On the Road in Australia: Part II

Brisbane from the top of Mt.Coot

After saying farewell to Paolo at the airport I drove the venerable little Toyota home, with Wendy in the passenger seat and time in Australia running out we headed to the little suburban house where we had rented a room. After indulging in a little retail therapy on the way (I bought a little purple pocket torch for $3 to replace the one that broke in Greece) we felt normal enough to go back to cooking, packing, laundry and doing dishes. 

With the car a little emptier, we embarked on a farewell circuit up the coast, then back south to its happy new owner in Coolangatta. I wasn't anywhere as attached to the car as my Mitsi in New Zealand, but losing your wheels in a country where every journey is ridiculously long distance and freedom is not found on a bus route, is just a little daunting.  

I collected the deposit for the room from the landlady and was pleasantly surprised she gave the whole sum back without really checking the place over. I half expected to have 100 bucks shaved off after the  discovery of an some old crack in the door or a concocted 'cleaning' charge. The drive up to Noosa was quite uneventful, apart from a stop at a fast food place where our fries were expertly snatched from the car roof by a pair of crows who carried the entire carton to a nearby rooftop and eyed us with contempt as they savoured the oily-potatoey-salty goodness. Little devils. Due to having lived for so long without a schedule, we dawdled there and arrived quite late in the day. This variety of tardiness takes patience, practice and most of all, dedication.
Our surroundings got more rural as we headed north, there was more bush on view and some spectacular wetlands passing on both the left and right sides. Then suddenly we began to pass some very fancy houses, private docks and all the trappings of what could be best described as rich people. Arrival in Noosa only confirmed my suspicions, this was a town for the moneyed of society. Wide leafy avenues spread parallel to the ocean and beach, lined with an array of shops all the way up to the 'fancy boutique' class. Middle aged white people in elegant holiday wear (think golf club attire) promenaded on polished stone paving. We decided to head for the hostel. 

Hello

Even the hostel was a bit dear, using its status as a relatively 'old' building (for Australia, heritage or something) to charge extra for frugal facilities in keeping with its 1950's feel while simultaneously having a fancy bar/restaurant attached and clearly being pitched to the folks down the hill with the dollars. While the hostel concept was flawed to me at least, the staff proved to be legendary; there was a new competition underway to win a trip to Fraser Island among other things. Wendy had been excitedly talking about Fraser for the last week, due to a complete lack of research I had never heard of it. After an internet search to assess our options, it looked like a trip to the island would be way beyond our budget due to the specialist nature of the transport required and tight regulations. In addition I was trying to make the money that I had left stretch further (as it happens I didn't find gainful employment for another five months) and was being especially tight. 
The competition was a kind of treasure hunt where we followed clues to find 'thongs' flip-flops, jandals, slippers, pluggers, slaps/slops, go-aheads or whatever you call them scattered throughout the two main shopping streets. We had to follow the simple clues and the obvious hints of the hostel staff, pop into some shops and say the required phrase and by the evening we had three sets of paper thongs apiece to enter into the prize draw. Up until that point I believed we were the only entrants! 

Noosa Heads beachscape

A few hours later we attended a very club 18-30 meet and greet to see the prize draw. There was a free glass of inexpensive wine for all as we sat around in the hotel bar and smiled at the other newly-arrived guests. They were the usual mob, a mixture of ages but mostly on the young side, a mixture of nationalities but mostly on the German side. After an enthusiastic talk on all the activities available to the new guests, how much fun it would all be and how easy it would be to book through the reception desk, it was time for the draw.

Something's going on here.

It turned out that some other guests had received the same brief as us and also entered their paper Jandals for the prize draw, the runner up prizes went to some of the other guests. When it came to the 1st prize draw Wendy had her sandal pulled. Now that's the power of positive thinking.

Looking the other way...

