Sent: 11 January 2003
Hi Jeanette,
The following is the first report from our epic voyage. Please circulate to those who may find it of interest.
Greetings from Cairns on Saturday 11th Jan. Got very worried when we landed at Cairns airport this morning at 4am to find the temperature already 25C (77F). However, this morning has provided patchy sunshine with medium humidity so temperature should not rise above 90F. I think we can just about hack this. We move to the Queensland rain forest tomorrow so today is an ambling day in Cairns and an attempt to catch up on sleep. So far have only managed about 3 hours sleep per night but no ill effects. This despite keeping John out drinking beer to 1am, then 2am, then 2.30am on consecutive nights as the only real cure for jet lag.
The weather in Cairns is a contrast with Hong Kong where we have spent the last 4 days. It was unseasonably cold although very pleasant by UK standards. However, a pullover was essential in the evenings. John and I have both been blown away by HK. Nothing quite prepares you for the riot of colour that is Kowloon and how busy its streets are. The shops stay open to midnight and the streets are thronged by shoppers, mainly Chinese, naturally. The street signs are garish and over bright and extend over the streets so that all ones sees above traffic level is a riot of colour. Above that the buildings are surprisingly shabby having not seen paint for years. It is not unusual to see small trees growing out of the crumbling masonry of the buildings and peoples' washing hanging from their balconies. At street level there are numerous street markets selling anything you could imagine. The fish stalls are particularly interesting since the fish are kept alive by aerating the water they are stored in. Then, when someone purchases a fish, it is filleted. Can't get fresher than that although seeing the fish's tail twitching and its gills bubbling after the fillets have been removed seems horrid. The worst butchery we have witnessed was a terrapin having its shell removed whilst alive. Its head kept bobbing in and out of the shell while the fish monger used a cleaver to cut the edges of the shell open and then slide a knife underneath to separate the flesh from the shell. Poor terrapin!
HK harbour is a sight not easily forgotten and will be my most memorable view. The view from Kowloon to HK Island consists of a massive seafront stretch of huge skyscrapers all brightly lit/ It seems almost unreal and has to be seen to do it justice.
Other impressions of Hong Kong are the cleanliness of the streets, no litter anywhere to be seen, the efficiency of public transport - regular services and always on time - and how well ordered all activities of the city seem to be given the initial impression of general chaos.
Last evening in HK served a purpose. We went to the seedy part of the Island for night life. Lots of clubs with pushy door women who try to physically wrestle you into their bar. We foolishly agreed to accept an invitation to 'take a look' and were horrified to be pounced on by a score of scantily clad Thai girls immediately we got through the door, all of whom proceeded to touch us in places untouched for decades. Despite all previous boasts, this was not our scene and we quickly made an embarrassed escape. We were then able to easily resist all other such invitations having learned an important lesson that curiosity did kill the cat.
That's it for now but can highly recommend HK for a vacation.
Cheers, Ewan
Cairns, Sunday 12th, hired a car for our 4 night trip to the Cape Tribulation tropical rain forest. This is north of Cairns and the 90 min drive is largely along the coast so many good views to enjoy. This is a sparsely populated part of Queensland so there are long stretches of road bordered on one side by sea and sandy beaches and on the other by tropical rain forest without interruption by development. We booked to stay at the rather expensive Daintree Wilderness Lodge. We booked this from the UK to ensure we had a place. When we arrived at the lodge, we were discomfited by the fact that the lady who runs it was not expecting us and then, on discovering we did indeed make a booking, mentioned that we would be pushed for time to see everything as we were staying only one night. This was an omen of things to follow. We also discovered that we were the only 'couple' staying that night and that this is the holiday close season. We needn't have bothered booking but there you go!
Our lodge was 1 of 9 (exclusive place) spaced apart lodges down its own boardwalk through the rain forest. So far so good. The lodge itself had a double bed and what appeared to be a child's bed. I bagged the double. No air conditioning but at least a ceiling fan. Then came the killer. The lodge is run on an eco-friendly basis so electric out at 10.30pm. What? Yes, naughty boys must be in bed by 10.30 although torches can be provided. We should have quit then. It took a while to dawn on us that no electric meant no ceiling fan.
Having checked into the lodge, we spent the afternoon doing a couple of different rain forest boardwalks at different locations on the coast, visited a couple of pristine and almost deserted beaches and then an environment centre that told you all you need to know about the rain forest and its wildlife by means of a tower you can ascend through the levels of the forest to the canopy and another boardwalk through - go on, have a guess - the bloody rain forest. Seen one bit of rain forest, seen it all. Walked one mile of rain forest fringed beach, walked it all. The rain forest is intensely interesting for about 2 hours after which the lack of pubs and night clubs puts you right off. What also doesn't help is the multitude of wild animals and birds that you know inhabit the forest and which you get to see pictures of and which you even hear but you never set your bloody eyes on any of them. At least the trees don't move.
Then came the best bit yet. The lady at the lodge suggested we should visit the Daintree Ice-Cream Company down the road. Sign posts galore greet you so you can't miss it. This ice-cream factory has to be the size of Disneyworld I naively thought. What it actually amounts to is one old lady at the counter of a 1950's kitchen serving 4 scoops of ice-cream for $4 and fruit juice. Not a stainless steel vat or a 60 ton truck to be seen. When the attractions come this good, you've got to really stop yourself from going overboard. I mentioned to John that you know they are making an attraction of nothing when the road signs turn you on more than the attraction itself. After this some serious reconsideration of 4 nights in the rain forest lodge was called for and the evening provided the catalyst.
Back to the lodge to clean up and then out to the local Thai/Vietnamese cafe serving early till late. The bar at the lodge had been opened especially for us but we could get a drink on our return. We arrived at the cafe at 8.30pm. No mention on this menu of Thai dishes or anything else not American. I asked if we could order food. The chap looked at me sort of funny then announced that it would take a while to get everything fired up. Was he trying to tell us to piss off or was his kitchen a bit like the Kennedy Space Centre and needed several countdowns? I tried the line "We can have anything off the menu, can we?" to which he replied "I could do you a toasted sandwich". John says he has never heard the word "Great" said with such a lack of sincerity. I then asked for a beer but the bloke no could do so we settled for diet coke. Welcome to haute cuisine in Northern Queensland after the kids have been put to bed. Even the big pub over the road had now closed and the bar at the lodge also closed due to our absence. It was still only 9pm. Went to bed at 10 for a terribly humid night with little sleep. Next morning we made our excuses and checked out of the lodge. We returned to Cairns by way of a bit more looking at trees and sand. Cape Tribulation is truly beautiful but a day trip should do it.
