Dreamed Beneath a Desert Sky

It's impossible to describe the absolute magestic beauty of the night sky over our bush camp. But not being one to shirk away from a challenge I'll give it a go anyway.

Being in the middle of nowhere has its advantages. Whilst I like the home comforts just as much as the next person, there is something to be said about getting away from it all. And by everything I mean everything....well everything except a power source for my mobile device obviously. And as that is a solar charging power cell and we're in Australia that's not a huge proble. 

Anyway I've digressed: where was I? Ah yes, well speaking of solar power, I'm currently looking up and staring at a large chunk of our solar system. (Nice segue huh?) and there is more stuff out there than I've ever seen before.  

One of the advantages of being in the Outback is there is little-to-no light pollution, and with that a whole lot more detail. The usual suspects are there, Orion's Belt, and the Southern Cross to name but two, but inbetween there are thousands upon thousands of tiny stars. And sweeping across the centre, in a translucent arc made up of millions of stars is the Milky Way. Our home. Other than in an observatory I've never seen such detail*. It's awe inspiring stuff.

And then, just as I start to wonder exactly how far, and by extension how old, the stars I can see are I'm suddenly stricken with a feeling of guilt, then inadequacy. How can I be so ignorant of something that has been there all my life? Where's Professor Brian Cox when you need him? Is it too much to ask for to have him pop down and give me a quick summary of what I'm looking at? 

I could, for a few moments anyway, dream up an excuse and suggest that my unfamiliarity is just because I'm in a different hemisphere to the one I grew up in and that, once I'd found the North Star at least, I'd be fine. But that's a total lie. In fact I'm not even sure I'd be able to find the North Star. My guess is that it'd be towards the North, but that's just a hunch and totally useless for navigation if I need to find the direction I want to find before being able to determine the course....

Anyway, the sky looks amazing and one of the unexpected perks of being in the Outback. I was given the option of sleeping under the stars in a Swag but I politely declined despite being reassured that the sleeping bag and mattress combination was warmer than a tent. I remained unmoved in my decision. I didn't dare admit that it wasn't the cold that was putting me off but the far-too-close-for-my-liking interaction with the wildlife. You can, after all, only take this star gazing so far.....

* Simce writing this blog I've been reminded that we saw fantastic stars from Wanaka on New Year's Eve in 2015. How could I forget? Well I had had a few drinks and was lying on picnic table at the time....

Out from the Outback

If travelling is all about experiences, then how about this one for size;

We woke this morning to a mackerel-clouded sky somewhere in the Outback, or to give it its UK term Back of Beyond. After preparing and eating breakfast and watching green parrots go about their early morning callisthenics we climbed into the bus.

After a slow drive across the desert we arrived at Gosse Bluff. For such an innocent sounding name, this was a site of substantial devastation when an explosion ten times the size of that detonated at Hiroshima was unleashed in the Australian desert. Okay, it was over 10 million years ago and caused by a meteor hitting the earth but the scars are still there to be seen. 

The original crater was 25km in diameter but this had been lost to erosion and the expanse of time. What is left is a crater that is still 5km wide and one that has 'bent' the earth's crust to a depth of around 4km. It was an impressive sight and a reminder of how fragile and precious this planet is.

 

Above: The meteorite crater on the horizon

After a brief stop at a water hole, and it's freezing cold water, we visited Simpson's Gap which is, as the title suggests, a gap in the MacDonnell Ranges. These are a long crest of hills the run for 400 miles across the  Great Sandy Desert. There was nothing particularly striking about the gap, as the absence of something so often isn't, but what was remarkable were the Rock Wallabies living among the fallen debris. To quote Wikipedia;

"The medium-sized, often colourful and extremely agile rock-wallabies live where rocky, rugged and steep terrain can provide daytime refuge. Males are slightly larger than females with a body length of up to 59 cm and a 70 cm long tail.

Rock-wallabies are nocturnal and live a fortress existence spending their days in steep, rocky, complex terrain in some kind of shelter (cave, overhang or vegetation) and ranging out into surrounding terrain at night for feed. The greatest activity occurs three hours before sunrise and after sunset."