So our time at Noosa Heads was cut pleasantly short, the trip to Fraser Island began very early in the morning before even the hostel desk was opened, so we had to clear out, leave our bags in the car and poke the room key through what seemed to be the correct hole. We then waited in the little bus station down the tree-lined path and across the road from the hostel for our lift.
A very odd looking bus turned the corner into the bus station, it looked as if a giant shiny green cat carrier had been bolted to the back of a 7 ton truck. We began to board and selected our seats when it quickly became clear the other passengers didn't want us there. It turned out they were booked as a group and it was like we had crashed their horticultural club committee meeting. No wonder they looked so distressed. After being asked to leave we waited in the cool morning air until an identical truck-bus rolled up, we took our rightful places and were driven out of Noosa towards the Island.

Fraser Island ocean side beach.

The peculiar transport was necessary because there are no real roads on the island, most of the driving would be over various grades of very pure soft sand. As we headed to the little ferry, the driver remotely reduced the pressure in the massive tyres and slipped the vehicle into all-wheel drive. On the other side of the strait we headed north along the ocean beach. The sand was wet here and the going was easy. The truck got up to an impressive speed that our height above the sand disguised until the truck-bus struck a little cliff of sand that had been cut by one of the many small freshwater streams crossing the beach, then I understood the purpose of the sturdy seat belts.
Fraser Island is truly an astounding place. For a giant sand bar it is quite beautiful, the renowned purity of the sand seems to influence so much of the island from the roots up creating a unique habitat for all sorts of interesting plants and creatures. It is the size that I noticed first, the drive up the ocean-side beach went on for a long time and included a refreshment stop. The driver/guide, who must have done this exact same thing hundreds of times before, explained the history and geography of the island with enthusiasm and some very dry Aussie humour. 

Even though were were early, there were plenty of tyre tracks from 4x4 vehicles in the sand.

I have no idea what this jellyfish is called, but I do know that the blue things are its gonads.

Wendy looking a little excited to be there.

The stops, although seemingly forced and over-complicated by coffee, cake and biscuits, gave us a chance to stop, get down, smell the air without filters and air-con, look at some little details like the little blobs of floating pumice in the rivulets or the odd plants in the dunes. Also to appreciate how massive the scale of the place is.

If I had written this at the time, I could have written some interesting facts about this. Now all I have to say is this is a cool tree.

After a while the driver took us along a network of sandy tacks in the interior of the island, after a prolonged dry spell the sand was as a fine talc and the truck had trouble negotiating some slopes and curves. We passed through a belt of dense forest that had bounced back from intensive logging in the 20th century, though like the ancient Kauri forests of New Zealand's Northland, I suppose it will never be the same. I was surprised to learn that logging had only really been wrapped up around the time of my birth and other commercial activities like sand mining in the 1990's. This explained the preservation of some of the structures in the loggers camps and the existence of the road network.

Explanations

This tree is slowly being strangled. This picture isn't so beautiful now. 

We parked up at the site of an old settlement in the southern heart of the island and went for a little guided walk. 

A crystal-clear sandy-bottomed river, one of many than run through the bush.

The tour pressed on, there was so much left to do. Our one-day route only took us around the southern third of the island, hitting the best known landmarks along the way. It was perfect really, I don't think I could do this kind of tour for more than a day, being hurried from place to place like a gaggle of geese.
The next stop was the famous and very photogenic Lake McKenzie, a giant freshwater lake in the middle of the bush in the middle of a giant sandbar. Due to the unique geology of the island the lake is remarkably pure, so pure in fact that many plants, invertebrates and fishes cannot tolerate the water. Decomposing leaves have left the water slightly acidic which is not really that surprising considering the lake is basically distilled water. We had a little time to relax beside the lake before lunch was served, there were a few people there, mostly from the same tour company as us, crammed onto the narrow strip of sand between the stunningly clear water and the bush. I couldn't resist going for a swim, the water wasn't just clear, it was crystal clear so as I swam away from the shore and the noise on of the tourists began to fade away, the clear cold water column below me was completely transparent. I could see the lake bed easily several meters below my feet. It felt a lot like flying and as I looked downwards my stomach did that little turn that it does when I look over the railings of a high bridge.

The water was stunngly blue, and cold

The beach where we had a swim, it was quite busy but I seem to have successfully excluded everybody from the photograph.