I have never been so happy to see Cairns and civilisation as that Monday evening.
Cairns, Tuesday 14th,. Since we still had the hire car until Friday morning, we decided to make some use of it and drove inland behind Cairns over the Gillies Range to the Atherton tablelands. It is much drier here and very flat thus the description "tablelands". This is farming country with small towns and villages very American in appearance. Much like you would find in Texas minus the 10 gallon hats. We stopped at Malander to get directions. John went to the Post Office to see if they could help and whilst there asked for some stamps for sending his postcards to the UK. This caused a stir. The post office chapee didn't know what stamps to sell him so, after some consultation with his missus, sheepishly concluded that he could not assist with the stamps. His parting comment was that "that's rather funny, isn't it?". Bloody hilarious, NOT. I waited in the car and observed a dog lying in the middle of the road with its 4 legs in the air scratching its back. When dogs are that confident, you know you're in a small town. We christened it "Hicksville". So far on this drive we haven't seen any living wallabies but have spotted a number of roadkills. Seems skippy's top gear isn't quite fast enough.
On to Millaa Millaa falls. Although this is the wet season, there is currently a drought. That means that the falls are running slow but still worth a visit. At least there is no ice-cream company nearby.
Cairns, Wed 15th. Reef cruise day to visit the Great Barrier Reef. This is a must for all tourists. We see our boat "Reef Magic" moored at the quayside. It a few shades greyer than the picture in the brochure. However, check-in very efficient and the crew seem friendly. We are both excited about seeing the coral reef although not convinced either of us will do the introductory scuba dive that has been thrown in as part of our $109 fee, this being the quiet season. The introductory talk about the introductory dive is delivered in a friendly manner but at a level where you feel that an IQ of 80 is 40 too many. Also, you know the enforced "How are you today?" greeting that you must respond ecstatically to gets the usual mumbled response from the assembled passengers so we have to do it again and this time actually get ecstatic. I don't do ecstatic which explains why I can't even spell it properly. At this point I'm worried about being left on the reef, drowning, attacked by sharks so the Hi-di-hi campers style isn't helpful. I listen intently to the introductory dive instructions about what to do if your air regulator falls out underwater, your ears need popping, your mask fills with water and thought that , since I can't remember all of what to do when above the water, I'm bound to be a goner under it. Not sure if either of us are up for the diving.
We are group 9 of 11 (groups of 4) doing the dive so we can go snorkelling first before the dive practice etc since our turn will not be for some time. Watch the first group being made ready and are impressed by how on the ball the crew are given all these people have never scuba dived before.
The snorkelling alone makes this trip worthwhile. Amazing variety of colours, shapes and sizes of both fish and corals and at varying depths of 2 to 10 metres. The fish seem unafraid so you can get real close. Its a bit startling when a big fish comes very close but they are only interested in coral so no danger here. We both snorkel a couple of times and this has encouraged us to go for the diving.
Our turns up and they fit us up with the gear. A wetsuit is not flattering if you do not have an athletic shape but I'm not the only lumpy bugger around. In fact, I'm one of the fitter looking specimens. Into the water and onto a platform to practice breathing underwater. At first its going really well and have remembered to not breath through nose. Then slow descent down a rope to about 3 metres depth and I start to breathe through my nose and this causes mask to fill up, ears need popping, swallowing some water and have now decided to stop breathing completely whilst I recall the introductory talk and the instructions. Problem is I can't remember them all, don't know what I should correct first and am still not breathing. Fortunately, the instructor has been observing my erratic behaviour and returns me to the surface for a telling off. Descend again and this time its under control, I keep repeating suck/blow and this way I keep calm. Some water in the mask but ignore it. Provided the rate of seepage is slow I can complete the dive without having to remember how to empty water from mask underwater. God help me if I do have to because that's when the breathing will stop.
A new instructor takes John and I on either side of him linking arms and steers us into a dive away from the platform. Its amazingly calm. We're going deeper, popping our ears regularly and swimming through shoals of small fish, around and almost underneath coral and we do this for 20 minutes including landing on our knees for a while on a sandy patch about 10 metres deep. This is way beyond our expectations and although we both do a second 30 minute dive later in the day this is the most memorable experience of the day and the trip so far. Afterwards, we are both rather proud that we conquered our fears and made 2 dives. Still can't really believe it but it is down to the professionalism of the crew who on our day have helped about 40 of the 44 doing the introductory dive to complete it. I think that's a remarkable success rate.
That evening we celebrated a wonderful day with a steak dinner and then to a pub to see a live band. Bed at 11 though because tomorrow a 3.30am start for hot air ballooning which will be another first for both of us but more on that later.
Cheers for now, Ewan
Early start at 3.30am for the hot air ballooning. We are booked for a 30 minute trip but have to get up so early for the pick-up to take us to the launch site - it is a launch site, isn't it? - and to catch the quiet morning air. Its a 30 mile drive to the launch site and on the way we see a dingo roadkill. The ballooning company are taking us to the Atherton tablelands which we toured by car a couple of days ago so its a little familiar.
The ballooning groups are split into those going on the first hop with those selected for the second hop following by road to the landing site, which at this stage is not yet known even to the crews (there are 3 balloons), for our turn. The balloons are what you would expect but the basket is huge being able to hold 16 passengers and a pilot. I later learn that the pilot can steer the balloon to some degree although only by a limited amount. Its generally up to the wind which way the balloon goes so that's no surprise. The first group balloons ascend very stably rising up for a few minutes. Then as they move downwind they seem to descend to below tree level, well that's what it looks like to us at ground level, then rise, then drop etc. We start to get the impression that this upping and downing is planned.
We follow in the buses down narrow country roads and eventually to a stud farm where we have to be taken on a trailer through horse paddocks to the landing site of our balloon. The basket is skidding and bouncing on the floor and horse manure and looks like tipping over. Now we can see the limitations on steerage on offer to the pilot who relies on the ground crew to jump on the balloon to weigh it down and secure it to a trailer. It is at this point I see my first live wallaby skipping furiously out of the paddock. The horses, however, have seen it all before. The ballooning company has deals with landowners all around to land on their property for a fee per landing. One of the crew mentions that this can amount to a tidy sum in peak season when up to 10 balloons can land at roughly the same time on a single property. We time the first group's flight at just over 15 minutes. They've been had!
