Aussie Rock

Western Australia, Feb 12-23, 2007
And we're not talking AC/DC either. Being jabbed up to the max and considerably lighter in the wallet it was clearly time to depart Perth and head north up the west coast. After some umming and ahhing I uneasily opted for a bus company called Easy Rider. This grated somewhat with my principles having bad mouthed such tours in New Zealand as nothing more than shag wagons for GAP year irritants. But there really were few other options. The Greyhound bus whizzes up the west coast dropping you at various isolated spots at predominantly the wee hours of the morning. At least this way I got to take my time, jump off at interesting spots for a few days and see the majority of the sights that would otherwise be inaccessible without a car.

When we left Perth, other than Darren, our driver, I was the only chap on the bus. There were seven ladies. It actually turned out to be a really good laugh and the lasses were on the whole a charming bunch. And to preempt you smut heads (namely Graham Dicken) - no.

Below is a snap of the original gang on the bus apart from the old fella on the right, which isn't me! We picked him up en route. He was a retired fireman from Bristol escaping from his wife as far as I could make out.



Here are some snaps of a predominantly rocky nature. ROCK ON!

The Pinnacles near Cervantes, named for obvious reasons.


Holy rock...Batman.

It had all got too much for this tree and it decided to have a lie down. Bless. Actually it's been bent into this shape over years by the prevailing wind.

Rock

More rock

Some rock with a gap through which you can make out more rock.


Me clinging to some rock 2500ft above the valley floor. How daring. Yeah right!

Oh...and Happy Birthday Ma Spratticus

[OK, so this is a bit indulgent but bear with me.]

Mum, if you ever read this nonsense: HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Sent email, text and left voicemail message. Posted card (well, letter actually) today. Has it arrived yet? Also present 'on way'. Currently stuck in customs in the Borough area I believe.

Oh, and I have asked this girl and her bespectacled friend to drop a birthday cake off. It looks a beaut. Sorry, but she insisted in doing it in just her bra. Just can't get classy delivery staff these days!

Let's GO!

Shot in the arm, punch in the wallet

Perth, Western Australia - Feb '07
You know that expression - a shot in the arm? It's meant to mean a 'pick me up' or a tonic, a booster to the morale or metaphorical Red Bull to the chi...if you will? Hmmm. Well, this shot in the arm left a little to be desired in more ways than one.

I'm back in Perth after my wee sojourn in the Great Southern and it's time to take care of some personal admin that seemed to drop off the bottom of the To Do list before I departed Blighty's shores - namely inoculations. I phone up a medical centre in downtown Perth and make an appointment to have some jabs and also to have a doc look at my gammy left ear, you know, the one that's been intermittently deaf since I got rudely slapped down by a Mexican wave (watery version rather than the sporting variety) in the Baja...in October last year! That was easy.

I'm at the medical centre a few days later and in I trot to see the 'healer'. She's a Turkish woman (she had a Turkish flag on her desk so I think it safe to assume) of about 40 and looks like Morticia Addams.I suggest the jabs I think I need but she thinks it prudent to go through where I'm going to be and when. I start to tell her (as far as my loose travel planning will allow) and this is where things start going awry. She's trying to write all this down (although I'm not exactly sure why) and she's getting all the places and times completely wrong. Something like this:

Quack: So you will be in Singapore in February?
Me: No, March 16th?
Quack: Right. And when will you be in the Philippines?
Me: I don't think that's on my agenda.
Quack: Where? Singapore? I thought you said you were going in February?
Me: No, I said I was going in mid March.
Quack: Where? The Philippines or Singapore?
Me (exasperated): I'm not going to the Philippines!
Quack: Right, OK. So when are you going to be in Singapore then?
Me: I think this is the same horse I came in on?
Quack: Huh?
Me (to self): Why did I say that?

As you can no doubt imagine, this went on for sometime in a very roundabout fashion covering various dates that she seemed to make up and places she thought should be on my travel itinerary.

In the end she calculates I need some jabs - pretty much the ones I suggested I needed when I came in. And about three months' supply of anti-malaria tablets (yeah, I'm on the Larium so if I go stark staring mad and you never hear of me again, you'll know why. Either that or I've just got bored of writing this bobbins). Anyway, where was I?

Great, that out of the way, I bring up the subject of my sinister deafness. She then seems to go off the handle and says I have taken up more than my allotted time already - i.e. the 20mins I'm getting charged AUS$99 for! Without me even trying to get a word in edge ways, something I would have needed a big lever and an opera singer's voice to do, she says: 'She's sick of people coming in and thinking they can tell her their life history.' WHAT?

