyhound Pioneer bus from Perth. The road was straight and narrow and the scenery barely changed in 600 miles. The bus stopped to refuel at a roadhouse (service station) called "Billabong" which made me smile for hours afterwards. The roadhouse was run by a big old bloke wearing a string vest with egg stains down the front. He fried up some bacon for the bus driver while we scrapped over stale muffins front of house.

The dolphins arrived at 7am, right on cue. We drank orange juice on a catamaran afterwards before making our weary way back down the coast.

I wish we'd gone to Ningaloo Reef instead, but hindsight is a great thing.

PWWBVA - Part III

This is Green Island on the Great Barrier Reef. For the geographers out there, it's a coral cay rather than a continental island. It's where you went for the day if you couldn't afford the trip out to Norman Reef.

Green Island was our second day in Queensland and I nearly cried when I saw the colour of the sea as our boat approached. We took a snorkeling trip out from the jetty, which was a pretty brave move because I'm scared of water, on account of having watched my best friend fall into the Sankey Brook when I was a kid. Sankey Brook looks nothing like this, as the name suggests.

Unlike the rest of the party, I insisted on wearing a full life jacket while snorkeling. I looked nothing like the holiday-makers in my guidebooks, though this was largely down to the size of my arse rather than the life jacket per se.

Having climbed off the boat, I persuaded Darren to go off snorkelling on his own. As soon as he'd gone, I climbed straight back on and headed for the smorgasbord lunch but was rumbled when he came flapping back in his fins. After he persuaded me back into the water I tried to hoodwink him by putting my head under the water and pretending to open my eyes.

"What do you think of the reef?" He said when I emerged.
"Oh it's fab"
"What did you see?"
"Fish, you know, stripey ones, spotty ones. And coral, pink and blue coral"

"That's funny" he continued, pointing to his right. "The reef is way out over there. You had your eyes closed, didn't you?".

Places We Won't Be Visiting Again - Part II

The Carrington Hotel in Katoomba, which is at the hub of the blue mountains region. It's cavernous inside and reminded us in no small part of the hotel in the Jack Nicholson film "The Shining".

New South Wales was having problems with bush fires, which meant the Aussies were reluctant to leave their houses and go walkabout. The result was that this grand hotel, complete with silver-service waitressing, old-fashioned cocktail bar and 1930's roll-top baths, was almost completely deserted. Except for us.

We had a three-course dinner in this grand dining room, completely alone and dressed up in our best togs. We didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Places We Won't be Visiting Again. Part I

This is our third visit to this great continent. There are many places I'd love to show you, but as we've been there before, we won't be visiting again. I've been thinking what a great shame it is that some of these won't be appearing on the blog, so I'm going to share them with you anyway. They might explain my love-affair with Australia.

This is Cape Tribulation on the coast of Far North Queensland. It's where the Australian rainforest meets the sea and is probably top of my list of favorite memories. We approached Cape Tribulation from Port Douglas in a 4WD minibus with our luggage in a trailer, crossing the crocodile-infested river Daintree on a chain-ferry(which is a car ferry snaking along a chain from one side of the river to the other). It was banana season, so you could have anything to eat or drink provided it was banana-flavoured.

We stayed in a log cabin here for three nights and used it as a base to visit the Low Isles, where we went diving on the great barrier reef and saw birds amusingly named "Brown Boobies". The local wildlife included pigmy possums, saltwater crocodiles and enormous tropical spiders.

There was only one shop in the area. It was called "Mason's Stores" and was a grocery shop where you basically pointed at what you wanted, in the manner of Arkwright's shop. Mr Mason owned a croc-free water hole out the back, where you could go swimming in the knowledge that nothing would bite you on the bum. The beach had a backdrop of coconut palms. We spent ages throwing rocks up at the trees without dislodging a single coconut for our trouble. There's probably a knack to it.

I've dreamt about it for years; it's not somewhere you'd take a toddler.

