A Night of Two Halves

I’m struggling to remember the last time I voluntarily got up at 2am. I know I have done it because I recognised the feeling straight away; slightly fuzzy head, sore eyes and a general air of bewilderment. It must have been to catch a flight but not for a while and certainly not recently as most of flights from New Zealand leave at more civilised times. Well they might as well because wherever they’re going they’ve got a hell of a long way to go and therefore a lot of time to fill. 

Anyway, this time it wasn’t for a holiday that we set the alarm clock for 01:50am. We may have had bags under our eyes, but there were no bags packed and the only flight we were using was the flight of stairs to the living room (no that wasn’t a stretch of a metephor because our living room really is upstairs!). The World Cup was on and England were playing in their first quarter final in decades. We had a date with destiny....and of course the sofa and a cup of tea.

It’s quite easy to say now that it was all worth it, with England having dispatched Sweden by a comfortable two goals, but it didn’t feel that way as the pre-match analysis segued into the match coverage, streamed courtesy of the BBC. I can now confirm, with first hand experience, that sleep deprivation and in-game punditry don’t go hand in hand, especially as all you really want is soothing music to help you get back to the land of nod. Yet, a large proportion of Auckland slept on, we settled down, tried to clear our heads with a cup of tea and hoped that the football would be worth the effort.

At this point I’d like to go on record and say that had we been living in the UK and a similar situation had presented itself, I very much doubt that we would have risen from our slumber. Not because we appreciate the spectacle any less but because being 12,000km from home gives it a certain amount of focus. It’s almost as if a badge of honour is gained by tuning in at some ungodly hour. After all, when you’re living in a country that obsesses over another form of team game, it’s not a bad thing to remind others that the ‘proper’ World Cup is playing out in a part of the world that isn’t New Zealand and doesn’t involve the All Blacks. I challenge even the most ardent unsupporter of football to do anything less under those circumstances!

As a former colleague of mine was happy to note “hindsight’s and exact science” and I’m writing this from a comfortable position of knowing the game was won and England will be appearing in a World Cup semi final for the first time in 28 years. A time when most of the players hadn’t even been born. Now that’s a sobering thought. Not that any alcohol was drank last night. Well, it was but not since the first half of sleep had taken place. Being drunk in the morning is not a good look whoever you are!

So with the first half of sleep safely under my belt, and I must say it was a commanding performance, and the half time entertainment out of the way, I settled down for the second half. Obviously I was hoping to build on the solid first but as they quite often say (although I’ve never actually heard this) it’s a game of two halves. The second half didn’t start as well as the first. I was restless, slightly cold and didn’t have the same urgency that I greeted the start of the first half with. After ten minutes it was clear that I was going to have to change my tactics....

Time then for the hot water bottle. You can call me a pampered Prima Donna all you like, and there maybe some truth in that, but it did the trick. Now I was properly warmed up I was on a roll and soon drifted into sleep. With added stoppage time at the end of the second half I awoke refreshed and ready to face the challenges of the day. 

Overall, I was pretty happy with my performance over the course of two halves. Maybe I gained too much energy from the first half to have a really successful second? After all, who could keep that level of inactivity up for the whole period? Maybe my choice of halftime refreshments could also do with some analysis - perhaps two cups of tea was just too much? Well there would be time to take a look at that and maybe even another chance to put it into practice....the World Cup Final was just around the corner....and it could be a dream come true! 

A Quiet Revolution

It may not be obvious, but there is a quiet revolution going on in New Zealand. What? You haven’t heard? Well let me tell you this is a scientific fact. And by scientific I mean that I have done extensive research. Errr, okay, perhaps not extensive, but a fair amount. A reasonable amount...okay some. And when I say some, I mean that I have casually observed whilst passing on foot, on bike or as the passenger in a car. But that’s just as good and I can vouch for the data 100%. Don’t just take my word for it either, take a look at this if you need further convincing. 

https://i.stuff.co.nz/sport/football/84757441/on-the-ball-football-by-the-numbers--popularity-surges-among-youth-and-women

You see, from the grassroots upwards, New Zealand is slowly ditching rugby in favour of football. Or if you prefer Soccer. But only Americans call it that. So please don’t.

This many not be the earthshaking news that you were expecting but it’s something, and it’s real. Well as real as I can make out. In the short space of four years since we arrived on these shores, perhaps imperceptibly at first, local kids are swapping the incomprehensible for the comprehensible. Yes the Beautiful Game is coming to New Zealand so you’d better watch out! Or watch it at least! You won’t regret it. 

