Aussie Rules

I have written about Australia with such frequency recently that I'm seriously considering changing the title of this blog.  'Little Adventures in a Big Country' maybe. Too twee? Maybe. A bit corny? Definitely, but it's as good as it gets this late in the day.

It may come as a bit of a surprise to some readers of this little corner of the internet to discover that I am, once again, in Australia. For the second time in as many weeks, the reasons for which are too convoluted to explain here, I have touched down on Aussie soil for a few days of recuperation. Well it's important to have a bit of a rest after a big holiday isn't it? And, I have been back in work for two weeks. Okay, well only eight and a half days, but they were quite busy ones. I just hope the Australian authorities aren't on high alert and suspect me of immigration by stealth. They needn't worry because flying in every two weeks is an expensive business and not something that I can sustain over a long period. Sorry New Zealand, you haven't gotten rid of me just yet!

Anyway, we're back in Australia and have spent a fantastic few days relaxing in Melbourne in what is our second, and hopefully not last, visit.

Previously we were here to attend two concerts which whilst gave the impetus for us to visit, curtailed some of the activities that we could engage upon. Plus it was summer then and now, with the thermometer at the lower end of the range, we were ready for a totally different experience. 

The thing with visiting cities, especially when time is tight, is that it's all too easy to simply tick of the must-see sights, have a couple of drinks, pack your bags and then move on to the next destination. And that's just fine as you'll leave Melbourne thinking what a great place it is and promise to return should circumstances allow.

Which they did, and so we found ourselves once again in the capital of Victoria, or Vic for short. This time, rather than rely on the wisdom of the internet, we had some good friends to show us around. And what a difference that makes. If you are ever given the opportunity for some locals to guide you around your chosen destination I thoroughly recommend that you take them up on it. You won't regret it and you'll get to see parts of the place, in this case city, that other sources may otherwise overlook. 

Not only did we get to drink, eat and chat in some great pubs and bars, see our first real Australian Football League (AFL) game, more of which in a moment, we also visited coastal towns, hillside villages, cable-carred (if that isn't a verb then it should be) up to a stunning view point and fed local wildlife. All within the confines of a single city. 

So AFL. What's that all about? Well, after seeing Carlton take on the mighty Hawthorn I consider myself to be a bit of an expert. "What after only one gone?" I hear you ask. Well I'm a quick learner and I had good teachers. So in a nutshell, here is a true idiot's guide to AFL;

Firstly, imagine a game that is a cross between soccer, rugby, basketball and even wrestling and you might get somewhere close to the spectacle that is AFL. Add to that heady mix the fact that there are 18 player per side and at least six referees, not to mention numerous pink-clad runners and you've got one hell of a game. To the uninitiated chaos seems to be the order of the day but, as I learnt, there's more to it than meets the eye.

The aim of the game is to get the ball through one set of the four uprights at the opposing end if the pitch, which is incidentally oval and not rectangular. Not only does this mean that the game can be played on slightly modified cricket pitches, it also prevents the soccer spectacle of an entire team being camped in one of the corners, protecting the ball from the opposition whilst the clock counts down, only to spectacularly fail at the last second and watch, distraught, as the opposing team gains the bell and saunters down the pitch to score in an open goal. Just watch any game involving Middlesbrough FC and you'll see what I mean.

How the ball gets through the uprights is entirely up to you. Running with the ball, handling or kicking is all allowed with the only limitation that you can't hold the ball for more than 10 metres. Or as long as the referee permits according to some of those around us in the stadium. Points are awarded for getting the ball between the posts with a higher score for a clean kick through the centre set. If the ball is deemed to have hit the post, then less points are awarded as it's considered, presumably, to be less worthy. Which is a shame because some of the most entertaining, if not intentional, goals I have seen in soccer are those where the ball is kicked optimistically into the box, ricochets off a half-dozen players before hitting the goalkeeper on the side of the head and deflecting into the goal  off the post. Ah well, it's AFL's loss.

