The road Trip

Unfortunately out of order as it has taken some time to get around to writing about it but this is day three of NZ trip!!!

I like road trips and I am looking forward to the scenery on this one which will take us along almost the length of South Island. Shame then it starts like a mutilated line from the Ancient mariner, ‘Fog, fog everywhere so thick I cannot think.’ How do the locals survive in these low lying villages where you can’t see your hand in front of your face until midday? And yet I see houses, or do I...

When finally we clear the fog fields around Te Annau, the mountains appear again. I look out of my window absorbing them and the accompanying green fields and mats of dark brown earth; I realise I've forgotten what’ real’ soil looks like after eighteen months of the Aussie red stuff. A bright yellow bird flies across in front of the car and I shoot around to try and make out what it is but it’s gone. The bird life is plentiful and pretty here, as it is in Oz.

We see lots of churches and we chat about our travels around Oz and New Zealand. It’s curious that as areas become less populated, the numbers of churches seem to increase. The local style reminds me of something from the ‘Little House on the Prairie’: small, seating a congregation of thirty or so and clapperboard white completed by one small steeple. They are the standout building feature of these parts. The surrounding natural beauty of South Island however easily outclasses them. A friend told me you come here for nature not for the architecture or any of the other pulls of civilisation. I agree. Throughout the drive today I find the lack of signs of human habitation a joy; how glorious the land is when left to its own devices.

The few man made interruptions continue to diminish until finally we are down to the odd shed and a disappearing fence. There are few power-lines. There is no forcing of the land into artificial boundaries.

By eleven it turns into another beautiful day; the sunshine plays with the mountain faces we pass turning grey shadows of snow suddenly brilliant white as they fall under the spell of the sun’s rays. Some of the fields lay in the shade of the closer mountains snowy jags and here the grass stays frost wizened until the first glints of sunshine break through to warm them. The trees are not like home and to me they resemble their Aussie cousins with pale skeleton trunks and patches of foliage, no wide gnarled dark brown and dense broad leaf of home.

Nearer to Queenstown the mountains close in. They seem so much higher. The Remarkables range comes into view and then appears the cobalt blue waters of Lake Wakatipu. I see rainforest slipping into the waters either side of the lake and stretches of beach with large hunks of stone sometimes on the shore, sometimes peeking from the water. The colour of the lake dazzles me so at first I do not notice the small tide. We stop the car and walk down to the gravel beach to admire the vista. Here I can now see waves arriving at our feet. Grant tells me no one knows what causes them; this is not a sea lake. There is a ten centimetre rise and fall every five minutes. I love these mysteries of nature. Up close the water is a copper blue and as I look up there are so many mountain ranges it is difficult to know where one starts and another finishes. I love it here.

We drive on and overhangs of rock begin to throw us in shadow. Amongst the pampas like grass growing on the mountain edges we see sheep again climbing the steep hillside. In fact everywhere today they have been dotted like boulders, all the same variety when we get close enough to make out their features. The flocks are huge. The sheep’s wool has becomes whiter closer into town; presumably due to the decrease in swede fields we see (sheep who eat swede turn amusingly orange a bit like a tango ad).

Today we whizz through Queenstown. On the other side we stop for a break, at a Bungy jump centre and watch some of the nutters. I do not have to contemplate doing it, it isn't necessary. Caitlin says she would have a go but I’m not so sure she would if we actually said yes.

The next valley on is Roaring Meg Valley. It is filled with colour, heather in earthy purple, tanned browns in the rock and burnt orange from exotic bushes which glow in the landscape like embers in a spent fire. There are craggy crevices and, sharp leafless trees. The river ‘Roaring Meg’ is more of a whisper at the moment.

Don’t stop at Cromwell. The cafe looks good for a spot of lunch but:

‘We don’t have coke; no we don’t have diet coke either’,

‘No we can’t serve pumpkin soup the kitchen is closed now for lunch. You missed it. ’, It’s 1.30pm.

‘No I’m not joking; we can’t serve anything on that board’,

‘What have we got that’s healthy? What about those cold sausage rolls?’

Never mind, the lake that follows is beautiful and the snow fields above it pristine white with a cloud haze. As I look at the lake’s waters from the car I see another clear mountain looking back up at me.

The next town is Omarama. It is on a mountain plain and we see our first sign for Christchurch, our destination for the evening. The Wrinkly Rams Sheep Shearing is the main attraction in town. Omarama does have an airfield however for biplane flights, glider flights and parachute jumps. It would be awesome to have a go in this scenery but I can’t really see Caitlin and Ciara wanting to jump out of a plane and that’s my excuse anyway. I can see why NZ is the adventure capital of the world.