The thing that bothers me about tours is always having to keep to the timetable, soon it was time to leave the lake and eat some barbecue. During the serving-up of the completely-on-schedule lunch, a fellow visitor looked away from his plate a little too long and a cheeky kookaburra swooped down from a nearby bough where it had been observing us closely and without touching the paper plate carried off a complete and quite large pork sausage.

Heading southwards along the Coral Sea beach on Frazer, the drivers would dart to the left and right to stay on the firm, moist sand where they could go fast while avoiding the surf and its corrosive salt spray and the risk of getting bogged down. This made for an exciting ride.

With the tide on the turn we had to board the truck again and head back to the ferry. The beach was mostly underwater by now meaning that the sand was firmer and the little cliffs were underwater. The other truck appeared and the two drivers weaved along the beach together. We still stopped when something interesting was spotted. Someone said they saw a whale way out to sea, then there was this dingo, trotting along, doing its dingo thing.

A dingo!

The day was over way too quickly, as I watched the ferry sailing back across the channel to pick us up I felt a yearning for more time to explore and experience what I had seen and to discover what I hadn't. I was glad that we had been lucky enough to see what we had, and the fact that it was free sweetened that familiar leaving feeling.

The ferry.

After Fraser we jumped into the car and headed along the coast to Maroochydore on the sunshine coast a little to the south. After a quick look around we found a room in a hostel that was occupied by mostly long term guests (French and German backpackers) working in local agriculture. The hostel, as I now realise is common in Aussie, was typical in its austerity, like someone had hidden all of the nice things. 
Our meals there would be correspondingly simple due to the basic kitchen equipment. It was a nice place had nice staff, you just couldn't say it had much atmosphere. we met up with one of Wendy's friends from Melbourne, so that checked the urge to go out and about and be social. 

Maroochydore street.

We spent a little time walking around the town and getting to know the layout of the place. It's something I always do, firstly out of boredom but occasionally you see things that give you a unique insight into a place and a people, completely by accident. On the way into town one evening to meet Hanna, we witnessed a ridiculously beautiful sunset ('oh god I can't take it' levels of colour) over the Maroochy river wetlands with thousands of raucous parakeets coming home to roost overhead to the dusky riverside gum trees. At the time I resented having to stop looking to take a few photographs, but now I am glad I did in order to show you. Here is the best one with absolutely no editing.  

Sunset over Maroochydore waterways

I had a feeling that life in the sunshine coast could be close to idyllic, if you get the arrangements right. However time was running out and the road was calling. We took the car on our last journey south, bypassing Brisbane and arriving in Coolangatta in the late afternoon. After some new electrical parts and a little tinkering by Paolo and myself the car was in fine working order and we could hand it over to Lacey with a clean-as-a-whistle conscience that it would run and run 'til the end of western civilisation and maybe afterwards too, after all, this was Mad Max country. Lacey agreed to drive us and our gear (still too much to hump about) back down to Byron Bay saving us loads of time, effort, sweat and perhaps blood on public transport, what a star she is. We checked in to the same hostel we had stayed in before (better the devil you know) and spent a week wondering if the grass was greener (or in our case the pans were nicer or the wifi free'er) in the other hostels. We managed to hold on to a nice double room for a week on an upper floor balcony that was much cooler and quieter than our first room on the ground floor. In the evening I liked to sit outside with some wine and watch the fruit bats going home to roost in the blue twilight of that big pacific Australian sky.

This is the best picture I took of the bats. Imagine how bad the others are.

I think it was the second or third morning we were in Byron when something terrible happened. A lot of the guests and all of the long term workers were surfers and could be seen sitting and standing in small groups exhibiting the social signals of shock. Folded arms, palms over mouth, the extroverts talking too loudly, eyes looking this way and that, into each other. A man had been attacked by a large shark just off the main beach and died. The first media reports said he was a surfer, it later emerged he was just out there swimming. The beach was closed for days as the police searched with motor boats and helicopters for the shark responsible. A large specimen was spotted from the air but no other evidence for it being the culprit was found. Unfortunately this was not the last of the hostile shark activity in the region, further attacks have occurred in the area. This is a worrying trend for an area that enjoyed such a long period without serious trouble.

Moonlight strolls in Byron Bay, beach closed.