Then its our turn and we have to get into the basket one at a time while the first group get out at the same rate. Once we're all in they let go the ground rope and the pilot fires up the burners. God its bloody hot on the back of your head. Hadn't considered that it would be. This pilot likes to fly at just above tree level even hitting the tops of some on occasions. It allows us to see the sprinting wallabies clearly in the bush below startled by the noise of the burners. The basket feels remarkably stable, no swaying around. The pilot is able to spin the balloon by opening some flap or other to let some hot air stream out. This means that we all get turns to be at the front relative to the direction of flight. We can also see the ground crew vehicles following below taking instructions by radio from the pilot as to where he's headed and likely to land. Lucky for us the best landing site is some distance away and we're up for close to 40 minutes. Altogether a very pleasant experience and our landing is even more gentle that the one we had witnessed for the first group. Our basket merely bounced twice and dragged through a fair bit of cow shit without threatening to tip. We stayed in the basket until the air was released from the balloon and it was largely deflated, then we got out.
Now we get to learn the hidden cost. We the passengers have to pack the balloon in its bag, not easy, and lift the basket including ingrained cowshit onto the trailer. Wonderfully hot, smelly and sweatey all observed by a bemused herd of brown cows who were the shit culprits. Back to the balloon company ranch for a full breakfast and the usual do you want to buy a T-shirt, photograph, etc? Never mind, this was our second first, after the scuba diving, in 2 days. Not bad we think.
Arrive back in Cairns at 10.30 so a fairly long day already for a short balloon flight. Everyone should try it once.
This afternoon at 2pm catch the McCafferty's coach to Townsville, a 5 hour coach journey. See a scabby looky old chap handing around the coach. Must be a tramp looking for money but then he gets onto the coach clutching a ticket. Can't believe this guy can afford a ticket but can't afford to wash his dress shorts and shirt which are caked with dirt. At least he's not the driver who shoos him to the back of the coach. He will be downwind of us once we get going. Then the rest of the pondlife of Cairns gets onto the coach and I start scratching in anticipation of the multitude of parasites these kindly people are bound to share with me. We have an aboriginal family comprising what we think is granny and 2 grand-daughters in the row of seats immediately in front. We later discover by earwigging that this is mum and young daughters so mum has either had the girls late or isn't wearing well. Soon into the journey Mum is off to the rest room, a practice she adopts about every half hour. This allows the girls to jump up and down obscuring the telly in her absence. On Mum's return from one of her restroom visits, I hear girl 1 ask Mum if she has flushed the chain. Girl 1 gets a whack on the back of the head for her impertinence but is still brave enough to immediately go to the restroom to check. Brave girl. She gets another whack on her return. I advise John that wild horses would not get me into the rest room and that I would rather shit myself right where I'm sitting than face what might reside in that room. My limited experience of coach toilets leads me to dread that this one belongs somewhere like Calcutta but I don't intend to find out. People braver than me built the British Empire.
5 hours later in Townsville and the coach trip does not seem so bad. It hasn't completely put me off doing it again. You certainly see another side to Australia on the coach service.
Townsville itself is much nicer than all the tourist guide offices had tried to suggest when attempting to divert us to somewhere they could sell us a package. We book a room in the Great Northern Hotel which is a Queenslander style wooden construction built over 100 years ago. We get a basic room for AU$35 providing 2 single beds, a small wash basin and a ceiling fan. No air con, no ensuite. We have to use the communal male bathrooms at the end of the corridor which, rather quaintly, have windows with clear glass opening onto the street. We choose to use the shower units lacking this quaint feature. Wouldn't want the women of Townsville to riot on seeing such divine male specimens in the flesh.
We pass through the pedestrianised centre of Townsville on course to a restaurant. Why is it that ater dark all the drunks take control of such shopping centres. This is clearly a global problem or at least one that Townsville shares with Stratford, London.
The quayside restaurant we choose is a busy affair where you order on a form, pay for meal and then get allocated a number which they call out over a PA system when grubs up. Doesn't sound promising, does it? You couldn't be more wrong. I choose a dozen fresh oysters for a starter. Very fresh and very tasty. UK equivalent price 3 quid. Can't get them at Safeways for less than 7 quid a dozen never mind a London eaterie. The main courses on offer are displayed in raw form in a chiller unit so you can see the size of the steaks. I fancy the New Yorker which is about 2 inches thick and over half the size of a large dinner plate. The London cynic kicks in and I guess what I'll get will be half as thick and a third of the size once cooked. It would in London. Not here. Its cooked perfectly, medium rare, is excellent quality and every bit as big as displayed. I ignore the chips, salad and veg that comes with it and eat what I can. I manage about 2/3 of the steak and then give up exhausted and with a sore belly. Wonderful. John choose potato wedges as a starter and the sea food platter for 1 as his main course. He finished neither. The whole meal less drinks comes to about 18 quid. This is a cheap food town but then its not really a tourist town.
Had a few beers then went to bed defeated.
Cheers,Ewan
Our last day and night in Townie. Today, we take the ferry to Magnetic Island, a small resort island about 6kms off the coast. This is the real reason tourists come to Townie. They stay here rather than in the town. There's not much to report on here. This island is an ideal place if you live locally, say within 1000 miles, and fancy a week on the beach. Otherwise, there's nothing going on so we just amble around, visit a cafe and generally have a look-see. This island was named by Captain Cook who blamed it for his compass going funny as he sailed by. Captain Cook was a bit of a guy for blaming the land for his misfortunes, thus we have Cape Tribulation which was the nearest point to the bay where he had to anchor for months to repair his boat and Mount Sorrow where his chaps had a hell of a time cutting the timber for the repair job.
This evening, we visit again the cheap restaurant we found last night and they recognise us. I am never sure whether to be flattered or embarrassed by such situations but the girl doing the recognising is a sweetie so I plump for flattery. Must be the animal magnetism.
Of the bars we visit tonight, the one we have read about is the 'Mad Cow', famous for its skating barmaids. This is a must see. First visit, nothing going on se we go to an Irish pub. I get the worst pint of Guinness in my life here. They just don't know how to pour it. I sit in a sulk at the bar hoping they will ask me what's up. My answer will be simple - 'the Guinness is shite', but I am denied this pleasure by being completely ignored by the staff. John is relieved and we leave after 1 pint partly driven out by a sallow looking youth singing an Irish dirge and badly playing his guitar. Its a relief to be on the street and I'm cheering up as the memory of crap Guinness dies.
