'Water rush'
And that was it really. Got recommended to go to Holy Cow nightclub. Hang on is this a cheesey shithole playing Bon Jovi and “Love Shack” all night? Think Ill give it a miss thanks. Onwards!
Saturday, 30 September 2006
Taupo, New Zealand
The drive down here was a night drive as we were trying to save time. Andy fell asleep pretty much as soon as I started driving which left me with a nice 3 hour drive in the dark on my own. Amused myself by turning off the headlights to see what it was like driving in total darkness. Its scary, stupid and highly dangerous that’s what its like. Well, you’ve got to find these things out. Andy awoke as I was mounting a pavement attempting a u turn driving around Taupo town looking for a backpackers to stay at. Can’t actually remember why we came here to be honest. Did a mini ramble to check out Huka falls which is a mighty river used to power a lot of hydro electric turbines.
'Water rush'
And that was it really. Got recommended to go to Holy Cow nightclub. Hang on is this a cheesey shithole playing Bon Jovi and “Love Shack” all night? Think Ill give it a miss thanks. Onwards!
'Water rush'
And that was it really. Got recommended to go to Holy Cow nightclub. Hang on is this a cheesey shithole playing Bon Jovi and “Love Shack” all night? Think Ill give it a miss thanks. Onwards!
Friday, 29 September 2006
Rotorua, New Zealand
The first stop on our mighty mini tour of New Zealand. Its actually a bail out after trying to successfully get somewhere north of the island but failing miserably by going round in circles 3 times. Never mind we’re here now. Upon driving into the city you are struck with an instant and overpowering smell of sulphur. That’s right, this place is like, mega volcanic. It’s one of the more interesting sights Ive experienced coming into a city seeing massive great plumes of steam bellowing out of the ground. Its also rather worrying as you feel like nature isn’t behaving itself in a way you have come to expect. The great advantage of all this for someone like me is that if you’ve ever smelt sulphur then you’ll know it can resemble a quite distinct, shall we say ‘eggy’, type of other smell. Basically I can get away with farting and blaming it on the environment. Might as well make the most of it while Im here eh.
Before getting stuck into the start of the many activities Ive assigned myself to do whilst in this country it was time to have another stab at the road trip we failed at the previous day. Don’t think it was meant to happen as we got out of bed far too late (it can be quite hard to give up a lie in when you don’t REALLY have to get out of bed) and only had limited time. This was possibly the last chance Andy had of getting some surf in before heading back to Oz. Poor bastard, he’s been lugging his bloody great surf board all around Oz and New Zealand and I think Ive seen him use it about 3 times. And unfortunately it wasn’t gonna happen for him this time either. To give a technical surfing term, the waves were ‘as flat as a witches tit’ so we just went for a paddle on the best beach we could find at sunset time. It was bloody cold. I miss the warm weather. Great chance for sunset piccies though:
'Dont do that. You'll go blind'
Right enough guff! Its time to get extreme again. This was gonna happen a lot in this country as it seems to be populated with people coming up with more and more crazy ways of raising your blood pressure. First up, white water rafting. Now Ive already been rafting in Thailand so wasn’t too fazed by this one. Even when they told us it’s a ‘grade 5’ which is the highest grade you can commercially ride, I didn’t break too much of a sweat. Then they started mentioning 10m waterfalls you go down. Um, ok, I’m get a little worried now.
As I’ve started to find, the guys who run these type of things have an un-natural amount of enthusiasm and chirpiness for normal mortals. Must be the constant exposure to all things ‘extreme’ that re-wires their neural paths. Before boarding our vessel they culture us by saying a little Maori prayer to the river to give us safety and to thank the spirits for letting us attempt to kill us (yet again) on they’re lovely raging river. Cute.
The safety briefing tells us the various things we need to do when the driver calls out. Worryingly, apart from paddling back and forward, they involve either grabbing the side of the raft for dear life, or actually jumping into the middle and curling up into the crash position. Oh, and also what to do when the boat capsizes off a waterfall. Shouldn’t that be ‘if’ instead of ‘when’? Oh floppy cocks lets just get on with it.
It starts off quite pleasantly with a gentle paddle down the river with the driver pointing out various trees and some Maori history of the river. Apart from completely losing any sense of rhythm and co-ordination with regards to the paddling, things were rather pleasant. Then comes the big sodding waterfall. To be fair they stop before hand and make us do a big shouty Maori-style Haka thing to get you all syked up before the drop, which works a treat. Then off you go. Heres how it went:
Zorbing. You have to admire the guys who come up we’ve these strange things to do.
I’m guessing that’s how it’s inception actually occurred word for word. So there you are, twenty quid down, at the top of a grassy hill looking at a ginourmous, hollowed out inflatable ball. You dive in and roll down the hill. In actual fact its filled with a puddle of water so as the ball rolls its way down you slosh about inside like a giant bit of diced carrot in a stomach full of sick. Its kinda like riding a water slide but you have no idea where the hell you are. After 30 seconds it’s all over. Whoppee. Photo. Next! 
Before getting stuck into the start of the many activities Ive assigned myself to do whilst in this country it was time to have another stab at the road trip we failed at the previous day. Don’t think it was meant to happen as we got out of bed far too late (it can be quite hard to give up a lie in when you don’t REALLY have to get out of bed) and only had limited time. This was possibly the last chance Andy had of getting some surf in before heading back to Oz. Poor bastard, he’s been lugging his bloody great surf board all around Oz and New Zealand and I think Ive seen him use it about 3 times. And unfortunately it wasn’t gonna happen for him this time either. To give a technical surfing term, the waves were ‘as flat as a witches tit’ so we just went for a paddle on the best beach we could find at sunset time. It was bloody cold. I miss the warm weather. Great chance for sunset piccies though:
'Dont do that. You'll go blind'
Right enough guff! Its time to get extreme again. This was gonna happen a lot in this country as it seems to be populated with people coming up with more and more crazy ways of raising your blood pressure. First up, white water rafting. Now Ive already been rafting in Thailand so wasn’t too fazed by this one. Even when they told us it’s a ‘grade 5’ which is the highest grade you can commercially ride, I didn’t break too much of a sweat. Then they started mentioning 10m waterfalls you go down. Um, ok, I’m get a little worried now.
As I’ve started to find, the guys who run these type of things have an un-natural amount of enthusiasm and chirpiness for normal mortals. Must be the constant exposure to all things ‘extreme’ that re-wires their neural paths. Before boarding our vessel they culture us by saying a little Maori prayer to the river to give us safety and to thank the spirits for letting us attempt to kill us (yet again) on they’re lovely raging river. Cute.
The safety briefing tells us the various things we need to do when the driver calls out. Worryingly, apart from paddling back and forward, they involve either grabbing the side of the raft for dear life, or actually jumping into the middle and curling up into the crash position. Oh, and also what to do when the boat capsizes off a waterfall. Shouldn’t that be ‘if’ instead of ‘when’? Oh floppy cocks lets just get on with it.
It starts off quite pleasantly with a gentle paddle down the river with the driver pointing out various trees and some Maori history of the river. Apart from completely losing any sense of rhythm and co-ordination with regards to the paddling, things were rather pleasant. Then comes the big sodding waterfall. To be fair they stop before hand and make us do a big shouty Maori-style Haka thing to get you all syked up before the drop, which works a treat. Then off you go. Heres how it went:
Exactly. A total fucking disaster. I don’t really know how it happened but before I knew it I was underwater and rather desperately trying to get to the surface. To make it worse I came up underneath the upturned raft so I didn’t know what the hell was going on. Caught my breath and calmed down a bit before feeling a tug on my oar from outside the boat (god knows how I kept hold of it) which I thought was someone trying to rescue me. Turns out it was Andy trying to nick my oar as he’d lost his the bugger! Snatched it back and waited under the raft for things to happen. Didn’t really know what was happening so ducked under to join the real world again. As I did, the driver decided then to turn the raft back over. Imagine my horror upon resurfacing to open my eyes and see a humongous raft falling towards me. All I could do was close my eyes and hope. Luckily it landed a whisper away from my nose. If it had landed on my head it would have probably knocked me out. Really got to stop putting myself in these in situations. I’m never gonna rule the world if I’m dead all the time.
That was the worst of it thank god but to be honest it was a good chuckle after you get over the whole nearly dying thing. I was whooping and hollering my way down the subsequent waterfalls. Even rode one whilst in the water hanging onto the raft. EXTREME! One poor girl in the raft was traumertised by our entrée and was close to tears on the brink of all the latter waterfalls. You had to laugh at her. The driver made it his mission to wind her up even more too. Poor girl. Started to work out, to my annoyance, that I get colder quicker than most people due to my 0% body fat ratio, so by the end I was a shivering grumpy mess. But all said and done it was a good old way to spend an afternoon and if I had to invent a word to sum it all up it would be ‘prenolitentious’. Next!
Zorbing. You have to admire the guys who come up we’ve these strange things to do.