Still with me? Good. The game is played over four quarters of twenty minutes each, with the clock stopping whenever the play is interrupted. The interesting thing is that only the timekeeper, who is out of sight to everyone, knows exactly how long is left leading to the odd situation where the entire stadium don't know how long is left in the period and therefore can't slope off to the bar. Or toilet. This avoiding the "Shall I, shan't I shuffle" that plays out across the football grounds in Britain every Saturday at 3:45pm, give or take a few minutes for stoppages. Unless you are Manchester United and playing at home in which case it's until you score a goal. 

The other discerning feature is the sight of a referees, or umpire, turning their back to the game and throwing the ball tens of metres over their heads into play. It's a fascinating sight and quite an energetic feat, although it did occasionally look like an overly-competitive bride who was trying to throw a bouquet over the heads of all of the assembled guests and into the car park. 

And that's just about all you need to know. It's fast, free-flowing,  occasionally confusing and sometimes brutal.. Much like life itself but more good natured and with comfortable seats!

Creature comforts

After the humidity of Darwin, it came as blessed relief to step off the plane into a cool Auckland afternoon as a gentle northerly breeze soothed our skin and swept the red dust of the outback from our clothes....we some of the dust anyway. I swear I'll be finding the red pigment for years to come.

Where once if felt as if the whole environment was out to get us, we felt instantly calmed and, well, safe. That is not to say that we didn't have a great time in Australia, it was a fantastic experience and thoroughly recommended, but we never felt truly relaxed. Admittedly our cosseted UK upbringing has a lot to do with that -  you were more likely die of thirst from the once archaic pub opening hours than you were from exposure and  "a nasty nip" was to do with inclement weather and not part of the fauna.

So it is only now, with the guards down as it were, that I feel safe enough to entertain you with a story of our brush with Australian wildlife. Read on......

We had been in the Outback for nearly a week and considered ourselves to be seasoned bush travellers. Well providing someone else was doing the driving and there was an ample supply of hot towels obviously. To this point I'd seen a whole raft of animals, some more deadly the others, but none short of fascinating; crocodiles, both freshwater and salt, parrots, Rock wallabies, kangaroos, muddy munters (or something like that - it was a fish so I wasn't paying much notice), turtles, Reef sharks and several spiders. But despite all that, I still hadn't seen a snake and so, despite feeling slightly relieved, felt short changed.

It wouldn't have been a problem except I was warned to always walk at night with a torch, especially when visiting the toilet, for fear of accidentally standing on a wandering belly crawler. Although I hadn't been advised of the implications of standing on a snake, it didn't take much imagination to see that it would not end well. And I don't mean for the snake.

To rectify the situation, our guide was on high alert to seek out, with a fair margin of safety of course, a local snake for us to photograph, again from a safe-ish distance. In fact I wasn't really fussy, if a local reptile wasn't available then a travelling snake would do just fine. Maybe one on his holidays. Happy either way.

Despite this, we had been travelling for several hundred kms without so much of a sniff, or hiss, of a snake. I was told, I suspect to manage my expectations, that as this was technically winter the snakes were hibernating and therefore unlikely to be out and about. This wouldn't stand. Hadn't they seen the brochure? Now at this point, it's fair to say, that Sarah was less than thrilled at the thought of seeing a live snake. This was nothing new and I only have myself to blame and admit that I shouldn't made her watch that documentary 'Snakes on a Plane'. Ah well, you live and learn.

Anyway, we ...sorry I... was starting to lose hope. We'd been travelling down a dirt track for over an hour and whilst termite cathedrals were awe inspiring, they weren't snakes. Then, just as I'd resigned myself to the fact that we wouldn't see any elusive reptiles today, the bus sudden lurch to the side of the road, leaving a dust plume as it did, and our guide suddenly jumped out of the cabin.

"He says he thinks he's seen a snake hid for cover in the bushes over there," said Steve who was sat in the passenger seat. 

Sure enough, our guide was scrambling in a bush just out of full view of the rest of the passengers. This was it. At last a chance to photograph a wild snake. It didn't matter how big it was, although I really wanted it to be huge, this was the opportunity we were waiting for.

He approached the side door and sure enough, wriggling in his grip, was a red-bellied black snake, so called because it was black with a red belly. An accurate name I'm sure you'll agree. Thankfully he seemed to have a good grip with the tail of the snake in one hand and the 'neck' in the other, gripping just behind the head so it couldn't inflict a fatal bite...