On our way back to the Mad Cow we are accosted by a young, good looking but very drunk Australian chap who, having asked us the inevitable question of 'where you from?' commences to tell us in graphic detail about his sexual exploits recently with a local lass. This is entirely unsolicited by us. Even I'm embarrassed by his description and it cannot be retold here what he claimed to have done when she was not looking. Take it from me, it would bring tears to your eyes.
We escape the young drunk and head into the Mad Cow. Its quiet still but then people, mainly girls, start to arrive in twos or threes. Now we get to see why its called the Mad Cow. Several of these girls, all on the large side, have definitely had a touch of the old BSE. Not only that, but we conclude that the ugly stick was used with gay abandon in this town about 20 to 30 years ago. When blokes are in pubs they discuss the talent. Well, the only place this lot would qualify as talent would be best in class at Crufts. Dog rough is an apt description of the general standard, so much so that when a plain Jane walks in, the blokes stop to admire her as though she were Pamela Anderson. Then we see lurching across the bar our young drunk who heads straight towards, well a herd of 'beauties' seems appropriate in this context. We know now why he's so drunk. This is taking beer goggles to an extreme. We decide to leave in order to save what sight is remaining.
Back through pedestrianised drunk alley by night/town centre shopping experience by day to our motel. We see now a slightly nastier side to Aussie life that we've been spared so far. There are a number of people lying drunk through the centre, some aborigines and some white trash but also some respectable looking sorts. One guy is flat on his face moving his arms and legs in a strange manner. It seems to us that he's trying to swim home. We reckon that if this guy can overcome the friction between his belly and the pavement and get home this way then we have discovered why the Aussies always win the Olympic swimming.
Back at our motel bar and John gets knocked off his stool by 2 brawling drunks. I didn't see it happen and this will be a lasting regret. He isn't hurt. However, the look of shock on his face is a small compensation for missing the action and anyway it could have been worse, I might have got knocked off my stool. So Australia has drunken louts just like ome and, in a sense, its good that we've encountered this and seen life in a real Australia town not dependent for its existence on tourism.
New instalment to follow soon.
Ewan
We've come to Airlie Beach to do what all tourists/backpackers do and that's the Whitsunday Islands. Airlie Beach is a lively, compact place dedicated to tourism. Its pretty well one street, 600 yards long with wall to wall pubs, clubs, booking office and eateries. Its takes us all of 15 minutes to do the whole town tour before settling down for as beer at Magnums, a backpackers hostel /open air pub. We have already arranged our 2.5 day/2 night sailing experience through the motel we are staying at tonight. We are off sailing at 9am in the morning.
John is distraught to discover that we will miss the wet T-shirt competition at Magnums tomorrow as we'll be under sail. However, tonight there is the amateur pole dancing for boys and girls. Being the more mature, I talk John out of being so daft as to take part, but I had a hell of a job getting my leather G-string off after my dance. No, we didn't even go in, we stayed in the open air pub to watch Man U vs Chelsea. Boring or what? However, we have named this Tottie town on account of the density of rather attractive young ladies to be seen. This is a consolation for missing the wet T-shirt comp.
For those of you that have done the Whitsunday Islands thing,
you'll know how wonderful an experience it is especially if you get with a good
crowd as we did. For those who have not yet done it, I won't spoil it by telling
any more. Do it yourselves you cheapskates.
Today, we finish our sailing trip at 5pm and, having missed the tide, have to taken ashore a few at a time in the dinghy. As ever, the dinghy is low in the water and we get a bit wet. I'm wearing the only clean clothes I have left and this has to do me for our overnight coach trip to Hervey Bay. But is so warm here that we dry quickly although slightly salt stained. We have been using factor 30 sun-cream for our trip sp far but have really picked up deep tans on the yacht. Its so easy to be complacent about the sun when you're under sail at speed with a beautiful cooling breeze in your hair. I got my just desserts by burning my scalp which peeled in a gruesome fashion a few days later and burnt feet which will have to be covered for a few days.
Just before we get onto our coach for a 13 hour marathon, we get talking to 2 Danish girls that shared our sailing experience. They inform us that they were told by the Danish volunteer crew member aboard that our skipper for the trip has a serious drink problem and that, on more than one occasion previously, his crews have had to take command of the yacht from him while he sobers up. On our trip he was well behaved but it seems that this is down to his being on a disciplinary order. Funny the things they don't mention when you book your trip. We consider that we have been lucky having had a wonderful time oblivious to the fact that we were with a timebomb skipper. Having to remain sober perhaps explains his rather blunt and sometimes tetchy nature and why he is off to South American for 5 years starting March where being drunk in charge is a requirement.
Arrive Hervey Bay at 8.55am. The coach trip was nowhere near as bad as feared although the multiple stops overnight made getting some sleep difficult. We find a pretty decent motel for 2 nights and then go exploring. Hervey Bay is a stretched out version of Airlie Beach. This is not a positive attribute since it is stretched over 10kms but does not have any more pubs, clubs etc. Pub crawls are out of the question as, unlike Airlie Beach, here you have to make an effort and walk rather than merely roll next door for your next drink. Yet again I find an Irish pub that can't do Guinness. Plastic Paddies that's what they are. Someone should tell them that a few bits of stained wood and a Guinness pump doesn't connect you to the Irish mainland either geographically or genetically. I start to bloody hate these 'Irish' pubs and John wonders why I keep going in them. So do I!
We've come to do Fraser Island tomorrow as a day trip - can't afford more time than that - and see the dingoes. We do Fraser Island but don't see any dingoes. Fraser Island is the world's largest sand island being 90 miles by 10. It is a world heritage site because of its diversity of vegetation. however, to the uneducated eye, it just looks like lots of trees growing on sand and masses of sandy beaches. In the morning part of our trip we do the beach. When the tide is out the 4WD buses can do 60 mph on the beach but have to give away to landing aircraft - no joke. However, the tide's in so we are on softer sand and going slower so losing time on our schedule. We travel 25 kms down the beach to see a creek, a shipwreck and the coloured sands. Brown stained sands is more accurate. We then drive back the 25kms of beach and 15 more to a resort to lunch. Both John and I fall asleep so captivated are we by mile upon mile of the same thing. This is the first time on our trip that we have been bored. Lunch was catering pack so pushed it around the plate.