“How about I inflate a MASSIVE beach ball and roll it down a hill”
“Alright”
“BUT the catch is I’m inside it you see”
“Ahhh”
I’m guessing that’s how it’s inception actually occurred word for word. So there you are, twenty quid down, at the top of a grassy hill looking at a ginourmous, hollowed out inflatable ball. You dive in and roll down the hill. In actual fact its filled with a puddle of water so as the ball rolls its way down you slosh about inside like a giant bit of diced carrot in a stomach full of sick. Its kinda like riding a water slide but you have no idea where the hell you are. After 30 seconds it’s all over. Whoppee. Photo. Next!
'Micheal Jacksons mobile oxygen tank'
This is a bit more like it; buggy riding. The leaflet looks great. Hurling a beach buggy round a track. Awesome, this is gonna be go karting ++. However when you get there you discover the track is actually a disappointingly small circle. The vehicle itself was too tempting though. It had gears and everything! Let me at it! It holds 2 passengers so Andy clambers in, with me at the wheel first. The instructor informs us of the times to beat and that only 1 in 100 get under 12 seconds. Deep down I know my destiny is to become a race driver so I know I’m gonna get under that easily! Racing towards the first corner I realize that this is just not gonna happen. Firstly the seat is not adjustable and being just shy of 6 foot, even I struggled to reach the steering wheel. And if you’ve ever tried to drive with your arms strectched as far as they will go, you will know how bloody difficult that is. Plus the fact that you had to turn it at least 3 quarters of a circle before you get the benefit of anything resembling feedback.
That aside, I gave it my best stab and didn’t actually spin out to my credit. Towards the end my confidence raised and I was pretty sure I was gonna get that golden lap time of under 12 seconds. 13.27 seconds. 13.27!!!This can’t be!! I’m the next Nigel Manson for Bushes sake! The bump back to reality from the clouds was harsh and I was not happy. Luckily I managed to disguise my utter disbelief by smiling a lot. No one knew the real torment I was feeling. The quite uncanny thing was that on his go, Andy got EXACTLY the same best time, 13.27. Oh well at least he didn’t beat me otherwise it really would be noose time. Watched a guy do it after us who was spinning out left right and center but still somehow got an 11 second time. Utter bastard! Next!
That’s enough extremeness for now. Visted the geezers over the road. No not the dodgy Essex boys in funny leisurewear, the vile smelling pools of mud and shit belching out horrible fumes. It is an incredibly strange experience wandering round a park where the ground is literally boiling. This is the real bog of eternal stench. A truly impressive sight of nature but one that is far too smelly.
'Who farted?'
You do get used to it a little but it was too much for our hangovers. Groooo lets go to the Hot Springs! This is a purpose built complex with lots of little pools heated by all this unnatural (well it is natural actually) thermal activity going on down below. The instant thing you notice is these places attract doddering elderly Asian women like Herberts to a city center on Saturday. The other is that again, IT BLOODY STINKS. Still, we got in and hung out with our elderly homies and watched the sun set over the lake which was all very nice and anti-heterosexual. Think that’s enough for one location. Onwards!
Sunday, 24 September 2006
Auckland, New Zealand
“Uz thus yer fust tum un Nuw Zulund?”
“I’m Sorry?”
“Uz thus yer fust tum un Nuw Zulund???”
Hang on a minute, this is meant to be Australia 2, didn’t expect there to be a language barrier! It would appear the kiwis have a interesting twist on the English language as well. All soft ‘e’s become ‘I’s and all soft ‘I’s become ‘u’s. So the phrase “Ben put out the bins” would become “Bin put out the buns”. Bizzare.
Anyway, after a riduclously early start and a greeting by the check in staff at Melbourne airport that was just FAR too camp for that time in the morning (“oooo sir haven’t YOU got a big bag!!”), my day was pretty good. It went a little something like this:
3 x bloody mary
1 x champagne
2 x red wine
1 x gin and tonic
1 x port
2 x beer
2 x vodka and orange
1 x cider
1 x Guiness
1 x vomit
1 x Jager Bomb (Jager Meister dropped into red bull)
1 x kebab
Before I knew it I was lying in a dark room at 2am watching Saving Private Ryan on 2 TVs in a hostel in Auckland. Although Im pretty sure there was only 1 screen and I was seeing 2. Success!
Not sure what possessed me to sample pretty much every type of alcoholic drink in one day but it worked. Managed to get up and stumble around the city for the next few days which seemed kinda like a ‘Sydney Lite’ on first impressions. Met up with a pal Id met in Perth (good ol’ kitty Kat) for a few drinkies and reminiscing. Also booked up some extreme activities and some transport for the coming weeks. Lets do this!
“I’m Sorry?”
“Uz thus yer fust tum un Nuw Zulund???”
Hang on a minute, this is meant to be Australia 2, didn’t expect there to be a language barrier! It would appear the kiwis have a interesting twist on the English language as well. All soft ‘e’s become ‘I’s and all soft ‘I’s become ‘u’s. So the phrase “Ben put out the bins” would become “Bin put out the buns”. Bizzare.
Anyway, after a riduclously early start and a greeting by the check in staff at Melbourne airport that was just FAR too camp for that time in the morning (“oooo sir haven’t YOU got a big bag!!”), my day was pretty good. It went a little something like this:
3 x bloody mary
1 x champagne
2 x red wine
1 x gin and tonic
1 x port
2 x beer
2 x vodka and orange
1 x cider
1 x Guiness
1 x vomit
1 x Jager Bomb (Jager Meister dropped into red bull)
1 x kebab
Before I knew it I was lying in a dark room at 2am watching Saving Private Ryan on 2 TVs in a hostel in Auckland. Although Im pretty sure there was only 1 screen and I was seeing 2. Success!
Not sure what possessed me to sample pretty much every type of alcoholic drink in one day but it worked. Managed to get up and stumble around the city for the next few days which seemed kinda like a ‘Sydney Lite’ on first impressions. Met up with a pal Id met in Perth (good ol’ kitty Kat) for a few drinkies and reminiscing. Also booked up some extreme activities and some transport for the coming weeks. Lets do this!
Wednesday, 20 September 2006
Melbourne, Australia
Upon arrival at Melbourne we decided to try and save some money this time and use public transport to get to our hostel. After about 3 hours of different forms of transport and a very angry and fed up Sparm later, we arrived. I’m getting a taxi next time. Well it was pretty good until the Trams. The address for the hostel was 333 St Kilda Road, and when we start going along and we’re at 345 and 350 and we’re ON St Kilda road I naturally assume we’ve gone past it. Oh no, this is the only road in the entire history of common sense to have numbers that go back down after they’ve gone back up. To add to my annoyance we attempted to get a taxi, and after being pointed to a taxi with a hatchback (Andy has a surfboard) and the fuck-wit driver just looking at his open boot wondering what to do. I suggest to him to put the seats down to which he replied the seats don’t go down. “So why the hell did you suggest we get your taxi then, you unbelievably thick twat?!?!”. When he asked if the surfboard folded in half I could have hit him. Not a good start. Maybe I shouldn’t go on an all day pub crawl before flying next time.
Melbourne is a beautiful vibrant city. Equivalent to Sydney but this has a lot more ‘Arty’ feel to it. So lots and lots more weird people in it. Our hostel is modern clean and we have a very smelly room. It’s in the St Kilda area which is a sort of dodgy but up and coming arty bohemian area. Lots of poncy cafes, derelict buildings soon to be developed into LAFMDL (Luxury Apartments For Modern Day Living), and people with funny clothes and hair. Luckily our hostel has its own security with hookers flanking every street corner. The other day I was doing my laundry and peering through the window into an alley way I saw one of our professional guardsmen pulling her knickers up after presumably servicing a client. Hooray.
Lets soak some of this all up then is it? Went to an Art gallery where they had a Picasso display on. Didn’t go to see that (it cost money) but I did manage to make my own “art” from the display outside:
“Chuckle, chortle, guffaw, etc”
And did the obligatory sight seeing in the city afterwards:
“Captivating, etc”
Spent an evening catching up with one of the locals. A fine man I used to work with back home who has now come back to his home town. We reminisced over such wonderful things as Flight Club (throwing paper airplanes onto Fleet Street after the boss has gone home), IM art (using expensive backend design software to make pretty pictures) and PC Theatre (using voice technology software to write obscene comedy sketches). Had a lovely evening drinking full pints in traditional pubs. All was going well until I found an old prostitutes glove, and when I put it on it transformed me into an embodiment of evil:
'The glove has you now. There's nothing more we can do'
"GGaaaaaggggghhhhhh!!!!'
Went on to have a burger king where a fight broke out. When it had been split up, me and the evil glove went up to one of the guys in the fight and tried our best to antagonise him more “Go on, finish him off, you know you want to. Hit him again”. Andy wasn’t so drunk and dragged me away before me and the glove got into trouble ourselves. Then on the way home, me and the evil glove tried to drag Andy on an evil ‘danger walk’ across a busy intersection but failed miserably and ended up karking it onto the ground leaving poor Andy to drag us across the road before the speeding traffic splattered us. Lucky escape. Cheers Andy. Saved us both. And the glove of course. Upon seeing this a gang of disorderleys started to jeer us but we got back to the hostel before the evil glove could react. Woke up and burned the damn thing!
Sillyness aside, I had the important role of headline DJ for a funky bar in the city:
“Look mum! I’m famous!”