With the waters off limits I had fun exploring the little pleasures that this curious diminutive town had to offer. We went out and watched bands in a pub, looked at some art, took long walks through it's suburbs, drank too much and indulged in several late-night $5 Dominos pizzas (spicy pepperoni). Not having the lazy utility of a car had many advantages like we couldn't buy more booze and groceries than we could carry, we explored more on foot, starting to think of a way to get to Sydney while seeing a bit of the country along the way. Also there was no longer an enclosed space to be trapped in with a stereo playing Milky Chance on loop.

When the beach re-opened the sea was flat calm. I went body boarding one day in some little waves at the beach with limited success, so the week I planned to spend on my new favourite pastime; falling off a surfboard was destined never to happen. This added to other  disappointments such as failing to be in the same place at the same time to meet my cousin Clive, not having the time to drop in on my great uncle or having a look-see at the 'middle' of the country as I had always dreamed of doing. 

Byron Bay town in the dawn light, waiting for the bus.

Wendy suggested transfercar as an alternative to a single long bus journey, I had never heard of the site and couldn't believe that car hire companies would entrust one of their vehicles to some random. Then I discovered that you must make a large credit card payment on renting the vehicle which was immediately suspended and would be cancelled on the safe return on the vehicle (meaning in reality you paid nothing up front, but the company had access to A LOT of money if they chose to take it). I booked a small campervan that had to be driven from Brisbane to Sydney in three days including two overnight stops. Surprisingly I only had to pay for petrol and get the van to the allotted place by 5pm two days later. Although it seems like good value, practically you have to do a fair bit of driving each day in order to meet the allocated drop off time, the first day I covered over half the distance so we had a little bit of leeway in order to take it easy, but we were still on the road for a lot of the remaining time. I can recommend transfercar for getting from A to B, but it isn't really suitable for seeing the country as many people, including myself would like to.

The hostel scene in Australia is weird, because the population is dispersed over such large distances, and perhaps because they call their accommodation halls hostels, Australians frequently seem to use backpackers hostels as budget hotels and party palaces. Hostels in some countries that I've traveled in go as far as segregating locals from foreigners in case their establishment attracts people with the wrong idea, here the opposite seems to be the case. Many Australians, it seems, stay in hostels for a party weekend and to hook up with backpackers. As a result of loud wasted people and later lots of loud sex, slamming doors, talking in drunken whispers and tiptoeing around outside the room (we were in a row of private rooms) I didn't get much sleep before I had to rise super early for my bus to Brisbane. Still, the sunrise was nice.  

The van parked in the Italian heritage centre where we had stopped on the way north.

In Brisbane I had fun negotiating the local bus network that ran along weird concrete conduits on the major routes. I found the Van rental place with the help of the GPS on my trusty old smartphone, only getting slightly sweaty in the process. I was keen to get going but there were lots of complications, firstly there were two young German girls renting a larger van to go on a road trip and they had to watch the 30 minute how-to-campervan DVD, do all the paperwork and have the practical briefing on the subject of not setting fire to themselves. Their vehicle wasn't ready straight away so I had to wait. When it came to my turn, the rentals bloke in typical antipodean 'mysogyny' identified my status as a manly fella and half-asked-half-stated, 'you know what to do?' then gave me the keys.
The Mitsubishi van that I drove away had the most uncomfortable gas pedal positions I have ever experienced, but more worryingly, a block away on a busy main road I noticed that the speedo was stuck at 0kph. I turned into a less busy road, pulled the wheel over, executed a U-ey and headed back. The replacement second van was a little slow in coming as well, it had to have its windscreen stuck on.

The van, windscreen still on!

The windscreen stayed on all the way to Byron bay, by then I assumed the glue has set enough to slow down. Wendy had checked out and was waiting in the common room to start her adventure, I was knackered. 

Driving tired is dangerous, don't do it kids!