So why are kids and young adults turning their attention to football? It’s a good question. Maybe it’s because it’s much simpler and easier to play as a small group? All you need is a ball and a couple of jumpers for goal posts and you’re away. Or is it because it’s not quite as dangerous and less likely to result in an injury to the head or neck? Or maybe, just maybe, and I’ll say this quietly to avoid causing offence, it’s just a better game? Whatever the reason it’s great to see it taking off and who knows, maybe in ten years New Zealand will be competing regularly on the global stage against the best in the world. Wouldn’t that be something?

It’s fair to say, however, that it’s got a long way to go. For those who are tuned in to world events, you will know that there’s currently a tournament playing across in Russia. Maybe it’s big news where you are? It’s not here. Unless you went looking for it, you wouldn’t have a Scooby. Even bars, usually the first refuge for a football fan, steadfastly refuse to show any of the action. Admittedly, the time difference doesn’t help, with games mostly happening during the night, but what about highlights? For now, the FIFA World Cup in New Zealand is only for the diehards and foolhardy who eschew a decent night’s sleep for some sorely missed football action.

For those that tuned in last night would’ve witnessed another kind of quiet revolution. The sight of an England football team playing as a team and not a collection of over privileged individuals. Under Gareth Southgate’s watchful eye, the England football team are composed, organised and determined. They may not have played the best teams yet, so I’m fully aware that these words may come back to haunt me, but they look world class. World-beaters even, and with the big names all misfiring at the moment, who knows. Maybe “You won’t win anything with kids” but let’s just see.

It’s fair to say that I haven’t wholeheartedly supported an England side since 1990 after which fame and fortune seemed to take the shine off those who appeared in the famous white strip. It just seemed....well a little bit seedy and as if the players were doing us a favour by turning up when they could’ve been lazing about on their yacht. And maybe that’s still the case. But it doesn’t appear to be the way.

Wouldn’t it be great if both New Zealand and the England side under Gareth Southgate prove that there is still joy in football beyond celebrity status, and that skill counts for more than tabloid column inches. The signs are encouraging.

Run/Commute

Well it had to end at some point and, if I’m been honest, it was too good to last. You see for the last eleven years I have been able to walk to work. And not just that, it’s never been more than a twenty minute stroll door-to-door. I must admit that I have, on occasion, taken the simplicity of my commute for granted. There were days, for example, when I just couldn’t be bothered and found any excuse to jump in the car. It didn’t even have to be a great excuse. Rain forecast? Well better take the car just in case. Or I may get a parcel delivery so I’ll need to take the car to bring it back if I do. Feeling a bit off colour. Better save my energy and take the car. Totally shocking and absolutely without honour! Thankfully though, those instances were few and far between. For the most time, I’ve enjoyed over ten years of blisssful pedestrian based commuting.

Even when we made the switch to New Zealand, we made sure that our home was within walking distance of the office. Yes it was mostly uphill, but a twenty minute walk is much preferable to having to get in a car. Even when it is raining. The closeness to work did however shrink to ridiculous levels when I changed jobs at year or so ago with my twenty minute commute getting reduced to just seven. Yes seven! It was so close that I timed it to the nearest minute. Or if you prefer, 600m. It was in fact, so close that I was seriously worried that I’d turn up one day accidentally wearing my slippers and pyjamas!

I knew, however, that it was only temporary as it was a project office and not my main HQ. Even so, when we were finaly told a a few weeks ago that we were moving out it came as a bit of a wrench. If you ever caught me off guard, I might admit that it was a little too close but I was now suddenly faced with a much longer commute. Relatively speaking anyway. You see now, rather than sauntering down the hill to the office ,I’d have to find a way to get my butt 4km across town. Not a huge distance, almost too short to drive, but a much different proposition. But I had options.

The lack of parking at the new office meant that taking the car was out. Not that I would’ve particularly enjoyed that option anyway. Eleven years without relying on a vehicle is a hard habit to break. Walking was a possibility, but even at a reasonable pace it was still going to take an hour to complete each way. How about public transport? Well there was a bus service that would work but it was renowned for being totally unpredictable in the evening rush hour and, given the torturous route that it takes, only marginaly quicker than walking.