This afternoon, we will see the interior of the island and a lake, so that's trees and water then. Then it begins. The excitement that is. On our way to Lake MacKenzie we hit a traffic jam of M25 proportions relatively speaking. One of our fellow buses has broken gears and has dug into the single file sand track leading to the lake. There are about 25 vehicles all stuck behind it. We wonder why the driver of this bus did not use his radio to warn others. Our driver marches us off up the slope to push the bus out of the way. Given that the buses sometimes take several charges at a small slope to ascend it because the sand is so soft, I'm trying to work out how the hell he expects 15 of us to push the bloody thing up a similar incline. Brilliant man that he is, he manages to lock the stuck bus in 2nd gear so that it can pull while we push. And it works beautifully. After a delay, all vehicles are on the move again. We pass the stuck bus which can move forward only but has pulled over to let the faster stuff get ahead. Then, about 800 metres from the lake, we come up to a competitor's bus which has shredded a front tyre. Our driver announces that this is the smug bastard's bus and he is not inclined to assist them. But, we can't safely squeeze past so we do a forced march the last 800m to the lake while our driver tries his miracles again. We have 30 minutes to have a swim. The lake is quite beautiful, with the whitest, finest sand you've ever seen and dark blue crystal clear water. We opt to paddle but other brave sorts go for a swim.
Its about 50 minutes before our driver rounds us up and we are further behind so that we may not make the 5pm ferry to the mainland. Our driver warns us to belt up as he going to make a charge for the ferry. If we thought the drive up was rough, well that was child's play. And he's right. How does this bus stay in one piece. Its slidding all over the place, bouncing over ruts and against banks in the road, if you can call them that. Then the fan disintegrates, goes through the radiator and that's it. We're stranded 5kms from the ferry and guess what the bloody radio, which has worked all day, has gone kaput. Our driver asks if anyone can get a signal on their mobile but no-one can, so we cannot summon help. We just have to wait for one of our fellow buses to come and pick us up.
Not only did we not make the 5pm ferry but we missed the 6pm also. We have to wait until 8pm to get off the island so the driver treats us to beer and pizza although only one beer each. Plenty of pizza though. We make our motel by 9.30pm rather than the promised 6-15pm but we reckon this afternoon's chaos has made the day. I'll remember the breakdowns longer than I'll remember the trees and sand.
Cheers, Ewan
Friday 24th to Sunday 26th Jan
So far we've done Cairns, Cape Tribulation, Townsville (Townie) including Magnetic Island, Airlie Beach and the Whitsunday Islands and Hervey Bay and Fraser Island. This weekend from Friday 24th through to the morning of Monday 27th we plan to be in Brisbane (Brissie). Everyone has told us there is nothing to see or do in Brissie. Even the guide book says little about it but then it was written for backpackers and we're a higher order of species than that. So sod them, we're on the bus to Brissie.
On the way to Brisbane we arrange for the coach to drop us off at 'Australia Zoo', home of the crocodile hunter, Steve Irwin. You're bound to have seen this guy on telly at some stage. He's the one that goes around the world grabbing deadly snakes by the tail in an irritatingly over-excited manner. And, of course, he also rescues crocs from dangerous people like Australian rednecks who like to shoot at them. Tourists don't present a problem in this regard since they tend to get eaten which is not at all bad for a croc. Anyway, we have arranged to catch a later coach from the Zoo to Brissie so we have about 4 hours at the Zoo. Our coach is packed but we are the only 2 sad gits that get off. Seems the zoo is not the international attraction we supposed. Actually, its rather small and we discover that the great man is not at home and so won't be entertaining us by feeding the crocs. Some other guy does it and its just not the same. Generally this zoo is like most others but with less species, certainly none of the big ones like elephants. Its more about small Aussie stuff like Koalas and kangaroos in addition to the crocs and snakes. John is rather taken with the kangaroos which you can wander amongst in their enclosure and stroke. They feel really soft but smell earthy. One has a joey in its pouch which some brat is just about to attempt to pull it our before mummy intervenes in a rush of panic. She can see the headlines already - 'Spoiled brat drops poor Joey on his head.'. 'A slap on the arse is what he needs' I say to John and mummy looks at me all daggers.
The Greyhound coach arrives to pick us up at the zoo and its even more embarrassing getting on than when we arrived since everyone on board knows where we've been. The driver tells us to park our bottoms anywhere but there are don't appear to be any free seats. I spot a young chap spread over 2 seats and ask if I can have the spare one whilst sitting down in the same movement so he can't say no. He rather feebly asks me if there aren't any other free seats and I say 'NO'. He then asks me if I'm sure and this gets on my goat and I reply loudly that 'I'm pretty f**king sure, OK' and with this he sighs and only now moves his legs to the front of his seat. For a few brief moments we've been playing footsie in front of my seat. How bloody rude is this guy? The driver heard what I said and is keeping an eye on the situation in his rear view mirror. I'm now in the process of deciding how am I going to kneecap this bastard without a cordless Black & Decker drill once we're off the bus. I opt for biting them off. Unfortunately, my small victory in prising a seat from this bugger backfires since when he sighed his breath bounced off the window and rebounded on me. He does this about 3 times and he has the foulest breath of any young person I've ever encountered. He'll make a fine tramp one day.
At Brisbane bus station, we have some good luck. The info desk girl has found us a hotel 5 mins from the city centre for $60 a night, about 22 quid. And we discover for ourselves that this hotel is wonderfully clean and well fitted and, although a 3 star, is as good as any 4 star hotel I've been in. We know this hotel will spoil us for the rest of the trip because it is by far the best value accommodation so far.
Brissie is not a particularly pretty city. On Saturday morning we visit the City Hall and go up the clock tower for free. The tower platform gives good panoramic views across the city so is worth a visit but the views are not exciting so we do not take any photos. Its a similar story when we walk across the Goodwill pedestrian bridge with views to the river. Again, the views are unexciting compared to great cities like London and Paris. We can see why Brissie is unable to compete with Sydney.
The main reason for our visit to Brissie is to be in a big town/city for Australia Day on Sunday 26th. This is, as you can imagine, a big celebration day for Aussies and they tend to do it by drinking too much. There are city events mainly on the South Bank including a fireworks display in the evening which will go ahead only if the fire warnings for this part of the coast are lifted. At this moment Canberra is being threatened by a huge fire and its seems, from listening to the news, that our coach to Brissie passed through one but we didn't see it.