We headed to Coff's Harbour with a few lovely diversions through small town Australia along the way. The full tank (not exactly) of fuel that the van came with was long gone and I discovered the 2.4 litre petrol engine drank, no, guzzled fuel. However the idea of finding a place to stop for the night along the way was very exciting. The free van came not just with blankets and pillows to make up the bed, but a little seating area, camping gas cooker, pots and pans, utensils and even a little sink with a tank of water. Technically you can stop for the night anywhere if there is no local bylaw prohibiting the activity or no locals complain to the police. However, the sheer quantity of people renting campers and stopping overnight in all the same places has exhausted small town Australia's patience and most places we passed had a no camping zone in force. It was similar to New Zealand except there was much more space and a greater chance of back roads to stop for the night where, nobody would spot you and complain. Because our time was short we didn't spend our time driving around looking for a quiet place to sleep, also I quite fancied a shower so we stopped off at a holiday park that had parking spaces for vans, a kitchen to prepare our meals and hot showers. 

Spot the koala.

Coff's Harbour was fun, I had perhaps the longest conversation with a real Australian I have ever had in the camp kitchen block whilst preparing Spagbol. The area wasn't at all touristy and I had the joy of watching ordinary people going about enjoying their leisure time.

Attempted drive-by photo of the Big Banana.

The back of the van in day configuration, This became a nice bed at night time.

The journey to Sydney wash quite a rush, in spite of having a gorgeous beach five minutes away, I didn't get to swim in either place we camped. It was a great experience however, I would love to try it again for a week or longer, just to see what adventures are to be had.
We began the journey fairly early the next day as well, after a pit-stop for some 'Maccas' pancakes and coffee I felt a lot more human and really started to enjoy the journey.

Look, an idiot.

We arrived at Port Stephens with daylight to spare and took the time to find a nice place to stop, we ended up plumping for a spot just behind the dunes from Fingal Bay. The receptionist was incredibly friendly and recommended a couple of places to drive to before sunset. We saw some huge pelicans on the waterfront while looking for a quiet campsite and went for a look.

Pelicans!

The pelicans were feeding at a fisherman's fish-cleaning building where, telling by the smell, a large amount of fish scraps had just been consumed. The fisherman were long gone but the birds were still hanging around looking for anything else that was going or perhaps to digest. A young child or a dog startled the clumsy looking birds into motion and almost simultaneously the whole flock took to the air. With their big necks and ugly feet tucked in, the airbourne pelicans looked almost graceful as they floated in the last of the evening sea breeze, flapping their wings only once or twice a minute yet keeping their bulk perfectly suspended in the air above, like kites.

HMS Endeavour had dropped anchor in the bay. A little bit surreal.

At the top of the hill.

 We jumped back into the van and headed roughly in the direction of Gan Gan Lookout, the van made the steep climb and we parked up at the foot of two huge radio masts. All around the hilltop were these tall red flowered lily-type plants, in the evening light i found their colour almost luminous against the blue sea and the dark green plants on the surrounding hillsides. 

Gan Gan Point lilies.

 Apart from the odd human visitor, we were joined by a beautiful blue-eyed crow who was greedily rifling each flower head for something to eat, developing seeds perhaps, but in the process its head and neck became coloured with pollen. It must be used to gormless humans pointing their gadgets at it and cooing because it didn't bat an eyelid when I followed it around the viewing platform talking at it.

Mr Crow says hello.

 The sun began to set and reality dawned that we didn't know when the supermarket closed in Port Stephens, experience of retailers down under said probably earlier than you think, so we headed down.

Another amazing sunset.

Another glorious morning waking up in the enclosed space of the van, sour wine breath, it always seemed bigger in the dark. I was glad that it wasn't summer because with all the doors and windows buttoned up (except the ceiling vent) to deter a creepy crawly incursion, it was rather hot inside when we woke just before 8am. I was pretty good at switching the van from sleeping to travel mode by now, it's really just a matter of finding places to put things away when you don't need them and being able to get to them when you do. After a chilled out morning and yet another refueling stop in town we got going southwards. 

Stockton sands lay just to the south of where we had stopped for the night, the pictures I had seen show vast sand dunes stretching away into the distance, an image that a child might draw of a desert. Our first sight of the sands where through some hastily built, but very persistent world war two tank traps

As we walked down to the beach to take a look, I snapped a couple of pictures, luckily before my perception of the place had changed. By the time I had reached the bottom, I had realised that the place was really rather dirty. On the beach the usual plastics reigned supreme, but a little in land the effect of careless people could be seen with rubbish from decades of visitors emerging from the sands

A Kitesurfer was going at it all alone out there.