I did briefly consider cycling to the office then I remembered that Aucklanders are lunatics when you put them behind the wheel and I was likely to end up in hospital if I dared mix it with the incompetence of car bourne commuters. Six weeks in traction wasn’t enticing me so there was only one thing for it. Running! It had the advantage of being quicker than both walking and public transport whilst being totally free, save for extra wear and tear on my running shoes, was relatively safe.

I won’t bore you with the logistics, but making the change to running to the office has had its challenges and it’s fair to say that I’ve learned some valuable lessons along the way. So in case you ever find yourself in a similar predicament here’s my handy cut-out-and-keep guide to the weird world of run commuting......

Flat Out

Route selection is a critical part to regular run commuting. If you are blessed with a multitude of options chose carefully. It might sound like a good idea to take the shortest route, but if this is chock full of hills or is likely to be busy with pedestrians, then it's best to find another way. My direct route is just like that. A full 1km shorter but littered with signalised junctions, pedestrians and two decent sized hills. 

The alternative, on the other hand, is longer, reasonably flat but more importantly offers an uninterrupted run. 

If you do fancy a challenge on your commute, save it for the journey home when you can have a proper shower and don't have to worry about passing out from exhaustion in front of your colleagues.

If you insist on going the hilly way, enjoy the view at the top!

Space is Your Enemy
There’s definitely a trade-off between getting a backpack big enough for all your gear and having too much space. Why is too much space a problem I hear you ask? Well it is. Trust me - I’ve learned the hard way. The more space you have, the more crap you’re going to take with you each day. It might avoid the meticulous planning that goes into making sure you have everything you need whilst saving on weight, but it’s not fun trying to run with a pack that weighs 7kg. You might think it makes you look hard but two kilometres into your run you’r going too wish you hadn’t brought both pairs of shoes and all of those reference books.

Equally, think carefully about how you pack and try and minimise any potential gaps in your load. A bag with Tupperware boxes bounding around is not only audibly annoying but makes it difficult to run. Whilst we’re on them subject of Tupperware, if you’re one of those frugal types who likes to take their own lunch to work, select a lunch that isn’t going to get too damaged. Salad may be healthy, but mashed soup-like salad for lunch is disgusting. I know this from experience - four kilometres of running is not good for lettuce leaves, not matter how carefully it was prepared. If salad is your thing, as it is mine, then leave off the dressing - put it in a separate pot - and pack any spare space in the Tupperware with kitchen roll. It’s not perfect but it does minimise the liquidiser effect.

Roll With It

One of the big issues is how to get your work clothes to your destination without looking like they've been scrunched up in a bag. Which of course they have. I've tried several ways of packing but by far the most crease resistant is to roll it up. Lie the clothes on your bed, whilst mentally dressing yourself when you get to work to make sure everything is there, and then roll it all up together. Simple but effective. And don't forget to put it all in a dry bag or plastic bag! Your bag might not get wet on the journey but an accident with your accompanying lunch might put a crimp on your day.

Routine is Good
If you are to avoid carrying your entire wardrobe and showering products with you to work every day, a bit of planning is needed. Wait, scratch that. A lot of planning. Get it wrong and you’ll be faced with spending the whole day without any undies. Going commando might seem like a rebellious idea but it''s not worth the chafing.

So on Monday morning I take a look at my diary for the week and work out when I’ll be able to run to the office and when I’ll be finishing up elsewhere. Day one, I carry a fresh towel and some spare running clothes. No need to carry a towel every day and the spare clothes are in case it rains on my sprint to the office. Nothing more unpleasant than putting on wet clothes for the return journey. Well there is but I won’t go into that here. That’s for the pub.

I’ve also stocked up on some toiletries. My bottom drawer looks more like a shelf in Boots than a work receptacle. Gone are the notes, reference books and technical guides and in their place are deodorant, shower gel, moisturiser and other paraphernalia.

But no amount of planning can legislate for unplanned meetings. The pesky things. Just when you think you have your day mapped out, it’s a real pain to get dragged across town to a meeting. Especially if its towards the end of the day and close to home. No point in going back to the office to get changed only to then run back again. At least not to me anyways. If this happens, you will find yourself in the unfortunate position with everything being out of sync; once used running clothes in work, work shoes at home etc. Bloody nightmare. Getting everything back in order takes some doing and, yes despite my advice above, carrying duplicate clothing back to the office to reset the system.