The event we have chosen as our main attraction is a privately organised one. It is the Storybridge Hotel 22nd Aussie Day cockroach racing and Miss Cocky contest. The cockroaches are not raced in lanes but are chucked on the floor onto the inner circle of a large mat. The mat has an outer circle of about 4 metres diameter and the roach to reach this unassisted and not by flying is judged the winner. Each race has about 25 contestants each of which has been named with the theme 'cock' being prominent. Some examples are 'Cockodile Dundee', 'Hands off my cock', 'He's a small cock' and, believe it or not 'Essex Slapper'. I kid you not.
Judging which roach has won seems a partially random affair since, once released, they move at amazing speeds in all directions so the stewards have to do some nifty footwork to watch out for first to third places. In the process some of the slower roaches that have not got far from the inner circle are accidentally crushed and some even deliberately crushed by big footed stewards. Any that fly are allowed to be caught by spectators and dispensed with as they see fit. And yet more of the losers that have survived are thrown into the crowd. Only first to third are assured of survival. Its bloody hot and so we watch about 4 races before heading for the beer tent.
The Miss Cocky competition is interspersed with proceedings so that contestants are called for throughout the morning and afternoon being presented to the crowd between races. Then the final where they all gather on a stage. There are three types of entrant for the Miss Cocky title. There are the shy but good looking girls who have been bullied into entering by a combination of their mates and slightly too much beer. There are the hairy, fat blokes dressed as women, usually in something like a tight fitting camisole or suchlike. Then there are the tarty girls who are better looking than the blokes but not as good looking as the shy types but who know that flashing your boobs is a good strategy. As the contestants are eliminated by an unknown process we get to the last three, one from each type. The fat, hairy bloke is popular with the crowd but he cannot be allowed to win. He gets third prize and weeps unashamedly at his success. The shy girl, Kylie, has now removed her top and replaced it by 2 smallish stick-on Aussie flags, one for each boob. Kylie does pull one flag off one boob for a nanosecond and the crowd cheers. But the silly girl has not been paying close attention. Remaining finalist, tarty girl, has been flashing her boobs periodically with the time period becoming shorter the closer to the final she gets. If only Kylie knew this she could have adopted the same strategy and would have been a popular winner. Alas, she gets second. Tarty girl is crowned with a plastic tiara placed on her baseball cap. How elegant! And to celebrate, we get a display of boob flashing that would best be viewed with a strobe light given the high frequency it is occurring at. As she leaves the stage tarty girl is happy to oblige any request for further flashes. How wonderfully Australian. You couldn't make it up.
In the evening we watch the fireworks which are jolly good but in a small city way and then to the casino. We've been out all day so are still wearing our beach shorts and T-shirts and carrying our day packs. This is no problem. The Casion has no dress code. In fact, it has no codes. You can even bring your drinks to the gaming tables. So unlike the UK. This Casino is a very slick joint so this only heightens our disbelief that they allow any bugger at all to come in. John wins $11 on a 10cent pokie machine and I lose $50 on Blackjack having been up but then blew it all on a few big plays. No gambling expert me.
We leave Brissie tomorrow Monday having thoroughly enjoyed the city and having not constantly been bumping into teenage backpackers with their self assured cockiness that you just want to slap every so often. Bye bye Brissie, here comes Surfers Paradise and more backpackers.
Cheers, Ewan
We arrive in Surfers Paradise at 2pm and its hot and sunny just like paradise should be. First impression is that this is like Blackpool on speed. It has all the same attributes in terms of in your face tourist amenities but shinier. If you like Blackpool and Benidorm then you'll love Surfers. It offers a 1000 silly ways to part with your money.
Our first task, as in any new location, is to find somewhere to stay. So out of the bus station and to the tourist info office across the road. These offices are everywhere and its important to note that they are not official tourist info centres but privately run. Their aim is to part you from your cash. After our success with the info office in Brisbane in getting us the best accommodation deal so far, we are encouraged that we will strike lucky again. But accommodation in Surfers comes in 2 classes, backpackers hostels which are cheap but you share everything except a bed with strangers and hotels for the more affluent. We don't want a hostel. The info lady tells us she can get us a twin room with ensuite and aircon in a hotel 10 mins walk from the centre for $130 per night. 10 mins walk doesn't sound much but in this heat you end up a sweat bucket making it to the first pub so we decline. We decide to explore the possibilities ourselves, walk straight across the road to the hotel opposite and find that they can give us what we want for $89 per night. Now, how come the info lady doesn't know about what's across the road when she an expert on what's 10 mins walk away? Maybe the potential commission has made her forgetful.
As we walk into the hotel foyer, its decor is familiar, of a style I remember from my childhood. This hotel was built in the 1970s and has not been refurbished since. At first glance, our room seems quite plush but closer inspection reveals the scratched woodwork and peeling paint. However, it is comfortable and has a TV, albeit of the sort that makes you get out of bed to change channels. Yes, this TV is as old as the hotel so no remote control. In fact, it has push buttons for changing channels, each button tuned to a selected channel.
The other strange thing about this hotel which I have encountered in cheaper hotels abroad is the radio control gadgetry mounted in the headboard. This is not the first time I have encountered this but its always the same. You twiddle the knobs but nothing happens. Perhaps that's how it was always supposed to be.
The hotel lifts are problematic so we have to use the service lift on our first venture to our room. Later, when the proper lifts are working, we get quickly familiar with their speed of operation. These are the sort of hotel lifts that you get in on Tuesday morning at the 7th floor and get out Wednesday afternoon at the ground floor. The lifts also stop at every floor whether requested to or not but all of us in the lift cheer on the occasion that we stop yet again at the first floor and some lazy bugger is actually waiting to go to the ground floor. A young lady in the lift hits the close door button before the lazy bugger can get on and off we go to ground without him chuckling to ourselves.
Surfers has the most amazingly long, sandy beach which we take a trek down late in the afternoon. Its still incredibly busy with swimmers and surfers but swimming is only permitted between the yellow and red flagged sections monitored by the life guards. These are surprisingly narrow in width causing all those swimming to be congregated closely together with large stretches of beach empty. We come across a team of life guards and John decides to take some photos. He is particularly interested in one particular guard but is being careful not to make it obvious that he is his subject. Now we all know life guards are hunky youths with sun bleached hair and bronzed bodies that any girl would kill for. This chap is an exception. He's a well padded chap with a fairly large, protruding gut but we know he's a life guard as he wearing all the garb. What really grab's John's attention is that he is presently stuffing his face with a cheeseburger. This guy's stance says it all. If anyone starts drowning in the next few minutes then tough, they are going to have to wait until he's finished the burger.