Although it was a Sunday night, we had a great turn out and I had free reign to play all the deep, dirty slamming house (or ‘that noisey shit that you play’ as most of you will recognize) that I wanted and by jove it went down a treat. One person actually got up and danced. Amazing I know.
“What do these buttons do? What does any of this mean? What the hell am I doing here?”
“Cmon everybody…..Gonna stay at the Y..M..C..A”
And I absolutely, categorically did NOT get paid cash in hand for the gig and anyone who says I did is a fucking liar. Had a great night, met some great people with equally un-orthodox facial hair and found a really nice venue. Big thanks to Uness and Ranato for that one. Wanted to have a big party after the gig but I had to be compus mentus for the morning for an important phone call. It would appear that the agent that got me my job in Sydney has take it upon himself to steal my last two weeks worth of pay and then go bankrupt. How sodding convenient. So I’m battling with him, as well as my estate agent from our flat in Sydney for taking money out of the bond for cleaning after we’d already paid to have it cleaned plus I also have ANOTHER agent back home who has also stolen money off me and done a runner. Hmmm, do you think I’m going to trust another lone IT recruiter snake again when I get back home blog fans? I simply love all my hard work and talents going to line the pockets of some wide boy that’s “Good on the phone”.
One last thing to do is the Great Ocean road so, ANOTHER rental car (Hyundai saloon, crappy acceleration) and a day or two on the road. I think calling it the Great Ocean Road is quite an exaggeration. I would call it the “The Disappointingly Goes Inland Too Much Road”. Although you do drive along the ocean for a fair while, you do spend a good deal of it driving through hills and woodland though which is all very nice as well. Its all rather scenic and nice like Tasmania. Andy managed some nice handbrake turns although one did scare us a bit as we full lost control for a while and were rather too close to the sea. But we survived. There are various things to stop and point at and take photos of but its all getting a bit boring these days. Stopped at the 12 Apostles (read 11 big rocks in the sea) for sunset except it was blowing a gale and raining. So gave up and checked into a shitty little hostel for the night. Picked the beds that were technically not in a room but in the kitchen. Was shattered from countless bad nights sleep and wasn’t drinking as I was expecting a phone call from my rat-agent that never called anyway so tried to get an early night but couldn’t sleep due to noisy Germans in the kitchen. Agh! Woke up at about 5am for some reason and the Swiss guy we drove down with suggested checking out sunrise at the 12 apostles. Why the hell not. It was bitterly cold but worth it as I got some corking photos. Check this out peasants:
‘Not bad eh?’
Then, er, we drove back to Melbourne. Not as amazing as everyone said (possibly because we’d had a far better drive in Tasmania) but not bad all the same.
And that’s it. Melbourne nailed. Would have loved to spend more time here actually as I’ve only really skimmed the surface here and there was an opportunity of more DJ gigs, but time is pressing and I’ve got me bigger fish to fry. I have today to empty my Australian bank account then sod off to New Zealand at 7am tomorrow. Woohoo!
Australia. All done. Finished. A fine, fine country. Met some wonderful people, local and backpacker alike, met some weird people and met some darn right horrible people. Seen beautiful things, experienced incredible things and generally had a bloody good crack. It’s fast approaching nearly a year since I’ve been away and I’ve been slowly starting to look forward to going back home and getting on with my life. Don’t get me wrong, the backpacker life style is great, easy (ish, well it beats working I guess), but I sometimes feel I’m not getting on with my life and just spending each day being a tourist (which I am really). But I’m not gonna wish my time away as this is a once in a life time experience and I’ll look back on these times fondly so I’m gonna use it as a time to stock up on lots of good memories. Some people go traveling and never stop, but for me I think I’ve got a bit too much ambition to be sitting around not getting on with things. I have a big feeling I’m going to be eating these words when I get back home and in an office and all I want to do is sit on a beach all day! We shall see.
Finally, I would like to say a massive thank you to Diana Mounter who I callously forgot to thank in my Sydney blog as she also showed us many a good time and good things to see in Sydney so thank you Di. If you’re ever in Sydney I can give you her number and she will service you well.
Right then. Onwards to the next stage. New Zealnd. I’ve got my Hobbit traps ready and I’m ready to hunt. RELEASE THE BALROG!!!
Get a dog up ya blog fans. (I don’t know what this means but I heard some ozzy say it and I like it. Hopefully it won’t be grossly offensive to Muslims, or something)
“Rock on”
Melbourne is a beautiful vibrant city. Equivalent to Sydney but this has a lot more ‘Arty’ feel to it. So lots and lots more weird people in it. Our hostel is modern clean and we have a very smelly room. It’s in the St Kilda area which is a sort of dodgy but up and coming arty bohemian area. Lots of poncy cafes, derelict buildings soon to be developed into LAFMDL (Luxury Apartments For Modern Day Living), and people with funny clothes and hair. Luckily our hostel has its own security with hookers flanking every street corner. The other day I was doing my laundry and peering through the window into an alley way I saw one of our professional guardsmen pulling her knickers up after presumably servicing a client. Hooray.
Lets soak some of this all up then is it? Went to an Art gallery where they had a Picasso display on. Didn’t go to see that (it cost money) but I did manage to make my own “art” from the display outside:
“Chuckle, chortle, guffaw, etc”
And did the obligatory sight seeing in the city afterwards:
“Captivating, etc”
Spent an evening catching up with one of the locals. A fine man I used to work with back home who has now come back to his home town. We reminisced over such wonderful things as Flight Club (throwing paper airplanes onto Fleet Street after the boss has gone home), IM art (using expensive backend design software to make pretty pictures) and PC Theatre (using voice technology software to write obscene comedy sketches). Had a lovely evening drinking full pints in traditional pubs. All was going well until I found an old prostitutes glove, and when I put it on it transformed me into an embodiment of evil:
'The glove has you now. There's nothing more we can do'
"GGaaaaaggggghhhhhh!!!!'
Went on to have a burger king where a fight broke out. When it had been split up, me and the evil glove went up to one of the guys in the fight and tried our best to antagonise him more “Go on, finish him off, you know you want to. Hit him again”. Andy wasn’t so drunk and dragged me away before me and the glove got into trouble ourselves. Then on the way home, me and the evil glove tried to drag Andy on an evil ‘danger walk’ across a busy intersection but failed miserably and ended up karking it onto the ground leaving poor Andy to drag us across the road before the speeding traffic splattered us. Lucky escape. Cheers Andy. Saved us both. And the glove of course. Upon seeing this a gang of disorderleys started to jeer us but we got back to the hostel before the evil glove could react. Woke up and burned the damn thing!
Sillyness aside, I had the important role of headline DJ for a funky bar in the city:
“Look mum! I’m famous!”
Although it was a Sunday night, we had a great turn out and I had free reign to play all the deep, dirty slamming house (or ‘that noisey shit that you play’ as most of you will recognize) that I wanted and by jove it went down a treat. One person actually got up and danced. Amazing I know.
“What do these buttons do? What does any of this mean? What the hell am I doing here?”
“Cmon everybody…..Gonna stay at the Y..M..C..A”
And I absolutely, categorically did NOT get paid cash in hand for the gig and anyone who says I did is a fucking liar. Had a great night, met some great people with equally un-orthodox facial hair and found a really nice venue. Big thanks to Uness and Ranato for that one. Wanted to have a big party after the gig but I had to be compus mentus for the morning for an important phone call. It would appear that the agent that got me my job in Sydney has take it upon himself to steal my last two weeks worth of pay and then go bankrupt. How sodding convenient. So I’m battling with him, as well as my estate agent from our flat in Sydney for taking money out of the bond for cleaning after we’d already paid to have it cleaned plus I also have ANOTHER agent back home who has also stolen money off me and done a runner. Hmmm, do you think I’m going to trust another lone IT recruiter snake again when I get back home blog fans? I simply love all my hard work and talents going to line the pockets of some wide boy that’s “Good on the phone”.
One last thing to do is the Great Ocean road so, ANOTHER rental car (Hyundai saloon, crappy acceleration) and a day or two on the road. I think calling it the Great Ocean Road is quite an exaggeration. I would call it the “The Disappointingly Goes Inland Too Much Road”. Although you do drive along the ocean for a fair while, you do spend a good deal of it driving through hills and woodland though which is all very nice as well. Its all rather scenic and nice like Tasmania. Andy managed some nice handbrake turns although one did scare us a bit as we full lost control for a while and were rather too close to the sea. But we survived. There are various things to stop and point at and take photos of but its all getting a bit boring these days. Stopped at the 12 Apostles (read 11 big rocks in the sea) for sunset except it was blowing a gale and raining. So gave up and checked into a shitty little hostel for the night. Picked the beds that were technically not in a room but in the kitchen. Was shattered from countless bad nights sleep and wasn’t drinking as I was expecting a phone call from my rat-agent that never called anyway so tried to get an early night but couldn’t sleep due to noisy Germans in the kitchen. Agh! Woke up at about 5am for some reason and the Swiss guy we drove down with suggested checking out sunrise at the 12 apostles. Why the hell not. It was bitterly cold but worth it as I got some corking photos. Check this out peasants:
‘Not bad eh?’
