The Seagull has landed...

Napier and Hawke's Bay

After thinking that North Island's scenery was a bit disappointing, V and I drove from Rotorua to Napier on the east coast yesterday, along the Thermal Explorer highway. The hills and valleys were nothing short of spectacular, and more than once we had to pull over and take in the view. As I keep saying, these pictures never do a place full justice.

Napier is nestled on the south shore of Hawke's Bay, facing the South Pacific. It has a weird black gravel beach, and swimming here is thoroughly unrecommended because of the deadly riptides offshore. Napier is most famous though for it's buildings. The architecture is Art Deco as a result of the 1931 Napier Earthquake. Basically the devastated town was built from scratch, and as Art Deco dominated the 1930's Napier was bequeathed this wonderful artistic style in it's town centre. It really is an attractive looking place, and with some of the highest rates of sunshine hours in NZ, it gets a lot of visitors all year round.

The shops in Napier are a bit odd though; many stores sell Gothic clothing and weird figurines of fairies and Native American Chiefs etc, it's all a bit strange. The Opossum Shop on Marine parade sells animal pelts and other weird bric-a-brac, one for the animal lovers I suppose. There's also no less than three 'Irish' pubs, places I usually avoid like the plague whenever I'm abroad - there's nothing worse than travelling thousands of miles from home to sit with pissed-up Irishmen in football shirts talking Irish politics - that's my usual take on these silly pubs. But Napier's 'Irish' pubs are really the only places to get a decent pint, it's not exactly jumping at night around here.

We went to Rosie O'Grady's last night and listened to two drunken Kiwis boast about how many people they'd knocked out (including some unfortunate Irishmen in Dublin, a Chinese in a bar in Singapore, and some Geordies in Newcastle, England). When one of them began bragging about "taking on" the "massively built" Garda (Irish Police) in Dublin, V and I had heard enough and went for a vindaloo at an Indian restaurant around the corner.

Today we took a trip to the New Zealand National Aquarium, around the corner from our hostel. This was more like it, lots of fish, a croc, sharks and even a Giant Squid Carcass. At $14 a head it's well worth it, I felt like a kid again in the underwater travelator. The Sea Turtle was the best thing there, followed by the two Seahorse tanks, boy are those things weird!

New Zealand is worlds away from Australia. It's a lot quieter and conservative. V and I both have mentioned how quiet things get at night here, even in Auckland. We expected a big night out last night, but by 9:30pm the bars and pubs were virtually empty. It's Friday today, so maybe things will pick up - but as I'm driving down to Wellington tomorrow I can't chuck down too many drinks, we'll see.

Rotorua

V and I drove to Rotorua on Tuesday 24th in our little hired Toyota Corolla. The drive through North Island from Auckland, through Hamilton and on to Rotorua is a bit like home. The damp, low clouds and the coolish air added to the feeling we were back in the UK. It was not as scenic as I would have thought, but this was our first day on the road. Auckland to Rotorua was no introduction though, as we're now in Napier on the east coast of North Island and the drive here from Rotorua was stunning. But that's jumping ahead somewhat.

We got to our hostel in Rotorua at 2:30pm and the stench of the sulphuric spas and the writhing white steam dotted around gave the place an eery feel; Rotorua is a popular spot, and from the 19th Century people have flocked to it's lake and hot thermal spas. The verdant hills and lakes that surround this picturesque little city are covered in white clouds of steam, it's quite a sight.

That night we headed straight out on a package bus tour to a nearby 'Maori Village'. On offer was a Hangi (food cooked in the ground - delicious), a Waka (Maori warrior canoe) and other bits and bobs including glow worms in the forest. It was a bit steep at $85 a head (we had a discount of $13 - a BBH card used in hostels throughout NZ). To be honest, these cattle-like side trips aren't my cup of tea, and when the 'Maori Warriors' came onstage (yes, a stage in a traditional Maori village, fancy that) some of them looked peculiarly un-Maori and European, the ink running off their Maori facial tattoos rounded off this tourist farce.

The people there were nice though, and it wasn't a total rip-off, the torchlight walk through the native forest, spotting 400-year old native trees, loads of glow-worms and the hot springs made up for the cabaret act beforehand.