Not-So-Personal Hygiene
So you've finally got to work. Well done, you're now officially a commuting runner and the only thing left to master is a clean down procedure. Take it from me, when it comes to running to the office, there is no such thing as personal hygiene. Everyone knows you whiff! And to make it worse, you know that everyone knows that you whiff! From the moment you step into the lift to the moment you get cleaned you will see people turning their noses up at you.

Which cleaning process you adopt is a matter of personal taste. I did try once to forego the shower and instead opted to use copious amounts of wet-wipes. I thought it would save having to have a second set of toiletries and save on time. I was wrong. Whilst is may have got off the worst of the crud, I felt sticky all day. Added to that was a certain lemony aroma and it made for a rather uncomfortable day. It may be the only option if there are no showering facilities in your building but avoid the use of pre-moistened wipettes if at all possible.

One of the most common (and perhaps pointless) questions I’ve been asked as I arrived at my desk dripping with sweat is “Have you just ran to work?” What did they think I’d been doing? How many co-workers did they know who sweated that profusely just by walking? Besides, didn’t the shorts, t-shirt and running shoes give it away?

But they had a point. The sight of a dripping wet colleague isn’t a great thing to have to look at first thing in a morning so it’s important to stop the leaking as soon as possible. Firstly, it’s critical to have a hand towel on hand to mop up the excess water. A damp patch around your desk is not a good look. Secondly, invest in a small fan. The type that plug into a USB socket on the computer are ideal. Or in my case just commandeer a colleagues. They weren’t using it anyway! Besides, they’re hardly going to complain if it stops you from dripping everywhere.....

Once sufficiently cooled, and whilst doing so it's a good opportunity to go through the inevitable email pile whilst munching on some cereal, it's time to take a shower. You might think this is a bit of a palaver, and is it really worth all of the hassle. Well after a bit of practice I've got a pretty good routine when it comes to taking a shower. Or to put it another way, if it was an Olympic event I be in with a medal chance. From leaving my desk to returning, I got the whole routine down to under six minutes. It does help that the nearest shower is only a few hundred strides away, but I don't hang about. Providing you have cooled sufficiently, you should emerge fresh as a daisy and ready to take on whatever the day throws at you, with the added whizz of endorphins.

Hanging Out

The only challenge left is what to do with your recently discarded running clothes. Even if you are not planning on running home, don't be tempted to stick it all in your back and forget about it. Believe me, sweaty clothing left wrapped in plastic for a whole day gives off an ungodly smell when you unwrap the parcel at the other end! It truly hums and is almost impossible to eradicate by washing. It's of utmost importance to hang out your running clothes to dry even if it does risk turning the workspace into a temporary laundry. If you have your own office then you have nothing to worry about. If, on the other hand, you share your workspace with others you might have to get more creative. Sure you could hang it all on the backs of chairs but it would be a pretty easy going colleague who didn't mind sweaty clothes on display.

My system is a little more discrete. Well I think so anyway. The space under my desk is turned into a makeshift clothes line. Out of sight, if not quite out of smell.

What else is the space under your desk for?

So there you have it. Not only have I managed to find a way to reduce the cost and time of my commute, but I've also integrated it into a reasonable fitness routing. No need to do extra when you get home because you've already done it. And travelled to work. A win-win situation.

So what are you waiting for? Even if you are not quite close enough, there might be public transport options that do part of the journey for you. Or how about driving part of the way and running the last few kilometres. It beats sitting in traffic in the city.

And if you do take the plunge, don't forget to enjoy it! Look around and you'll be surprised what you've been missing whilst sitting behind the wheel!

Admittedly, not all runs are equal. This takes some beating.

Anzac Day

It's 5:15am and the clock alarm has just gone off. Whilst this may not be that surprising for a working day, this is not one of them. Today, as is the case across the rest of New Zealand and Australia, is a national holiday. As I slowly get out of bed and wander into the kitchen, still shrouded in darkness, I do wonder why I have risen so early. Surely I'd have been better off having laid in bed longer, after all I get up early enough every day?

And I have done just that on previous occasions, dozing in bed, half-awake, listening to the sounds emanating from the Auckland Domain just a kilometre or so away. You see today, as the title of this post suggests, is Anzac Day. A day of remembrance for those who served and died in wars, conflicts and peacekeeping operations, and a day on which across the country, dawn services are held to commemorate the occasion.

So today, rather than luxuriating in bed, we've got up, quietly got dressed (or at least as quietly as one can in a house with no carpets and little in the way of acoustic suppression) drank our tea/coffee and set off through the dark streets up the hill towards the Auckland Domain.