Then, er, we drove back to Melbourne. Not as amazing as everyone said (possibly because we’d had a far better drive in Tasmania) but not bad all the same.
And that’s it. Melbourne nailed. Would have loved to spend more time here actually as I’ve only really skimmed the surface here and there was an opportunity of more DJ gigs, but time is pressing and I’ve got me bigger fish to fry. I have today to empty my Australian bank account then sod off to New Zealand at 7am tomorrow. Woohoo!
Australia. All done. Finished. A fine, fine country. Met some wonderful people, local and backpacker alike, met some weird people and met some darn right horrible people. Seen beautiful things, experienced incredible things and generally had a bloody good crack. It’s fast approaching nearly a year since I’ve been away and I’ve been slowly starting to look forward to going back home and getting on with my life. Don’t get me wrong, the backpacker life style is great, easy (ish, well it beats working I guess), but I sometimes feel I’m not getting on with my life and just spending each day being a tourist (which I am really). But I’m not gonna wish my time away as this is a once in a life time experience and I’ll look back on these times fondly so I’m gonna use it as a time to stock up on lots of good memories. Some people go traveling and never stop, but for me I think I’ve got a bit too much ambition to be sitting around not getting on with things. I have a big feeling I’m going to be eating these words when I get back home and in an office and all I want to do is sit on a beach all day! We shall see.
Finally, I would like to say a massive thank you to Diana Mounter who I callously forgot to thank in my Sydney blog as she also showed us many a good time and good things to see in Sydney so thank you Di. If you’re ever in Sydney I can give you her number and she will service you well.
Right then. Onwards to the next stage. New Zealnd. I’ve got my Hobbit traps ready and I’m ready to hunt. RELEASE THE BALROG!!!
Get a dog up ya blog fans. (I don’t know what this means but I heard some ozzy say it and I like it. Hopefully it won’t be grossly offensive to Muslims, or something)
“Rock on”
Tasmania, Australia
It’s a really nice climate in Cairns and I’m getting my suntan back. I know, I’ll go to Tasmania where it’s colder than the UK. Genius. Actually it’s a great chance to get off the tourist track and experience something a little less in your face.
I’m greeted in Tasmania airport by a beagle sniffer dog having a good snuffle up and down my legs and bag (Obviously looking for bombs and not drugs so of course I had absolutely no reason to be nervous :S ). Then the luggage cart is driven in straight from the plane and parks up inside the building where everyone just has a free-for-all looking for their bags. No conveyer belts here then? Stepping outside, I’m clearly not prepared for Tazzy weather in just a T-shirt and the reality bites that it’s no longer warm (which is a real bummer as I was hoping that Australia would be hot everywhere – teach me to arrive in winter I suppose).
First stop is Hobart and the Pickled Frog hostel which is an old converted pub which means the bathroom resembles a pub toilet (Always a pleasure going in there to clean your teeth). A lovely bit of slang Australians have is “Map of Tazzie”, meaning a woman’s vagina (due to the shape of Tasmania on the map – check it out), so you can imagine my sheer delight and struggle to keep a straight face when the kind receptionist genuinely asked me if I wanted to see her ‘Map of Tazzie’ when I was enquiring about directions. Ho ho ho.
Tasmania is mostly a place to just soak in the landscape so that’s what I got stuck into. First up is to climb the local Mt Wellington. You get a bus to the base and walk the rest. Walking up gets progressively more difficult as the path slowly deteriorates into a load of rocks to climb up and makes you curse the booze and the fags as you choke for breath. But, after a big struggle, lots of sweating, panting and swearing you get to the pinnacle and notice there’s snow on the ground and you are no longer sweating but freezing your ass off. The walk up was predicted to take 1 hour 30 but I managed to do it in 50 minutes so maybe I just pushed it too hard. For all the pain though, it’s worth it for the rather spectacular (and not to mention sexy) views. See for yourself:
‘Me on planet Mars’
‘I don’t know where to look’
Didn’t stay up there long as I was slowly losing the feeling in my hands so started to make my way back down. Walking down the road this time, it was decided to do my first bit of hitch-hiking. And, bugger me, it worked! After only two cars as well. What you realise pretty quickly is that people in Tasmania are insanely friendly. Got a lift back pretty much to our hostel door which was a total result.
Next up, road trip (again). This time, Andy wanted to try doing some surfing (no chance for me as it’s waaaaay too cold!) and again we’re treated to the friendly locals in Tazzy when Andy went to hire a wet suit, the guy offered to give it to him for free. Rented a beaten up old station wagon which has been probably the greatest car I’ve ever hired. Lots of character, a racing steering wheel and loads of dents and scratches. The added bonus is that Tasmania has some of the greatest roads ever. Their empty, winding up and down and no speed cameras (or none that I saw). All this and absolutely stunning scenery. So we had an enjoyable two days touring the east coast in our speed demon. Here’s the brief highlights in pictorial form:
Meeting ‘Sandy’ the dog whilst Andy surfed:
‘It's pretty ruff out there’
A trip to South Arm or “S” Arm.
‘Not everyone will understand why this is funny’
The greatest photo I’ve ever taken:
‘Pierre? Non! Je vous drais Antwon’
More Welsh place name encounters:
‘Swon-zee-Ahhhh’
And even my own home town (which resulted in a “STOP THE CAR” and a screech of brakes). This version only consisted of a few farm houses though:
‘Home at last’
Andy has also introduced me to the wonders of handbrake turns. This has now become a firm favourite and it’s also very fortunate there are gravel car parks everywhere so we’d chop up the drive by pulling suddenly into these areas and doing lots of bad boy racing. Heres me in action (although the video footage is much better):
‘Don’t tell the rental company’
Returning to Hobart, car still in tact, we have a night on the lash. Drinking games in the hostel and then out to a club. Nothing spectacularly new there except the next day my hangover is one of the worst I’d ever had in my life. I hadn’t drunk a particularly large amount but for some reason I was bed ridden. Managed to get out of bed for about 1 hour and that was it. Spent the whole day in bed sleeping it off. Horrendous. Vowed never to smoke again which lasted a good 3 days.
Recovered, we decided to drive up to the next city, Lauceston (which I had no end of difficulty pronouncing ‘Law-sess-ton’). So, yet another rental car (this time a brand spanking new Hyundai from Hertz) and another nice drive. Of course this little beast got put through the paces again in any gravel park we could find. Also squeezed in another game of golf (traveling really must suck I bet you’re thinking). Still pretty hopeless and the 1st hole was cruel enough to have a lake to drive over which of course I lost 2 balls in. However there was lots of wildlife about on the course and managed to see some geese having sex which was great.:
‘Fuzzy duck? Ducky Fuzz? Fucking Ducks?
After another poor game, we check into our new hostel in Lauceston which resembles an old peoples home, it even had an old person sitting in the front room knitting. But it was warm, clean comfy and had free coffee so what more could you want. Andy had his bed stolen on the first night by some drunken local so we did the only thing that was right…..reported him to reception of course! Aha! I love a good grass.
The original intention of coming here was to hire motorbikes and tour the west coast as this was the only place in Tazzy that hired them. As I don’t have a license to ride a motorbike, don’t really know HOW to ride a motorbike, and have only ever ridden a 100cc automatic scooter badly, I wasn’t exactly feeling confident about this one. Andy rides a bike back home so he assured me it would all be fine. Luckily for me it turned out that this place was never open and we never got round to hiring them (which is probably for the best as I probably wouldn’t be sitting here writing this now). Phew! I do want to try but I think I want to have lessons first.
So no bikes, we did the only thing we could in a small Australian town. Namely, look around town hall where the Australian Ferrari members club had all congregated to park their GORGEOUS cars. Every Ferrari imaginable was here and although the cars were stunning and drule worthy, the owners were slightly less desirable. They all paraded round in Ferrari jackets and Ferrari shirts. Laying out their Ferrari toolkit with Ferrari spanners in front of their Ferrari car. Some even had Ferrari socks on for gods sake. “Yes mate, I can see you own one but you don’t have to dress up like one”. It’s a little bit pathetic really, I mean if I owned one, I wouldn’t really park it up so a load of poor people could touch it that’s for sure. I’d just drive the bloody thing. And I’d do it naked too. Maybe Marks and Spencer socks, but that’d be it. Anyway, luckily I had some golf balls in my pocket so I walked around bouncing them on the floor making them all get a bit nervous and give me some cursory glances. After that there was nothing left but to look at Japanese monkeys in the park, climb a hill (which luckily had a bowling green on it – so more bowls) and have a game of squash. Which Andy thrashed me at. Bastard. Ended the evening on a curious one. One of the girls in the hostel wanted someone to go with for a drink so I popped out with her for a Guiness. Turns out she was one of the ‘others’. An extra in my favourite hit TV show Lost. Funny the people you meet eh?
