Good Fridays and Saturdays

Well, isn’t the year just flying by, Easter already, yet I’m sure the days will pass more slowly as they become darker and colder. Coming as it does on the crux of autumn, Easter in Australia represents the last opportunity for minibuses of extended families to offload a plethora of camping gear including the kitchen sink at any number of beachside shanty towns. Meanwhile, one intrepid Englishman armed with a camera, a lack of sleep and a sense of fish and chips rides in their wake.

I spent a couple of days on the South Coast. Now that’s hardly specific… the South Coast here represents anything south of Sydney (such is Sydney’s egotistical position at centre of universe). So specifically, far south! So far south, at least half the car number plates said “Victoria – The Place to be” (well, clearly not, judging by how many there were in the bottom corner of NSW). Eden is the furthest south, perched upon the edge of the world, where whales wail and fish are dished out beside the wharf.

Heading just slightly north, I spent a little while at Pambula Beach on Friday afternoon, one of my favourite spots down here, thanks to the gorgeous river flitting its way through Ben Boyd National Park. It also has possibly the most active and well-funded Lions Clubs in existence, paving the way for numerous bushland walkways and lookouts across ocean and river.




Pambula Beach is like a little suburb of Merimbula, the largest town in the area, fully fitted with all mod cons yet never really being anything but immensely chilled. Conveniently it has a bit of a motel strip, where basic but comfortable brick and brown décor provides a cheap bed for the night. At one such place I dumped my stuff and headed around town before darkness hit. The town itself is situated on a river which, in one direction, winds its way out into the sapphire ocean while in the other broadens into a lake where men are men and the fish are scared. At Bar Beach, just inside the river mouth, I picked my way along golden sand and red rocks, finding yet more Lions Club activity from which to watch the day fade.



The next day the sporadic sleep patterns I have been experiencing of late kicked in as I awoke just before six. No problemo… pop out for an amble, watch the sun come up and get back to watch an hour or two of The Masters in bed. Magic (though The Masters part was pretty dull in comparison).




With such an early start, coffee was an imperative. Coffee and a side of breakfast, and why not when you can spend it in the warm sunshine beside the water. This is the kind of thing Australians seem to excel at, still 8/10 for coffee, 7/10 for breakfast and 10/10 for sunny happy relaxing can life get any better vibe.

The coffee injection propelled me back to the Pambula River for the remainder of the morning, this time exploring a section on the south bank, from the headland of Haycock Point looking down to Long Beach and then down probably the narrowiest, bumpiest, sandy road to another slot of sand and shallow sapphire water. Lying beside the water, even reading Ian Holloway’s autobiography couldn’t ruin the atmosphere.




And now it was kind of time to take a very slow, frequently interrupted journey back to Canberra. A distinct change of scenery was provided by a small random detour inland, which led briefly to Switzerland before returning to the Princes Highway and an Australian land of dingoes, potaroos and wackadrongos. Potaroo Palace was billed as a native animal place where they took in stray dingoes and the like, gave them some rehab and then let them go again I think. Possibly. All rather worthy, I suppose altruistically deserving of my $16, despite many of the enclosures being closed for voluntary do-gooding and the presence of non-native species. Good idea, needs better execution. Anyway, here are the not so cuddly native Australian animal shots.



I think I mentioned earlier about this being the last big chance for the bucket and spade brigade, and so the last stop of the trip was fittingly on the wide golden beach at Tathra. The sun was clinging on for dear life and with a water temperature probably around 19C I was able to get my feet wet for one last time before it cools even further. While dips in the water may be put on hold, thankfully we have coffee and caramel slices to console ourselves, and little nana naps to the sound of waves to refresh us ready for long drives over mountains, through tumultuous thunderstorms and back to the bright lights of the capital city. And to add extra comfort, we can finish the day with a nice hot chocolate to warm the heart in the heart of the heart of the nation. Happy Easter y’all.

Hitting the Gong

It’s hard to contest that this time of year is the most beautiful… comfortably warm and crystal clear. I find the only downside is that little feeling in your gut that this could be the last proper hot day, the last BBQ, the last dip in the sea, or the last light evening frantically pacing up Mount Ainslie in less than 20 minutes. Still, while the sun shines it’s still time to whack on the shorts and make hay.

Saturday took me to the coastal city of Wollongong, meeting friends in the third largest town in New South Wales. With palm trees, fishing harbours and waterside apartments all framed by the backdrop of the Illawara Escarpment, it could almost be the French Riveria! Of course, coming down the escarpment is half the fun of coming to Wollongong, skirting dramatic gorges and sandstone cliffs before winding through rainforest lined hairpins to the suburban sprawl at sea level.

For some reason, Wollongong has the largest Buddhist temple in the southern hemisphere, a noteworthy fact surprisingly not merited by any road signs whatsoever. Tucked away behind a hill, an oasis of tranquillity contrasting with the nearby warehouses and Adult World megastore.