On the high plains between Omarama and Twizel , another lake this time of light blue surrounded by some small trees with more burnt orange stems. Twizel is a hydro electric town. There is a sign for a salmon farm

We drive the road between two lakes. At Lake Pukaki we can look straight up the still waters to Mount Cook, NZ’s highest Peak reigning over its neighbours in the alpine ranges. Their edges are softened by a cloudy haze. There is a house opposite the lake. It is the only one for miles. What a view to get up to every morning: I feel the need to commit a crime.

‘What’s the number of the hotel room in Christchurch?’ asks our youngest. The spell breaks for a moment.

Another mountain plain, it feels very remote up here. All the mountains are now completely white; we must be very high. The green fields have given away to dried grass and pale brown soil. We sight a beach hut on the side of the road. As we pass it we see a sign overhead, ‘Irishman Creek’, very amusing...

There always seem to be mountains in the distance but we never arrive at them. It takes another three hours of driving before we reach Christchurch, tired but glad we did it.

Finals Fever!!

Who would have believed it, St Kilda again in Grand Final. Impossible to get on telly though and do I really ant to be at an Aussie pub in London at 4am on Saturday.

Singapore

We stopped off in Singapore for 24 hours to break up a 20 hour flight.

If you like mad, mayhem, bright lights, rammed in like sardines, and 100% humidity then by all means go, but it wasn't really my cup of tea. To be fair there were an endless succession of boutique clothes shops on Orchard Road, so still not my cup of tea.

Singapore's population is approx 5M, which is only 1M more than Melbourne. It feels waay more packed in/high rise though - I've since found out its the worlds second most densely populated "country", ceeding first place to Monaco.

We spent our day at Universal Studios on Sentosa. It was a nice treat for the girls and we went on pretty much everything - luckily the double roller coaster/upside down thing: Galactica was closed for maintenance. I do recommend the Mummy's revenge though. Backwards steeply swooping roller coasters aside some of the effects were pretty amazing.

Late evening we arrive at Changi for our final leg of the journey to the UK. Again we are on a Singapore Airlines A380. I admit to having flown business class with a few airlines now and they are all really similar in terms of great quality food, and nothing is too much trouble service. The Singapore stand out feature though has to be the chair: Its so ludicrously large that they have a large bolster/cushion, presumably to stop you sliding sideways. Ciara and I comfortably sat side by side for over 30 mins watching my "telly".

Next stop Britain.

Badly caught wave

2 days until we leave and finals season fever is kicking in big time on the telly, in every cafe, supermarket checkout queues, playgrounds, you name it.

Final Countdown

BTW - That's 7 days to go before we head for Singapore - merde!

Farewells

OMG - Hear we are everything packed, leaving the house we've lived in for the last 18 months, heading off for a serviced apartment for the last few days.

Despite the 3 weeks of dead heating in the middle of winter, the Melbourne experience of Possum jumping up and down on the roof, and realising that open plan although conceptually nice isn't really practical, I've really enjoyed staying here.

Milford Sound

Another early start, this is becoming a nasty holiday habit. Our journey progresses in the dark and even when the sun rises it is difficult to see through banks of fog swirling and collecting in low lying hamlets. We pass in and out of these pockets of eeriness; at their edges they seem to melt away as I look out through the car window.

The worst of the visibility is just before Te Anua whose inhabitants live next to another picturesque lake. We will return here this evening. But it is after this that the scenery really becomes dramatic again. Now the mists clear and the sun shines brightly on dense dark green rainforest covering the mountains slopes which jut against the roadside. I struggle to see any gaps in the trees. A particularly awesome spot is called Knobby’s Flats (Kiwis seem to share the Aussies way of naming things). We fight through the coaches of tourists all trying to capture the same shot: humans in the foreground and Knobby’s in the back.

The next stop is the mirror lakes, no prize for guessing where they derive their names from, though the water is so still it is actually hard to distinguish at times what is real and what is reflected.

There are lots of places to stop and take photos of the rugged beauty: sharp angular rises, spiky jags, serried ranks with no regimentation, narrow passes, mountain peaks swaddled like babies in white blankets, slopes heavy with snow to the point of avalanche, dry riverbeds with big icy boulders and frosted sparkle in the early morning sunshine. Shortly before the Homer Tunnel, the last obstacle before Milford Sound we stop at a beautiful spot. It is so peaceful; all you can hear are the calls of parrots from the rainforest as you gaze at the back of the peaks that are building up towards Milford Sound.

