As with visiting any iconic city, I felt there were things that had to be done. A jet boat trip around the harbour, compete with hair-raising 360degree spins, seemed like an ideal starting point. Over the next three days I fitted in a walk/climb up the Harbour Bridge - a wonderful experience and, even for someone not afraid of heights, breathtaking views - and an evening of Handel's Water Music at the Opera House. Having spent so long in 'developing world' towns and cities, the clinical-like hygiene of Sydney was a welcome change.
After a brief sojourn, it was time to hit the road again. This time in a campervan and with the intention of driving to the centre of the continent. Making my way out to the rental company was easy and I took charge of a Toyota Hiace high top van, with all mod-cons - well, a fold down bed and a gas cooker at least. I felt that I would be quite inconspicuous, the van being liveried in a subtle postbox red, with the word 'Mighty' emblazoned on the side.
Before we could truly start our odyssey, we needed to make a couple of important purchase. Namely, food, alcohol and a sat nav. Australia is a big country and, once you leave the city there are as many as two or three different roads one could take! Not for the faint hearted! However, provisions complete, it wasn't long before we were heading due west and out of Sydney.
Before I'd even got this far, I'd met a few Aussies on my travels and, when I told them of my travel plans - driving from Sydney to Uluru to Cairns - had been met with a range of responses:-
'You mad f**kwit' being one!
'Good on 'yer' being another
I had, in equal measures, been told that it was nothing but boring red desert for miles and miles and that it was an amazing experience and that I'd have the adventure of a lifetime - just watch out for the road-kill target practice.
Leaving the relative safety of Sydney, we drove west into the Blue Mountains. Having been told of a spectacular rock formation called the Three Sisters, that was to be our first port of call and overnight stay.
Arriving at the campsite after dark, I did think to myself how handy a campervan was, compared to a tent. It was too late to do a decent hike around the park, but, we were told, there was a path to a nearby view point and that the Sisters were lit up by flood lights. Once parked up, it was just a few minutes walk to a viewing platform, from where there was a magnificent view of the rocky towers. However, I then had a blow as, within a matter of minutes, the whole area was shrouded in a heavy mist that obscured all but the 10' or so In front of me. Even so, it felt like an amazing first experience in the Australian wild and I was pleased that I came.
From here, things just got better. Within a few miles of the western edge of the Blue Mountains, we hit the edges of the infamous 'outback'. Whatever anyone tells you about the Australian outback, you will never know it until you experience it. Australia is vast, on a scale that I had not really comprehended. Vicky and I have driven across Arizona, Nevada and California, we have travelled through Peru, Kenya, Uganda and Rwanda. All of which have immense tracts of uninhibited land. But, this didn't prepare me for the three weeks ahead. Even the Siberian steppes paled into insignificance against the never ending landscape of red dust and bush that I was to encounter.
Unfortunately, for you as the reader, should I try to describe the following days and weeks, this blog would become (even more) tedious. As I said, the Australian outback has to be seen to be believed.
On a more personal point. I did feel that I had arrived at the part of my journey that I had most sought. Until now, I had had a set of amazing experiences and had spent much time exploring my 'inner self'. Standing by one's self in 40degrees heat, at the edge of a road that stretches in front and behind for 10 miles in each direction and a similar distance to the horizon on the other planes, in the sure knowledge that there are probably no more than a dozen human beings within that circle of land, is both liberating and terrifying. To be able to hold ones arms out, turn about, shout, scream, sing at the top of your voice knowing that there was no one to whom you had to explain why! But also to realise how vulnerable and tenuous life can be in this harsh and unforgiving environment.
I was here, thanks to modern technology, with the benefit of 'reliable' transport and the tarmac'd road I was stood upon. Only 40 years ago, less in many cases, this road was not much more than a dirt track and something as simple as a flat tyre could mean probable death from dehydration. Yet people have made lives out here and constantly survived, despite the hardship and deprivation. Then there are the Aborigines for whom a nomadic lifestyle, following the trail of food and water, had sustained them for nearly 50,000 years.
Just to consider this makes my existence seem so easy by comparison.
Where ever I went, the people were amazingly hospitable. On a few occasions, complete strangers extended invites to stop by for tea or asked if we needed somewhere to park up for the night. After an early scare, when a decision not to fill up with fuel became more than highly regrettable, regular stops at any and every petrol station became routine. The van had a range of about 400k on a full tank. There were several occasions when this barely got us from one petrol station to a other.
