The Daddy of all trips

Through this blog I occasionally and half-heartedly attempt to convey the spectacle that is life in Australia. I don’t write so much about the crummy bits, focusing as I do on the glowing sunsets, dazzling beaches and hyper fluorescent wildlife. The eternal goal is to translate the real lived experience into nice words and pretty images, but despite the use of florid verbs and fortuitous pictures, it can only be two-dimensional by its nature. To be here, to experience it directly, adds that third dimension of appreciation...the sounds of the dawn chorus, the touch of the fine white sands on weary feet, the smell of wafting coffee around every corner.

And so after five years it was a thrill to be able to share and re-live the joy of discovery that comes with a visit to Australia, through the arrival of Dad for a two week visit. The joy that is waking by the sea, a golden sunrise on a golden beach, darting colours and chirrups filling the skies and a perky flat white or two – this all while I was still in bed! Once I made it out and joined Dad for his first morning, there were further flat whites beside the golden sands of Coogee, followed by a filling breakfast to set us on our way for a sparkling Sydney introduction.

One of the more miraculous things about this first day is how awful the weather had been up until then, but clear blue skies and temperatures nudging the 30s provided perfection. As people from England had done a few hundred years ago, we entered the harbour from South Head, the Watsons Bay to Circular Quay ferry a wonderful way to approach the iconic icons of this city.

So we took in the panorama of the bridge, walked around and about the Opera House, and pottered some more around the Botanic Gardens, not only taking in the views but the ample wildlife. For me, there were flashbacks to my first day ever in Sydney, when I glimpsed the bridge and got tingles on my neck, milled about around those big white prawn shells, and marvelled at the bats and birds and botanic framing opportunities from Mrs Macquarie’s Chair. It was decidedly cooler back then, so no ice cream, which was gleefully taken up on this much warmer occasion. Already several must-sees and must-dos ticked off the list and Dad’s bird count triggered off with abundance.

After the ferry and climb back to the car at Watsons Bay, the bombardment of sights and sounds mellowed somewhat, as we headed, via a close-to-heaving Bondi, out of Sydney and west towards the Blue Mountains. It was a cruisey time of day for a cruisey kind of drive and we made it in good time for gorgeous end of day light overlooking the Jamison Valley. This not even 24 hours in, the contrast from buzzing city to tranquil wilderness, continuing to defy the jetlagged senses.

Day two heralded another early morning fog walk for Dad before I joined him for a Blue Mountains sampler. With obligatory coffee in tow we gazed out at the views from Govett’s Leap near Blackheath, sat with the birds for a little, then headed to Wentworth Falls and a walk above and below the cliff line via the National Pass. The walk is iconic in its own Australian way, bookended with crashing white waterfalls and continually punctuated with expansive views over the mighty gum forests of the folding valleys below. The bottom of Wentworth Falls itself proved a mighty fine setting for a mighty fine sandwich, before a mighty yet not so fine climb up the grand staircase, proof that what goes up must come down, and vice versa.

After such a frenetic start, the pace slackened a little, as did the weather, with a few days in Canberra. The topsy-turvy summer continuing with cool and somewhat grey days, but dry enough to get out into the bush capital. Red Hill reliably provided a surfeit of kangaroos and rosellas and cockatoos, Mount Ainslie proffered its classic view, the Botanic Gardens gave away its charms in dappled sunlight, the lake a refined backdrop for ambles and rambles, and Belconnen Mall produced a new relative in the midst of suburbia.

While Dad was busily making headway with his bird list – including roast chook from Coles – down on a trip to Tidbinbilla I managed to see something for the first time myself: a duck-billed platypus, milling about the long grasses and providing relief from infuriating attempts to photograph fairy wrens and other such disinterested things. Not that a platypus is any easier to capture on camera, being quite lumpy, brown, semi-submerged and fast moving, but something is there in the photo.

We became faster moving ourselves on Friday, as the Magna once more pointed in a north-easterly direction and made the trip up the Hume Highway and back to Sydney. This was done via the Big Merino of course, for what would a trip to Australia be without a stop off at a pointless big thing? The Sydney weekender provided a further chance to take in some of the city sights and sounds, as well as an opportunity for Dad to catch up with long lost people from the past who had made the terminal trip down under.