What it failed to add was that they were almost impossible to see unless they were moving, and their greatest activity seemed to consist of jumping from rock to rock and evading the massed paparazzi of our tour group.

 

Above: Spot the Wallaby?

And so to Alice Springs once again, where we swap tours; the dry and arid desert for the warm and humid rainforest, and with it a chance to stretch the legs, grab some food and a pint or two.

After buying a piece of original Aboriginal art from the artist (so fresh the paint is still drying) we are now sat in a bar, sinking a cold beer or two watching Fawlty Towers on one TV screen whilst the others blast out Kylie Minogue from an MTV channel. 

Before anyone comments, we didn't ask for Fawlty Towers to be put on - it was the choice of the young barman. Maybe he heard our accents (although I hasten to add that I sound nothing like Basil Fawlty and don't anyone dare suggest that my travelling companion reminds them of Sybil) but he claimed that his father had introduced him to the delights of this quintessential British sitcom. Interesting, but I hope he doesn't think we're all like Basil and Sybil.

Whatever the reason, it rounded off a memorable and eventful day and our last in the Outback. Tomorrow we fly to Darwin to see how the North of the Northern Territories live in their hot and steamy climate. It would be hard pushed to be more memorable than our time in the Outback but with crocodiles, bandicoots and tree-rats on the list of residents and I wouldn't bet against it.

No Flies on Me

What is it about my nasal cavity that Australian flies find so interesting? It's not as if my Australian counterparts don't have such orifices. They do. Two each at the last count. So why me?

Maybe it's the uncharted nature; somewhere new to explore, discover and brag about with their mates down the dunny.

Or it could be just to simply wind up the visiting Pom. Us Brits know how much our Australian cousins like to Pom-bash (and mostly we totally deserve it) so maybe this most Oz of pastimes has rubbed off on their insect population.

Either way it's starting to get on my tits, if you pardon my language for a moment. I'm not taken to swearing but it is a clear indicator of the level of annoyance that I'm currently experiencing. No manner of arm waving, directional blowing or sneezing seems to deter them. As soon as they are out of harm's reach, they dive straight back in with the enthusiasm of an adolescent's finger determined to have a good root around.

I swear that when I sneezed this morning a dead fly came shooting out like a .22 calibre round from a rifle, nearly blowing a hole in the side of the tent. Lucky my travelling companion wasn't in the tent at the time. There's nothing like being hit in the side of the face with decomposing insect to really test a relationship. Well I imagine so anyway.

Some flies aren't picky, any old cavity will do. As long as there something to explore they're right in there. 

I am getting tired of waving my arms around and no matter how frantic my waving, I just can't cover all of the bases. If it wasn't for the fact that the rest of the tour group are similarly afflicted, you could mistake me for a particularity uncoordinated exotic dancer or more likely someone having a seizure. 

We recently called into a service station and there was a solution staring me right in the face. But try as I might, I just couldn't bring myself to but a hat with corks around the rim. Not only is it a cliche, but it's one step too close to wearing stubbies and from there there is no going back. But the flies are particularly irritating......

Nope, just couldn't do it but there was an alt....sorry a Kangaroo had just hopped in front of the bus.....

Where was I? Oh, yes an alternative. A head net. Yes it scores really high on the dork factor, although arguably much lower than a hat with corks, and the chances of descending into Stubbyville are reduced. I'll give it some thought over the next 300km or so.....

Well I'm now the proud owner (and a very relieved wearer) of a mighty fine piece of protective headgear. 

I'm pleased to report that, so far at least, it's proven to be very effective, despite it giving me the look of a deranged bride at a wedding - a wedding where the groom wasn't particularly fussy obviously. I think the camouflage pattern on the top is a little extravagant and doesn't seem to prevent the flies from finding me, but at least now they can't get to me. Not that it stops them trying though. 

I think this could be the feature of the next few days as we head further and further into the centre of Australia and I'm already calling this as a total success and $8 well spent. Now if I could only figure out how I'm going to drink my beer tonight......

 

A Town Called Alice

I bet the title of this blog hasn't been used before. I was actually giggling to myself as I typed it and am still smiling at my cleverness. Not original? Well it's better than my first title  'Alice? Where the F*ck is Alice?'

