Hostel Life

It’s been the best of hostels and the worst of hostels the past few days in the South West. At the moment we are staying in a beautiful house in Augusta, with a garden, huge well stocked kitchen, very comfy living area and a lovely bedroom with actual furniture. It’s like staying in a self catering hotel rather than a hostel and if it weren’t for the fact that everything in Augusta closes at 6pm (and I mean everything including the video store and take away). I’d happily live here until we have to leave. We’ve voted it the Number One place we’ve stayed in so far. Which is good as we’ve just stayed in the charmingly named the Dolphin Retreat Hostel in Bunbury but officially ranked as the worse place we’ve been in (Mike disagrees and says Lakes Entrance was but it’s my blog so hey…). Features included dubious hygiene standards, a tiny kitchen and a few soul destroying permanent residents either occupied watching TV (to get to the kitchen or bathroom from our bedroom we had to walk through the living room so always had an audience when transporting toothbrushes and dishes to and fro) or making heart-attack dinners laden with grease, barbeque sauce and salt. The evening we arrived both had (separate) bizarre encounters in the showers –I startled a girl busily blow-drying her feet with a hairdryer, flip-flops still on, while Mike waited patiently for a guy to finish the longest shower in history, but although the water stopped, followed by a long pause it all started up again and the man never emerged. He never saw who it was, just had to give up. Now that I think of it the guys in the TV room probably thought that Mike was the odd fella going to the shower with all the gear then emerging 30 mins later still not cleaned! And don’t even get me started on the eighty year old man who took 25 mins in front of us to check in as he argued about the cost of a dorm bed. He was a member of YHA for 50 years so knew his stuff as you can imagine. Thankfully the place was brightened up by a medley of Asian backpackers who cheerfully invaded the kitchen emerging hours later with a selection of amazing dishes you’d be happy to eat in a restaurant. No mean feat considering I’d trouble baking a potato in a microwave that promptly shut itself off when it got too hot. Some things I won’t miss when I get home!

Some rules and regulations............

Go West!

After touching down briefly in Adelaide (slightly dull place, time mainly spent sleeping off another overnight Greyhound journey and getting badly beaten in pool) we arrived in Perth to start the last leg of the journey. I don’t have much to write as everything just creeps along at a nice pace here, neither terminally boring nor crazy exciting. Which makes the place sound like magnolia paint but that’s the wrong impression as it’s a very nice city and has lots to offer. Although now that I think of it we haven’t done a lot other than swim at the gorgeous Cottesloe beach, drink coffee, think about buying some souvenirs, parking that idea and drinking some more coffee. So pretty much what we do most places then except there’s a very nice feel to doing it in Perth. Oh one major thing happened, we got caught in a street fight out of the blue. Well maybe caught on the fringes rather than actually trading punches, but there were bottles flying, broken glass and police running down the street, just like an episode of The Bill. But apart from that, very quiet. Just in case we didn’t think Perth was easy going enough, we’re down in Fremantle for the weekend where the sun is out and everyone’s so laid back they’re not just horizontal but being pushed around asleep in bed. Exciting things planned for next week though involving dolphins, whales, wine and chocolate. What a lovely combination of lovely things!

Beach Aerobics

Myself and Mike started giving some aerobics classes to supplement our income while away. Please, feel free to join in while looking at some pictures of us inaction....

Melbourne

Find myself staying in an ex convent this week and am greeted by a clock on Bethlehem and Vatican time in the hallway with pictures of saints peering down solemnly from the walls. All I need is a Sacred Heart in the kitchen and I’d be right at home!
So a week after the Melbourne Cup and the Aussies haven’t stopped lording it over the beaten Europeans and the papers still pour scorn over the Irish for getting it so badly wrong. Let it go! If there’s one thing I’ve discovered about the Aussies this trip is that they like to be the best at everything. Not just at sport but EVERYTHING. Each town we’ve visited has boasted of having the biggest/tallest/greatest/widest (delete as necessary) something in the state/country/Southern Hemisphere/world. Nothing’s exempt: from pineapples to Shell Museums, everything can aspire to be the best or biggest something or another. And when it comes to Melbourne and Sydney, so long as they are better than the other it doesn’t matter about the rest of the world. The rivalry between these cities stems from long ago, to the point that as neither city could bear the honour of being Capital to go to the other, a random place halfway between them was chosen instead and so Canberra was built. The competition between the cities has persisted to this day. We overheard defeated Melbourne Victory fans discussing how they reckoned the Soccer League is rigged purely to enable Sydney to win. The funniest was a notice at the end of St Kilda Pier in Melbourne, describing the reconstruction of a coffee shop that had been burnt down in 2003. The council had a chance to rebuild “ a building as beautiful as the Opera House” but decided they already had something just as good as the Sydneysiders and just rebuilt the kiosk instead. Coffee shop versus Sydney Opera House…hmmmmm there’s a comparison not often made.
So Melbourne or Sydney, which is better? Melbourne is a cool place; more laid back than Sydney, easier to get about and Fitzroy where we’re staying has the funkiest selection of shops and bars. Sydney though, edges it for me, with that harbour and beaches and an indefinable touch of romance that captures my imagination in a way that Melbourne doesn’t. Needless to say Mike disagrees and prefers Melbourne so I guess if we were to move here we’d have to live in Canberra.