It’s hard not to be lured by that great big bridge and the nearby shiny white protuberance amongst the blue waters, and we headed to North Sydney on Saturday to take in some alternative angles around Milsons Point and Kirribilli. Here, the rainbow lorikeets continued to taunt within the general leafiness, the coffee and company was good and the sun was out for a little while once again.

From here we made it across the bridge as the rumbles of thunder rolled in from the west, and we got part way up George Street before the heavens opened for a little while. An hour or two later, and it was summer once more as pure blue skies dazzled on the water and bathed the city skyline from Darling Harbour. A perfect spot for some souvenir shopping and another catch up with long lost and new friends.

Sunday – and one week into the trip – seemed to herald an identical scene to the week before, with sunny skies again dazzling the waterfront down at Circular Quay. Here, a bus missed by Jill was happily turned into our advantage with extra time for coffee and banana bread by the water. Once gathered, we embarked on the ferry ride over to Taronga for walk number 3. It’s not such a bad start to a walk, ploughing across the water from Circular Quay to the north side, and once the walking starts things don’t get any worse. Classic views from Bradley’s Head are followed by lush forests and tranquil coves, with ensuing bright beaches and panoramic headlands capping the walk off as it makes its way to Balmoral.

And while Balmoral was a trifle busy, and eateries could be a trifle less expensive please, it’s not a bad destination following six and a half kilometres on foot. One of the many perks is its bus back to Taronga, from which the ferry made it through increasingly darkening skies. And at Circular Quay, eating ice cream in the rain seemed wrong, but this probably just increased its tastiness.

While Sydney is a magical city when the sun shines and all is well, its surrounding landscapes really provide the icing on the cake. Monday morning found us crawling gradually out of the southern suburbs and almost immediately into the wild at Royal National Park. Still being close to Sydney there remains a civilised feel at Audley, with coffee and manicured lawns an attraction for humans and birds alike. Here too are canoes for hire, and the opportunity to go up Kangaroo Creek with a paddle.

Like the creek, the road from here meanders its way on as the Grand Pacific Drive, the tarmac spitting you out of lush forests and into towering headlands overlooking the ocean. As I was reminded by Charles Darwin, via Stephen Fry, the Pacific is a very badly named ocean, its white caps evident the length of south east Australia and causing nervous Englishmen to dip only in its most subdued inlets and bays. But it provides drama on a grand scale along a small stretch of this road, a worthy taste of sea saltiness justifying the road’s name before it dissipates into the Wollongong burbs.

The escarpment alongside the coast presents a formidable barrier into the inland, though one which is penetrated by a number of similarly arduous climbing roads. They are rather beautiful detours, though as a driver you are limited in how much you can appreciate it as the next precipitous hairpin approaches. We took one of the main ones – the Illawarra highway – though even this narrows to almost a single lane in one spot and the constant warnings to ‘beware of trucks in road’ is hardly reassuring. The reward atop is the little town of Robertson and beyond an old faithful pocket of classic Australian bush – Fitzroy Falls and the Yarrunga Valley.

I’ve been here countless times since it’s doable as a day trip from Canberra and forms a scenic route to the coast. For Dad, this was his first and I’m sure he’d like to come back here as many times as I have. Despite inclement weather with occasional rumbles of thunder, the sights, smells and sounds were all there, the pounding falls no match for the rain, the bush alive with animals and a pure freshness in the air. Alas the weather was a little too much to prolong the stop, but the hot chocolate afterwards was reasonable consolation.

Back on towards the coast – after a twisty descent, ascent and further descent via Kangaroo Valley – the weather was more placid, pleasing given we had our homes to erect at Green Patch campground in Booderee National Park. This was home for the next two nights and though the dwelling was far from deluxe, the garden was exquisite: situated in shady bushland with the roos and parrots and possums, a white sandy beach just a short amble from the canvas and electric barbecues.

It was a great place to wake up, even after a restless night...the ever rejuvenating feel of sand in the toes, the sounds of gently lapping clear water punctuated by shrieking parrots and laughing kookaburras. The warm sun rising through clouds, gently blinding so that you have no option just to close your eyes and soak it up.