Ella's Hairdo

This is my daughter after I cut her hair when she was ten months old (excuse the quality of the picture, it's from my mobile phone). It would win awards for worst haircut. She was a laughing stock and so was I.

On the other hand, it lasted quite a long time.

Today I took her to Jessica's salon for a proper grown-up cut. She wore a gown with "The Wiggles" on (Australia's answer to The Tweenies) and when she'd finished, Jessica rewarded her good behaviour with a fairy cake. I'm pleased to report that she now looks much less like Worzel Gummidge, but will her dad notice the cut when he gets home?

Agony Aunt

I met a woman at the park. Again. Ten minutes later, she had divulged the following information without the slightest provocation on my part:-

She was South African
She had lived in London for three years and married a Londoner
She misses London
She especially misses Top Shop and Next and charity shops
She had been in Sydney for three months and had experienced trouble renting a house
She had a two year old son
His conception had not been planned
She split up with his father just before he was born
They got back together after she returned to Johannesburg to give birth
She'd had treatment for polycystic ovaries
Her husband was now having "self esteem issues"
She could not deal with them (because she was "dealing with her own shit")
She dislikes her mother-in-law
She had a row with her husband last night
Her son was sick on the sofa throw this morning

And what did she find out about me? Nothing. She didn't ask.

Do I have one of those faces?

A Delicious Morning

Ahhh. Eggs Benedict. That's a breakfast muffin, lightly toasted and topped with half a baked tomato, steamed spinach, bacon, poached eggs and hollandaise sauce. I am making it my business to sample this dish as often as possible, in the interests of public service blogging. You may scoff at this (as I scoffed the eggs benedict), but you will surely thank me if you ever find yourself in need of breakfast on this side of the world.

For the record, the Coogee Cozee Cafe scores 9/10 (omission of asparagus letting the side down).

I shall martyr on...........

How Do You Eat Yours?

This, dear readers, is the ladyboy of the supermarket shelves right now.

Looks good, feels good. Take the wrapper off and it's not quite what you bargained for.

Going Walkabout

We've just booked our first "walkabout". We are both absolutely shattered but as our stay here is limited, we want to taste as much of this glorious, glorious land as time allows.

We are heading off down the NSW coast this weekend towards Batemans Bay, via the blowhole at Kiama and the town of Berry. The Great Dividing Range of mountains falls into the sea here and there are wild kangaroos along the beaches. We'll be returning next week via Kangaroo Valley. It wouldn't be my first choice of trip with a toddler, but we'll weather it. We're tough outback cookies - we have cockroaches in the dishwasher.

(Of course, the real reason we're going is to park the 4WD next to one of those yellow signs that says "Kangaroos Next 4km" and have our picture taken, so I hope not to disappoint you).

More Crawlies.

I had an e-mail recently from TokyoGirlDownUnder. She has an award-winning blog - you should take a look (see the links column). In her e-mail, she confessed "there are times when I think, if I see another cockroach, I'll cry".

I know the feeling.

Of all the places I expected to find them, the dishwasher was not one. We've seen five or six of them now - they scuttle out when you open the door. Darren phoned the estate agents.

"We have a cockroach problem. They are in the dishwasher"
"Oh yeah, I have them in my dishwasher. Don't worry, they just like the warmth, that's all"

Oh well, that's alright then. Jeesh, I feel much better.

In addition, there is a huntsman spider residing in the garage below the flat. I've seen him once in the light and since then he's upped sticks and gone, well, he could be anywhere. Look at the photo. Would you want him living underneath your house?

Opera Views

Tuesday March 6th

...as seen by us today. The second one is worth clicking onto.