After we drive through the tunnel the vistas open up. There is a Maori legend which tells of a great warrior that uses his giant green axe to carve out the Sounds along Fordland and as time goes on his skill increases, finally he reaches Milford Sound where his true mastery is unveiled. I believe it at this point. Wow.

Milford Sound should actually be called a Fjord and not a Sound. Fjords are valleys produced by glaciation, forming steep vertical cliffs extending deep under water whilst a Sound is formed when the sea floods a river valley. Whatever the technical jargon the result is unforgettable. I began missing it the day after our visit.

We board a boat, the Milford Mariner, a crusty sailor’s choice for sure and maybe named because Albatrosses can be sighted from the decks if you are lucky. The voyage takes place in glorious sunshine; we are very lucky: this place receives seven metres of rainfall a year. I think we are lucky for many reasons, as we sail close to the cliffs edges and I peer down through the waters to the rock below before catching sight of the waterfalls like rainbow veils; I feel as if I could reach out and lift them up. The pot of gold lies in the beauty of this arresting place.

Even the wildlife lines up for our perusal, fur seals basking on the rocks. I see a bird swimming underwater towards us before realising it is a seal cork screwing under the surface. Then as we exit the mouth of the Fjord and the Tasman Sea opens out, we see a pod of dolphins. The girls giggle and run either side of the deck to watch these glorious mammals’ shapes as they swim under our boat. ‘Bottle nosed dolphins’, one of the crews tell us as we watch the dolphins play in the sunshine, jumping out of the water but too quick for our camera.

I can see turquoise waters as the boat turns around, they are overlying small sandbanks as the cliffs veer to the left. The sheer scale of the land makes it difficult to comprehend what we see. We are told the Stirling Falls we pass on our return are three times the size of Niagara but next to their neighbouring peak they shrink. We take lots of photos of Mitre Peak as we return and you can see why it gets its name, closely resembling a Bishops’ hat. This stunning sight is actually a set of five peaks but it appears as one as it reaches just over a mile up into the pale blue sky.

We stay the night at Te Anau but rather than take a break, we grab some fish and chips and head out in darkness again by boat, this time across Te Anau’s lake (the second biggest in NZ) in search of the glow worm colony. This colony was mentioned in Maori legend but only rediscovered in the 1900’s.

We walk through some great caves. I can’t think of ever having seen such active caves before with shrieking, swirling waters from Lake Orbell above penetrating the rock to roar crystal clear in whirlpools around us. I stare at this pliable water that must be as hard as diamond to have carved its way through solid rock forming these shapes and openings.

We reach the glow worm colony by canoe and in pitch darkness these little starts twinkle above our heads. As I stare I can see they don’t twinkle on and off and but shimmer and shake as the tiny creatures that make these pearls of light move back and forth. We are told to stay quiet not to ruin anyone’s enjoyment of the magic and for once my kids do not need reminding so carried away are they by these sights.

Skiing Treble Cone

We have only ever skied the Three Valleys in France and so we are curious and a little daunted by the Treble Cone ski fields, leaving our Lake Wanaka apartments, Monday morning. We have chosen TC because it’s described as NZ’s largest ski area and good for intermediate skiers which we believe ourselves to be: hahahaha.

Armed with my new ski boots which haven’t seen my feet since the day I bought them, we begin the twisty mountain drive up to base camp; I sight a bird of prey adjacent to the entrance sign, photogenically consuming road kill like a vulture from a spaghetti Western. Is it an omen I ask myself or is that just a particularly spooky horror film from the 1970’s?

We navigate the hairpin bends and I notice Caitlin’s gaze is glued to the steep fall offs. Before long she is demanding, ‘Slow down Daddy you are driving too fast.’

She doesn’t seem too amused when I devilishly say,

“Wait until it snows.’ The awesome views help to build the excitement.

At the top we shuffle the kids into ski school, watch for awhile to assure ourselves they look happy and then climb into our boots. We ski feverishly but expertly all day long in the sunshine and deep snow ... ah. Alas not, my new boots prove useless as it becomes clear I won’t be able to ski in them; the clue for this is the large heart wrenching sobs as I negotiate the run back down to base.

However, a quick rental later and the spring has once again returned to my step even if the blood still hadn’t made its way past my original boot line. We are now both able to admire Lake Wanaka far below cradled by snow free mountains, a lovely contrast to the crisp white snow at our backs.