Of course, like anywhere in Australia surrounded by a big splodge of ocean, beaches abound, complete with surfers, beautiful looking people, dog walkers, kite fliers and accidental tourists. Just in case it could be the last chance of the summer to comfortably wile away an hour on the beach, we wiled away an hour on the beach

All this getting lost finding Buddhist temples and wiling away time on beaches meant the day soon passed, and all that was left was for a sunset walk in the centre of the Gongo Riveria itself, taking in the exposed headland and fishy harbour as the sun disappeared over the escarpment. And with that, a chill hit the air bringing the sense of autumn around the next corner.

Yankie Doodle Aussie

Back on the eastern side of the country, it’s entering that time of year when the skies seem to be at their clearest, the warmth still abundant but not hot (yeah, a nice pleasant 28-30C for those at home celebrating the spring warmth), with the first tinges of autumn appearing on the suburban streets. Outside of the suburbs, things are dry and yellow (less than 7mm of rain so far this month), and instead of wide streets lined with sun-blushed oak trees we have dusty tracks peppered with death wish kangaroos, all too evident as I dodged and crawled and braked my way to Yankee Hat within Namadgi National Park. This provided a very simple but sufficiently pleasant walk through a broad valley, entering a forest at the base of a small peak known as Yankee Hat where there are some aboriginal rock paintings.

There is also the sense at this time of year that Canberra is winding down a bit (from slumber to comatose), and the last of the big summer events took place on Saturday night, Skyfire, which in common parlance is big fireworks and hoons in utes. This year I took a different vantage point high upon Red Hill rather than lakeside, though the hoons were still out in force at altitude.



After mixing with such riff raff I was due some culture on Sunday and popped along to the fantastic new kid on the block that is the national portrait gallery, where a photographic exhibition of portraits was on parade. Two things to note here – 1) why are most pictures of semi-naked men and 2) why does everyone walk around a gallery with their arms folded? Next time you are in a gallery you’ll walk around gently with your arms folded, I guarantee!



And as arms are now loose and free, it is time to bid goodbye once more from the A.C.T.

The Green Bogey Bicentennial WA Special

Hello readers, we are 200 blog posts old and still going strong I think, though the hair’s a bit greyer, the knee a bit dodgier and camera button extensively eroded. What better way to celebrate this milestone with a very special trip to Western Australia and as I embark on writing this post, quite probably the longest entry with more photos to mess up the formatting than ever before!

I spent just over a week in the west, a state composing almost one half of Australia with three-quarters of its population living in the most isolated capital city in the world, Perth. It is quicker to fly from the east coast to New Zealand, and from Perth, easier to get to Singapore than Sydney. Arriving at Perth airport it feels like you should and have indeed arrived in another country, yet all the usual Aussie things, sublime and ridiculous are there. Join me (over several lunch breaks) as we sample a tiny fraction of them…

Setting the scene

Now, my first few days were spent in and around Perth itself and I was extremely lucky to be staying right near Cottesloe Beach, which typifies the glorious sand and more glorious water of this area. Proving it can be as good (and probably better) than Bondi, it was also hosting ‘sculptures by the sea’, bringing all sorts of random objects to the beach. It was here I pottered about leisurely in my first morning, soaking up the sun, supping on a very average coffee and getting my first taste of the Indian Ocean.

Just south of Cottesloe is the port town of Fremantle, complete with a few ‘historic’ buildings, a relaxed vibe and fantastic fresh fish and chips beside the water. It also hosts the Maritime Museum of Western Australia, which is a convenient refuge from the mid afternoon heat and full of nautical narrations. The centrepiece is Australia II, the boat which won them the America’s Cup in 1983 and which people still go on about now as if it were yesterday. My vague recollections centre though on Bob Hawke (the then Prime Minister) wearing a truly horrific jacket and basically telling the country they could have a national holiday and get pissed to celebrate. Pleasingly, the jacket was on display, though the beer stains must have been washed out.



Returning to Cottesloe, time was getting on and with the sun lowering out to sea, ideal to mill about more around the sculptures and watch the sun go down over the ocean, a significant event for people from the East coast. And I don’t usually need an excuse to catch a sunset…

Swanning around

So after that rather fabulous first day, I spent a couple more days taking in the Perth sights. The city strikes me as a quiet place, even though it has nearly 2 million people. I don’t know if many of these people just hang out in their grandiose suburban dream homes skewering snags and supping Pinot, but there never seemed to be that many people in the City itself. When you did see people, there was a fair chance they’d open their mouths and talk with an English accent – pommies everywhere, perhaps explaining why the coffee was not of an East coast standard and why there is a ludicrous mock tudor shopping arcade in the middle of the city.

The geography of the area is shaped by the Swan River, which in parts widens into lakes and splits into bays. It would be ideal for ferry travel a la Sydney, but it seems Pertherners (or Pertherts?!) prefer their cars. I did manage to get out on the water however, thanks to a cruise from Fremantle to the City, which provided a pleasant way to travel.