Happy Birthday, Dear Coathanger

Tuesday March 6th

The Harbour Bridge is celebrating it’s 75th birthday in a couple of weeks time. It’s going to be closed to traffic on March 18th for a re-enactment of the grand opening in 1932, when the people of the city were permitted to walk across it from north to south. I’m very excited about this because we have managed to register for the walk and will be joining the crowds making their way across. As an admirer of bridges all across the world, I’m considering baking a birthday cake for the occasion, not least because munching on fistfuls of cake will keep Ella happy while we get a march on. I finally have an excuse to buy some of those funny rubber cake tins I’ve seen in the supermarket (ovenproof rubber – surely my duty to try it in my capacity as housewife and domestic goddess).

Of course, this means that, after all of my procrastinating on the subject, I will have to buy some of the dreaded Australiana to put on the top. A nice model of the bridge would be just the ticket.

Watch this space for the results/photos.

History Lessons

Tuesday March 6th

Ella was at nursery today, so this afternoon we parked at Rose Bay and took the jetcat to Circular Quay where the entire passenger list of a London-based Saga Holidays’ cruise ship were meandering about the dockside in variously unsuitable clothing for the 25 degree heat (one couple in full evening wear, the husband wearing a bow-tie and dinner jacket, the wife in floor length black velvet). They were all British and probably all over 65. I’m assuming they didn’t cruise all the way from London but met the ship in some exotic port of call. Can you imagine cruising all the way from London with the same set of people driving you stark raving mad every day and evening of the week? It could turn from “The Love Boat” to some sort of Agatha-Christie-meets-Miss-Marple-playing- Cleudo type episode at the flick of a perfectly-placed fish knife.

The ship’s passengers didn’t venture far from the harbourside, sipping afternoon tea in the cafes along the quay and wandering through the souvenir shops admiring the boomerangs. They call the mass produced stuff “Australiana” and it consists broadly of Koala Bears in Australian Cricket Shirts, Boomerangs painted with dreamings(Aboriginal art) and key rings in the shape of the Opera House. I don’t know who buys this stuff.

After wandering round the opera house we had cocktails on the concourse (make mine a Vanilla Thiller) then headed over the The Rocks, which is the oldest area of the city and marks the spot where British settlers lived after the arrival of the first fleet in 1788. Most of this early settlement was cleared to make way for the building of the harbour bridge, so only a few really old buildings remain. If you wander the back streets and climb some steps you come across the remains of probably the earliest brick construction dwellings in the whole of Australia, which are known as the “tumbledown houses” on account of being built into the side of the rock as though they are about to tumble down the hill. It’s a fascinating and spooky area; some of the dwellings still have fireplaces, window and door openings. It’s the sort of place we would never have discovered if we’d had the pushchair.

Afterwards we had lunch at the Gumnut Tearooms, which sounds very grand but is really just a little shack of a café in the backstreets (see the picture) before reading up on the history of Sydney’s first hospital. The guidebooks explain that a hospital was established at The Rocks within a few days of the first British settlers arriving. One of the surgeons was a convict, but as his skills were so vital, he became the first convict to receive a pardon from the governor. It took another two years before a “portable hospital” and supplies was shipped from London. In the meantime, they struggled to treat patients in tents and established gardens to grow the plants and herbs to make up medicines.

I’m fascinated by the story of Australia and the hard work it took to settle it. I’m only just beginning to realise the impact of British settlers on the indigenous population, who have suffered in many ways as a result. What luxury to have enough time in Sydney to visit these places and see the city’s museums and galleries. I can’t wait.

Haircut

Tuesday 7th March

You wouldn’t believe the damage wreaked on my hair by the sun, salty air and humidity. Within three weeks it had morphed into a sort of 1970’s Farah Fawcett look and thereafter it descended into dry, ratty ends. It wouldn’t even respond to my straighteners, that last frontier, the ultimate weapon against what is uncommonly known as “Muppet Barnet”.

It was definitely time for a cut, but having had the same hairdresser for more than eleven years (Hello Steph!), it was with some trepidation that I approached another hairdresser (albeit on recommendation). I needn’t have worried; she did a great job.

