A Town Called Alice

The old joke about Alice Springs is that it's a great place to live; whichever direction you go you'll hit a beach. In reality people come to Alice to explore the Red Centre – some just visit Uluru (Ayers Rock) as a very long day trip. Alice does have some very good galleries selling landscape photographs and (some quite expensive) aborigine art. Our main goal in town was to buy decent hats (I didn't manage this) and fly nets.















Originally we'd planed to hire a 4x4 and do the main sites of Uluru, Kata Tjuta (The Olgas) and Kings Canyon independently over a few days. However, we also wanted to bush camp rather that stay at the hugely expensive Yulara (Ayers Rock Resort), and while it's possible to hire swags and cooking gear, in the end we opted from a small group 4x4 tour.














Pick-up was a painful 5:45am, with a breakfast stop at the camel farm on the Stuart Highway, where you can eat a camel while riding a (different) camel – whatever floats your boat. We finished the 440km trip down to Yulara in time for lunch (sandwiches with a free side of flies) before heading off to the first Uluru lookout point.


The local indigenous people, the Anangu, successfully launched a claim to Uluru and Kata Tjuta under the 1985 aboriginal land act, but some back-room deals meant the park was leased back to the federal government on a 99 year term. The main anomaly of this situation is that the Uluru Climb is still open, although the signs (and most tour guides) ask you to respect Anangu law and not climb. As it happens the climb was closed due to extreme heat (temperatures over 36°C, high winds, etc all close the route, to the effect that it is only open 100 days a year), which rendered moot the climb/not climb debate.

One cannot overstate how bad the flies are around here; I tries to resist wearing the fly net, but after the little bastards start trying to drink the water off your eyeballs, it becomes too much. So looking like a party of bee keepers, we started the Uluru base walk. Uluru is a place of great cultural significance to the Anangu, and our guide, Steve, was very knowledgeable about the mythology surrounding the place – well as knowledgeable as you can be for a white fella.


Of course Uluru is famed for the deep red colour it goes when bathed in the glow of sunset, and this is what the tourist hordes come for – some paying vast sums of money to dine on top of a private sand dune, sipping champagne while the flies eat you.














We watched the impressive display, with the 20 coach loads, from the public viewing area, however our champagne had gone AWOL, so I drunk Carlton Drought.


After the sun goes down the flies go to bed, which is a relief. We joined the convoy back to Yulara, to camp in the private camping area – not quite true bush camping tonight, but still sleeping under the stars. Some time after midnight, I was woken by the sound of a camel snoring next to my head, but on closer inspection, it turned out to be the retired headteacher from Yorkshire. This made the 4:30 start all the more painful.















Our sunrise viewing spot lay halfway between Uluru and Kata Tjuta, allowing for the sun to rise behind Uluru (this only happens from this spot of one week a year), while lighting up the larger Kata Tjuta. No sooner was the sun above the rock, than the flies swarmed.

The main track in Kata Tjuta is the 5 mile Valley of the Winds walk, which we started before 8am to avoid the heat. Taking things easy, we stopped regularly as Steve explained the 900,000,000 years worth of geology that gives us Uluru and Kata Tjuta in their current form. At 546m, the largest rock of the Kata Tjuta complex is some 200m higher than Uluru, and with quite a bit of greenery thriving in the micro-climate between the huge rocks, the whole site is more interesting than its more famous sister.














A quick fly infested lunch and we were on the road up to Kings Canyon. On route we stopped to pick up some fire wood and a frozen kangaroo tail from a garage, which was defrosted in the bus. At our campsite the fire was lit, and the hair burned off the tail. This was then buried in the hot ash to cook the traditional way. Kirsten described the taste as a bit gamey. Not wishing to have another camel incident, we took our swags some 50m away from the fire, where we witnessed a rather impressive shooting star.














Another early start for the trip to Kings Canyon and the 4 mile Rim Walk. This area with its plummeting drops, is perhaps the best of the three. For extra value the flies are not nearly as bothersome. Halfway around the walk is the Garden of Eden – a lush valley with a large water hole at the far end. Half an hour of swimming and bombing is a great way of breaking up a long walk.


The return trip to Alice was spiced up by a bumpy ride down the unsurfaced Ernest Giles Road, followed by a live performance by Dinky the singing dingo. Dinky lives with owner Jim at Jim's Place, a roadhouse on the Stuart Highway. He shot to fame a few years ago, with his howling along with the family piano, and has since featured in a documentary presented by Martin Clunes of all people.