When I eventually get to pipe up, I tell her that I had explained my medical consultation needs to the receptionist who seemed to think it would be fine. And I hardly think getting her to look in my ear constitutes 'telling her my life story'. She refuses to budge and keeps showing me her MS Outlook schedule, like I give a flying fig about that. I suggest that the reason the consultation had taken so long was primarily due to her lack of ability to grasp anything I had previously said and if truth be told the whole rigmarole seemed utterly pointless. She gets into a slightly more frothy lather at this point. I decide to take some extra time anyway, even if it's not productive in getting my ear fixed, and proceed to argue with her for some 10mins about the whole stupid shebang.

Eventually she manages to shoo me out of her room and to the reception desk where she hands the receptionist the list of jabs for the nurse to administer saying as she does so that (and I quote) 'We do not run a value for money service here!' Too bloody right. It then dawns on me I have no idea how much the jabs are going to cost me and here the crowning glory of this bitch's rudeness is exhibited. She rolls her eyes as if my asking how much I'm going to have to pay for the jabs (not to mention the 'oh so professional' consultation) is just another example of my wasting her time. I lost my rag at this point and I think I scared the receptionist somewhat, who at one point was nodding in agreement with me (maybe for fear of her life). I seem to remember questioning the doctor as to whether it is so unreasonable to know how much I am expected to pay before I agree to payment (maybe in a little more heated terms). I'm pretty incredulous at this point.

Anyway, it was A LOT of money. I won't go into it just now but suffice to say it was more than all my internal flights in Oz amounted to (and there were five of those). What do they say when they are about to jab you? 'This may sting a bit' Too frikking right!


Anyway, the nurse was jolly nice and that made all the difference...almost.

Atmospheric interference

Apologies for the break in transmission my lovelies! It's hard work sometimes being on the road and keeping my public satisfied with juicy morsels of wanderlust nourishment. Normal service will resume shortly. Actually, thinking about it, that's not much succor, is it?

Words & sounds backdrop to Oz

Just a little background info for those of a spoddy bent. I have to say my personal music consumption has dwindled since being in Oz on account of having ready access to some wizard radio stations. Namely Triple R out of Melbourne and the national Triple J. I tried to get Iwan to tune in online to Triple R but he hit fishing hour, which I have to say is the only dark cloud on its otherwise azure horizon (although naturally I like it). Give them a whirl online. What have you got to lose?

I had been compiling a long list of beazer tracks and artists heard on the radio with a view to future download whence I am somewhere a little more than a night and a day...but I seem to have lost the notebook so that's all gone brown! Arse.

Of books: after dabbling with Vile Bodies by Evelyn Waugh which I found rather tedious and unusually didn't even finish, I swapped it for Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding. A weighty tome and one I figured would keep me busy for a while. I wasn't wrong. I'm only coming to an end of its 850 pages now! Admittedly, there hasn't been a huge amount of time for bookish behaviour but also having to read each paragraph twice to get the gist has perhaps slowed things up a spot. It's a blinding story though. La!

Next up is Moby Dick by Herman Melville. Yup, joy of joys I have a copy of this elusive book courtesy of neighbours Simon & Shelly who sent it out with a Red Cross parcel to meet me in Perth couriered by Jo Bole. Alas the four pack of IPA never made it. I hope Jack, temporary resident of the Borough Bunker, enjoyed the ale. Many many thanks to all involved in the relief operation!

Great Southern road trip - yeeaa HA!

Perth, Western Australia - Feb '07
Jo & Cam's home became known as Hostel JoCam due to the amazing number of people that were passing through. At different stages there was me, Cam's cousin and her friend, Lina (the daughter of a Swedish friend), an old work colleague of Cam's from Kuala Lumpur and Jo Bole. All this whilst the roof was being replaced by Jude, Cam's sister's boyfriend. JoCam dealt with all this chaos as if they were just making another cup of tea (although they didn't drink tea). Amazing.

I took a week to rent a car (I mean I rented it for a week, not it took me a week to figure out how to rent a car) and go on a wee solo road trip down to the SW of Australia; a place called the Great Southern. It was certainly southern and it was quite great. I rented the car from Bayswater Car Rental whose company slogan is 'No birds!' There was meant to be some more subtle meaning to this other than the bare faced obvious but I couldn't work it out. Only in Oz.