Actually I've got no idea whether red-bellied black snakes are poisonous but in a country where sea shells can inflict paralysis it's a safe bet that they are.

He opened the side door, very carefully so as not to lose his grip on the deadly creature, and stepped into the bus.....

....and tripped, accidentally flinging the reptile onto Sarah's lap. 

Well, you can imagine the reaction. I've never seen Sarah move so fast. With a thoroughly understandable shriek, she jumped up and almost knocked herself out on the roof of the vehicle. I'm still sure that, had there been no impediment to her trajectory, that she would e given Jess Enis a run for her money. And the snake? Well it lay motionless on the floor. Odd. 

A grin broke out on the guide's face. Even odder. Surely he should've been a little more concerned about his passengers' health. It was only through a second look at the snake that the truth began to dawn. It was plastic. And not alive. And therefore not at all poisonous.

"You bastard!" 

There may have been a response but I didn't hear it for the laughter. Mine and the rest of the passengers'.

As japes go, it was pretty good. Damn fine even and really well executed. So good in fact, it overcame the fact that we hadn't seen a real snake, and still haven't as it turns out. 

And that's ok. There are plenty of opportunities to do so in zoos behind the safety of safety glass. Better for me, better for the snakes and certainly better for Sarah!

Perspiration, parrots and parkrun

I'll never complain about being too warm at a parkrun ever again. Honest!

We returned from our tropical tour last night and after enjoying a few beers and a meal we dragged ourselves out of bed for one last time. The difference being, however, that it wasn't a sunrise that was on offer but a 5km run, or parkrun to be precise. Some may argue that that the prospect of a run is even less of a reason to get out of bed in darkness, but we were in town on a Saturday and there was a parkrun so it had to be done. 

The only drawback is that due to the heat and humidity the run started at 07:00am, which by extrapolation required a 06:00am alarm call. To put it in context, this was a whole hour earlier than New Zealand parkruns and two hours earlier than those in the UK. After all of the early alarm calls on this trip, the early start should've been second nature but it was so tempting to just turn it off and turn over and go to sleep. I'd like to think that it was the lure of air conditioning and a comfortable bed that was the main reason but I suspect the beers from last night also played their part.

But no, we'd come this far and a late surge of steely determination pulled us out of bed and into running kit. After weeks of relaxation and relative inactivity it felt odd putting on running kit - and it felt it had a slightly snugger fit than the last time it was worn. How strange. Maybe it had shrunk in the wash?

The hotel apartment was lovely and cool but as we opened to door the heat hit us - it was if someone had wrapped us in a blanket. We hadn't even taken a dozen steps and we already sweating profusely. This was going to be tough!

It was only a short walk to the starting point - we would've normally jogged there to warm up but in this heat there was no need to warm up and the thought of losing even more fluid than was absolutely necessary kept us at a walking pace.

As we waited for the run to start, parrots were waking up noisily in the trees above.  Our local parkrun is next to Auckland Zoo so it's not unusual to hear elephants whilst waiting for starters orders, but it was quite something to be surrounded by parrots. You don't get that in Darlington! 

After the briefest of briefings, and a big shout out to the runner from Scotland, we were off. Although the first kilometre was slow it was fairly easy going, or so I thought. After a couple of tight turns, the pack started to thin out and I slowly increased my speed. That was a big mistake. As I hit the halfway mark, it was clear that the lack of running and suffocating humidity was taking its toll. 

I have been known to stop at water fountains during parkruns in New Zealand but usually only once and, more often than not, the reason is due to dehydration from the takeout food the night before and not from over-exertion. Today was different. I must've stopped at six or seven water fountains during the short run and it was the first parkrun where I have seen a dedicated water station.

Finally, after leaving a trail of drips from sweat, I was into the final 500m and started to run for home. Except I couldn't. With an increase in speed came more sweat and shorter breaths. How does anyone breathe in these conditions? It felt like tying to run with a scarf around my face. I've never wanted to stop so much but managed to keep going - the finishing line was in sight.

As I staggered over the line in a relatively slow 24 minutes something or other, I was relieved to have finished. 