My happiness does not last long however as we soon discover the resort to be a little scary, not in an Omen way. It is hard to work out where the runs start and end and the grading system has obviously been done on a different mountain, maybe one on the moon. We find ourselves quickly out of our depths on ungroomed slopes, ending up on steep half pipes I’m sure were built for Olympic snowboarding and from time to time on rocks and grass: they hadn’t had any snow for awhile. I seem to struggle more than Grant who as usual when he is better at me in something seems full of the joys of spring.

‘Oh it’s just like skiing in Scotland’ as he lurches his way down a particularly difficult slope. It is at this point that my fingers begin to inexplicably swell and do not finish until they resemble two packs of Wall’s giant pork sausages; I sadly display them to my husband.

‘Ooh look you’ve got man fingers,’ he laughs as he ricochets off the nearest rock. He is lucky I’m having trouble getting down the slope to ‘join’ him.

Things continue not to go well for me as we attempt the ‘fast ‘chair lift. Unlike France with its helpful traffic lights to tell you when to go or indeed barriers that stop those of us that don’t concentrate on holiday, here you must watch for your moment; then estimate where to stand on a faint red line whose words of warning are blurred under the thick ice.

The result is a spectacular Nil Point as I try to sit on the chair lift and miss, just catching the edge. I immediately imagine my body dangling by my fat sausage fingers from the chair’s restraining bar miles over the slopes and consequently throw myself off to the side somewhat like a an Indiana Jones move. When I sit up, Grant has followed suit leaving me to wonder:

A) Does he think I knew something?

B) Is he trying to steal my limelight?

c) Does he think this is how you ride the lifts NZ style with a ritualised first throw?

Mortified, I attempt standing on the ice and keeping my face out of view, manoeuvre myself back to position. I can’t bring myself to try again for at least another 5 minutes or until all the witnesses have ridden away out of sight.

Sustenance is required. Grant volunteers to fetch food from the only cafe located on the mountainside. As I save our places in the sun on the decking outside he turns,

‘What do you want?’

‘I’ll have the soup of the day.’

‘But you don’t know what it is.’

‘Surprise me.’

I wait nestled in amongst the other skiers and wonder,’ Why are they all so advanced and not just in age but ability too? We have witnessed: people jumping from cliffs, tracking down gullies with small exquisite jump turns , zooming down steep mogul fields and idiots carrying skis miles beyond the end of chair lifts so they can go God knows wear. Where are the frigging beginners, you know, the bunch of gross motor challenged individuals you see with knees stapled together, tottering down slopes as if in heels. Where are they? Even the kids look like Franz bloody Klammer as they fly past me on double tipped skis and I ask G,

‘Is that child wearing a nappy?’

Still there is local wildlife to look at, what the ... that is the fattest pair of parrots I have ever seen. I find out later they are Keas. What are they eating up here - the beginner skiers? As Grant arrives back with my soup of the day, a blood coloured froth he tries to convince me is Beetroot soup, I know deep down they are not eating the cafe food. What are the other extreme skiers eating- oh yes they are attached to I/v drips of adrenaline.

Still the kids are having a great time. Ski school’s so quiet that they’ve had one on one tuition. Caitlin started with two other kids but they were quickly moved up -I think one of them was the Franz Klammer from before and her confidence is a little squashed. Ciara however loves it.

Overnight we have ten centimetres of snow; the area looks even more beautiful for it. Of course the runs are even more difficult and despite my requests to warm up gently on an easy green Grant sets off for an unbashed , unfamiliar slope with a bad name. Let’s just say this long eared white rodent is not wearing a smile. Half way down the slope I switch into fighting mode, bringing up old grievances imagined or real and pelting them like snowballs onto G’s back. I think both of us are relieved to get to the bottom but for different reasons. I refuse at this point to travel any further until we have had hot chocolate, hoping it might loosen some of the tightness in my tired, overwrought and I have now decided ageing body. I have to say that once we had warmed up properly, a few easy runs later, everything is better and we enjoy the day especially as I pass the ‘falling over’ reins to grant who struggles to stay upright in the powder conditions. We giggle and play on the back bowl in deep snow where one twitch sends you in a different direction. We find some reasonable slopes and even drop in on some half pipes. No one is on them again; they have all gone heli-skiing: a helicopter transports you to an isolated mountain with virgin snow that no one in their right mind would ski and picks you up again at the bottom. Helicopter pilot = perfect job for a serial killer with a sense of humour.

By day 3 we are all improving and finding our way around. Ciara does her first green run, Caitlin is parallel turning and we are managing some pretty technical stuff with a smile on our faces. Quite sad that today is our last day of skiing.

