Sossusvlei

Our African adventure got off to a rather inauspicious start when the airport hotel that I had booked us into at Jo'berg airport for a one night stopover turned out to be having a power cut. However, the darkness was slightly compensated by the free wine being served in the lobby, and, with the power restored, the WiFi allowed us to make final preparations for our Namibia trip. Next morning we were up at dawn and back to the airport to meet my mother fresh off an overnight flight from London. She has been wanting to visit Namibia for ages so this was a good opportunity to achieve this and for us to catch up.















Things were looking up as Richard and I were upgraded to business class. Unfortunately, the flight to Windhoek is only two hours so apart from a pleasant lunch and a few glasses of bubbly we didn't get much time to enjoy it. This was the end of our luck for the day however, as after waiting for an hour at the airport, the pick up from the the car hire company still hadn't turned up. Finally we gave up and got in a taxi to be driven into town by a guy who didn't appear to know how to drive - Richard had show him how to get the car out of reverse.















First impressions of the beast (a Nissan 4x4 double cab) that was to be our transport for the week were not great and this wasn't helped at all when we heard the almighty racket it made when we started the engine. Well, what do you expect when you hire from a company called Value Car Rental. After considerable faffing around making sure all the camping equipment was loaded and a whistle stop tour of the supermarket to get supplies, we were on our way much later than planed. We needed to make the campsite at Sesriem before sunset (they apparently shut the gates), so we zoomed off south.














After about an hour on a decent tarred road we turned off onto a good quality gravel road. Already the scenery was stunning with vast areas of bush and dramatic mountain ranges looming in the distance; it felt very isolated with not another car in sight. Gradually the road got rougher and much to our dismay the sun got lower – every guide book we have read says you should not drive at night because of the poor quality of the roads and chances of hitting an animal.














Finally, after an hour and half driving in the dark (and four hours out of Windhoek) on some pretty hairy bumpy roads (very well managed by Richard of course – I'm sure controlling that skid was skill and not luck), we arrived at the Sesriem campsite. The gates were locked but thanks to having made a booking and some sweet talking followed by insistence and desperation on my part the security guard let us in. Despite the dark we found ourselves a very lovely and campsite under a tree. All we had to do now was put up the tents, light a fire and cook our dinner. However, to our horror, when we went to the back of the car to remove the two gas cannisters which were to provide our light and heat for cooking, we found that they had gone, presumably having leapt out on one of the very large bumps we had driven over. Not to be perturbed we hunted in the dark for our torches, procured some large pieces of fire wood and set to work. Unfortunately, owing to a lack of kindling or fire-lighters, the darned wood would not burn so we resorted drinking our bottle of wine and eating bread and cheese by torch light listening to the howl of hyenas. Not quite what we had imagined, but hey, we got here and were sat out under the stars which in itself felt like an achievement.














We were up at 4am the next morning to see the famous Sossusvlei sand dunes. One of the advantages of staying at the Sesriem campsite is that you can enter the park early than if you stay outside which allows you to get the the dunes for sun rise. Our luck and clearly not turned as just at the entrance to the park we realised that the awful noise that the car was making was indeed a puncture. With a little help from one of the park guards we had changed the tire and were on our way. Being on the late side we unfortunately didn't have time to stop for photos of our first game spots (ostrich, springbok and gemsbok). We were also too late to watch the sun rise from the top of the dunes (it popped up as we got to dune 45), but still the early morning light lit the dunes beautifully. I will let the photos do the talking, but suffice to say this really is a spectacular area.














With the sun fully up, we moved on to Dead Vlei, which is accessed via a 5km soft sand 4x4 track. This is a large pan surrounded on three sides by enormous dunes, with a collection of eerie skeleton trees on the northern edge. Some people walk along the dune ridge right to the largest dune at the south end of the pan, before running/falling down the front face. We were content just to walk across the crazy paving of the pan.














Back at camp for lunch, we stopped in at the garage to get our tire fixed (we really didn't want to start the next long drive with only 1 spare tire given our track record so far), before visiting the poor relation of Sossusvlei - Sesriem Canyon. Having also managed to secure some fire lighters we were much more successful in lighting a fire and managed to produce a pretty decent dinner. Early to bed to rest before the next long drive through the wilderness to Swakopmund.

Perth

Dead on time, our train pulled into Perth, our final destination on this continent. We'd booking an apartment down in Fremantle for five night, as our friends John and Ciara were arriving late evening on their way to Melbourne for a wedding. We picked up hire car number three (another bloody Toyota Corolla), and cruised the 16km down to Freo.