The dunes looked pristine from a distance, there was a tour truck, similar to the one at Fraser Island that would take us into the presumably less polluted yonder. However, we were on a schedule to get to Sydney, unload our things at the hostel and return the van to the depot near the airport. The sands are used for location filming frequently, including this infamous music video, I wonder if they were responsible for some of the 30-odd year old beer cans I saw?

The van drank at an even faster rate as I drove it to the speed limit in the effort to make Sydney in time. How much fuel do I have? How long will it last? Where is the nearest petrol station? How much do I need to put in, bearing in mind I'll be giving the vehicle back in a few hours? I always seem to get that difficult calculation wrong. That day was no exception.

I made Sydney with very little time to spare, luckily there was a parking space right next to the hostel so we could just unload the van and drive it down to the depot. I made it to the depot a little after 5pm, but nobody seemed to notice. The reception guy (German, working holiday visa) checked the exterior of the vehicle, signed the papers that would see the credit card charge removed and took the keys. He seemed like an OK guy.
Later that night, after I'd made it back to the hostel on public transport, I remembered that I had left Paolo's guitar (see the Nimbin picture) in the kitchen area of the van wedged between the sink and the wall where it couldn't move. The office at the returns depot was closed for the night so I called the early the next morning. To my extreme disappointment, when I called the next day the guitar had 'vanished' overnight. No one had seen it or handed it in for a few days, also no one 'remembered where they saw it' and brought it to the lost property room the next day. This made me more angry than it really should have, I guess there are more assholes walking among us than I allow myself to believe. 

Sydney is a fun place, I was getting chatted up by a male hotel manager before I even got back to the hostel! We were staying in the suburb of Glebe while we waited for the flight to Singapore, as well as stunning rooftop views and barbecue nights the place was quite close to a park to stroll in with amazing views of the harbour. The neighbourhood reminded me of my childhood home in Norwood. It was built on the ridge of a hill around the same time using the same materials and architectural styles.  The winter weather was very similar to London in the early summer with only a little chill at night. The big difference was the plants and animals, the trees were mostly local species and at late in the quiet of night, families of possums crashed around in the tree tops searching for things to eat

A Glorious sunset from Glebe rooftops.

...and another.

As I had passed through Sydney in a short time earlier in the trip, I took some time to explore the city. Public transport is patchy where we were staying, but we could catch a bus from a way along the high street or a light rail a way down the hill towards the CBD. The trip had formed a complete circle, even the photographs I took are basically the same.

Deja vous.

We took a long walk along the waterfront, checked out the harbour bridge (again), walked around the opera house where a bus terminal once stood and before that a coastal fort and then along to the botanical gardens. After spending a little time in the parklands we checked out a museum before heading slowly back through the central district with it's over-the-top shiny high rise buildings and people in suits hurrying about. That was all I needed in the way of sight seeing in Sydney, so I could settle back to exploring the little gems in the suburbs, like the micro-brewery below. We ended up there twice in fact, once by ourselves and once with Wendy's friends Mariella and Manuel. 

Beer, Beer, glorious Beer.

Another day we went to the Sydney fish market, there were more tourists there than locals and businesses buying fish, it did have a certain, erm, atmosphere. For some reason I lost my appetite that day. Here is Wendy enjoying her seafood platter, my choco-milk is out of shot.

After another long walk, we passed through part of the city centre once more, however after five days we could safely say we had done and seen much more than your average hostel-goer with the help of a little local knowledge from Manuel, Mariella and Wendy. I even had a couple of very fun days with some of the hostel people including an Australian fellow who had, guess what, checked into a hostel to party. We had the 'pleasure' of witnessing his decline from relatively pleasant and charming Aussie bro to incoherent, incapable and on the hunt for substances to render him insensible. Checked that box. I regret not seeing more of the country and I'm honest about the fact that my schedule didn't allow me to  visit the people that I intended to, in spite of vowing not to keep a schedule. I suppose I'll have to add Australia to the ever-growing 'must visit again soon' list.