"Are you ok there?" a local asked me, probably a bit concerned by my purple-faced appearance, before adding, "that was a strong finish!"

"Thank you, but that was tough. It's so humid!" I replied.

"Naaaa, you should try this in the wet season. It gets really uncomfortable then!"

The thought of trying this again in even more insufferable conditions was not tempting in the slightest and I was happy to have just finished. 

We dripped our way back to the hotel, spurred on by the thought of a cool shower, air conditioning and several litres of cold water, content that we had completed our first parkrun in Northern Australia and the closest one we have ran to the Equator, and probably ever will unless we decide to holiday in Singapore..... Now there's an idea.....

"My Sunrise is Better than Your Sunrise Sunshine"

This has certainly not been a holiday for rest - recuperation certainly but definitely not rest. And it's been all the better for it. 

Aside from trying to cram as much into our time in the Northern Territories, the other reason for our pre-dawn departures has been to view sunrises. Admittedly we are early risers anyway but it's been worth dragging our tired bodies out of the tent and getting dressed under the beam of the head torch. 

Today was no exception. After a short drive to the nearest road bridge we watched and listened as the jungle both came to life and went to sleep. As the light increased, so did the noise of the bird life, reaching a fever pitch as the red dawn gave way to proper sunlight. Pareots, bats, hawks and countless others looking for the first or last meal of the day. Flocks of birds, seemingly oblivious or uncaring about our presence, flew overhead, so close that you could almost feel the downdraft of their wings.

In animal terms, it was the equivalent of a shift change as the nocturnal animals give way to their daylight compatriots. All the while saltwater crocodiles patrolled the waterway hoping for an early snack. And under the surface, turtles and fish briefly surfaced to grab what insects have been foolish enough to get within reach.

It was a magical scene and the photograph below only captured part of it. 

It very nearly didn't happen. There was some division within our small tour group last night over whether it would be worthwhile getting out of bed before sunrise once again, and that maybe a lie in would be a better use of our time. On a roughly 50:50 split, it would take an excellent piece of negotiation skills and reasoning to break the deadlock...

"I promise you, it will be something special," said our tour leader before adding, "and only a fifteen minute drive from here."

It certainly sounded like a good proposition but the debate went on and one of the group piped up;

"I'm sorry but I've seen a sunrise over the Nile and I can't see it being better than that so I'm not going to get up early just for that"

Hhmmmm, it would appear that the argument wasn't gong to be resolved anytime soon. My initial thought was to wonder how spectacular a sunrise over the Nile must be - and what a special place to see one but I could see that others were less than impressed by the opinion stated as fact. The discussion, however, was getting nowhere. Eventually a truce was declared and a compromise was reached - those that wanted to see the sunrise could get up earlier whilst those that stayed behind would get their lie in providing they organised breakfast for the sun seekers return. Sorted and peace maintained.

"If I'm awake, I might go to see the sunrise, but I'll not be happy if it's not worth it" said the Nile man. 

"You might find you get a slap if you decide to do that," added another. 

As it turned out, just three of us got up early whilst the rest slumbered on. 

It was during the short drive to the viewing spot that something occurred to me - was the sunrise over the Nile truly special, better than all others across the planet, or was it given that status just because it was over the Nile?  Are all sunrises over the Nile automatically given the top spot by default? Would those who class the Nile as their home agree, or would they cherish more a sunrise over say the Swiss Alps or where we are now stood? Jim Jim Billabong seems to me to be a most agreeable place to witness the birth of another day.

Surely they're all different and special in their own way? Just because one is over a notable river and the other over a less celebrated billabong doesn't mean one is better then the other, it's just that as humans we attribute a more elevated celebration to one rather then the other. 

I have seen some fantastic sunrises on this trip but equally memorable ones from the mountains of the Lake District, over the skyline of cities and even the parks of Darlington and Auckland. Each and every one was worth seeing and more than compensated for the slight inconvenience to witness the spectacle.

Without getting too maudlin, we all have a finite number of sunrises in our lifetime so why not grab each one with both hands and celebrate the sheer joy of being alive. There is, after all, plenty of time to sleep when you're dead!