Fremantle is an attractive seaside suburb, with a plethora of bars and restaurants. Our apartment sat on Challenger Harbour, facing west to the Indian Ocean and affording great sunsets behind the mass of yachts. Of course all this nightlife pulls in the Saturday night crowns, and driving out to the airport at midnight involved playing dodgems with the pissed folk (I really wish I'd ran that fat t**t over). With John and Ciara safely back at the flat, there was just time to cane a bottle of port before hitting the hay.















The next day, rather late, and after a lazy lunch, we drove out to the beach at popular Cottesloe. Here John and I consumed a bucket of ice cream each, before braving the icy sea. The waters here are beautifully clear, but after Queensland, dam chilly – still no jellyfish is a plus (I think they have some sharks, but what the hell).















To continue the water based fun, we booked in for some sea kayaking down in Rockingham. Armed with double kayaks, we paddled around Seal Island before stopping for lunch on Penguin Island (you have to hand it to the Aussies, they're very inventive with names). Unfortunately the wild penguins on the island are a bit shy, so we had the settle for the rescue penguins at the centre. The birds, supposedly the world's smallest penguin species, are sooo cute, but not very clever – one bird spend 20 minutes with its face pressed up against the glass swimming for all its worth.















After lunch we snorkelled off the island, before paddling back to the mainland. Given that our car was parked in a fairly deserted carpark, I'd taken the wallet and phone out of the glove compartment at the last moment and stuffed them in the dry bag . This was lucky as some **** had smashed the back window and gone through the car. I blame this on the curse of John Danes, who seems to drag a mini crime wave around the world with him.














We spend the penultimate day with John and Ciara in Perth itself, which like all of Australia's capital cities has a stunning setting. Thanks to Kirsten's guidance we gravitated to the more expensive part of town for lunch, after which we boarded the tourist 'tram' – a bus, decked out to look like a tram – for the city tour. For only $30 each, we did what we could have done in the car, which was sitting in a underground carpark. Still JD insisted, and the view from the park overlooking the city is pretty good.















One of the big tourist draws in the Perth area is Rottness Island – literally boatloads of people come across from Perth and Fremantle, to walk or cycle around the car free island, to their perfect little beach with crystal clear water. Kirsten doesn't ride, so while the three of us slogged up to gunnery hill before dropping down to a beach, she found a spa.















We dropped JD & CD at the airport for their flight to Melbourne, then came down a notch to our city backpackers. The rest of the day was spent cafe hopping, and trying to find a firm that would hire us a car in Windhoek and let us drop it in Cape Town - keep reading for our big African adventure.

Adelaide to Perth

To save time, we skipped to chance to continue on the Ghan down to Adelaide, and instead took a Qantas flight over the vast salt lakes of South Australia. In Adelaide we took advantage of the hospitality of Richard's childhood friend Ian, who's in town in the week as a IT contractor. Here we spent a relaxed couple of days taking advantage of the copious restaurants in this attractive city.















One of the main draws of the area is the Barossa Valley. Having not been much of a fan of Australian wine so far I was open to being converted and duly piled into a minibus for a day's tasting tour. Unfortunately the wines we tasted did little to change my mind. A few of the more expense reds were decent enough but the rest were far to rough or sickly sweet for my palate (two of the elderly guests bought up six bottles of Wolf Bass Riesling, which tasted like boiled sweets). Nonetheless, it was not an unpleasant day trip and going on an organised tour solves the problem of having a designated driver.















We were back on the train for the next leg of our journey – this time the Indian Pacific to Perth. Given this is an two night trip we treated ourselves to a two berth cabin. Although hobbit-like, the beds were actually surprisingly comfortable.














The highlight of the trip is crossing the Nullarbor Plain on what is the longest stretch of straight railway in the world running for 478km. This is a predictably desolate area with nothing to be seen from the train for the entire day except a fleeting glimpse of camels and a kangaroo. We made a brief stop and Cook, a now deserted railway staging post. This gave a chance to soak up the desolation, only to be shared with the other hundred or so train travellers and of course the flies.














In the evening we stopped at Kalgoorlie-Boulder. The Lonely planet promised a wild west style mining town with buxom bar staff serving up beer in their lingerie to tattooed miners. Rich was rather disappointed that the only bars we found were actually very civilised. After a couple of drinks it was back on the train for a bumpy night's sleep and a morning arrival in Perth.

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.