V and I spent wednesday exploring Rotorua, the lake is beautiful, but the town was a bit dead as it was Anzac day and a public holiday. In the evening we visited the Polynesian Spa, another top tourist draw in the city centre. For $80 V got a soak in the hot springs and a good rub down in the massage parlour. I spent nearly two hours flitting from one bath to the other, each varying in temperature from 36 to 42 degrees celsius. It was pretty cool (or should that be hot?), but I looked like a red prune when I finally got out. My baths cost $35.

So that was Rotorua, a good place to start. More on Napier in the next post.

Red and Hot with the Chilis in Auckland

  Yes, as you can see, V and I had quite a night last night at the Vector Arena in Auckland. The Red Hot Chili Peppers played two gigs here over the 21st and 22nd April. We phoned the ticket hotline yesterday morning and were amazed to get two tickets for the gig straightaway.

The Chilis were awesome, with little Flea stealing the show as usual. It was a great night, but with a little disappointment for me when they didn't play 'Scar Tissue', 'Californication' and what was for many Kiwi fans there tantamount to scandalous: they never even played 'Under the Bridge' !!!! But still a great night.

Auckland is a nice ordered city - spacious, airy and pretty safe. It is bordering on the boring, but when you get to see the Chili Peppers on your second night there, you can forgive it for having lame bars and pretty dead shopping and sightseeing. I may be prematurely hard on this city though, we haven't been out to see the various harbours and surrounding areas, which are meant to be beautiful. We have plenty of time next month to get out and about in Auckland before we fly to Santiago in May, so I'll give it a proper report then.

V and I are staying just west of the city centre on Ponsonby Road, which has some cheap but excellent eateries - well worth checking out, and the shuttle bus only costs NZ$1.60 into town. Our guesthouse is quite young but run well by Carla from Norfolk and her Essex boyfriend Jim, who is a great laugh, keeps the punters entertained over a beer in the yard. Jim has another job over here but pops in for a beer and some banter, V thinks he's great, that's him seated in the green t-shirt below.

So, New Zealand - culture shock from Australia. Auckland is no Sydney, and this is as big as it gets here. Carla helped us book a little economy car for 24 days (too bloody cold for campervanning here) for NZ$20 a day, that's under nine quid a day folks (I think). We're off tomorrow (24th), heading to Hamilton and Rotorua first.  We'll be getting the car ferry from Wellington to the South Island early next month. After driving 4000km then 8000km in Oz, 24 days in NZ should be easy and relaxed, and if we can't get to see most of the country in that time then there's something wrong.

Leaving Oz via Broken Hill - Nimbin - Sydney

I'm actually writing this from an internet Cafe in Auckland, V and I were so busy enjoying the last leg of our big Aussie drive-around that we hadn't time to update the blog. So I'll put it all in a nutshell, and let the pictures do most of the talking.

Leaving South Australia and Spear Creek on the morning of Friday 6th I sneezed in the shower and hurt my lower back (don't ask - shit happens). Driving the 394km over into NSW and Broken Hill aggravated it, and by that night in the van I was reduced to pissing in a bottle as I couldn't even get up from the bed in the back. We were kept entertained by Alan, a biker with a $25 tent. Alan was up in BH from Melbourne to play golf and was a funny guy.

Next morning my back had spasmed even more and I could barely get into the driver's seat to take the campervan 200m over to a private cabin on the campsite, where I crawled on all fours through the door. That morning Alan brought over a bottle of wine for an "Aussie breakfast" and left for home. V and I spent the next two nights couped up in there with 3 TV channels to keep the boredom at bay.

On the 9th I felt good enough to drive on and we left Broken Hill and began our trip out of the outback, returning to the east coast. The long empty desert soon gave way to rolling hills and woods. The road signs for koalas became visible, although we were spotting more kangaroos in central and northern NSW than the outback. We stayed in Nyngan, then Armidale and finally spent three days back in Nimbin.

The decision to see Nimbin was based mostly on the fact that Grannie's Farm (Nimbin Backpackers) was the friendliest place in the whole of Australia we stayed in. Run by the gentleman Rod, and generally entertained by little Brian, it is easily the only place to stay in hippieville. We got a pitch beside the creek here and fed the ducks, tortoises and lizards in and around the water. There's a platypus that lives on the banks too, but he's shy and only occassionally pops out around dusk and dawn, we never saw it once. The weather now in NSW was damp and a bit miserable.