The Ghan

The Ghan is one of Australia's two trans-continental railway lines – running south to north, from Adelaide, through Alice Springs, and up to Darwin. The route was found by Afghan trackers (using imported camels) in order to lay a telegraph wire to link Adelaide to the Empire – hence the name of the original Adelaide to Alice route; the Afghan Express.

These days, the standard gauge line, to the west of the original, is unashamedly a tourist attraction. Darwin to Alice is a mere 23 hours, so we decided to go for the cheapest option of the red-class seat. The train doesn't exactly rocket along the tracks, and four hours after leaving Darwin, we pulled into Katherine.



















Here the train sits for four hours, giving you the choice of wandering round a small godforsaken outback town (although the third biggest in the Northern Territory), joining a boat tour of the Katherine Gorge, or a helicopter flight over it. We opted for the boat trip, and were joined by sixty members of club 80 to 130 from gold-class.














If you're in the area, the Katherine Gorge is certainly worth a visit (you can do it as a day trip out of Darwin). Katherine itself is a major stop for big Oz road trips, although you'd have had to been away from civilisation a long time to contemplate a long stay.














We didn't see much of the town except the supermarket were we were dropped off to buy supplies for the onward journey. Due to the Northern Territory intervention act – aimed at reducing alcoholism in the indigenous community – everyone must produce photo ID, which is scanned, in order to buy alcohol. Back on the train with freshly bought cold beer and sparkling wine, we chugged off into the night.














We arrived bang on time, at 9am, into Alice. If they did away with the six hours of stops, and ran the train at 80mph rather than the pedestrian 50mph, the Darwin – Alice leg could be done in under 12 hours, but then you might as well save another 10 hours (and quite a bit of money) and fly it. The days of the old Ghan are long gone – where trains could be stranded for weeks due to flooding or termites eating the sleepers, sometimes forcing the driver to shoot wildlife to feed the passengers. However, if you do have a romantic attachment to long train journeys, why not?

North Queensland and Darwin

Due to a slight fiasco with a beached dive boat, we only made it as far as Townsville for an overnight stop. The next day we continued on up the coast to our northern most destination of Port Douglas. Here we had a relaxing two nights chilling out by the pool, checking out the many cafes, bars and boutiques on the very cute main street, and escaping the humidity with the in-room air conditioning. The relaxed vibe was however dampened slightly by the sand flies that covered me with red blotches and the crocodiles and stinging jelly fish that make swimming the sea a perilous experience.


Our last two nights in Queensland were spent in the tourist Mecca of Cairns. Most people use Cairns as a base for short snorkelling or diving trips on the Great Barrier Reef. Unfortunately unless you go on a (expensive) multi-day live-aboard to the outer reef, the stuff that can be reached from Cairns is reputedly rather shit. With this in mind, we spent the day in Cairn's jellyfish free, artificial saltwater lagoon.















Finally we ditched the car and flew to Darwin, our first experience of the Northern Territory. After barely recovering from its Japanese bombardment in WWII, Darwin was levelled by Cyclone Tracy in 1974 – as a result the architecture is less than inspiring. We decided to check out the newly developed dock area scheduled to be opened in 2008. Unfortunately this had not yet been finished so we had to view the impressive looking multi-million dollar development of flats, hotels and swimming lagoon from behind the fences.

The SS Yongala

The SS Yoangala, along with its 122 passengers and crew, sank without trace in a cyclone around the 23rd March 1911 on its way from Birsbane to Townsville. It lay on its starboard side in 30m of water on the sandy bottom, undisturbed until its discovery by divers in 1958 (it was picked up on the sonar of a US navy minesweeper in 1943 and marked down as a reef).















Over the 98 years since its sinking it has become an almost ideal artificial reef – being the only reef structure in the immediate area, it has become home to a huge range of marine life, from schools of small colourful fish, to turtles and sharks.















Cyclone Hamish had blown through, but another tropical low was forming, and the sea was choppy – the boats weren't leaving from Townsville due to the swell. Our dive boat was a large inflatable (10 divers) which launched from the beach. After we'd cleared the breakers (which took some time), the skipper opened up the twin engines and things really got bumpy.















Only one bloke actually threw up on the 30 minute theme park ride out to the dive site (although a few others looked like they'd join him soon enough). Kitting up in a 2 metre swell was no fun at all, so it was a relief to get into the water and down the mooring line.