Now an expression that we have both come to loathe on this trip is 'Aussie humour'. We first heard this in Cairns but thought then that it was an isolated incident. However, we have encountered it numerous times since. It is the verbal equivalent of parking on a double yellow line and then putting your hazard lights on. Why does anybody think that putting your hazard lights on exempts your vehicle from the traffic laws? Well, when someone in Australia jokingly says something that is particularly insensitive and are bright enough to recognise it then they get out of trouble by shouting 'Aussie humour'. Now when we hear this expression we join in in a Homer Simpson kind of way which the protagonist can hardly complain about given their evident embarrassment in being so crass in the first place and having to use this verbal get out of jail card. Australian irreverence is wonderful but in the hands of fools becomes offensive. This is the nasty edge to this Australian quality.
Today we're off to Dreamworld, a fun park. It opens from 10am to 5pm so we catch the 9.30am bus. We have to stand because everyone else has had the same idea. Its about a 30 minute ride.
John already knows that this is not a large fun park through his sources in the GB Rollercoaster's Club, but he knows that they have a couple of big rides. One of these is the Tower of Terror, a 4 ton vehicle which is propelled along a horizontal track by linear induction motors to reach a speed of 100 mph in 7 seconds before ascending vertically up a 350 ft tower. Once up the tower, the vehicle comes to a stop then falls back along the same track. You get 6.5 seconds free fall time on this and its pretty scary. Apparently, it needs 2.2 megawatts of power to propel it which doubles the power in-take of the park each time it is launched.
Then we do the Giant Drop. This is on the same tower as the Tower of Terror ride but consists of a bench which is winched to the top of the tower where, after about 30 seconds, it is released to free fall and then braked by magnets to a stop. This is much scarier than the Tower of Terror partly because the delay at the top gives you time to look out over the countryside and contemplate your foolishness for getting on this thing. Then when it drops, you rise off your seat being restrained only by the over the head shoulder harness which is, no doubt, very safe but doesn't feel it for the 6/7 seconds that you in free fall. I'm so frightened by this ride that I do it with John a second time and, whilst ascending, go through exactly the same line of questioning my sanity as the first time. Wonderful. The other rides in the park are pretty crap but we try most of them since we're here. Then back to Surfers on the bus for another evening in Blackpool, Benidorm, Key West - take your pick.
Cheers, Ewan
Have now moved onto Byron's Bay, named by Captain Cook after some other English explorer who was obviously famous in Cook's day but not someone my history lessons at school dealt with. Maybe some of you know who he was but he definitely wasn't the poet, Lord Byron. Anyway, Byron's Bay is a bit like Airlie Beach meets New Age. It is slightly bigger than Airlie but has the same density of pubs, motels, hostels and booking offices dedicated to serving the tourists masses. Byron's really caters for 3 groups, the tourists like me and John, the young surfing set and the more permanent alternative lifestyle gurus who offer a multitude of therapies and counselling. Here you can have deep tissue massage, Swedish massage or even averduric?? massage. Then there's Thai massage and Chinese acupressure massage. So massage is big in Byron's. As for counselling, there are people who will assist you with re-birthing so that you can deal with your childhood anxieties, who will counsel you with primordial sounds and, no doubt, there is someone willing to stick their finger up your arse and tell you the weather but apart from deep tissue massage none of this was for me.
The surfing set has its own dress code that sets it apart as being the coolest. People like me don't know how to compete, never mind try. The young ladies of this set have a uniform of sorts consisting of a crop top to enhance boob definition and show ample midriff, a tattoo in the small of the back and a thong. Now, they weren't wearing only thongs but John assures me that they all were under their tight shorts. I never once looked for myself.
On our first evening, we went to the Railway pub described in our guide book as shabby but chic. Shabby yes, maybe chic. That's a relative concept in my experience. We arrived here at about 7pm for a beer or 2 and left after midnight at chucking out time so it must have been good beer. What we most enjoyed was watching the mating rituals of the surfing set. This seems to comprise a number of the aforementioned young ladies sitting at a table chatting animatedly to each other. Then, when least expecting it, a group of young men, boys mainly, would uninvitedly plunk themselves down besides the girls and, well, try to speed chat them up in 30 seconds. If, within 30 seconds, they didn't pull, ie snog, then they would be up complaining loudly that the girls were a) frigid, b) lesbians, c) ugly etc. We couldn't believe their audacity but it must surely work occasionally otherwise the surfing set would never reproduce and we would have found a flaw in Darwin's theory of evolution. If this is the apres-piste of the surfing world then I'm sticking to just the pissed part of it. I can do that on my own or with similar minded others without behaving like a complete arse.
After quite a lot of beer at the Railway, you would think 2 old men would go home. No, we decided that Cheeky Monkeys was the place for us. This is a raucous backpackers hostel which has a party atmosphere. As such, you really have to be under 22 to get in. At the door, I asked for an old age pensioners concession and they let us in for half price. What can I tell you about this place? Just imagine a big, old English pub with masses of tables for eating at and then discovering about 200 teenagers dancing on the tables. Wonderful sight from the ground level but all too energetic for us. We only stayed here for 3 hours and John left once he saw me getting up on a table to dance.
After last night's exertions we didn't make it out of our apartment until noon. Our plan was to hire a surf board and give it a go, but we chickened out on the surf board and went for a swim in the sea instead. When you see the beach at Byron's you can see why it is so popular with the surfers. Its miles long with good waves and great sand. Unusually, it is one of the few beaches on this coast that does not require life guards so you are free to spread out over the length of the beach to swim or surf or whatever and not crowded together as happens on the life guard protected beaches. Also, like Surfers Paradise, there are no stingers here so stinger suits aren't necessary.
Our stay in Byron ends today Friday. We leave on the 10.05pm bus for an overnight trip to Newcastle. We have spent 2 days already in Byron just sort of chilling out or at least doing what we think chilling out is, which in my case involves copious quantities of beer. Today, John is going gliding and I have taken up residence in the bottom bar of the Great Northern Hotel popping in and out to do a little sight seeing and to have yet another deep tissue massage. The girl in the bar at the Great Northern is now so used to this pattern of behaviour that every time I return she nods at me, I nod back and up pops a schooner of Tooheys Old. This is an Aussie style pub which has very little in the way of furnishings. It has a tiled floor, plainly painted walls, big wooden bar and tall stools around the bar and outer walls. There is very little on the walls by way of adornment. Maybe 1 or 2 mirrors but not the quantity we are used to in the UK. This is a busy place and some of the drinkers have been here longer than I have and they aren't taking pit stops like me as one means of controlling beer quantity intake. The other drinkers have started to nod at me on my returns so it looks like I've been accepted as one of the team that keeps the Great Northern in profit. Its hot outside so all the doors and windows of the bar are open. Its such a relaxing way to pass the time just watching the people on the hot streets from the cool interior of the pub. Everyone in the pub is sort of facing outwards towards the street so this is obviously a common pastime here.