We bid a sad farewell to Nimbin and headed next to the young, hip and hedonistic Byron Bay - 70km away on the coast. Byron is the total opposite of Nimbin - brash, packaged, expensive and noisy. The saving card was the beautiful beach, but although one day here was enough for me, V loved the place - our site was pretty good as we walked only 50m through to the main beach. Reaching Byron took us over the 7000km mark for driving.

We spent the few days before flying on the 20th stopping at some wonderfully idiosyncratic little places along the Pacific Highway. Coff's Harbour (Sapphire Beach), Crescent Head and Nelson Bay. We left Nelson 0n the 18th, not before V and I went horse riding through the bush - it was ok, but I got bitten about 15 times with the rabid mozzies lurking in the cool shade.

We entered the big smoke again from the north and through the Sydney Harbour tunnel. The culture shock of the evening rush hour traffic was on both our minds as we realised we had come to the end of our epic journey - no more outback, no more beaches. The next day we dropped off the campervan at the Wicked depot off O'Riordan Street and I was sad to see our home for the last 25 days disappear into memory.

I finished the drive with another 7989km on the clock, it was a wonderful way to get out there and take on this immense country, although the physical toll of driving on average 300km a day resulted in my still sore back. We are already planning to get another one for NZ, or maybe a car.

Summarising Australia is hard. I only saw a smidgen of what I'd really liked to have seen, V is the same. My highlights, in no particular order were: Darwin, Broome, Nimbin, Alice Springs, Manly and the coast north of Sydney. V  loved Nimbin, Byron and the east coast the most. But it's the open road itself that has been the real highlight - every oddball roadhouse, good rough Aussie bar, the Aboriginals, the road trains and the spectacular rivers and desert. What makes Australia is the country itself, it's the best place I've ever visited, I absolutely love it there.

V and I have half-joked about moving to Australia permanently, now if only she could agree to get a remote farmhouse near Alice, instead of a beach house in Byron......

So, New Zealand - our fifth country. I'll get blogging asap, but I can say this: it has an unbelievably hard act to follow in the shape of it's big brother across the Tasman Sea.

Coober Pedy: Lord of the Flies

A few minutes drive south from Kulgera and you cross from the Northern Territory into South Australia, V's 4th and my 5th state visited on our travels. The scenery had changed from scrub bush straight into rough, barren desert - the harshest environment yet.

After a couple of hours we were passing through the famous opal mines with their huge white dunes and bleached machinery, this was Mad Max territory. Pulling into Coober Pedy, the oddball unofficial capital of this moonscape, we were set upon by hundreds of flies. It got so bad walking the dusty streets that V and I abandoned our planned foot recce of the Pedy. I can't explain enough how annoying the flies are around here, only a few aboriginal street people actually stayed outside for any length of time.

Coober Pedy is one strange looking place, many of the dwellings and hotels are partly underground, half buried into old mines that dot about even in the town centre. With the flies and scorching heat of the day, followed by the biting chill of the desert nights, I think it's the best way to stay here. We opted for an above ground site, then had to move a few metres when a colony of ants attacked our feet.

I was disappointed a bit by Coober Pedy, and after we went out for a nice Greek meal that evening we were glad to get an early night and be away early the next morning. Coober Pedy was 4464km down the road from where we started.

Thursday the 5th was an eventful day. The desert south of Coober Pedy became even more barren and flat, and the driving became even more tedious when our air-con stopped working. Then we stopped at Glendambo for fuel. I bought $35 of unleaded and two beef sandwiches. V and I were about 10km down the road when a car chased, then pulled us over very roughly and a fat lady got out like she meant business.

"You haven't paid for your fuel back at the servo," she threw at us. I looked at V and back, "What?"

"You haven't paid mate, $55." At first I thought she was loopy, but she was adamant.

"I only put 22 litres in, half a tank - $35, I've never put in more than 45 bucks at any time in the last month, I've paid for my fuel, it must have been someone else"

After this what could she do? The attendant never gave me a receipt, but I knew how much I put in. Off she sped, obviously not convinced because ten minutes after we drove off again a huge road train tried running us off the road until we pulled over. At this stage I was ready to let it rip, sending some gorilla in a beard and singlet wasn't going to stop me, fuck them. As it turned out the truck driver (in a singlet, shorts and long beard, would you believe?) was ok and was only going by what the fat woman had said. He radioed back our pump number, how much we took and even the contents of each of our beef sandwiches. He said we should be ok now and he only stopped us so the idiots back at the servo didn't call the Police in.