The new hairdresser (Jessica) gave me lots of advice on hair-related topics and showed me some Aussie products designed to make UV rays “bounce off the hair”. It was probably a load of cobblers, but I bought the product anyway. “You should really wear a swimming cap when you are in the water” she said. I peered at her over my cup of coffee trying to imagine myself in a swimming costume and bathing cap. The image staring back at me bore a close resemblance to those women who greased themselves up with whale blubber to swim the English Channel. “Oh I’ll stick to hair products” I said, “swimming caps are for nans and lifeguards, aren’t they?”.

Media Watch

Monday 6th March

You can tell a lot about a country from studying its media. As I am the proud bearer of a GCSE in Media Studies, I ought to know.

In many ways, I think you learn more from the radio, which, stripped of pictures, seems somehow more open and honest than the telly and forces your mind to fill in the gaps.

So far I’ve only been listening to commercial radio stations here in Sydney and I mainly listen to them when I’m in the car in the morning. What surprises me most is the bad language, but also the attitudes that come across from the presenters themselves, which I’m sure they’d never get away with in the UK. Here’s a selection of the things I’ve heard during the past week:-

1. During a phone-in quiz at 10am, when the caller got a question wrong, the presenter responded “Oh you twat, that was so easy!”.

2. During another morning phone-in discussion, a woman described having left her husband because he made unreasonable demands, the presenters responded “Oh that’s shit”.

3. Presenters discussing dwarves (can we still say that in the UK?) as follows: “I looked at the guy and he was a midget. I mean, you know, a proper midget. He was starting a ruck with me and threw a punch so I hit him back. I said look, just because you’re a midget, it doesn’t mean I’m not going to hit you back. Honestly Jackie, a bloody midget!”.

4. Presenters discussing the morbidly obese British kid whose parents were threatened with charges of child abuse. (Laughing) “Honestly Kyle, he’s broken three bikes already. I mean, at least they won’t have to buy him another one, so it will be cheaper at Christmas” (cue lots more laughing in the studio).

5. On the subject of the battle over Anna Nicole Smith’s funeral arrangements “Oh for God’s sake, won’t the woman just lay down and die?”.

6. Interviewing an American actress and mother of four small children - “Which of your kids do you like the least? I mean, you know, if you had to get out of a burning building and could only take three of them with you, which three would it be?”.

My jaw frequently hits the floor while I’m driving; not because I’m especially offended by all of it, just through amazement.

Convicted

Sunday 4th March.

After a morning in the swimming pool and a Sunday lunch cooked on the barbeque, we took Ella shopping to Westfield Eastgardens, ostensibly to buy her some new armbands, though she also managed to sweet-talk us into buying her a koala bear and attempted to conceal a jar of Vegemite in her pushchair as we went thorough the checkout.

The kid’s corrupt. After careful deliberation we’ve sentenced her to a year in a penal colony.

Mardi Gras

This evening we headed out to the Mardi Gras parade once Ella was asleep (we got a babysitter). We were fortunate to find a decent vantage point in time for the start of the parade down Oxford Street (through luck rather than good judgement) and watched with absolute delight as hundreds of gay folk pranced about in feathers and leopard skin and very little else, to the sound of fireworks and Abba and Kyle and the Village People. My favourites were the old guy dressed in cardinal’s robes, spinning circles in a mobility trolley, and the ladies dressed in burkas, minus the middle section, which they wore completely topless, carrying banners reading “Fuck Religious Bigotry”. We nearly didn’t go out, so were really pleased to have been part of the spectacle.

What an experience – for a moment I quite fancied being gay, though would prefer to be a gay man than a woman because I see myself prancing about in feathers and heels more than stomping about in hob-nail boots. At least one reader of this blog will now be mortally offended and may never speak to me again unless I qualify this by saying that, of course, not all lesbians wear hobnail boots. No, they don’t, but there were quite a lot of them on parade last night, and not, I suspect, simply through issues of comfort.

Stop digging Sarah, stop digging.