Sydney

I was a little shocked on several fronts when I got to Sydney.
1: The sight of people rushing about in suits talking on their blueberries or blackcurrants or whatever they’re called. As I sipped a leisurely coffee on Circular Quay, the Harbour Bridge and Opera House in the background, I realised I’d forgotten that most people (including myself) actually work in places other than Surf Schools and Dive Shops.
2: No one can understand me anymore. A request for a cupcake brought me a cookie and an order for a vanilla latte surprised me by resulting in a milkshake.
3: It was Cold and Wet for 2 days running. I nearly froze and was Highly Unimpressed. I may have to change my flight home from December to a warmer month, which going on the summer back home may mean I’ll have to stay here indefinitely.
The weather improved quickly though and we took advantage of the sun to get to Manly, where I want to live, and Bondi of which I’m probably the only Irish person to consider over hyped. The coastal walk out of there is great though and on Sunday part of it was devoted to the ‘Sculptures by the Sea’ exhibition that we enjoyed along with the rest of Sydney and their canine companions.
Overall Sydney has changed since I was last here: Kings Cross has been cleaned up (although I’m glad to see my Tattoo Parlour still thriving) and Newtown where I used to live has had the edges knocked off to make room for the yuppies. We managed to pick up a gig on Friday night in the ‘Metro’ (the Sydney equivalent of Vicar Street) to see a band called ‘The Drones’ the latest Aussie Next Big Thing. I was last in the ‘Metro’ in ’98 in the front row for a hot and sweaty Manic Street Preachers concert. In 2008 they discovered air con and by the end of the night I was a block of ice and wishing for my fleece. The band were ok but I was distracted by their female bassist trying to be so cool (she should have been where I was standing, she’d have been frozen) that she played with her back to the audience. (Kim Deal has a lot to answer for in my opinion.) Still was fun and waaaay better than the Ghost Gig of Byron Bay where the support was Bill Bailey on acid and the main band only played to 5 people, one of whom requested a song from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Anyway it’s time to leave and fond as I am of Sydney big cities are tiring and expensive and I need to get back to the little sleepy coastal villages to recharge my batteries. Onwards and downwards to the South Coast.

Newcastle

Another overnight Greyhound journey was briefly livened by the guys having to push the bus out of the Big Prawn Roadhouse at 3am but otherwise passing uneventfully. After going through Ballina and regretting not being able to drive to Rathdowney, Queensland, we find ourselves in Newcastle. Here on the main beach there’s a strange combination of surfers waiting on their boards to catch a wave and huge ships lining the horizon waiting to fill up with coal from the mile long trains loaded from the mines. We’re in the world’s biggest coal exporting area and also on the doorstep of the Hunter Valley an area famous for its Semillon and Shiraz wines. After a very pleasant day spent quaffing wines in various vineyards I confirmed that I like neither, however strangely I seemed to have developed a taste for 21yr old Port. Must be after effects of Coolangatta.
Last night we went to see Newcastle United Jets football team scrape a one nil win over a ten men Melbourne Victory, who are current A League leaders but played like the bottom end of the Vauxhall Division. Not really like being at a football match at all with bright sunshine, picnic areas behind the goals and no police. However the most noticeable difference between here and home was the referee’s warm up before the game. They trotted up and down the sideline solemnly, practising putting their arms up for offside and corners and didn’t even get slagged off by the crowd. Off to Sydney tomorrow which is bound to be the World’s Best Something as well.

Byron Bay

We’ve washed the last of seventies Coolangatta out of our sandals, ironed our tie dyed T shirts and put some flowers in our swimsuits: we’ve entered the hippie heaven that is Byron Bay. Hurrah! What can you say about Byron? It's way more trendy than when I was last here but still manages to be a delicious slice of hippy happiness and surfing coolness. More beautiful beaches of course, this time overlooked by Meditation centres with the scent of seaweed and weed mingling in the air. The main street is lined with shops selling everything from very expensive Sass and Bide jeans, to beads, crystals and an astonishing range of Thai fisherman’s pants. I’d never heard of these before but from what I can make out they’re not like the thigh-high, green waterproof dungaree things people wear fishing at home. They are colourful, widelegged, floaty pants that I’m guessing would be more likely seen on a dreadlocked guy twirling firesticks than on a Thai man in a river holding a fishing rod. Anyway, we’re here for a week, and despite being perturbed by a couple of cloudy days, we’re embracing it all. I’ve finally learned how to body board (still have issues with my head going under water but getting better) and have also fitted in a little yoga, getting my aura read and sipping skinny chai lattes with a side of organic, gluten free vegan donuts. Bliss. Even Mike’s succumbed to the laid back lifestyle. He’s finally bought a pair of flip-flops and has turned his back on coffee in favour of green tea. Groovy Baby!