I was more than a little pissed off about the whole thing, but as we neared Port Augusta and the edge of the southern ocean, I let it go and realised sometimes shit happens. The ranges and hills were beautiful in the afternoon light and we arrived at Augusta tired and hungry.

Next drama was at McDonald's in Augusta. I parked up and as we walked in V saw some young teenage wasters laughing over at us. She didn't tell me until after, but I was too busy hungrily scanning the menu to notice. Next I knew was when the manager came out and started telling the wasters off about trashing his restaurant. The leader (there's always one gobshite that the others rely on to be tough for them) was peacocking about and giving it the big one, I kept out of the way until the lads went outside. The manager called the cops and the little wankers stopped the bravado when a squad car racked up at the door. The wasters then drove off in the leader's car, a big rich thing that he must have borrowed from daddypoos. It seems that people can't be left to work flipping burgers at minimum wages without some arseholes getting on their case, it's a worldwide thing.

The day ended on a high note (but the next morning I wasn't in great shape, more of which later) when V and I pulled up before dusk at Snake Creek resort, a small caravan site nestled in the foothills east of Port Augusta. We watched the sunset over the town and spent a lovely evening in a beautiful forested area, the air wasn't as chill as the outback and the flies had gone into managable groups.

That day we travelled a further 581km from Coober Pedy, 5043km in total.

Uluru and the Olgas

On a brilliantly clear morning on Monday 2nd April, V and I set off from Alice Springs heading south and west to Uluru (Ayers Rock) and the Olgas. Turning off the Stuart Highway and onto the one-way Lasseter Highway west to Yulara, the desert became more sparsely wooded, this was the real thing at last. All along this weary road cows wandered in some confusion and the roadkills even included one musty old camel left pole-axed in the dirt.

The monotony was broken with a great view of the flat headed Mount Conner, we got out for a look but were immediately besieged by flies, a foretaste of the annoying we would receive the whole way down to South Australia. We arrived at Yulara at 6:45pm, which was a bland tourist trap complete with 5-star "Outback Pioneer" hotels and other crap. Our campsite was crappy too and overpriced, but with the view we got of the night sky after dark we soon forgot our grumbles and sat gaping at a starscape people in light-polluted Europe can only dream of.

Just before our beautiful night view V and I took the van down to the very contrived "Sunset viewing car park" close to Ayers Rock itself. Lines of competing coaches and caravans, cars, campers, deckchairs, cameras and hordes of flies. The rock looked pretty awesome as the sun sank behind us and the full moon rose from behind Uluru itself.

Next day I was even more disappointed by actually going up to the rock itself. Parking in the car park adjacent to the foot of Uluru, we could already see people clambering up the steep side of the rock, some of them gripping the handrail provided for dear life, obviously unsuited for the steep climb but attempting the impossible regardless. The Lonely Planet guide asks punters not to climb Uluru, as it's a sensitive site for aboriginals, there's even a sign from the local aboriginal people asking that tourists respect their wishes and keep off. But oh no, try and stop Mr. Johhny Foreigner with a camera from climbing Ayers Rock and you've no chance. I've photographed the sign asking people to keep off, it couldn't be any clearer.

But alas, the steady lines of Japanese, American, and European fat-arses never ceased from climbing over the "No Entry" signs, even past the warning about $5000 fines for climbing when the climb was shut (as it was this day due to high winds on the summit). I read this sign and realised that the aboriginal people were basically begging people not to climb, it was only closed due to high winds this day and the aboriginal sign is a request, not an order, but still the bastards went up and down. Aren't people in general just dickheads? Why aren't Uluru National Park officials enforcing these $5000 fines?

V and I drove off after braving the flies for half an hour and walking along the permitted walk at the base of the rock, but we also felt a bit of shame for the other tourists being such cultural chauvinists. I can also understand a bit better that aboriginal rage you can see travelling through the centres of outback Australian towns, if this is how the Australian Government lets visitors treat one of the most sacred sites of the aboriginal people how else do they deal with them in other matters?