Last day and still stuck in Lauceston, the bike company failed to get back to us again (phew, again). So we did the only thing we could in a small Australian town. Drink. We had a flight at 8 in the evening so what better way to spend an afternoon than doing a pub crawl around town and playing Keno (lottery) in every pub. Needless to say, by the time we’re at the airport we’re pretty pissed and I knock over a big cleaners cone upon leaving the toilet much to the amusement of the entire check-in queue. Great. Oh well Melbourne here we come:
'THERES A BOMB ON THE PLANE! Aha, just kidding. We're drunk. Seriously though, we're all gonna die'
I’m greeted in Tasmania airport by a beagle sniffer dog having a good snuffle up and down my legs and bag (Obviously looking for bombs and not drugs so of course I had absolutely no reason to be nervous :S ). Then the luggage cart is driven in straight from the plane and parks up inside the building where everyone just has a free-for-all looking for their bags. No conveyer belts here then? Stepping outside, I’m clearly not prepared for Tazzy weather in just a T-shirt and the reality bites that it’s no longer warm (which is a real bummer as I was hoping that Australia would be hot everywhere – teach me to arrive in winter I suppose).
First stop is Hobart and the Pickled Frog hostel which is an old converted pub which means the bathroom resembles a pub toilet (Always a pleasure going in there to clean your teeth). A lovely bit of slang Australians have is “Map of Tazzie”, meaning a woman’s vagina (due to the shape of Tasmania on the map – check it out), so you can imagine my sheer delight and struggle to keep a straight face when the kind receptionist genuinely asked me if I wanted to see her ‘Map of Tazzie’ when I was enquiring about directions. Ho ho ho.
Tasmania is mostly a place to just soak in the landscape so that’s what I got stuck into. First up is to climb the local Mt Wellington. You get a bus to the base and walk the rest. Walking up gets progressively more difficult as the path slowly deteriorates into a load of rocks to climb up and makes you curse the booze and the fags as you choke for breath. But, after a big struggle, lots of sweating, panting and swearing you get to the pinnacle and notice there’s snow on the ground and you are no longer sweating but freezing your ass off. The walk up was predicted to take 1 hour 30 but I managed to do it in 50 minutes so maybe I just pushed it too hard. For all the pain though, it’s worth it for the rather spectacular (and not to mention sexy) views. See for yourself:
‘Me on planet Mars’
‘I don’t know where to look’
Didn’t stay up there long as I was slowly losing the feeling in my hands so started to make my way back down. Walking down the road this time, it was decided to do my first bit of hitch-hiking. And, bugger me, it worked! After only two cars as well. What you realise pretty quickly is that people in Tasmania are insanely friendly. Got a lift back pretty much to our hostel door which was a total result.
Next up, road trip (again). This time, Andy wanted to try doing some surfing (no chance for me as it’s waaaaay too cold!) and again we’re treated to the friendly locals in Tazzy when Andy went to hire a wet suit, the guy offered to give it to him for free. Rented a beaten up old station wagon which has been probably the greatest car I’ve ever hired. Lots of character, a racing steering wheel and loads of dents and scratches. The added bonus is that Tasmania has some of the greatest roads ever. Their empty, winding up and down and no speed cameras (or none that I saw). All this and absolutely stunning scenery. So we had an enjoyable two days touring the east coast in our speed demon. Here’s the brief highlights in pictorial form:
Meeting ‘Sandy’ the dog whilst Andy surfed:
‘It's pretty ruff out there’
A trip to South Arm or “S” Arm.
‘Not everyone will understand why this is funny’
The greatest photo I’ve ever taken:
‘Pierre? Non! Je vous drais Antwon’
More Welsh place name encounters:
‘Swon-zee-Ahhhh’
And even my own home town (which resulted in a “STOP THE CAR” and a screech of brakes). This version only consisted of a few farm houses though:
‘Home at last’
Andy has also introduced me to the wonders of handbrake turns. This has now become a firm favourite and it’s also very fortunate there are gravel car parks everywhere so we’d chop up the drive by pulling suddenly into these areas and doing lots of bad boy racing. Heres me in action (although the video footage is much better):
‘Don’t tell the rental company’
Returning to Hobart, car still in tact, we have a night on the lash. Drinking games in the hostel and then out to a club. Nothing spectacularly new there except the next day my hangover is one of the worst I’d ever had in my life. I hadn’t drunk a particularly large amount but for some reason I was bed ridden. Managed to get out of bed for about 1 hour and that was it. Spent the whole day in bed sleeping it off. Horrendous. Vowed never to smoke again which lasted a good 3 days.
Recovered, we decided to drive up to the next city, Lauceston (which I had no end of difficulty pronouncing ‘Law-sess-ton’). So, yet another rental car (this time a brand spanking new Hyundai from Hertz) and another nice drive. Of course this little beast got put through the paces again in any gravel park we could find. Also squeezed in another game of golf (traveling really must suck I bet you’re thinking). Still pretty hopeless and the 1st hole was cruel enough to have a lake to drive over which of course I lost 2 balls in. However there was lots of wildlife about on the course and managed to see some geese having sex which was great.:
‘Fuzzy duck? Ducky Fuzz? Fucking Ducks?
After another poor game, we check into our new hostel in Lauceston which resembles an old peoples home, it even had an old person sitting in the front room knitting. But it was warm, clean comfy and had free coffee so what more could you want. Andy had his bed stolen on the first night by some drunken local so we did the only thing that was right…..reported him to reception of course! Aha! I love a good grass.
The original intention of coming here was to hire motorbikes and tour the west coast as this was the only place in Tazzy that hired them. As I don’t have a license to ride a motorbike, don’t really know HOW to ride a motorbike, and have only ever ridden a 100cc automatic scooter badly, I wasn’t exactly feeling confident about this one. Andy rides a bike back home so he assured me it would all be fine. Luckily for me it turned out that this place was never open and we never got round to hiring them (which is probably for the best as I probably wouldn’t be sitting here writing this now). Phew! I do want to try but I think I want to have lessons first.
So no bikes, we did the only thing we could in a small Australian town. Namely, look around town hall where the Australian Ferrari members club had all congregated to park their GORGEOUS cars. Every Ferrari imaginable was here and although the cars were stunning and drule worthy, the owners were slightly less desirable. They all paraded round in Ferrari jackets and Ferrari shirts. Laying out their Ferrari toolkit with Ferrari spanners in front of their Ferrari car. Some even had Ferrari socks on for gods sake. “Yes mate, I can see you own one but you don’t have to dress up like one”. It’s a little bit pathetic really, I mean if I owned one, I wouldn’t really park it up so a load of poor people could touch it that’s for sure. I’d just drive the bloody thing. And I’d do it naked too. Maybe Marks and Spencer socks, but that’d be it. Anyway, luckily I had some golf balls in my pocket so I walked around bouncing them on the floor making them all get a bit nervous and give me some cursory glances. After that there was nothing left but to look at Japanese monkeys in the park, climb a hill (which luckily had a bowling green on it – so more bowls) and have a game of squash. Which Andy thrashed me at. Bastard. Ended the evening on a curious one. One of the girls in the hostel wanted someone to go with for a drink so I popped out with her for a Guiness. Turns out she was one of the ‘others’. An extra in my favourite hit TV show Lost. Funny the people you meet eh?
Last day and still stuck in Lauceston, the bike company failed to get back to us again (phew, again). So we did the only thing we could in a small Australian town. Drink. We had a flight at 8 in the evening so what better way to spend an afternoon than doing a pub crawl around town and playing Keno (lottery) in every pub. Needless to say, by the time we’re at the airport we’re pretty pissed and I knock over a big cleaners cone upon leaving the toilet much to the amusement of the entire check-in queue. Great. Oh well Melbourne here we come:
'THERES A BOMB ON THE PLANE! Aha, just kidding. We're drunk. Seriously though, we're all gonna die'
Monday, 18 September 2006
Cairns, Australia
Yes! Finally I can get rid of that wretched van and I can slag it off as much as I want now cos I wont get any bad karma and crash in it cos I won’t have to drive it anymore. Ahaha! Sodding thing caused us one more annoyance by being too tall to fit into the free parking area so we had to pay to park it overnight as well as our accommodation in a hostel plus the days rental fee of the bloody thing in the first place! Well…it did get us here I suppose. Farewell Doris you bitch!!!
'I think the van ruins this shot'
Right then. Cairns. Ah! A modern clean hostel at last! Although it’s right next to a night club and when you walk the corridors it has the feel of a maximum security prison. However, our flat mates are very plesant. Unbelievably, I have had, and this is no joke or exaggeration, a 100% record of having the first voice you hear in EVERY hostel up the east coast, belonging to an Irish person. Australia is Ireland 2. There’s no two ways about it. This, of course is no bad thing though as every single Irish person I have met have been fine ambassadors of their country and are all very nice, genuine people. The other great thing is you’ve always got someone to get drunk and sing songs with.
'Wonderwaaaaal, etc'
Spent our first night meeting up with the lovely Sam and Dave (She’s actually called Daisy but I have a problem with mis-hearing things so shes in my phone as ‘Dave’) that we met in Sidders. Had a chance to share and divulge all the great and varied drinking games I have learned thus far on my trip. Copious alcohol and a pack of cards and it really is game over these days. Anyway, end of the night hotdogs sum it all up:
'They're grotesque! Hideous! Yet, I can't look away...'