I meet John later in the afternoon and we go off for food and
eventually to catch the bus. 25 minutes into our bus trip is our first scheduled
meal stop. This is not for our benefit as much as the driver who has been on the
bus for hours and hours before we joined it. The stop is at the 'Big Prawn'
service station. And yes, it has a huge prawn on its roof. God knows why anyone
would call a petrol station the 'Big Prawn', but what possessed them to erect a
huge prawn on the roof? Things such as this have become Australian icons. So far
on our travels we have also seen the giant mango and the large pineapple. There
is also supposed to be a giant bull down south with an impressive pair of
bollocks but we won't be going that far south unfortunately.
We survive the overnight bus trip to Newcastle but only just. I got a seat over one of the bus's wheel arches so had no leg room and now my knees are killing me. I got to sit most of the way beside a pleasant young Australian guy who works in an ice-lolly factory. He said I was sure to recognise the lollies by their distinctive shape and colour but I didn't encourage further discourse on this subject. I was hoping he could perhaps explain what counselling using primordial sounds was all about but guessed that, since his specialised topic was lollies, this was a non-starter so I settled down to listen to his life story so far and his hopes for the future. Whilst it took him quite some time to relate all this, it amounted to: did shit at school, have had to leave home to work in ice-lolly factory, work every shift god sends and hope to buy a house someday. Maybe that's cruel but this guy is from a one horse town where his aspirations are global gossip. God help the town if somebody shoots the horse.
We chose Newcastle as our final stop before Sydney because all the other choices such as Coffs Harbour and Port MacQuarie sound much like Surfers and Byrons. Newcastle we know will be different and it is. The bus journey in takes us through the docks which are quite run down with a number of derelict buildings. This would not be out of place in the North-east of England about 15 years ago and, of course, this Newcastle is named after its North-east English counterpart. This was also a coal mining town once. The docks area has one of those local authority signs announcing regeneration and investment in people, the sort of thing Britain has seen so much of in the last 20 odd years.
Newcastle we discover does not have a town centre as such but is really a collection of suburbs which each has its own bit of shopping and entertainment areas. As such, there is no one large shopping and socialising centre which gives the city a sort of not lived in feel. The Newcastle town centre, what there is of it, is small and all the shops are in the process of closing at about 3.30pm. There is hardly a soul to be seen so we go for a heritage walk - that's what the tourist office leaflet describes it as - but after a while stray of course and find a beach where there are a fair number of people so there is some life in Newey after all. This is where I realise a dream and have my photo taken with Nobby's Head. Now I don't know who Nobby is but he has an impressive Head. It has what appears to be a coastguard station perched atop it and is located at the end of the beach farthest from us. Up in Cairns, we happened upon (almost said came upon) Yorkies Knob so Knobs or Nobs abound in Australia.
As we make our way back to our hotel we stop at a pub for a beer where we meet Sid again. We first met Sid in Brisbane. He was in an Irish bar drinking a Guinness. Sid is probably in his seventies and thin and gaunt looking. Sid was flirting with the young crowd in the pub, particularly the young girls who he was coaxing up to dance with him. This was a novelty for us all so everyone clapped and cheered him. It also appeared to be Sid's birthday and after having 'Happy Birthday' sung for him, Sid was sort of indicating to anyone who was feeling generous that his glass was near empty and needed refilling. Its at this stage that Sid's novelty starts to wear off and it completely wears off when he siddles up to you at the bar to impart to you in a belligerent manner his views on why the young aren't much fun and need people like him to show them how to have fun. He also then shares his views on all other sorts of topics expecting your full agreement since he knows that these are absolute truths rather than opinions. I'm the most opinionated person I know and I know that the views I hold are absolute truths so its not possible for someone to have an opposing view that passes musters. Its difficult however to tell a seventy year old that he's talking tosh so naturally we politely nod hoping he'll piss off soon if we give the least encouragement possible. So Sid then is a bore and a letch and ought to know better and here he is in Newey. Not the same Sid as in Brisbane you understand but a Sid all the same. Just like the other Sids we have encountered since Brisbane. This Sid is also thin, wearing grey slacks with a belt that has a number of self made holes so that it can be tightened more than was once necessary. This Sid is very drunk and holding court to 2 young men too polite to ask him to go away. I hear one mention Sid's presence to one of the bar staff who tells him that he'll give over soon. I nod at the young guy in sympathy but at least we're not going to be bothered since we now know never to make eye contact with Sids and to steer out of their staggering zone, so we head upstairs to the balcony confident that Sid is not inclined to follow. Its very sad that Sid is so lonely that he has to behave this way and I feel cruel for feeling so harshly about him but, when you've witnessed this behaviour a number of times, its difficult to be patient and accommodating.
On the way from our pub to our hotel we rediscover Pam Ayres. Here she is on a billboard announcing her as 'England's Queen of comedy and verse' and giving the dates for her impending tour of New South Wales including Newey. You remember Pam, don't you? I thought she had died 15 years ago but it seems she's been transported to Australia for crimes to the English language. Even Suzi Quattro is down here. You don't remember her either? Well, she's also been transported for crimes to rock and roll. Now we're on the lookout for other transportees and spot Michael Parkinson on the telly which spoils it since he's still famous in the UK even if he is a bore. He took a day out from his 2 month Aussie holiday to appear on the morning programme. Out of the goodness of his heart no doubt then coincidentally up pops the subject of his new book about cricket. Its enough to make you wretch, these bloody false interviews. Once, Michael Parkinson did real interviews as the interviewer and then he was worth a candle. Not now in my book, which by the way is selling for 15.95 in W H Smith.
This is our first day in Newey and we plan to leave early Monday morning for Sydney. Already, I know I don't much like this place but we have another day to go and I'll perhaps find time soon to tell you a little about it since its not all bad but that's it for now.
Cheers, Ewan
Rumour has it that Ewan is now back in Blighty. How can that be I ask? He has not yet given us us his final instalment?
Richard Epworth