We finish up and drive back to Queenstown admiring its Lake Wakapi even more in the sunshine, turquoise waters with real waves – their cause a mystery: this is not a sea fed lake. Bring on Milford Sound tomorrow.

The Kiwi Adventure Begins

The Kiwi Adventure Begins

Early morning start; how I love those 4.30 am alarms. Ciara awakes with a smile and as much excitement as a toddler on their first true Christmas; Caitlin more like a vampire, ‘Turn off the light it burns.’

A short ride to the airport and some good British humour gets us safely through border control, no easy process in these Antipodean countries where any traveller is viewed as a potential illegal immigrant and your pockets, potential sources of orange peel or apple core; death con eight on their biohazard scale.

Melbourne international departure lounge is somewhat small and the choice of eating outlets limited; no Dunkin Donuts to keep the kids satisfied; no large quantities of wholesome healthy Bircher muesli to keep my health conscious tendencies at bay still at least the aroma of properly roasted coffee beans true Melbournian style rouses me from my lingering languor or could it be the alarms drilling into my ears: those devices they seem to hand out these days to let customers know their drinks are ready. Gone are the days of quietly waiting on one side or god forbid someone delivering paid chattels to your table.

I still seem to have an odd ache in my left butt cheek whose exact point of greatest discomfort I still can’t pinpoint and whose cause remains a mystery even as I write this. ‘Please don’t let it be old age’ I complain to Grant; not the first time these thoughts come into my head during our break.

The flight into Queenstown is stunning. As soon as we cross New Zealand’s coast I see snow laden mountains peaks whose cliffs run down to the sea, I’ve never seen anything the same. I quickly understand why NZ is called ‘The Island of The Long white cloud’. I assume it is something to do with the sheer quantity of mountain ranges and valleys which trap the water and create these eerie extended rolls of whiteness which hang like puppets on strings and so enthral me time and time again.

We land safely in Queenstown, a process I would not like to repeat at night and in fact no one does as Grant advises me that night flights are way too difficult to navigate through the mountains. The town itself wedges into the base of these monsters but its edges are calmed by the immense Lake Wakatipu.

The town is bustling but in a laid back relaxing way; there are a lot of people, cars and shops but no one seems in a great hurry. We are soon on the road to Lake Wanaka, a name that must be pronounced with care although I am advised that Maoris have a lot of fun with the wavering their nomenclature causes.

The curving road we traverse leaves me queasy and eventually I resort to driving only realising as I take the wheel that I have never driven an automatic before. I still enjoy all the alpine scenery; there is little traffic on the road and I really don’t think I could get bored of these crushed velvet green and brown mountain sides. I have seen so little of this type of terrain since coming to Oz. As we arrive in Lake Wanaka I can see the ski range mountains lift up in the distance and a sense of excitement begins to hum inside: I have not skied for two and a half years and have missed it. Everything today has seemed magical even the cows whose deep russet hides positively glow, seem unreal. I can’t wait for tomorrow.

Mud - not so glorious mud

82 days to go and I suddenly realise watching some UK show that I haven't seen/interacted with mud (I mean properly gloopy mud) for over 16 months. Not so great for bikes and not something I'm looking forward to.

On going farewell musings

Through judicious bargaining I've now broken the magic 100 and have 99 days left before we go - having been here for 569 days.

I think I'm going to miss the Footie. I can't explain it: I don't like soccer, if you can call 36 players on a pitch 30% bigger than a soccer pitch running frantically for 3 hours beating the pulp out of each other the same as soccer. Somehow though it gets under the skin. Yes you have no choice - its a religion in a city of 4 million and everyone from 6 to 90 year olds follows it with a fervent passion, but its a bit more.

The athleticism of running non stop for 3 hours (OK 30 mins at half time to stretch out) and being able to do sub 10 sec 100m sprints appeals to the cyclist. The brutality appeals to the animal in everyone, but its hard to say.

I look forward to visiting Earl's Court to get a decent brunch and coffee and minority sports on Sky on my return.

Up Up and Away

Cycling up in the Dandenongs. At only a 40 minute drive from the heart of Melbourne the landscape is beautiful and feels like a million miles from anywhere. At 7am in the morning it was a bit nippy though!

The solidarity at this time on a Sunday is great though with the mountain taken over by the cyclists - hundreds and hundreds of $15,000 bike people (myself excluded) crawling over the 4 major roads that make up the crucifix, and the hundreds of minor roads weaving through the fern and mountain gum forests.