Having said that, although somewhat linguistically challenged, my first option was probably more geographically accurate. I sort of knew that Alice Springs was in the middle of nowhere, but you can't really know until you travel here. We took the easy option, a flight from Cairns, but the journey is nevertheless a reminder of just how remote this town is. Soon the lushness of the coastal rainforest gave way to pasture and within moments any thought of greenery was forgotten in exchange for miles and miles of desert. Nothing, save for a few small buildings and then barren, sun-scorched and scarred red earth between civilisation as far as the eye could see. And that's pretty far from the vantage point of 20,000 feet. At nearly 1,500km to the nearest city it's geographically pretty much in the dead centre of Australia yet with a population of around 28,000 is the third largest urban area in the Northern Territories. 

To get a real sense of the sparseness of this part of Australia, and by association Alice Springs, just dwell on this fact for a little while; the total area of the Northern Territories is a little over 1,300,000 square kilometres yet the total population is a mere 244,000. Or to put it in perspective, that's roughly the population of Newcastle living in an area twice the size of France. (Mind you, even with all that space, the Geordies would still manage to find someone to pick a fight with). Or to put I another way, it's mind bogglingly big and no bugger lives here.

After spending a few hours in Alice, as it's affectionately known, it's not hard to see why. The nearest-to-home example I can give is that it reminds a me a little of Thornaby on Teesside. But with more sun. Lots of sun. Except if you wanted to escape Thornaby the A66 would get you somewhere else within an hour. Faced with a 24 hour drive you'd have to really want to leave Alice, and have the wherewithal to cross nearly 1,000km of desert.

Add to that the sheer harshness of the climate and its inhabitants. With highs around 40 degree Celsius in the summer yet plunging to barely above freezing picking clothes for a night on the town is nigh on impossible. The body says shorts and t-shirt whilst the head screams thermals and a good woolly dut. If that wasn't enough, add venomous snakes into the mix and you've got one hell of a night out. 

Everything looks just a little rundown and on it's heels. A bit municipal if you like, but not in a good way. It feels Ike it could do with a good douse of rain to give it a bit of a clean, but with an average of only 11 inches of rain per year it's not going to happen anytime soon.

That's not to say it's not without its charms. There are a few good museums dotted around town, some nice cafes and bars selling super cold beer. But these are the the oases in the desert, to use a relevant metaphor. 

For most, as it is with us, Alice is a mere staging point to other parts of the territory. A stepping stone in the desert and an opportunity to restock and refuel before pushing on further into the interior. And so it is with us. 

Tomorrow we pick up a tour and head into the unknown... well further into the desert anyway, for tomorrow we'll dine under the stars with Uluru (Ayers Rock) as our backdrop. At least that's what the blurb on the brochure says. As we've found out for ourselves on this trip, don't take anything for granted, assume nothing and she'll be right.

 

 

Holiday? What Holiday?

And there was me thinking that holidays were supposed to be relaxing. What an idiot.

Since finishing work on Friday, every day since we have been up earlier than we would've had to if we'd been going to work. How can that be right? Admittedly I haven't been putting a dress shirt and suit but it's still bloody not on to to have to get up when it's still dark....

On Saturday the early start was due to having to catch a plane. Fair enough I suppose. I guess that's the price of going on holiday. Still, why can't flights be at a more reasonable time? The flight might not have been until 9:10 but it still meant an 05:30 alarm call. 

Yesterday, we were definitely on holiday - the fact that I was wearing beach shorts confirmed it - so was it too much to ask to expect a lie in? Apparently it was. So once 6:00 rolled around up we got.

I might sound like I'm whinging....ok I am whinging.,, but the early start was not without reason and, to be frank, well worth it. We were off to snorkel around the Great Barrier Reef. Well a little bit of it anyway. At some 2,300km in length that would be one hell of a snorkelling trip. There's not enough sandwiches on the world to get you through that!

Our chosen tour operator left dock at 8:00 hence the early start. I'm going to say this quietly, but our first experience of the Reef was a bit disappointing. Underwhelming you might say. Maybe our time earlier in the year in Galapagos had raised expectations too far. It was just a little bit...well....dull. 