The Great Southern is a place of rugged rocky coves with beautiful secluded beaches (bit like Cornwall); old whaling heritage; home to tingle trees, the largest trees in Oz, in fact only beaten in height by the Giant Redwoods of the western US; the meeting point of the Indian and Southern Oceans; lobsters; dolphins; great white sharks and one of the best sandwiches I've ever eaten in my life (and that's a big accolade).


First stop Albany, an old fishing and whaling town on the southern coast. Here's a typical view of the rugged Great Southern coastline. In those waters lurk great white sharks (are you getting the impression I'm a bit obsessed with GWS?). There's an old whaling station turned whaling museum in Albany called Whale World. No, it is. Me and four rather amusing lads from Tamworth (whom I gave a lift to) visited it. It was fab. I mean, I'm dead against whaling of course but as an historical record of what went on, it was fascinating. The best bit was seeing a film about the relationship between whaling and the GWS, naturally. The cinema was in an old whale oil storage tank that still had the pungent, lingering odour of whale oil about it. When they were bringing the whales in (right & sperm whales) the sharks would follow the bloody trail in the water and attack the whale carcasses yards from the jetty ripping off great chunks of blubber (I mean, just doing what they'd do in the wild to a whale carcass). The whalers would shoot the sharks and cut them open to retrieve the blubber from their stomachs it was that valuable. I've just realised, I'm probably the only person interested in all this. Move on.

Next was the Valley of the Giants further west. Shortly after I set out for Walpole from Albany I realised I was going to expire if I didn't eat something so stopped at the most unpromising looking petrol station in the middle of nowhere. But what was my choice? There I was greeted by a giant of a man in greasy overalls, a shock of red curly hair and hands like two JCB buckets and just about as clean. Oh dear. I asked if he had any sandwiches and he said he could make one, what would I like? Oh dear. Presented with a surprising list of ingredients I opted for chorizo, cheese, tomato, cucumber and lettuce, a little mayo and a hint of mustard (what a pretentious twat!). Well, he asked! He disappeared behind scenes and a few minutes later emerged with a brown paper bag for which he charged me $2.50 (about a quid). It felt heavy. He says: 'You look hungry, I made it a triple!' Peering into the bag back at the car there presented itself the most lavish looking triple decker sandwich on hand cut brown bread, busting at the seams with all those fine ingredients aforementioned. It was a taste sensation! Yer man there was clearly a connoisseur of the fine art of sandwich making. After devouring it with a mayo covered grin firmly fixed to my face, I felt compelled to go back in and compliment him heartily on and add further thanks for the wonderful sandwich. He looked at me rather oddly. I left.


Right, enough of that. Here's a tingle tree called the Grandmother. Don't know about you but my gran never had a giant unicorn like horn sticking out of her napper!


Valley of the Giants tree top walk. Some 40m above the ground you walk amongst the upper canopy of the giant tingle tree (all said in dramatic film advert style voice). It was belting with rain, which was quite refreshing given Perth's inferno temps.



The most SW tip of Oz, Cape Leeuwin and the meeting point for the Southern & Indian Oceans.

Bay near Augusta (by the way, if you're not sure where these places are and you can be arsed, look them up on Google Maps).

It was at this bay near Augusta (forgotten exact name) that I was watching the lobster (or crawfish) fishermen bring in their catch. Waiting on the jetty was a government inspector checking they had caught within the size limit and within their quota. At this point I was offered two lobsters for free by one of the more shifty looking incoming fishermen, perhaps identifying a potentially embarrassing situation and looking for an easy escape route. I have to say I accepted although I paid for my accomplice role and haste in having to figure out how the heck I was going to transport two live lobsters back to my hostel in Augusta without a bucket with a strong lid. I opted for leaving them to roam free in the boot and hoped that the vast quantity of sand that was mounting up in the car, the salt stains on the seat from driving with wet swimming shorts and now the distinct odour of oceana wasn't going to cause too much alarm with Bayswater Car Rental. No birds, right, but what about crustaceans? Cooking them was another story!

OK, this has droned on far too long so let's wrap up with the traditional wildlife pic. On the way back north to Perth I stopped at Bussleton pier. It has an underwater observatory where you can view all the fish (and divers as it happened) under the end of the pier. The fish look in the windows at the people inside. Does that make it a humanitarium?

Il fait soleil, I'm off to Rottenest

There's an island 20km or so off the coast of Perth called Rottenest, named as early explorers discovered hundreds of wee animals (quokka) there that they mistook for rats and therefore named it 'Rats Nest' Island. This has been corrupted to Rottenest Island. They obviously weren't thinking ahead for future tourism. Like 99% of all fury things in Oz, quokkas are marsupials meaning they are generally slow, stupid and don't get abroad much.