Everyone’s favourite part of the city is undoubtedly Kings Park, which covers a rather large peninsula overlooking downtown and showcases the variety of weird and wonderful plants scattered around Western Australia. It was an absolutely ideal environment to take a book and lay out under a shady tree… with the very hope of snoozing into a perfect afternoon siesta.

Rested and relaxed, it was time to leave the city and head to the south west. And as is the case in England, south west is clearly best!

Margaret!

I had three full days to explore the south west of WA, nowhere near enough in reality, but I was determined to pack as much in as I can, much to the displeasure of my crappy little Hyundai Getz hire car! Unlike much of the dry red dust of the state, the south west actually has rain from time to time, providing exquisite lushness, a perfect wine growing climate and – of course being Australia – great beaches and surf.

The centre of the area is Margaret River, which you’ll probably see if you pop in the wine aisle in Tesco. It is rightly world-renowned for wine and even Gerard Depardieu would acknowledge it aint too bad. Wine is not the only thing slightly French about this area. Much of this coast was first mapped by French mariners, evidenced in many of the place names, such as Cape Naturaliste and Geographe Bay. Maybe it was the lack of smelly cheese, but they tended to sail on by, miss the east coast completely and head back to the homeland.

My first stop was an hour out of Perth at a place called Mandurah, which is retirements-ville if ever I saw one. However, I was quite happy sharing a bite to eat and juice beside the water with the wrinklies. In fact, I could’ve been tempted to retire there and then. But I had to move on and see the largest pier in the southern hemisphere at Busselton, which was eclipsed in my eyes by the perfect still clear water and yet more fish and chips!



Not far from Busselton begins Caves Road – the tourist road of Margaret River stretching from Cape Naturaliste in the north to Cape Leeuwin in the south, dotted with turn offs to beaches, caves, forest and, of course, vineyards. At the top end, the Naturaliste-Leeuwin National Park provides stunning bays ideal for a break and cool dip in the calm waters.



Moving on down, Yallingup is in the way, a distraction of a small town which makes people up sticks from the city and go live a simple, albeit slightly yuppyish life, amongst the surf. The road then meanders inland for a while, at times through rugged bushland, at others alongside rolling vineyards before turning on into the township of Margaret River… which itself is actually distinctly average, a useful service centre for food and wine and petrol, and full of crappy little Hyundai Getz hirecars to the extent that you forget which one is yours and almost break in to someone elses.

With the day coming to an end and stocked up on food, I headed back to the coast where I was staying for the night. A cooling dip on Gnarabup Beach provided suitable refreshment for a walk along the coastline, past more sand at Prevelly and over the headland of Surfer’s Point – apparently world renowned by dudes and dudesses everywhere for it’s spectacular break and accommodating plenty of camper vans in the car park as evidence. Just around the corner from there is the river of Margaret River itself and, with the sun fading, time for another sunset out at sea. A sunset I found difficult to focus on as I tried to open the bottle of beer I had brought along with a combination of keys and scissors I had in my bag. Fancy Margaret River stuff you see, with no twisty top!

I then had to walk back as darkness fell… luckily my bag also included a small torch to shine on the strange noises in the night, including an owl and couples making out!

Finally, rest was near, one last relaxing shower to wash off all the sand, step out, unfurl towel, almost apply towel to body, see huge spider on other side of towel, try to get spider off towel without getting eaten, and then off to bed.

Tingly all over

The next morning and after a fine breakfast wrap in Margaret River, I rejoined an increasingly beautiful Caves Road, as it wound its way through majestic stands of Karri forest, signalling the start of ‘Tree Day’ as I explored the forests of the south. First though there was one last taste of the coast, the very edge of the continent at Cape Leeuwin. It was turning into a squally old day, gusting winds and the odd spray of sea keeping reinvigorating the tired bones, seals battling in the waves as the Indian and Southern Oceans meet.




From the south west tip of Australia I then headed inland, through forest plantations and national parks, dodging logging trucks and battling through squally drizzle, before coming out around the town of Pemberton, home to several national parks containing beautiful Karri trees and Giant Tingles – all native to this part of Australia. You can actually climb one of the trees here as it used to have the role of ‘Fire Tree’, providing a lookout for bushfires in the area. No, usually I’m quite partial to a lookout, but this one was pretty hairy to climb and I was content with a coffee and cake and amble through the forest.

The forest seemed to go on forever as I rejoined the road heading down to the South Coast of WA, staying at the small town of Walpole which is bordered by forest to the north and perched upon an inlet which opens up out to the Southern Ocean beyond. It was a very quiet town, you could say dull, but I managed to find an open supermarket and treated myself to some dinner in the very relaxing and friendly hostel there.

To cap off ‘Tree Day’ I drove a few kilometres out of town to visit the Giant Tingle, one of those trees which you can walk in, have silly photos with, that kind of thing. Amazingly, I was the only one there, but then I probably shouldn’t have taken the hire car onto the dirt and so all the other little sky blue Getz’s were sticking to the highway (including one parked next to me – I’m sure for irony – back at the supermarket). And with trees and elves and hobbits in mind, I was off to bed.