It had clouded over and the blue sea had turned rather grey but even with that there just wasn't much to see. Oh dear...... After an hour we got out and dried for lunch. Maybe the afternoon would be better....

To use a football analogy, it was a game of two halves. By the time we got back into the water, the sun had come out, returning the blue to the ocean, and the tide had dropped. Not only did this put you closer to the coral but it also meant that the Reef was doing its job and keeping the waves at bay.

Now the Reef was teaming with life. All manner of fish, some improbably coloured, alien looking coral formations, sea turtles and a glimpse of a Reef Shark. That's more like it, and well worth the early morning start. If that wasn't enough to make it worth the price of the entry ticket, then spotting a whale jumping out of the ocean on the way back certainly was. A magnificent Orca, or Killer Whale to the uninitiated, was heading along the coast and its path was right in front of our boat. 

A great day out, but a long one.

And here we go again. The clock has just nudged 5:45 and were up and about. This time we're off to take a scenic railway to a village in the rainforest. Why the early start? Apparently there's a cruise ship arriving later in the morning so we need to beat the crowds. We are assured, however, that it will be worth it. 

I'm sure it will but I must say that this holiday lark is bloody hard work!

 

 

Up North Down South

Stepping off the plane from a dark and wet Auckland winter into the bright sunshine of a Queensland day is one of the most jarring introductions I have experienced. Okay, so not as jarring as the time we arrived into Auckland for a winter break from Darlington but it's up there. With the thermometer jumping by 20 degrees, all I can say is thank goodness for zip-off troosers.

Having not been one for seeking winter sun whilst we were resident in the UK, I find it surprising that we now choose to 'escape' the winter when we are in Auckland. Well at least for a few weeks anyway. With temperatures dropping to nearly 5 degrees last night, nearly 60mm of rain falling in a few short hours and a state of emergency declared in the South Island it felt like the right thing to do.

So why Queensland and not a specific Pacific island? Good question. Well I suppose it was Australia's turn. And besides you can't sit on a tropical island for two weeks without going completely mad. At least I don't think so, although that would've been the safest option. Within a few minutes of walking down the esplanade at Cairns we were greeted with signs warning against going in the water because of the real possibility of being eaten by a crocodile. Think I'll give that a miss then thank you. 

It's hard to believe, as I'm wandering around in a t-shirt and shorts, that it's actually winter. Many would suggest, rightfully so, that winter in Auckland isn't really winter at all but Northern Australia is even less so. Goodness knows what it's like in summer. And all this only a short five hour flight from Auckland.

Which very nearly didn't happen. The check in at the airport this morning was less than the usual stress free experience. After being rejected by the automated check in machine, we were directed to a human. Surely there must be some kind of administrative cock up? Bloody computers. I was about to give the chap a unsolicited opinion when he said;

"Your tourist visa is invalid, because you've put the wrong date for your birthday on the form"

Uh-oh

"I'll go and see if I can get it sorted out. Please wait here."

I didn't dare turn an look at my travelling companion who was no doubt considering a relaxing and stress free trip without me.

Can I just, in my defence, say it's an easy mistake to make, accidentally picking a 10 rather than an 11 on the screen. And it was late at night and I was in a hurry. So of you more critical readers might suggest that I really should've got my birthdate correct as I have, after all, had plenty of practice. 

After an agonising ten minute wait he was back and the Australian immigration authorities had sorted it out. Phew, I was going on holiday after all. I did wonder, momentarily, what would've happened if I was someone trying to get into the UK. Would our border control team been quite as helpful?

I'd like to say that that incident was the last one of the day. But no. I was on a roll. The visa debacle was shortly followed by me losing my boarding card moments before we were due to get on the plane, then finding it safely tucked into my passport. Where I'd put it just 30 minutes ago. And then a sudden panic when I pulled my sunglasses case out of my bag only to find it was empty. The thought of spending the next two weeks squinting...... Thankfully they had just fallen out of the case and were hidden amongst other debris at the bottom of my backpack. I was just going to have to take some deep breaths and calm down....

Getting stopped at the Australian border in Cairns didn't help any. The automatic passport gates had rejected my passport and I was directed to see an official. I thought they'd sorted my visa (ahem) oversight. Do I queued with the non-commonwealth riff-raff ....