St Kilda's Pier Kiosk and the Opera House....go figure

Sunny Photos

Beaach in Eden just behind where we were staying

Lakes Entrance

Lakes Entrance

Random photos of nice things

Leaving footprints on 90 Mile Beach Lakes entrance

Pelican contemplating the water in Bateman's Bay

Cape Woolamai Philip Island

Sleepy Koala in Philip Island

Sydney photos

Lifeguard on Manly Beach, Sydney

Darling Harbour

Sculptures by the Sea

The Road to Nowhere

Myself, Mike, a Toyota Corolla and a few bottles of Merlot took to the road last week and have been exploring the Sapphire and Wilderness Coasts between Sydney and Melbourne. The scenery is stunning, very peaceful, backpacker-less (almost) and sporadically cold and wet. Brrrrrrr. The only small drawback is that Internet access costing less than a tank of petrol is a rarity, so this is going to be a short blog. So far we have:


§ swam with the French Rugby League Team in Wollongong,
§ pretended we were in Home and Away in Bateman’s Bay caravan park
§ failed to find a garden in Eden but went to the Whale Festival instead (still not too sure what it was all about but local radio assures us it was very well attended and the organisers are already planning the festivities for 2009)
§ heard an old dear called Dot Bruce somewhere on the outskirts of the Snowy River National Park, broadcasting everything from the London Philharmonic to Metallica with 30 secs silence between each track as she struggled to put on the next record
§ had bangers and mash washed down by pots of beer while losing money on the Melbourne Cup in Lakes Entrance
§ listened to John McCain conceding defeat while crossing the bridge into Phillip Island

Phew! Soon we’ll be in Melbourne where hopefully Aidan O’Brien will have left me a cheque for the money he owes me………

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.

Brisbane

We’ve swapped the sea and beaches for the big smoke. I haven’t been in a big city since leaving Dublin so Brisbane feels a little strange. I have to remind myself that the cars won’t automatically stop and wave me across the road any more and everyone in the street isn’t actually staying in our hostel. We’re staying in Fortitude Valley – an area that was rough about the edges in days gone by but now is quirky and trendy in the heart of the club and gig scene. I like to think of it being akin to Stoneybatter in ten years time. Watched the Aussie Rules grand final in the afternoon. I found it hard to muster enthusiasm and my eyes were glazing over a little by halftime, either due to the afternoon beer or the incomprehensible rules. (The Hawthorn Hawks won if anyone is remotely interested.) Later we went to a club called Ric’s Bar that had local bands playing, heavily influenced by The Velvet Underground, Nirvana and somebody else…….*. The cool kids here ticked every box going: arthouse, student, goth, trendy gig heads….. and us. The DJ downstairs was mid sixties, pot bellied, with sideburns the size of footprints, playing an eclectic mix of album tracks from everyone under the sun from every decade. We ignored the fact that after him we were the next oldest people there, yet knew none of the songs he played. Upstairs the guy and gal DJ double act would have frozen over if they were any cooler and we danced to tracks ranging from Modest Mouse to Fine Young Cannibals. Got home at midnight, which was a shock to the system as recently I struggle to stay awake after 10pm. As my mother reminded me on the phone tonight I used to party more when I was backpacking ten years ago. I must be getting wiser.


*Mike wants me to say “The Fall” here but I refuse to mention them on my blog. www.visi.com/fall

Squawky Australian Birds Part 1

Kookaburra: Solid, chunky type of bird. Makes an unforgettable noise, basically shouts it's name very, very LOUDLY. Over and over again. Bit like football supporters. Koo koo koo ka ka ka ka KA KA KA KA KA KA ...you get the picture.

Rainbow Lorikeet: Look pretty but screetch like a child being strangled. Waking up to a dawn chorus of them in Noosa at the moment. Big misnomer the Dawn Chorus.

The Cassowary: The strangest looking bird I've ever seen and definitely the only one with a blue neck. Very tall, about half my size. Met one in Mission Beach who was a resident at the place we were staying. Prowls around very quietly. I wouldn't mess with him though. Reckon he'd take me in a fight.

Surf''s up

We're slowly swimming our way down the East Coast - not literally-pretty much visiting a different small beach town every couple of days. Today we're in Noosa and we've hit the first of the big surfing areas. Got a shock when I landed in here as it was only 20 degrees and cloudy. Had to dig out my one and only jumper from the bottom of my rucksack where its being going musty since chilly Peru. Dusted the cobwebs off and made a mental resolve to get the first flight back to Cairns if the weathr didn't improve the next day. Of course it did and after a morning messing around in the surf I'm a little bit pink like a medium rare steak. The pinkness though could be due to a wave battering rather than too much sun. I'd like to give the illusion I was out catching the big ones on the reef, of course nothing could be further from the truth. Despite my liking for the surf lifestyle I'm definitely more at home wearing Billabong rather than standing on a Billabong board. Truth is, although I'm happy swimming, snorkeling and diving I don't like water going over my head, a disadvantage if you want to surf. I did well today though and tried to swim back to shore on one giant one (probably all of half a foot high) only to swamped beneath it. I didn't panic, held my breath and broke for the surface. I hadn't drowned! I had survived! Feeling proud I stood up, only to realise I was standing in water that just reached mid shin. I don't think Kelly Slater needs to worry just yet.