Special mention to "Terry's Avenue". 600m at 20%+ , a little flat and then 1.3km at 13% - I mean WHO makes a road like this!? You sit back to get traction over the rear wheel and the front wheel starts lifting: you lean forward to get weight over the front and the rear starts spinning with lack of grip. The lifespan for a clutch on cars up here must be measured in hundreds of miles.

137 days to go

Ages, but I'm trying to get my head around the pros and cons of going. I'll leave you to guess which is which:

Bacon Sandwiches

Decent beer

Well travelled stella (it doesn't travel well)

Bacon

God the traffic jams

Coffee! - you're having me on

You've know idea how great it is to have a butcher and a fishmonger - remember them

Insipid 3 week old defrosted fish at Tesco's

The weather

The pot holes

Sitting in a traffic jam for 2 hours going nowhere

Bacon sandwiches

Skiing in Europe - sorry but Aussie skiing is like Scotland (sorry home!)

Decent steak - some of the best raw materials in Europe but somehow Tesco has homogenised it by the time it gets to the shelf

Learning to moan about everything again (should be easy for a Scot)

Public transport

Living in the boondocks - Although it doesn't feel like living in a city I think a lot of Melbourne's pluses are that you're actually living in a big city - although it doesn't feel like it

Ability to fly for 1 hour and be in a very different culture. Melbournians might argue that there is NO culture in North QLD, but I can fly over 3 hours here and be in the same country.

Sunday brunch

The long wind down

I'm going to beat Sharon to this one, and with no more planned holidays, a big go live over the next few months, and as of today confirmation that we're leaving at end of September I see the blog becoming steadily more introspective.

Return to the UK was always a concept somewhere in the distance, an idea of something that we'd return to but never really had to engage with the hard facts. We've been living in some limbo land where its been nice/strange/exotic (and bloody stressful) here. We've joked/debated/rolled around the idea of staying but knowing it was never really happening, but also never really having to think about leaving. It's still 4 months away, but all that has now changed with me confirming the secondment conclusion in September.

Its good to have a focus and certainty, but I feel a sense of having to shake myself out of the dream and focus on home.

I can see myself sitting in a cafe in 4 months time, drinking shitty coffee, watching rain lashing against the window, wondering who on earth voted for David Cameron, and thinking that Melbourne was all a passing dream.

Grampians - Last Day

Having had a taste for a little more walking after the Hollow Mountains (a certain 11 and 9 year old may dispute this view of history) we spent the morning of the last day climbing from the wonderland car park up to "The Pinnacle".

Although not quite as extreme as Hollow Mountain this was a fairly stiff uphill slog through some great rock scenery, essentially consisting of climbing through ever narrowing gorges: The Grand Canyon, followed by Silent Street. You could find a bit of scrambling if you wanted (which Caitlin certainly did - was she secretly jealous of Ciara's broken leg from last year), but the standard Aussie fare of stone cut steps and railings were provided. I've got mixed views on these, it allows the runner (trainer) clad brigade with shopping bag of lollies (sweets) to get into the hills, but it does sanitise the experience a little, and the reduced effort to get somewhere tinges the final reward. Having said all that the views from the top were great.

The afternoon we drove through the Southern Grampian's to Dunkeld before heading on the 3 hour dive to Melbourne. By the names you'd be forgiven for thinking we were in Scotland, and certainly the farmland views with a backdrop of towering hills reminded me of, well the Grampian's, and both adults felt a little homesick.

In summary the Grampian's were really enjoyable, and by Aussie travelling distance standards, very accessible from Melbourne.

Grampians - Sunny Sunday

The weather was much better today and we wandered back up the twisting mountain road up amongst the peaks and views. The first view today was so much better than the cloud blanket from yesterday with the vista over the valley and town below.

Wandering back down the road we arrived at another great lookout right next to the car park, and a 1km walk along a well groomed path we arrive at, yup yet another lookout, this time with the Jaws of Death as an added attraction. These are two rock fingers sticking out, looking like a pair of the titular Jaws. People used to be able to walk the 4-5 ft out on the lower one but this is now discouraged: probably in case you slipped and fell the 200 ft to the valley, although to be fair it looks like you could break the rock by jumping up an down a few times.

Bored with the vistas we now reversed the process and went to look at McKenzie falls. Great views, and other than some steep steps down the side of a gorge, an easy reach from the car park. For those of a lazy disposition the Grampian's so far were great: let the car do the work, park at the 1,500 ft view point and admire.