Even now, as we walk through the eerily quiet streets of Parnell, I am wondering whether this is something that I should be doing. Isn't this a day for Kiwis? What can I, as a British Citizen and a self confessed pacifist, add to the occasion? Is this really meant for me? I'd hate to impose. I decide, rather lazily, that as I'm out of bed and dressed, there's only one way to find out.

Slowly, as the streets give way to bushes and trees, we are joined by others and by the time we reach the top of the hill, and the illuminated Auckland Museum comes into view, it's clear that we are not alone. Not by a longshot. The museum and the sacred ground in front of it, is surrounded by a crowd of people, hundreds if not thousands, who have come to join the service. It is quite a sight and surrounded by darkness, the museum looks spectacular bathed in red light, as does the Skytower on the horizon.

But I'm still unsure as to whether I should be here......

I didn't have to wait long to find out.

Within moments of the service starting my thoughts turn to those in our family who sacrificed everything in the Great War and, as the Auckland Mayor Phil Goff so eloquently stated, fought for peace that they never got to experience themselves. It was then, just as a single tear rolled down my cheek, that I knew that I belonged at the service. Whilst those gathered spoke about New Zealander's and Australians that sacrificed their safety for the service of their country, I thought about others around the globe that, even as we stood there, were engaged in conflict on some foreign field, town city or sea.

And with that, came a feeling of frustration at the futility of it all. What's the point in fighting for peace only to find it given up so cheaply and with little thought of the lessons that history has taught us? I'm sure that if our ancestors could do so, they would turn up and clip us around the head for being so careless. And we would deserve it....and then some. Even from the relative safety of New Zealand, the world seems a much more unstable place and...... I'll stop there, I'm getting angry and this is not the time nor the place.

By the time the Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern laid a wreath and the Last Post sounded across the field, my single tear had been joined by others and I'm thankful that I'm hidden by the cover of the darkness. But light isn't far away now, the sun is starting to rise over the Hauraki Gulf, silhouetting Rangitoto as it does and bringing the Tuis in the trees to song. As the last of the stars fade into the daylight, it's clear that it's going to be a lovely day and a smile breaks out across my face.

I had made the right choice, whats a few less hours out of bed. Besides, I can have a lie-in tomorrow. How does 6am sound? Perfect!

Out of Time

I think I might have to admit that I was wrong. I know, shocking. Having now been given a fresh perspective, and fresh being the key word here, perhaps The Gold Coast does has its charms after all.

We arrived back into Auckland in the early hours of yesterday morning, never a good time to arrive anywhere it has to be said, with the temperature barely above ten degrees. Or to give it its correct meteorological term, Bloody Freezing. How can that be? In a short space of time, a relatively quick three hour flight, we went from the balmy evening weather of The Gold Coast to a city where autumn was in full swing. Our attire of shorts, t-shirts and sandals seemed incongruous with our surroundings. Still it was the middle of the night so the cool weather was to be expected I suppose, and there wasn’t anyone around to wonder why we so poorly dressed. Tomorrow would be better.....

We learned, from a knowledgeble taxi driver on the way from the airport, that Auckland had recently been hit by an unexpected storm. Lashed with heavy rain and winds in excess of 100kph the city had taken a real battering. Trees were down, windows smashed, traffic lights at intersections off causing misery for weary commuters and over 150,000 homes were without power - a far cry from the late summer weather that we had left behind just shy of two weeks ago. 

Although the storm had now officially passed through the next day wasn’t much better, our moods no doubt further dampened by being back in work and ever so slightly jetted-lagged. Whilst the day was reasonably without incident, leaving the office was a real shock. Who turned out the lights? Ahh, of course, daylight savings. Whilst we had been happily travelling around Australia, New Zealand had taken the time-honoured step of taking an hour off the clocks and in doing so, plunged the city into near darkness for the commute home. At least the farmers in Scotland will be happy.

Throughout my journey home, people scurried from bus shelter to shops, their coats wrapped tightly against the still present wind and bouts of rain. Shop frontages reflected hazily in puddles of water on the pavement, enticing commuters into their premises to buy that last minute bargain. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was mid-April, one could be easily tricked into thinking we were on the approach to Christmas!