We went on and saw the Olgas, which are a beautiful sight in their own right, but batting away the flies was draining the sense of awe out of me pretty quick and off we went, past Yulara and back south towards the South Australia/Northern Territory border. V and I rescued a Swedish/French couple who had run out of fuel 30km short of the Stuart highway. We took the girl back to a roadhouse to fill a jerry can - they had been travelling with no fuel gauge yet had four empty jerrycans in the back of their van....? After we got back to the lad with the van he discovered his battery was flat too. With the aid of his jump leads and our battery we got them started again, but what a stupid disregard for travelling safely in the outback, they were lucky we stopped. The drive from Yulara to Kulgera was 450km long, overall since leaving Brisbane V and I had driven 4048km.

We stopped at Kulgera roadhouse, which has a cool little pub attached with some good-natured outback locals to keep us laughing, the company was a welcome change from the plastic Yulara.

Alice at last

We finally reached Alice Springs, nearly two months after I first tried to visit. Leaving Mount Isa in the middle of a downpour on the 29th March, the bush was already filling with surplus rain water, muddy channels were forming alarmingly quick each side of the road, and we had to slow down to see the way ahead. It was getting to the point that I was thinking of heading back to the Isa when it finally eased off from a total chuckdown.

The rain persisted right up to that afternoon when we finally crossed into the Northern Territory (my favourite state here in Oz). Turning south onto the Stuart Highway the sun came out in all it's outback glory and I felt excited about seeing the dead centre of Australia at long last. We reached Tennant Creek at 5:20pm, but the day's heat was ebbing fast and we got our first taste of the cold red centre nights in the caravan park here; the desert is hot as hell during the day, but the parched ground can't hold the heat and the nights cool rapidly, Alice itself regularly hovers around 0 degrees at night in the winter. The Isa to Tennant Creek was our longest hop of the trip: 673km on one day and 2601km overall.

On Friday the 30th March we set off early into a blazing clear blue sky. First stop was these amazing "Devil's Marbles", the views from the balancing rocks was something else, I half expected to see dinosaurs pop their heads around the rocks - so ancient looking was the place.

Soon we were speeding down the Stuart and trundled into Alice at 4:15pm. My first impressions were of a very scenic and green little town, nestled as it is among a few peaks from the MacDonnell Ranges. Our campsite was the smartest yet and we were soon on foot up the town to have a look around. As it was Friday night, the few pubs were full of loud and frisky larrikins, spending their weekly wages in one big splurge on the grog. They were loud but non-threatening and we just sat and watched the big eejits slap each other about and carry on.

Next pub was a gem - Bojangles on Todd St, they have a live DJ who also links up with local FM radio for live broadcasts, but the real deal was their live internet hook-up at www.boslivesaloon.com, here people can log on and watch people piss it up in the lounge and restaurant. Bo's (as the locals inevitably simplify every name) have a warning to patrons that you could be spotted on the net as you sup your beer, not good if you happen to be on a night out with a fancy bit who's not the wife or husband. But the biggest deal clincher which moves Bo's into the league of awesome pubs is it's live snake in a glass case and the peanut bin. 

The peanut bin is an open-topped barrel filled with shelled monkey nuts, punters just pick up a big handful, set them on a table, eat them then throw all the shells on the wooden floor, just like a real old western bar. Late at night the floor is almost ankle deep in peanut shells. In fact, V and I spent so much time of our three days in Alice in Bo's that the manager let us have staff prices behind the bar and poured us big glasses of his home-made port on the house. So here's a heartfelt recommendation - if you ever visit Alice make sure you pop in to Bojangles for a very friendly drink, the steak is pretty good too.

Wicked Campers ask drivers who pass through Alice to have a safety check carried out on their vehicles at Dicko's (his nickname, not the business name) on Smith St. Dicko looks like Bud Abbott with no teeth, but he and the wife and mechanic sons had us in stitches as they checked the camper for tyre pressures etc. Dicko was a bit off-colour with the racist jokes about aboriginals, but was basically a nice guy - he races road bikes and he and I had a long chat about Joey Dunlop and the Isle of Man TT and our own North West 200 races in Portrush. The van got the all-clear and we bade or farewells to Dicko and his mad missus.

V and I bought the obligatory didgeridoo in Alice and posted it home, I'll wind her up for weeks when we get back blowing it and trying to learn circular breathing. So, after three days of boozing and lazing in Alice, V and I were ready for the cultural bit further south and Ayers Rock.

I'm actually back in Nimbin writing this, so I've a lot to write up on - internet options in the bush are pretty awful, but I do have some fantastic photos to put up so please stay tuned.