At 16m you reach the top of the wreak (at this depth it's all calm) and it becomes clear why this is such a highly rated site. The destiny and diversity of the marine life is incredible, and even though the crappy weather meant the light was poor, I can imagine that on a sunny day the display of colours will match any of the natural reefs.















The surface interval was one of the more unpleasant hours I've spent – the bloke from the way out spent the time with his head in a bucket, while one of the dive masters threw up over the back. Back in the water, we saw turtles and a nurse shark, while the other group spotted a Bull Shark :-(















The return trip was comedy of errors as the skipper managed to beach the boat near the shore, and the ten of us ended up waist deep in the water trying to heave-ho the boat over a sand bank.

The, uh, Sunshine Coast

Cyclone Hamish had been down graded, but it was still dumping miserable weather on the Sunshine Coast. We spent the night at pretty Noosa, the antithesis to Surfers Paradise. We sat on the promenade eating chips and watching the surfers braving the massive breakers – all very well 'til that big wave soaked us and the chips.
















With no chance of the weather improving, we decided to bin Fraser Island, and get as far up the coast as possible. This turned out to be Emu Park. With a good hostel across the road from the beach, this would have been a nice place to spend a few days, except for the never-ending rain. Things had to get better, so we booking in for three days sailing around the Whitsunday Islands, and schlepped it up to Airlie Beach.

We arrived at our hastily chosen 'party' hostel in time to grab some food and hit the foam party. Nether of us had been to a foam party before, but provided you've drunk enough, they can be surprisingly good fun. We had a day to recover in town, before boarding our yacht, the Waltzing Matilda.



















Things did not go off to a promising start, as the Matilda's 14 passengers and 2 crew sailed off into the rain, making a miserable picture sat on deck in rain coats (below deck was too hot and stuffy to stick). By the afternoon the sun had poked through, and it was time for the first snorkelling trip. Unfortunately, this far north, the jellyfish can kill you (or at least inflict so much pain you wish you'd died), so you're forced to wear a rather fetching stinger-suit. Added to this, the passing of Hamish had reduced visibly down to a metre, making the snorkelling rather a damp squib.
















Fortunately the weather stayed good for the next two days, as we lazed around on deck soaking up the sun, with brief interruptions to eat, hike up hills for fantastic views, and lay on stunning white beaches. Our evenings were spent anchored in sheltered bays, drinking the BYO wine (fortunately we'd brought 4 litres), and playing party games – Kirsten came third in the pick-a-piece-of-cardboard-off-the-floor-with-your-teeth-while-both-hands-are-behind-your-back game (won by a surprising flexible deck hand, Dan).
















Back on dry land, we spent our final evening in Airlie Beach in the company of our shipmates, before departing for Ayr – the most convenient place to dive the SS Yongala.

Brisbane

Finally, I've cuddled a Koala – yeah! More on this later...

After the party antics of Suffers, it was with some relief that we arrived in Brisbane which at first impression appears to be a civilised, relatively sophisticated, city. We were staying in the New Farm which is a peaceful area with many attractive old wooden Queenslander houses and a smattering of trendy cafes and wine bars. We started with a delicious French inspired lunch at Continental Café – possibly the tastiest food I've had since being in Australia (except of course Glen's cooking in Sydney). This was followed the next day by dinner at Anise, which although on the pricey side, serve up great food with the additional plus of having knowledgeable staff personally recommend excellently matched wines.

Unfortunately the weather was pretty miserable, surprisingly not because of cyclone Hamish which was pottering along the coastline further north and threatening to cause major damage, but thanks to a low pressure area moving in from the south. Despite this, we were determined to get a river trip in, so duly jumped on one of the many river ferries. These very conveniently criss-cross the Brisbane River around which the city is built. This gives a great opportunity to spy on the luxury apartments and houses that are sat on the river banks and get to a feel for the layout of the city.

North of Brisbane lies the much hyped Australia Zoo, out on Steve Irwin Drive (he is Australia's Diana). This is the pet project of the late Crocodile Hunter and his presence is certainly still felt from the statues to the videos of him and his mini-me daughter (Bindi) played on the large screen in the Crocoseum (yes it really is called that). The ultimate homage is of course the plastic dolls in the gift shop. All this said, the zoo does have an excellent reputation for its range of Australian wildlife, which you are able to get up close and personal with, and for promoting conservation.