Clearly this was too easy and we drove the hour north to Hollow Mountain. I lost the road to this mountain car park a couple of times and badly judging the petrol gauge suddenly panicked and drove back down the road we had come. Staring for 30 mins at a fuel gauge at zero, shallow breathing and waiting for the hiccuping of a car running out of fuel. We somehow made in to the "petrol station" which consisted of a shed and 2 pumps in a caravan park, and the need to ring a bell to get the warden out. Suitably replenished (the kids also managed to wheedle chocky bars out of me) we returned to Hollow Mountain.

Banished was the easy walk to the view, this time taking on some pretty serious scrambling, for 1.5 hours to reach the top. The mountain gets its name from the endless fissures seeming to run through it, creating a couple of interesting caves we had to traverse. The girls did really well and the views were worth it, the weather by now providing typically Aussie, cloudless skies with a glaring sun.

Rockclimbing was popular here and we met some climbers on their way down carrying what looked like gym mats. I've climbed (very badly) in the past and this was an odd replacement for ropes, carabiners etc. All became clear when we went through one of the largest fissure/caves. Loads of climbers were practising a form of extreme climbing, trying to follow the impossible grooves in the ceiling while having their little mats below them for their backs!

The Grampians

They're not far from Melbourne, you can fit them into a long weekend, and they're recommended. The Anzac day weekend was ideal, as Melbournians all stayed at home being far more patriotic than the Brits - well actually watching the Anzac Day matches. Unfortunately the Long Weekend weather was like a UK Bank Holiday and turned for the worse just in time.

3.5 hours later and one Devonshire cream tea stop later we arrived in Halls Gap, and drove slightly out of town to our Eco Cabin. The Eco credentials I think extended to snaring the customer, but it was clean, nicely laid out and made a good base. The wood burning stove wasn't quite the roaring log fire Shaz wanted, and due to certain idiosyncrasies, Caitlin got far and away the best room.

We had been guaranteed 'Roo's here, but the same guarantee at the Red Centre had delivered nothing but road kill in various states of disrepair. However 2 mins on the road into town, 2 large Grey's leap out from the bush and proceed to charge down the road in front of us. We slowed a little watching as they continued to bounce madly down the road at 40kph. 2 large bouncing legs with big claws are great for the bush but not wet and greasy roads, and twice trying to run back into the bush they came crashing down onto the road. Eventually both managed to leap off into the trees and undergrowth somewhere. In retrospect I think I may have actually hounded them down the road, and Ciara was disappointed and not having two 'Roo's to eat.

Driving into town we saw it for the tourist trap it was and took the winding road up into the mountains to look at the views. We were driven back in dismay as each view stopped ten feet in front of us at a wall of cloud. Back to the Eco lodge for wine and wait for Sunday.

Alice.

It's taken me awhile to put down some words on Alice: the most difficult part of the holiday in many ways and a shock to me. Grant, as you have probably gathered, did the research for this holiday leaving me unprepared for the places we were due to visit.

So in Alice Springs I am shocked to find two societies living in extreme contrast. The affluent Westerners drive around or walk with purpose, live in attractive accommodation , eat in pleasant restaurants and pretty much exist as most other Aussies. The other section, the Aboriginal part, are like a people time forgot.

They meander around, often in small groups, walking at a snails pace, looking for something... The men wear familiar sports wear; trackie bottoms mostly and tee shirts. The women, nearly always overweight, carry plastic shopping bags although after an incident at the supermarket watching one lady try to barter for food in a language the cashier did not share, I wonder what is actually in these bags. It was not pleasant to watch someone who does not have enough money to buy a roast chicken walk away empty handed. I want to go across and offer to make up the difference but I am frightened as to how it will be taken, I know, nothing of these people.

Not once did I see an Aboriginal smile, not even the occasional child that we see and often there are hostile stares at the passing cars. not hard to realise why when you find out that Alice Springs houses a large Aboriginal community effectively living in a shanty town. It is made up of tarpaulins, tin shacks and old run down houses on the Todd river's dry bed. This runs straight through town so there is no getting away from it.

The lack of good housing may explain the encampments we see under trees or any place there is shade; groups of intensely dark skinned people sit in groups resting. I never see mixed groups. It seems wrong that modern day society can find no answers to the integration of people so obviously in need. Caitlin is distressed too, feeling intimidated by the groups that pass her. I am upset I cannot explain why things are like this, as I do not know the reasons myself and turn to the guidebook. This informs us that most of the Aboriginals in Alice have been sent away from surrounding villages because of alcoholism or other difficult issues. I know it is not as simple as this.