Obviously it was all sorted out and I was allowed entry into this fascinating country and soon found myself wandering down the esplanade in search of a supermarket and the all important first beer of the holiday. The sun was shining and all was well with the world. As long as you don't venture too close to the sea.

How cruel is it then, to live in a place where it's constantly warm, even when it rains, to have a beautiful coastline and to not be able to go for a swim?  To be fair, the council have provided free open air swimming pools right next to the beach but it's not the same. Although preferable I imagine to returning from an ill advised paddle missing a limb or two. That kind of thing would really put a crimp on the rest of your day.

But so far, so good. We've been in Australia for a day and have a full compliment of appendages. What else does this country have in store. We don't know but it's going to be fun finding out.

 

The Next Door-nob

What is it about people with money that makes them think that they can tell other people what to do, gives them the right to express an opinion or interfere in business other then their own?

Strewth, that was a strong opening sentence but worth every word but I feel that I ought to explain what has irked me so much. After all, a bit of context goes a long way.....

It is fair to say that after nearly three years in 'our' house we will have paid a fair amount of rent. In fact, so much that I'd rather not dwell on it thank you very much. Even so, we consider it to be a reasonable amount based on the size of the property, its relative proximity to the city centre, its closeness to our workplace (is a seven minute walk close enough for ya?) and the access to local amenities. Yes, it is a bit cold in winter but overall the price is fair. Add to fact that we haven't yet had a rent rise into the calculation and it's all good.  

And yes, we'll be the first to admit that, whilst the inside of the house is immaculate, the exterior could do with a little TLC. But not enough that we want to raise it as an issue with our landlady. We are quite happy just as we are, tucked away in a nice quiet street in a bustling city suburb minding our own business and getting on with getting on.

Unfortunately not everyone shares this view - we know of at least one person that thinks our little house is letting the side down, or both sides if you believe what he had to say, so-to-speak. To imagine this next scene - and to get the most accurate portrayal I recommend you adopt a plummy British accent in your head whilst you read this out. What kind? You know the sort of accent that really gets your hackles up whenever you're within earshot. Give it a go, I promise it'll be worth it.....

It was a fine but cold winter's early evening and we were just putting the bins back into their resting place when our neighbour came bounding up to us with the enthusiasm of an over-excited Cocker Spaniel...

"Well hello there dear boy, how are things going?"

That in itself isn't a particularly worrying opening line, with perhaps the exception that he was only a smidge off greeting us with a 'pip-pip'. Sorry, I've digressed...

"One must say that your house is looking a little bit shabby these days, don't you think?"

"Err, we've never really thought about it really', we responded in a not-really-totally-truthful kind of way.

"I must say that it's really unfair. You must be paying an absolute fortune in rent and it doesn't seem right that your landlord is getting away scott free," he continued apparently unaware that we really weren't interested.

"Well, it's really not a problem...," we tried to interject and stop the conversation in its tracks but it was no use - our neighbour was in full flow and really didn't want to know.

"I mean, look at the place. It clearly needs some work and if not addressed soon it will start to damage the fabric of the building."

Must say I was touched, and a little surprised, that our neighbour should have our interested quite so close to his heart, as well as the well-being of the buildings in our quite street. Ah...I spoke too soon;

"It really is letting the whole street down and is a disgrace," he continued.

That's more like it. Concern for our financial well-being and the preservation of the property was the last thing on his mind. It suddenly became all too clear - it wasn't us he was concerned about but him others' impression of the street, and by association, their impression of him for living next to a house that needs nothing more than a good lick of paint. How very British. What would the neighbours think? At least now, having got this off his chest, he might shut up and let us get on with what was left of our day. Alas no.....

"I have written to your landlord twice so far to complain about it but so far I not heard a peep. How very rude!"

I was dumbstruck. How do you respond to that? Well in the only way my British upbringing would all. I smiled politely and made my excuses. It was only an hour or so later that I realised that my response should have been "How very rude? I'm not surprised they haven't replied you arrogant, self-obsessed tosser." How often is it that one just can't find the words in the heat of the moment and its only sometime later that a witty response reveals itself.....