Coolangatta

For the past 3 days I’ve found myself living in an episode of “The Golden Girls”. In a bid for backpacker freedom we elected to bypass the high rises and party bars of Surfer’s Paradise and continued 30 mins south to a sleepy town called Coolangatta. There are still a few high rises but not a single party bar. In fact everywhere closes down at 5pm and by six o’clock the streets are eerily deserted of people and cars. I don’t know where everyone disappears. Definitely not the cinema as we were the only people at the film we went to last night. We see people about during the day on the beach and having lunch, but by sundown it’s a reverse vampire phenomenon. It’s an odd little place and I feel like we’ve gone back in time. In a way we have, as the state border between Queensland and New South Wales splits the town and as NSW has put their clocks forward for spring you can lose an hour just by crossing the street.
We’re staying in a Motel called the ‘Sunset Strip’. With a name like that you’d half expect to see some hookers knocking around or at least some crazy kids throwing wild parties. Mind you the town itself has Cool in its name and is anything but so go figure. The ‘Sunset Strip’ would be described by an estate agent as having: ‘original seventies features in all rooms’ or by anyone else as badly needing a facelift. The other residents are all over sixty in varying states of dodderiness and blue rinsed hair. Scintillating discussions over dinner have ranged from the war (not sure which one, possibly the Boer) to the breed of mango best used for cooking. Makes an intellectual change from hearing how many sambucas were sculled the previous night. On a more positive note the kitchen is industrial sized (with a walk-in refrigerator) as is the dining area that spookily reminds me of ‘The Shining’, a thought I try to keep to the back of my head as I walk the long corridor to the bathroom in the middle of the night. A strange side effect of being surrounded by old people is that we feel compelled to whisper all the time. Anyway, onto Byron Bay and back into the noughties tomorrow, where hopefully we’ll regain the power of speech and I’ll be able to get a hair cut (scared of coming out with a set and blue rinse if I ventured into a hairdresser here).

Colca Canyon Photos

Colca Canyon Photos Peru

North Stradbroke Island

Midweek finds us spending a few days on Straddie; one of the world’s most important ecological wetlands I read in the brochure on the way over (Everywhere in Oz has the world’s best or largest something). It’s about an hours drive from Brisbane or taking the bus, train, bus, ferry and bus, closer to three and a half hours. Much as the city was fun, it’s great to be back in a sleepy hamlet again with the sounds of the bush and waves crashing nearby. Straddie has the best land based whale watching spots to be found anywhere (I’m resisting the phrase ‘world’s best’ although I think it is) and we spent a pleasant morning looking at whales, turtles and rays going about their business in the Pacific. To boot the Island has a string of some of the best beaches I’ve seen with turquoise oceans meeting long stretches of white sand that squeaks like you’re walking over a field of mice.
The other interesting thing is that we’ve actually veered from the well trodden backpacker trail down the East Coast. Although the place isn’t dissimilar to Fraser Island, a dead cert on every backpacker itinery, it doesn’t feature as part of the tours prescribed by the Queensland hostels. So much so that we found ourselves in a unique position of being the only people carrying rucksacks boarding the ferry and are being pleasantly surprised at hearing Australian accents instead of Irish or English. You get used to the ease of following the same path here with a deluge of information on where to go, how to get there, where to stay and free pickups. When you stray a little though it’s almost a shock to actually have to do a bit of searching on the Internet on your own. We got it into our heads to come here (blame it on a quiet evening in reading Lonely Planet, nothing more trail breaking than that) and caused consternation at the desk in the Brisbane Hostel when we asked about train and ferry times to Straddie. After giving us funny looks, a few puzzled queries about where we were staying and eventually the wrong information, we went online and worked it out. God knows what would have happened if we admitted we were skipping Surfer’s Paradise and heading straight to Coolangatta, a little further south instead. (Finding a place to stay there was another morning on the computer). I’d imagine we’d probably set alarms off, the sprinklers would come on and the place would go into emergency shutdown. So if this gets reported as happening on the news, don’t worry, it’s not terrorists, just myself and Mike asking some tricky questions at the front desk.