I realise all the media images and sanitised version of Aboriginal life I have seen so far in Oz have not prepared me for this, and I wonder at the lack of publicity this situation seems to get. Would it be the same in a similar sized town in the U.K. if this was going on? I get a real taste of how Australian mentality is different.

It feels like a symbol that a wide dry riverbed runs through the heart of Alice.

The Red Centre

Wonderful selection of photos to go with the "lovely" blog.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/36445314@N08/

King's Canyon

Off we go set for pastures new leaving Ayers Rock Resort far behind as we drive to King's Canyon. The long leisurely breakfast this morning means we leave a little later than planned and arrive for today's walk late meaning it will be conducted in full Northern territory sunshine. As Caitlin and me ponder the alternatives to the 3 hour rim walk which the signs suggest should not be attempted at midday(we arrived at 11am ) G dismisses all alternatives with a shrug of his shoulders and a " Suck it up!"
So I now have: a sulky teenager complaining of all manner of serious gi disturbances, a small child in fine fettle in front as she feels she has the moral high ground being keen to attempt the walk, a deranged commando like husband and a steep climb in 31 degrees heat. Yes it wasn't called the rim walk for nothing. The terrain is interesting and once on the rim there are some spectacular vistas even if we have drunk 1/3 of our water into the first half an hour in the mistaken belief there will be water stops on the way- well there were at other sites.

The two standout sections are: ' The Lost City', mmmm, I think they may have exaggerated somewhat but the beehive like rock formations are intriguing and ' The garden Of Eden' . Now I wasn't around in biblical times contrary to my children's views but I'm not sure the Garden of Eden would have been filled with stagnant brown water resembling an over sized farm puddle, flies and a bunch of Japanese tourists wearing white gloves...Are they all Michael Jackson fans?
It does seem eerie however to yet again be faced with an oasis of plant life in what is essentially a dry rock! Some of the plants here are found nowhere else in Oz and are prehistoric a little like my walking boots which have once again let me down resulting in, as I write, a big toe nail that looks like it is not long for this world.

After going off the beaten track a few times for extra views ( I think you can guess who suggested these detours)I finally put my foot down, yes not the one with the sore big toe, as we realise we still have a quarter of the walk to do and no frigging water. Now I become the commando and insist there's no more dawdling along , making the children feel guilty by giving them the last drops of water in the bottle and putting the fear of god in everyone on the horrors of dehydration. We finish the walk in 2 hours and 40 minutes.

So now begins the part of the holiday G is really looking forward to(are we all getting the picture) as he announces, " Buckle up , we now start the drive on the Mareenie loop" effectively an off road 150km short cut to Alice. Initially this is fun so much so that we let Caitlin drive for a quarter of an hour on the gravel only taking over when she hits 70kph passing a road train coming the other way!What then follows is G supposedly trying to avoid corrugations in the road surface by driving over the edge, and going for it big time, " Is that a ditch ahead , slow down, ..........!!!! too late " As Ciara bashes her head of the interior roof of the Nissan and believe me this is quite high. Still even he has had enough of his jollies after two hours of driving as he narrowly misses another giant lizard, this one looking like a horizontal T Rex.

Now it really feels like we are in the middle of nowhere and I start to get a little concerned in a 'Wolf Creek' like way as we begin to see things hanging from trees. I have my glasses on but it takes a little time before I realise these are not dead tourists put there to ward of other venturers but old bits of tyre and rubbish which for some reason are always hoisted into trees directly along the roadside.
Are we being told something... Like take your ....!!! rubbish back with you.

As we finish the Mareenie Loop and look forward to an upgrade , a section of unsealed road according to the map is a ======= as opposed to the------of the aforementioned Mareenie Loop, I ask myself why did they bother to write=======. Is this some impossible wish for the future? because=====is exactly the same as------and it takes another....!!!! hour of blender driving to reach the town on the map marked by *. Now you think I would be starting to learn. I mean * looks substantial doesn't it but a familiar feeling starts as we draw up to the ' town' and I see no procession of cars in and out and no beverage advertisements to speak of. "Lets drive through it anyway" says Grant . Oh yes lets !!! Well most of the towns buildings are now in a museum , no really they are! Behind a chain in between two metal poles and the derelict bunch of churches and houses look like something out of the Victorian era which they are because H was a missionary town in the middle of nowhere in !!!!!1860. Now there are few broken cars and a couple of shacks one which apparently sells beverages but after Mt Ebenazer I'm not taking any chances so we continue on to Alice.