It has to be noted, however, that this weather is unseasonably cold due to a southerly wind bringing cold air up from the Antarctic but knowing that didn’t make it any warmer. Equally, whilst temperatures in Auckland struggled to stay above 15 degrees yesterday, there were part of the South Island that were enjoying their first bout of snow. Again, knowing that didn’t make it any warmer for us Aucklanders. 

Stepping off the plane yesterday really does feel like we stepped into another world. The modern-day equivalent of stepping through a wardrobe into Narnia. Thankfully it isn’t expected to last and in a few days the fast moving system will have cleared and temperatures will be returned to their seasonal levels, daily highs of 20 degrees with evening lows around 15, so it’s not quite time to put away the shorts just yet.  Frankly it couldn’t come soon enough. In the meantime, I’ve got photographs from The Gold Coast to keep me warm....well those and a fleece jumper and woolly socks!

The Gold Coast

If I was ever wondering what a Sim City city would feel like in real life then I couldn’t have come to a better place than the Gold Coast in Australia. Although that is not why we came to the Southern East of Queensland - we came here to watch some of the Commonwealth Games - it was certainly a fantastic opportunity to see how a purposely built city would look and feel. Kind of like Milton Keynes but with sunshine.

Firstly, everything is spookily modern and easily accessible. The newly constructed tram whizzes up and down the coast whilst buses fill in the gaps that the tram doesn’t serve. Cycleways line the boulevards and offer an ideal way to get around the short distances from amenities. Tall high rise buildings line the coast like modern sculptures, as if in worship to the seemingly ever present sun. Looking out towards the city and the many towering residential appartments, it’s hard to believe that this area was once favoured as a secluded holiday destination and has only recently boomed, well since 1875 anyway. With bars, restaurants, casinos, amusement parks and other resort paraphernalia its hard to imagine a more less-tranquil place. If you catch my drift.

Thankfully, and through good luck rather than good management, we chose the more secluded part of the city in which to base ourselves for the few days that we were here. Perched high up on the 14th Floor of a resort complex it offered an almost bird’s-eye view of the city and the hustle and bustle below. Add to that a (partial) view of the sea it was the perfect spot to retreat from the noise. And to see how the city-planners had mapped out the city. 

If this all sounds rather negative, it’s not meant to be. It’s just that as Europeans, being brought up on history and culture, The Gold Coast couldn’t seem further from home. It would be a great place to spend a week with kids if the sea and sunshine were you’re thing. Equally, one could imagine retiring here for the perfect climate and convenience of amenities. And, despite this not being our kind of place, as a work colleague warned beforehand, we have a great time. Our days soon settled into a pattern; early morning strolls along the beach as waves crashed onto the shore or leisurely runs along the coast, a dip in the pool to cool off, followed by breakfast from our crow’s nest of an apartment. An early lunch at the local beachfront cafe followed by a snooze before finally getting ready and heading off to the Commonwealth Games. With that kind of itinerary, one could easily see why living here would be ideal. Just don’t expect to have easy access to any culture or history. And if that comes across as though I’m a pompous-Pom then I apologise, but would like to add that just as the sun, sand and sea are part of some people’s upbringing, then culture and history are part of mine. That doesn’t make it right or superior just different.

As for the games? Well as far as the home nations go, and I’m looking at you England particularly, it hasn’t been good. It’s not that we’ve let our Australian cousins take the majority of the medals, although that does sting a lot, we just didn’t seem to turn up. There were some outstanding performances but few and far between. This was only ever a side holiday for us, a quick getaway if you like, but for others getting to the games from the northern hemisphere comes at a great cost, financially and in time. And to not turn up is not good enough frankly. But that’s the age of media-driven sport I suppose. The pride of representing your country doesn’t have the attraction it once did when Olympic sponsorship is dangled as a carrot. 

Back in the really world, as I look down on the perfect Sim-City-made-real city, I start to wonder. Surely the tram would’ve been better laid along the coast rather than a few blocks inland? Maybe the cinema would’ve been better on the main land rather than on a linked island? How about a ferry service or a bridge across that harbour? Hhmmm. Give me a mouse and I’ll soon have it sorted. Sure there might be some disgruntled residents whilst I make the adjustments but they’ll get over it. Well they do in the game and I’m sure that this would be no different!

Way Out West

If Michelle Shocked had happened upon Western Australia prior to penning her popular ode to Alaska, she may very well have written about letters being returned to Kalbarri rather than the titular Anchorage. Western Australia, just as it is with its US counterpart, is the largest state in the union. Or more accurately, the largest Ferderated State in the Commonwealth of Australia. And at a smidge over 2.5 million square kilometres it not surprising that it’s by far the largest, covering nearly a third of the continent’s land mass. But that’s ok, with a population of a little over 2.3m there’s a lot of it to go around.