A reward for such an arduous start to the day was some camp stove cooked bacon and egg sarnies, along with a nice cuppa. That kept us ticking over nicely until the chance of a flat white in the town of Huskisson presented itself and was grasped with glee. Fuel for an amble along part of the White Sands Walk, which is exactly as it says on the tin. The bonus of dolphins was an added extra thrown in to what turned out to be an exemplary morning.

The afternoon couldn’t match this level as the variable weather continued, the Minnamurra rainforest – surprisingly for a rainforest – shrouded in incessant rain, but the takeaway sandwich sat in the car made up for that, as did the ice cream that followed in Kiama. Of course, you can’t come to Kiama without seeing the blowhole which was reliably blowing in a fairly underwhelming way. It never fails to draw the visitors though however underwhelming it might blow – or suck.

The trip back to Jervis Bay was now bathed in warm sunshine and a brief stop at Seven Mile Beach confirmed that it should be warm enough to sit on the beach back at Green Patch and venture into the water. It was a close call, as things had cooled down a little by then, but the water was acceptable and the setting even more acceptable for Dad and I to make it into the ocean.

The last day down on the coast was really quite special, as the weather fined up nicely and it provided that heady mix of walks, beach lazes, sandwiches, coffee, and ice cream. It started once more with a wake up at Green Patch, Dad off for his bird walk, me to the beach, but even I could not resist doing a bit of birding. Taking pictures of lorikeets continued to infuriate us both, but I think we just about got there in the end.

With a stop for coffee at the relaxed beachside of Mollymook, I was glad we were able to make it to Depot Beach in Murramarang National Park. Here I could share what has become one of my favourite walks, being just a couple of hours drive from Canberra, along the diverse and pristine shoreline to Pebbly Beach. It’s one of those walks you never tire of...the stunning, vibrant colours, the intriguing rock platforms and pebble coves, the crashing waves and towering spotted gum forests. At sandy Pebbly Beach there was chance for another welcome takeaway sandwich, before the equally satisfying return walk along the shore.

With such fine weather now gracing us with its presence it felt premature to head back to Canberra and we refreshed with ice cream at Mogo before one final piece of bliss on Broulee Beach. My very first trip out of Canberra was here, where I first discovered this wondrous stretch of coastline. I was much younger and less grey then, so probably didn’t have a beach nap like I did today. I’m sure Dad, without a beach nap, felt some of that same joy I had on first visiting this place.

And so, while that wasn’t quite the end of the visit it was just about the end of the trip. A couple of days remained in Canberra for some attempts at fishing, visits to Parliament House and the War Memorial, and final forays into the bush for a gang gang. Dad even got to experience one of our big storms, which decided to show itself just as I was about to cook up a barbecue feast on his last night. But my British we shall not be moved instincts kicked in, so as lightning forked around me and torrents of rain thundered onto the roof of the car awning, the meats charred and the veggies smoked and a feast was had by those who braved it.

To prove the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree Dad spent his last morning in Australia in the same way I often do before a trip back to Europe. A final walk around a reverberant Red Hill, offering up a final roll call of Aussie classics: bouncing roos, dashing rosellas, cockie cries and magpie melodies. A sit in a sun filled cafe table for a flat white and a spot to eat, a celebration of the cafe culture that is so prevalent and so pleasing in Australia. A final opportunity for a dose of warmth and Vitamin D before the big trek to the north.

It’s a trek that starts at the modest surroundings of the Jolimont bus station, where I bid Dad farewell onto the boring bus trip to Sydney airport. I can empathise with the transition to the cold he is going to face, the flat end of holiday mood, and the realisation that you will not get a good coffee in a long time. But I’d say think of the pork pies, and the BBC and, of course, the other loved ones you return to. And now, perhaps for someone at least, my words and pictures will be slightly less two dimensional. The memories of rainbow dashes in the sky, azure waves lapping white sands, and pristine waters plummeting down, coupled with the real life experiences of dodgy parking in the Magna, ridiculously proportioned coins in the pocket, and a feel good vibrancy around every cafe-filled corner will stay for a long, long time. Probably about as long as it takes to get a fairy wren to stand still.