We started our visit in the Crocoseum for the main show of the day. Whilst the stars, the salt water crocodiles, were pretty impressive, in general the show was far to long on not very funny attempts at comedy. We then moved on to feed the kangaroos. I could do this for hours on end, but Rich got bored quickly as although the enclosure was superior to Featherdale (which we visited near Sydney), the experience was much the same. The rest of the zoo was not that exciting, but perhaps this was because we had to huddle under our umbrella to shelter from the pouring rain.














After lunch, finally the moment I had been waiting for arrived – my chance to cuddle a Koala. After pushing all the kids out of the way I secured my place at the front of the queue. Soon a keeper appeared carrying the lucky ball of fluff. Rich was somewhat disconcerted by the fact it didn't seem to be able to control its bowls, but was nothing was going to put me off. My turn arrived and the sleepy creature was placed in my arms. A few snaps of the camera later, I reluctantly handed the surprisingly soft bundle of fur back to the keeper. A sadly short experience but very sweet.

Sydney to Brisbane

After a relatively non-inspiring drive north from Sydney, mostly to a backdrop of urban sprawl, we arrived at our first resting point, Port Macquarie. We spent the evening battling for kitchen space at our hostel (the absurdly named Ozzie Pozzie Backpackers) before settling in for a much needed quiet night after the excesses of Sydney.














Before heading to the beach the next day we stopped off at the breakwall where visitors have been adorning the rocks for many years with pictures and poems. Although most are pretty shoddy, a ten minute stroll along is quite entertaining. The beach, however, is the main reason to visit Port Macquarie. We found ourselves a lovely cove and spent a very pleasant hour or so soaking up the sun (whilst sensibly lathered in factor 30+) and splashing around in the beautifully warm water.














We continued up the coast to Coffs Harbour, briefly stopping to enjoy the sweeping views of the coastline from the Captain Cook Lookout at Nambucca Heads. We decided that it was high time that we tried to locate our inner surfer dude so we duly signed up for a surf lesson. This turned out to be an excellent deal, as unlike most of the large group lessons available, we lucked out and ended up with a private lesson. My efforts were much more successful than in Bali and by the end of the lesson I was pretty much standing up every time I caught a wave, albeit for not very long. Rich and I even managed to ride the same wave in at one point.














Back on the road again and on to Byron Bay where we had the luxury of staying two nights. Byron is the kind of place were travellers plan to stay for a couple of nights and somehow find themselves still there months later. There were certainly quite a few long timers at our basic but chilled out hostel (Belongil Beachhouse) situated right on the stunning Belongil Beach. Whilst Byron is no-longer the alternative hippy hangout it used to be, it has retained considerable charm. Out of the places we have visited in Australia so far, its the one I where I would have most liked to linger further. We spent most of our short visit on the beach, opting for the less strenuous body boarding over surfing given my aching muscles from the previous day. We also managed to fit in an excellent yoga class at one of the plethora of studios.














We said a sad goodbye to Byron, but thankfully not the coast, as our next port of call was Cabarita Beach a little further north. The beach was gorgeous, but with even more aching muscles thanks to the yoga, and an extremely strong rip current, my efforts at body boarding were somewhat lacklustre. It was, however, a great spot to watch some seriously good surfers attempt to perfect their jumps and spins.















We knew we had entered Queensland, and the Gold Coast, from the sudden sight of high rise towers and the proliferation of fast food joints. Our first view of Surfers Paradise was from Coolangatta – the Blade Runneresque skyline appears to rise out of the sea in ominous glory. My first impression was that the gorgeous sweeping white sand beach and crashing waves were enough to make up for the backdrop of high rise apartments and hotels. Despite it being a Saturday, the beach wasn't too busy. The currents and surf were very strong (possibly something to do with the cyclone which is apparently making its was towards the Whitsundays), but it was excellent fun for body boarding.















However, all my initial good feelings were destroyed after I let Richard persuade me into a night out on the town. We turned down the offer of a “we guarantee you will be the drunkest you've ever been” bar and club crawl organised by our hostel and ventured out alone. After much hunting we finally found a decent enough restaurant (Marmalade Cafe), but from there things went downhill. By 11pm I had seen several girls vomit on the street, a guy being pinned down by two bouncers outside a club, a fight inside a club, and a couple of people fall out of shopping trollies. Rich tried to persuade me that it was an interesting anthropological experience but when the fire alarm starting going off in the club I decided it was time to go. It was with some relief we left for Brisbane.