Of all of the interesting facts about this place, the sparcity became very apparent when we set off from Perth and headed up to our holiday destination in Kalbarri. It wasn’t the lack of other vehicles that really hammered this home, or the fact that there were very few signs of human habitation during the 500km trip. Instead it was the roadside signs warning drivers about the lack of water and offering advice on how much one should be carrying in order to travel through the state safely. Now you don’t get that in North Yorkshire. And why would you? North Yorkshire, the largest county in England, has an area of a little over 8,600 square kilometres and has a population of 1.2m. If one could pick up North Yorkshire, and I’m sure there are plenty around that wish it were possible, and drop it into Western Australia one could do that 292 times and still have room left over for Lancashire.

So with less than the specified amount of water on board, but plenty of beer and wine, we set off north towards Kalbarri. Making a few stops on the way for sightseeing and that great British tradition of second breakfast, meant that we couldn’t make the entire drive in a single day. Well, not if we wanted to only drive in daylight hours anyway. Yes, I realise that the car did have headlights but judging by the dead kangaroos on the roadside, travelling at night is not for the faint hearted. Well not if you happen to be driving the equivalent of a motorised skateboard. The car we chose for our journey may have been fine in downtown Perth, but looked decidedly weenie compared to the rest of the vehicles on the road. These looked they had just stepped out of a Mad Max film; covered in red dust, piled high with outdoor equipment and with huge radio antennae that look like they could make contact with outer space. Which is probably just as well because if they had been anywhere other than the coastal highway then survival comes at a heavy cost. Literally. So alongside these, and the huge road-trains that service the minining industry in this part of the world, our Hyundai i30 looked puny and we were pretty sure that if we came into accidental contact with a ‘roo then we would come off decidedly worse. So a night-time stopover it was. 

Tired, sweaty and a little dusty, we pulled off the main road into Cervantes. “Cervantes,” the guidebook boasted, “is a delightful coastal town with stunning beaches and grand vistas.” Well it was on the coast. And it did have fabulous beaches. But that is as far as our agreement with the guidebook went. More accurately, and I am being charitable here, the guidebook should’ve read “Cervantes is a windy hole of a town with sandy beaches that spend the entire time trying to enter any open orifice. The views are spectacular, or at least they would be if you could see them through the sandstorm.” Maybe we arrived at a bad time. Or maybe we were just tired and needed some comfort. Either way, Cervantes didn’t help. After an astonishingly good meal in the local tavern, we returned to bed and were back on the road again at first light. 

Pretty soon there was a decent amount of distance between us and Cervantes and with the open road in front of us, we covered the distance with remarkable ease. Having absolutely no traffic on the road, and not a single set of traffic lights, junctions or for that matter bends between us and our destination we arrived into Kalbarri in next-to-no-time. Well, okay nearly five hours but with a place this big that’s the equivalent of “just popping to the shops”.

Kalbarri is an entirely different proposition to Cervantes. Admittedly they do share one attribute; they are on the coast. But that is the only similarity. Where Cervantes appeared god-forsaken, Kalbarri is a thriving beach community with shops, restaurants, a tourist information centre, playgrounds and other community paraphernalia. With so much going on, it’s easy to forget that you’re hours from anywhere; surrounded by the Indian Ocean on one side and a semi-arid dessert on the other. How the Indian restaurant managed to serve up such fresh and delicious meals is one of the wonders of the modern world. 

Our one and regrettably only full day in Kalbarri has been jam packed. It started by watching pelicans being fed on the local reserve, segued into a wilderness walk to a local look-out (view point) closely followed by a dip in the pool, a short nap, snorkelling in the aforementioned Indian Ocean and we’re soon to set off to witness another spectacular sunset. Something that 90% of Australia doesn’t get to see. Just today we’ve seen pelicans, kangaroos (living ones!), a huge nameless lizard that wandered across our path, parakeets, and coral fish. 

It’s been so good, that we wish we could wake tomorrow morning and do it all again. Instead, we’re taking the short drive back to Perth, only this time with plenty of water. There’ll be plenty of stops on the way and who knows, there may be even time for a second breakfast somewhere down the trail. But not in Cervantes that’s for sure!