From Cairns most people tend to make the journey up to Cape Tribulation to trek through the stunning rain forests and mountains. I went go-karting instead. Got some of the Irish gang to join us so we had a hefty crew for a mini Grand Prix. Naturally, of the 3 races I had the fastest lap time and generally destroyed all other racers on the course. To be fair there was only really Mark, Andy and me battling for it as the Irish guys were no competition. Of all the things I’ve seen and experienced up the east coast I have no shame in saying this was possibly the most fun I had had. Pathetic isn’t it but, hot damn I just love burning round a track going as fast as you bloody well can skidding round corners and the like. Definitely going to do some track days when I get back home. After being fantastic on the track we crossed the road to a pitch and putt where my game had vastly improved since the hideous efforts of last time. Even though the greens were like the rough. Went home that day and discovered a strange rash on my side although it didn’t itch. In fact it felt like I had cracked a rib. As I write this 3 weeks later, it still hurts. I believe it was because I was pulling so many awesome G’s on the go-kart track that a rib popped out. That’s how extreme I am.
Didn’t stop me from booking a trip to go diving (well, snorkeling actually) in the Great Barrier Reef. Best snorkeling of the trip this one. Was warm enough to go sans wet suit (and stinger suit – no nasties here) plus the visibility was excellent. Also nearly killed myself a few times pushing myself to the furthest depths. Managed to free dive to the sea bed 50 feet below. Its quite tricky doing both the equalizing (blowing air through your ears to stop your head imploding from the pressure of the water) all the way down and also relaxing so that you don’t panic and run out of air. Kinda scared myself a few times when I was right down the bottom and choking for air and you realize you gotta get all the way up sharpish! But its all part of the adrenaline rush really. Oh yeah, saw some fish an’ tha’ too. Also had a professional underwater photographer with us and took these rather knarly snaps:
Had the rarity of meeting someone from Wales on the boat on the way back. Number 4 now since I left last November. I guess Wales is just too lovely a place and not many people want to leave it. Either that or it’s just full of lazy buggers. Also met a Steve Irwin alike ozzy bloke who prided himself on annoying people. Had to admire him for his work as he was chewing my ear off about his anal sex fetish. Jeez. Gerroffme! And finally one of the crew members under a wildly false sense of confidence, believed himself to be an entertainer and subjected all passengers to his piss poor renditions of folk songs all the way home. He also seemed to take offense when people put their ipods on instead. “What are you listening to ipod man?” he would ask. “Something better”, would have to be the response.
A new day, and as I was shirking the whole Daintree River and Cape Tribulation rainforest shit, I thought I’d better give some of this nature stuff a crack. So hired another car and bombed up to around Port Douglas to go to Mossman Gorge. So:
‘Forest’
‘Gorge’
And
‘Rat being slowly eaten alive by flies’
Sweet. Next up a crocodile farm. How’s about this irony fans, just as we were about to have our crocodile feeding demonstration, the keeper informed us that old Steve Irwin had just been killed just off the coast where we were from. I knew I should have gone to see him when we drove past his zoo! Oh well, R.I.P. Steve you loony. The show merely highlighted what I knew already in that crocodiles are nasty little fuckers and should be avoided at all costs. No less impressive seeing these things snap away at the food the keepers hang out for them.
'Only fish and chips tonight love. Is that ok?'
'Croc of shit'
This nature reserve also was home to the worlds deadliest bird. I mean look at this thing, it’s just hanging
'You want some eh?!'
Apparently, these nasty little bastards are quite fond of cornering humans and gauging their insides out with their big claws Jurassic Park style. I’ll take their word for it. Wandering round the place you see lots of familiars like these crazy guys:
'Bllleeeeeaaahhhhhh!'
‘sup?
Myth Buster! Koalas don’t actually get stoned from eating eucalyptus trees, they are actually very slow creatures as it takes them 200 hours to digest what they eat so they move slowly to preserve energy. So you can impress people down the pub with that one. Also, as expected there are crocs everywhere with lots of info about them being endangered and how they are being over hunted.
'Holy Jesus mother Mary! Look at that one over there!! They've spotted us!!'
All well and good until you go to the gift shop and you can buy genuine crocodile handbags. HUH??!
Right that’s it then I guess. The east coast nailed. For all the whinging, I did have a great time but I think what I’ve learned is that being on the move constantly is really no fun as you don’t get to meet people for any length of time. I’ve learned that hiring the campervan was possibly the most expensive way to travel the east coast (especially when you rarely sleep in it!). I’ve learned that I prefer snorkeling to diving, hostels to camping, motor boats to sailing, pitching to driving and driving to walking. I’ve learned that the east coast is one hell of a backpacker tourist trap and if you like the whole tacky Spanish holiday resort thing then you’ll love it. Been there, done all that, so this time round it wasn’t as appealing. I’ve not really encountered any hideous spiders lurking around to mess with my mind (THANK YOU JEEBERS!). Met some great people along the way, regained my sun tan, did some things I’ve never done before, and generally had a hectic month of doing stuff. If I had to pick a pic to some it all up, then I think this one does it quite effortlessly.
'Indeed'
However, it don’t stop now honey, uh uh girlfriend! Off to Tasmania next, for a week of exploring. It’s here that I have to say goodbye to travel buddy Mark, so look after yourself dude and try not to hurt someone or yourself! Its now up to Andy and myself to prove if everyone in Tasmania has two heads or not.
Keep it strictly east coast blog fans.
Deadly Spider and animal count: 2
Mcdonalds Spotting count: 40
'I think the van ruins this shot'
Right then. Cairns. Ah! A modern clean hostel at last! Although it’s right next to a night club and when you walk the corridors it has the feel of a maximum security prison. However, our flat mates are very plesant. Unbelievably, I have had, and this is no joke or exaggeration, a 100% record of having the first voice you hear in EVERY hostel up the east coast, belonging to an Irish person. Australia is Ireland 2. There’s no two ways about it. This, of course is no bad thing though as every single Irish person I have met have been fine ambassadors of their country and are all very nice, genuine people. The other great thing is you’ve always got someone to get drunk and sing songs with.
'Wonderwaaaaal, etc'
Spent our first night meeting up with the lovely Sam and Dave (She’s actually called Daisy but I have a problem with mis-hearing things so shes in my phone as ‘Dave’) that we met in Sidders. Had a chance to share and divulge all the great and varied drinking games I have learned thus far on my trip. Copious alcohol and a pack of cards and it really is game over these days. Anyway, end of the night hotdogs sum it all up:
'They're grotesque! Hideous! Yet, I can't look away...'
From Cairns most people tend to make the journey up to Cape Tribulation to trek through the stunning rain forests and mountains. I went go-karting instead. Got some of the Irish gang to join us so we had a hefty crew for a mini Grand Prix. Naturally, of the 3 races I had the fastest lap time and generally destroyed all other racers on the course. To be fair there was only really Mark, Andy and me battling for it as the Irish guys were no competition. Of all the things I’ve seen and experienced up the east coast I have no shame in saying this was possibly the most fun I had had. Pathetic isn’t it but, hot damn I just love burning round a track going as fast as you bloody well can skidding round corners and the like. Definitely going to do some track days when I get back home. After being fantastic on the track we crossed the road to a pitch and putt where my game had vastly improved since the hideous efforts of last time. Even though the greens were like the rough. Went home that day and discovered a strange rash on my side although it didn’t itch. In fact it felt like I had cracked a rib. As I write this 3 weeks later, it still hurts. I believe it was because I was pulling so many awesome G’s on the go-kart track that a rib popped out. That’s how extreme I am.
Didn’t stop me from booking a trip to go diving (well, snorkeling actually) in the Great Barrier Reef. Best snorkeling of the trip this one. Was warm enough to go sans wet suit (and stinger suit – no nasties here) plus the visibility was excellent. Also nearly killed myself a few times pushing myself to the furthest depths. Managed to free dive to the sea bed 50 feet below. Its quite tricky doing both the equalizing (blowing air through your ears to stop your head imploding from the pressure of the water) all the way down and also relaxing so that you don’t panic and run out of air. Kinda scared myself a few times when I was right down the bottom and choking for air and you realize you gotta get all the way up sharpish! But its all part of the adrenaline rush really. Oh yeah, saw some fish an’ tha’ too. Also had a professional underwater photographer with us and took these rather knarly snaps:
Had the rarity of meeting someone from Wales on the boat on the way back. Number 4 now since I left last November. I guess Wales is just too lovely a place and not many people want to leave it. Either that or it’s just full of lazy buggers. Also met a Steve Irwin alike ozzy bloke who prided himself on annoying people. Had to admire him for his work as he was chewing my ear off about his anal sex fetish. Jeez. Gerroffme! And finally one of the crew members under a wildly false sense of confidence, believed himself to be an entertainer and subjected all passengers to his piss poor renditions of folk songs all the way home. He also seemed to take offense when people put their ipods on instead. “What are you listening to ipod man?” he would ask. “Something better”, would have to be the response.