I took the train to Freemantle and the early ferry over to the island, which I have to say is bloody lovely.


Me on Cam's bike. I think my poor grasp of the handle bars is more to do with taking the pic whilst on the move than the fact I couldn't reach them as the bike was too big. Snorkelling gear in the netting bag.

The lighthouse on Rottenest. Impressive I think you will agree and undeniably white.

A typical beachy cove on the west of the island. Larrrverrrly.

Here's one of those quokka critters. It hopped across the road and just sat there staring at me. Fortunately, other than the occasional bus, there's no traffic on the island. There'd be far fewer quokka around otherwise.

OK, not the most gripping of posts but hey, sometimes that's the way it goes. I could have made up some bobbins about how a gang of crystal meth crazed quokka held me at gun point in a remote spot on the island and stole my wine gums and flip-flops...but that didn't happen.

Perth - it's odd, but it's good

Perth, Australia - Jan '07
Some time in late Jan I arrived in Perth (the exact date escapes me as it was a little while ago, hech hem). Here I was met at the airport by Jo & Cam (or JoCam as they are one really) and I was boarded & lodged, fed & watered, amused & entertained [Enough, Ed.]. Jo & Cam are friends of Jo Bole's from her time in the Hague, whom I've met on several occasions. They couldn't have extended greater hospitality if they'd had a great big hospitality extending machine in a crimson velvet travel pouch (what?).

A few facts for those unaware (as I was): Perth is the most remote city of its size in the world and is nearer to Jakarta than Sydney; it can be very hot; it's not much like Perth in Scotland. Getting in from a cool 20 degree Adelaide I was greeted by the brick in the face Perth blast furnace of 42 degrees - ouch. Time was spent sweating, wilting, familiarising myself with the city by bike (of course), witnessing lightning storms whilst body surfing in the Indian Ocean (ear still knacked by the way), swimming in JoCam's friends', Bret & Megan's pool, fine dining and Open Air Cinema (OAC).

OAC - fantastic stuff. In fact the best thing to discover since finding out you can 'short change' the tumble driers in the university halls of residence by popping your 20p in a plastic bag before poking it in the coin slot, thereby retrieving the coin after cranking the dial. Naughty but highly satisfying.

They say pictures speak a thousand words so to save me writing a 10,000 word thesis here are some snaps. Not all of them will tell you much about Perth but they amuse me and that's the most important thing, right?

A taster of the day ahead - nigh on 30 degrees at 9:30am. I dread to think how the fat chef, Swelter, from the Royal Oak would cope in these conditions. No, I really dread to think...so I will banish that thought.

The moody Indian Ocean. Get in! I did.

JoCam with picnic at the Sommerville OAC. Terrific stuff. First film we saw was a beauty called Walking Alone for Thousands of Miles. It was a Japanese film and included a scene of an old man taking a picture of a young lad having a crap. Hmmm. It was good though...the film rather than that scene. I'll leave that there. The other film we saw was a Norwegian number called The Bothersome Man. The title amused me immensely (as did the film). I won't go into why but Claire will understand.
I'm a bit obsessed with all things maritime so Freemantle Maritime Museum was a must. Please excuse my indulgence here. Ooh, a submarine.

Tiddly Pom - wow a crane.
Lah dee dah - torpedo tubes, great stuff.

OK, this made me laugh. The text on the torpedo reads: 'If found notify NUWES, 9284 Balboa Ave, San Diego CA 92123, Phone:...' Are they having a laugh? Imagine:

'Hi, yes, is that NUWES? Well, it seems some bastard that you sold some weapons to has fired a torpedo at us and it failed to detonate. Would you like it back? Yes, I can post it but it'll have to be C.O.D. as we're a bit short of petty cash here on the sub.'

This also tickled me. Outside the Maritime Museum were some engravings depicting the jobs that immigrants coming to Freemantle would do. It seems that ladies helped primarily with the big Australian challenge to steal the crown of World Swiss Roll Capital from Geneva. I wonder what the gents were up to?

Of course, they were getting hammered drinking wine from the bladder of a wine box. [By the way, wine boxes are universally popular with young 'travellors' in Australia. The wine from a wine box, indeed the whole apparatus as well, is called The Goon. Don't ask me why.]


Right, almost done. Let's finish with a picture of a brazen pelican. There really is no better way to sign off.

Let's GO!