Since the encountered, I have been forced to look at our home with a more critical eye..... and my opinion hasn't changed. Pristine paintwork, brass adornments and manicured hedges do not a home make. Not at all. Its who lives there, how they treat one another and their approach to life that matters. That said, I do wish that the bedroom windows didn't rattle so much in the wind but hey, that's what beer mats were invented for wasn't it?

 

Up In The Air

Before I go any further I openly admit that this blog is going to seem wholly pretentious and bourgeois. And, yes, I realise that by just typing the word 'bourgeois' I've already condemned this post to being just that. But what I have to say has to be said.....

Since arriving in New Zealand its fair to say that our carbon footprint from air travel has increased somewhat. Well it had to really - it was pretty low to start off with - our idea of an exotic weekend was to catch the train to Bruges and hang out in Belgian beer cafés. Not that there is anything wrong with that. It makes perfect sense, being so close to Europe and that, to jump on the 0630 from Darlington only to arrive several hours later in what must be the best drinking city in the world. Without having ever left the ground. 

You can't really do that here. It's not that New Zealand doesn't have trains - it does - but even if a weekend in Hamilton is your thing then you are probably going to have to find an alternate mode of transport. Yes there is a train to take you there but it only leaves on a Thursday and doesn't return until the following Tuesday. And that's assuming that you want to travel from Auckland. What's more, the 60 mile journey is going to take you the best part of two and a half hours. It is not the age of the train to say the least. Well not unless the age of the train was somewhere in the 1950s.

There is always the option of driving. There are many stunning spots within a few hours drive of Auckland that would be perfect for a weekend - providing that you don't want to travel on a Friday night. That is definitely a no-no. Setting off early on Saturday morning is the only option if you don't want to spend the whole of Friday night queuing to get out of the city. There is nothing worse than diving out of the office and onto SH1 only to realise that, after several hours of crawling along the motorway, you could've walked the distance in less time and got some exercise into the bargain. Yes, it has to be Saturday morning. And, assuming you chose to go away, you are well advised to return as early as possible on Sunday. Preferably before sunrise. It might not be that busy getting back into Auckland on Sunday afternoon but just in case....

So if you want a weekend away, well one that is going to get you somewhere far enough to actually enjoy being away, you are going to have take to the air. Regrettable but true. Once you have sold your environmental soul to the evil of air travel the possibilities are limitless. Well less limiting that a few hours in Hamilton anyway. And for anyone who has had the misfortune of spending anytime in Auckland's nearest city would realise, that is a price worth paying. Who needs a soul anyway?

Not that it I am heading anywhere more exotic at get moment - I'm on a flight to Christchurch to attend a training course - but the manner of my travel has given me pause of thought to take finger to keyboard. Which is where I came in....

If you are going to travel anywhere....and I mean anywhere... then get first option has to be Air New Zealand. They are, without any doubt, the best. Yes, so okay my current view might be rose-tinted by the fact that I'm on my second complimentary wine but that would be doing the cheese and crackers a dis-service. Not that I can be bought for a few alcoholics drinks and a light snack..... well okay I can but you get my point. "So what?," I hear you say, "it's not as if they are complimentary anyway, it's all included in the price of the ticket."

Sure...well did I mention the lolly? Ah-ha, I knew that would get your attention. After every Air New Zealand flight you get a complimentary lolly....sorry boiled sweet for those who haven't ventured this far south. Now surely that is worth the price of the ticket?

No? Well let me put it this way. Putting aside all of the complimentary niceties, which is quite hard because I've only got a small tray table to put them on, the simple fact is that Air New Zealand staff are wonderful and their airplanes are clean and comfortable. Their entertainment system may not be the most hi-tech in the world but would trade that for the sheer calm and comfort of an Air New Zealand flight any day of the week. Besides, who needs to see yet another episode of The Big Bang Theory anyway when you have quality safety videos such as this....

There is nothing more reassuring when, after taking several long haul flights with other carriers, to step onto an Air New Zealand flight for the final leg and sip on a glass of Sauvignon Blanc the tension of the journey ebbs away..... It's all good. Now where are my cheese and crackers?