A new day, and as I was shirking the whole Daintree River and Cape Tribulation rainforest shit, I thought I’d better give some of this nature stuff a crack. So hired another car and bombed up to around Port Douglas to go to Mossman Gorge. So:
‘Forest’
‘Gorge’
And
‘Rat being slowly eaten alive by flies’
Sweet. Next up a crocodile farm. How’s about this irony fans, just as we were about to have our crocodile feeding demonstration, the keeper informed us that old Steve Irwin had just been killed just off the coast where we were from. I knew I should have gone to see him when we drove past his zoo! Oh well, R.I.P. Steve you loony. The show merely highlighted what I knew already in that crocodiles are nasty little fuckers and should be avoided at all costs. No less impressive seeing these things snap away at the food the keepers hang out for them.
'Only fish and chips tonight love. Is that ok?'
'Croc of shit'
This nature reserve also was home to the worlds deadliest bird. I mean look at this thing, it’s just hanging
'You want some eh?!'
Apparently, these nasty little bastards are quite fond of cornering humans and gauging their insides out with their big claws Jurassic Park style. I’ll take their word for it. Wandering round the place you see lots of familiars like these crazy guys:
'Bllleeeeeaaahhhhhh!'
‘sup?
Myth Buster! Koalas don’t actually get stoned from eating eucalyptus trees, they are actually very slow creatures as it takes them 200 hours to digest what they eat so they move slowly to preserve energy. So you can impress people down the pub with that one. Also, as expected there are crocs everywhere with lots of info about them being endangered and how they are being over hunted.
'Holy Jesus mother Mary! Look at that one over there!! They've spotted us!!'
All well and good until you go to the gift shop and you can buy genuine crocodile handbags. HUH??!
Right that’s it then I guess. The east coast nailed. For all the whinging, I did have a great time but I think what I’ve learned is that being on the move constantly is really no fun as you don’t get to meet people for any length of time. I’ve learned that hiring the campervan was possibly the most expensive way to travel the east coast (especially when you rarely sleep in it!). I’ve learned that I prefer snorkeling to diving, hostels to camping, motor boats to sailing, pitching to driving and driving to walking. I’ve learned that the east coast is one hell of a backpacker tourist trap and if you like the whole tacky Spanish holiday resort thing then you’ll love it. Been there, done all that, so this time round it wasn’t as appealing. I’ve not really encountered any hideous spiders lurking around to mess with my mind (THANK YOU JEEBERS!). Met some great people along the way, regained my sun tan, did some things I’ve never done before, and generally had a hectic month of doing stuff. If I had to pick a pic to some it all up, then I think this one does it quite effortlessly.
'Indeed'
However, it don’t stop now honey, uh uh girlfriend! Off to Tasmania next, for a week of exploring. It’s here that I have to say goodbye to travel buddy Mark, so look after yourself dude and try not to hurt someone or yourself! Its now up to Andy and myself to prove if everyone in Tasmania has two heads or not.
Keep it strictly east coast blog fans.
Deadly Spider and animal count: 2
Mcdonalds Spotting count: 40
Airlie Beach, Australia
After the hasty exit from Mackay, we decided to soldier on to Airlie Beach. After all the dangerous things I’ve been doing since traveling, driving along the desolate ozzy roads at night, dodging huge juggernauts every 5 minutes has been some of the most intense. The added bonus is that every 15 minutes or so you have to stop to clear all the bugs off the windscreen as your visibility gets pretty terrible because of all the evil insects cruising around at night. At least their not inside biting me I guess. Having survived imminent death from passing trucks, we arrived at Airlie beach at around 3am and now had the added danger of dodging all the piss heads falling in the road. As it was late there was no way of checking in anywhere so we sneaked into a camping site and parked up for some rest. Left in the morning without paying and attained our first and last free night of accommodation.
Airlie beach is a small harbour town with a little strip with shops and bars on along the water front. Similarly to Hervey Bay, Airlie Beach is the launch pad for most trips to the Whitsunday Islands, laying claim to having some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. More beaches. Joy.
Met up with a traveling chum who I'd previously met in Laos, Perth, and now here in Airlie Beach. Whilst staying here she had the unfortunate misery of experiencing every travelers worst nightmare. One night in her hostel somebody broke in, in the middle of the night and stole everything she owned whilst she was asleep next to it all. Clothes, wallet, camera, ipod, the whole mackonky. Naturally she was devastated but she is slowly getting back on her feet again with a little help. Not sure why I then decided to stay in the same hostel as her after she left, even the same room. She assured us that it was a first for the hostel as that had never happened before. Little did I know I was soon to experience another 'first'....
Attempted to spend a night out sampling the nightlife but as the first bar was full of local and traveling grockles alike, I wasn’t really feeling it. Jelly wrestling was being fiercely promoted in the nightclub next door but seeing the skanks that were lining up to participate confirmed that I really wasn’t in the mood for all this and headed back for some rest.
The day of our Whitsunday trip, and upon parking up in the harbour, we notice the van was now swarming with green ants on the front of the vehicle, feasting on the bug fest that we picked up the night previously. As we were leaving for a three day cruise there wasn’t much to do except hope they cleaned it up for us (which it turned out they did, cheers boys!).
Waiting around in the cafe reception, looking out to see who will be joining us on our sailing cruise, I pictured all the beautiful people depicted in the brochure, lounging on the deck of the boat catching rays and frolicking on the beach. It slowly dawned on me that something was terribly wrong. It would appear that our trip would be the 'first' in five year to have an entirely male crew. A sausage fest, if you will. I wasn’t overtly bothered too much but the gang of Spaniards who were joining us, many of whom were soon getting married, were rather distraught by this fact as they were hoping to use this as a chance to get their end away one more time before their big day. Nice. This was not in the brochure but bugger it, I was gonna make the most of it anyway. This all sounds very familiar…
Our friendly crew, also rather surprised at the meat bonanza, soon had us on our way and informing us of such lovely areas of the boat such as ‘the suicide side’ (the side of the boat that tips downwards when sailing at an angle) and ‘the triangle of death’ (an area of rigging that you don’t want to get caught up in when the sail is at full mast). Once off and away, it’s a nice time to admire the surroundings and let the wind rush through your hair and relax.
First stop, and its snorkel time. These waters are dangerous. Tiny little jellyfish called Irukandji lurk here and there sting will get you swimming with the fishes pretty soon, so to speak. So for protection we’re ‘advised’ to wear rather fetching all over ‘stinger suits’ to prevent any untimely demises. Two things here; if we are ‘strongly advised’ to do this why the hell do you have to pay $15 to hire these suits? I was ‘strongly annoyed’ at this as if they were so concerned about our safety then surely they would be complementary. I feel I’m slowly getting the hang of the tourist trade you know. I thought I might go without just to make a point. Although having the crew fish out my twitching carcass from the water to deliver me home in a body bag wouldn’t really make much of a point, more highlight what I tight arse I was really. The second thing is, the stinger suits cover your whole body apart from your face. And just to make it more fun, these jelly fish are virtually transparent and about 2cm long. Fab. No matter, had a good snorkel around. Followers of this blog will know my opinion on diving is slowly changing, but I think I’m strictly a snorkeler not a diver. Anyway, a nice afternoon was spent fannying around underwater pointing at things. My favourite fish was the mighty ‘sea turd’ as I called it. A big, long, log-like thing with a pulsating rectum on the end.
Evening, and after a stab at the wheel,
'Ok Mr Loveridge, at the next set of traffic lights I'd like you to take a left...'
time to park up and take smarmy sunset photos.
'Hello sailor'
'Ahem, the WhitsunSET'
Inspired by my snorkeling trip earlier I took some artistic license and took a photo of my ‘sky poo’
'Too much fibre'
And although the crews cooking wasn’t amazing, at least we had a peaceful relaxing environment to eat it in and was lucky enough to share it with some sea kangaroos:
Wales! Wales! Wales!
The rest of the evening was spent drinking and listening to the party atmosphere of the other boat having a better time than us parked up across the water. One thing I have to note out here though is the stars. I spend most of my blog grumbling about things (Im a happy chappy really), but the stars out here are simply stunning. You won’t get a much clearer, or broader view of our distant galaxies anywhere else in the world. And with no light pollution from a city, the whole sky is completely full from horizon to horizon. It almost feels as though you’re inside a dome. Incredible stuff. Thought Id spend the night sleeping on the deck with the other guys under the stars. All the others fell asleep after about 5 minutes but I was awake for a good hour just gawping at the awesome sky above me. Then realized that it was bloody cold and uncomfortable and had a perfectly good bed below deck. Felt smug having sat under the stars for a good session and getting a good nights kip in, instead of falling asleep after 5 minutes and spending the night cold and uncomfortable. I win.
Next day, and a hangover, except it has a strange feel about it. I feel bad but I also don’t feel ‘right’. Something is amiss here. Anyway, soldiering on, we park up on the Whitsunday Island to have a frolic on the beach. After a mini trek, we’re graced with this stunning view, although at the time I was in no mood to appreciate it:
'Stunning, etc'
An afternoon was spent on the beach frolicking and dicking about in the way too cold crystal clear waters.
'Bet I can turn it yellow'
‘Yes, but is it art?’
Got back to the boat for more snorkeling. I’ve now found what I like most about snorkeling. Free diving. Seeing how far down you can go to the bottom without dying before you get back up for air. Managed some good depths where I would disappear from view from people watching from the surface. Think I have now buggered up my ear now though as it randomly pops when I’m walking along sometimes. Oh well, it’ll go nicely with my numb little finger now I guess.
Back on board for the evening, then this happened:
'Bleugh'
Yup, spent the evening with some sort of flu bug. I knew my hangover wasn’t quite right this morning. Shivering and aching with a headache and explosive stomach cramps, so was confined to lying on me bed all night listening to the crew bicker with each other and the rest of the passengers getting drunk on deck. Finished me book though so it wasn’t all bad. Luckily it was only some 24 hour thing and I survived the night without any immediate toilet emergencies. Although the stomach cramps did remain and I would randomly be bent double in agony whilst walking along much to other people’s bemusement.
The sail back on the way to dry land had us all on ‘the high side’ of the boat as we were cruising along at a good 70 degree or so angle. Pushes it to the point of ‘Yikes! We’re gonna capsize and all die!’. I’m slowly coming round to sailing but I think I prefer luxury yachts with an engine rather than all these sails and ropes and rigging malarky. Far too much hard work for my liking.
Spent one more night back in Airlie Beach and, not being too gruesome here, but I was treated to one of the most teeth-twistingly painful bouts of diarrhea in my life. I actually had to physically muffle myself from screaming in pain and scaring our French-Candian flat mates. Had I let go I would have probably screamed “DAMN YOU NANDOS!!!!!” at the top of my voice, as I’m pretty sure it was the chilli chicken I had before and after the sailing trip that was putting me through all this unnecessary drama. The good news was that my stomach cramps ended after that session funnily enough, even though I felt like I had just shat my bike.
Toilet problems over and it’s time to leave Airlie beach for the next and final destination, Cairns.
Dab, don’t wipe blog fans.
Deadly Spider and animal count: 2
Mcdonalds Spotting count: 34
Airlie beach is a small harbour town with a little strip with shops and bars on along the water front. Similarly to Hervey Bay, Airlie Beach is the launch pad for most trips to the Whitsunday Islands, laying claim to having some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. More beaches. Joy.
Met up with a traveling chum who I'd previously met in Laos, Perth, and now here in Airlie Beach. Whilst staying here she had the unfortunate misery of experiencing every travelers worst nightmare. One night in her hostel somebody broke in, in the middle of the night and stole everything she owned whilst she was asleep next to it all. Clothes, wallet, camera, ipod, the whole mackonky. Naturally she was devastated but she is slowly getting back on her feet again with a little help. Not sure why I then decided to stay in the same hostel as her after she left, even the same room. She assured us that it was a first for the hostel as that had never happened before. Little did I know I was soon to experience another 'first'....
Attempted to spend a night out sampling the nightlife but as the first bar was full of local and traveling grockles alike, I wasn’t really feeling it. Jelly wrestling was being fiercely promoted in the nightclub next door but seeing the skanks that were lining up to participate confirmed that I really wasn’t in the mood for all this and headed back for some rest.
The day of our Whitsunday trip, and upon parking up in the harbour, we notice the van was now swarming with green ants on the front of the vehicle, feasting on the bug fest that we picked up the night previously. As we were leaving for a three day cruise there wasn’t much to do except hope they cleaned it up for us (which it turned out they did, cheers boys!).
Waiting around in the cafe reception, looking out to see who will be joining us on our sailing cruise, I pictured all the beautiful people depicted in the brochure, lounging on the deck of the boat catching rays and frolicking on the beach. It slowly dawned on me that something was terribly wrong. It would appear that our trip would be the 'first' in five year to have an entirely male crew. A sausage fest, if you will. I wasn’t overtly bothered too much but the gang of Spaniards who were joining us, many of whom were soon getting married, were rather distraught by this fact as they were hoping to use this as a chance to get their end away one more time before their big day. Nice. This was not in the brochure but bugger it, I was gonna make the most of it anyway. This all sounds very familiar…
Our friendly crew, also rather surprised at the meat bonanza, soon had us on our way and informing us of such lovely areas of the boat such as ‘the suicide side’ (the side of the boat that tips downwards when sailing at an angle) and ‘the triangle of death’ (an area of rigging that you don’t want to get caught up in when the sail is at full mast). Once off and away, it’s a nice time to admire the surroundings and let the wind rush through your hair and relax.
First stop, and its snorkel time. These waters are dangerous. Tiny little jellyfish called Irukandji lurk here and there sting will get you swimming with the fishes pretty soon, so to speak. So for protection we’re ‘advised’ to wear rather fetching all over ‘stinger suits’ to prevent any untimely demises. Two things here; if we are ‘strongly advised’ to do this why the hell do you have to pay $15 to hire these suits? I was ‘strongly annoyed’ at this as if they were so concerned about our safety then surely they would be complementary. I feel I’m slowly getting the hang of the tourist trade you know. I thought I might go without just to make a point. Although having the crew fish out my twitching carcass from the water to deliver me home in a body bag wouldn’t really make much of a point, more highlight what I tight arse I was really. The second thing is, the stinger suits cover your whole body apart from your face. And just to make it more fun, these jelly fish are virtually transparent and about 2cm long. Fab. No matter, had a good snorkel around. Followers of this blog will know my opinion on diving is slowly changing, but I think I’m strictly a snorkeler not a diver. Anyway, a nice afternoon was spent fannying around underwater pointing at things. My favourite fish was the mighty ‘sea turd’ as I called it. A big, long, log-like thing with a pulsating rectum on the end.
Evening, and after a stab at the wheel,
'Ok Mr Loveridge, at the next set of traffic lights I'd like you to take a left...'
time to park up and take smarmy sunset photos.
'Hello sailor'
'Ahem, the WhitsunSET'
Inspired by my snorkeling trip earlier I took some artistic license and took a photo of my ‘sky poo’
'Too much fibre'
And although the crews cooking wasn’t amazing, at least we had a peaceful relaxing environment to eat it in and was lucky enough to share it with some sea kangaroos:
Wales! Wales! Wales!
The rest of the evening was spent drinking and listening to the party atmosphere of the other boat having a better time than us parked up across the water. One thing I have to note out here though is the stars. I spend most of my blog grumbling about things (Im a happy chappy really), but the stars out here are simply stunning. You won’t get a much clearer, or broader view of our distant galaxies anywhere else in the world. And with no light pollution from a city, the whole sky is completely full from horizon to horizon. It almost feels as though you’re inside a dome. Incredible stuff. Thought Id spend the night sleeping on the deck with the other guys under the stars. All the others fell asleep after about 5 minutes but I was awake for a good hour just gawping at the awesome sky above me. Then realized that it was bloody cold and uncomfortable and had a perfectly good bed below deck. Felt smug having sat under the stars for a good session and getting a good nights kip in, instead of falling asleep after 5 minutes and spending the night cold and uncomfortable. I win.
Next day, and a hangover, except it has a strange feel about it. I feel bad but I also don’t feel ‘right’. Something is amiss here. Anyway, soldiering on, we park up on the Whitsunday Island to have a frolic on the beach. After a mini trek, we’re graced with this stunning view, although at the time I was in no mood to appreciate it:
'Stunning, etc'
An afternoon was spent on the beach frolicking and dicking about in the way too cold crystal clear waters.
'Bet I can turn it yellow'
‘Yes, but is it art?’
Got back to the boat for more snorkeling. I’ve now found what I like most about snorkeling. Free diving. Seeing how far down you can go to the bottom without dying before you get back up for air. Managed some good depths where I would disappear from view from people watching from the surface. Think I have now buggered up my ear now though as it randomly pops when I’m walking along sometimes. Oh well, it’ll go nicely with my numb little finger now I guess.
Back on board for the evening, then this happened:
'Bleugh'
Yup, spent the evening with some sort of flu bug. I knew my hangover wasn’t quite right this morning. Shivering and aching with a headache and explosive stomach cramps, so was confined to lying on me bed all night listening to the crew bicker with each other and the rest of the passengers getting drunk on deck. Finished me book though so it wasn’t all bad. Luckily it was only some 24 hour thing and I survived the night without any immediate toilet emergencies. Although the stomach cramps did remain and I would randomly be bent double in agony whilst walking along much to other people’s bemusement.
The sail back on the way to dry land had us all on ‘the high side’ of the boat as we were cruising along at a good 70 degree or so angle. Pushes it to the point of ‘Yikes! We’re gonna capsize and all die!’. I’m slowly coming round to sailing but I think I prefer luxury yachts with an engine rather than all these sails and ropes and rigging malarky. Far too much hard work for my liking.
Spent one more night back in Airlie Beach and, not being too gruesome here, but I was treated to one of the most teeth-twistingly painful bouts of diarrhea in my life. I actually had to physically muffle myself from screaming in pain and scaring our French-Candian flat mates. Had I let go I would have probably screamed “DAMN YOU NANDOS!!!!!” at the top of my voice, as I’m pretty sure it was the chilli chicken I had before and after the sailing trip that was putting me through all this unnecessary drama. The good news was that my stomach cramps ended after that session funnily enough, even though I felt like I had just shat my bike.
Toilet problems over and it’s time to leave Airlie beach for the next and final destination, Cairns.
Dab, don’t wipe blog fans.
Deadly Spider and animal count: 2
Mcdonalds Spotting count: 34
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