An absolute highlight was arriving at Uluru (Ayres Rock). I'm not particularly into the 'mystic', but it isn't hard to see why the Aborigines saw this as a sacred place. The shear magnificence of this mammoth edifice of sandstone sitting, singularly, in the middle of an ocean of Bush and red desert is a wonder. To walk around the base and see it at close quarters was even better. We experienced a sunset and sunrise here, witnessing the amazing colour changes and shifting shapes as the light and shadow vie for supremacy. We saw a second sunset the following day, in the company of a great table of companions at an arranged dinner. Fabulous food, free flowing bubbly, hilarious company, all bookended by a didgeridoo performance and an astronomical tour of one of the clearest starlit sky's I have ever seen.
The journey from Uluru back, north east, to Cairns was no less awesome. A slightly disorientating, spur of the moment left turn to the Gulf of Capenteria made for an amazing detour. On route, we had an overnight stop at a small Queensland town called Camooweal - famous for...well nothing really! However, it was a convenient pace to find a campsite that was located directly behind one of the two pubs.
Heading to the nearest for dinner and a couple of pints, seemed like a sound idea. However, 'fresh meat' being spotted, we weren't allowed to remain anonymous! It was the evening of the local weekly pool knockout championship. With everything to play for, the bar fast became a hive of activity and I was invited to join in. Not wanting to be rude and knowing that my pool skills were as refined as crude oil, I accepted the invitation in the sure knowledge that I would be getting an early night.
To my surprise, I won my first match, against another travelling itinerant. To this day, I'm not sure they hadn't seen what was coming and thrown the match. However, for the next round, I drew 'The Cowboy'! The Cowboy was exactly what the name suggests. Mid/late twenties, Levis, check'd shirt, leather belt (that, in another time, would surly have sported a holster and revolver) and a weatherbeaten Stetson hat. It was also quite evident that he was the local champion and that no one messed with his shit!
No problem, I thought, he'll beat me hands down and I can go back to my drink. No big deal. This was not the time for fortune the favour the underdog. But, being the bitch that she can be...
I won the break. Potting three spots on my next turn, I found myself leading. The Cowboy smiled. Like me, he saw that this was just a bit of beginners luck. However, after 10 minutes of play, I had potted all but one of my balls and The Cowboy still had five stripes on the table - plus, of course the hallowed 8 ball. I had broken into a cold sweat and my opponent was eying me with palpable disdain. 'What is going wrong' I thought, I should have lost by now! The room is hushed and the game at the adjoining table has paused as the other residents realise that there is about to be bloodshed.
The Cowboy stepped up to the table. As he lined up his next shot, his irksome girlfriend - sat crossed legged upon a table next to us - whispered 'miss'. His withering look in her direction caused a sharp intake of breath from other bystanders. With a flourish, The Cowboy dropped each remaining stripe into a pocket. I was safe. But then the unthinkable happened. Mis-cueing the white, he barely clipped the black ball, sending it spinning across the baize to rest directly in front of a open drop. With my last spot resting in a similar position, I was poised to win the game. I potted my spot. I had a clear position on the black. Someone dripped a pin and the clattering sound cut through the silence like a knife.
Decision: do I pot the black and risk receiving the ministrations of a pool cue in an orifice hitherto unaccustomed to such assault! Or, do I contrive to miss and risk it being seen as an obvious move, invoking the indignation of the rest of the bar.
After pacing the table for a few moments, doing my best attempt at a Steve Davies impersonation, I decided to go for glory and hang the consequences. Bending over the table, cue held in my right hand with the tip nestling in the crux of the thumb and forefinger of my left hand, I gently brought my chin down to hover just above it, giving me a clear, unequivocal sight line to victory. Pulling back my right arm, I thrust the cue forward with just enough force to send the white ball tumbling across the verdant surface of the table. White hit black. Black took up the kinetic energy transferred from the white, continued the trajectory and then...came to rest on the very threshold of the abyss into which it should had plummeted!
The room expelled a collective sigh of relief as The Cowboy stepped up and, neatly, dropped the winning shot into the pocket. He, nobly shook my hand and, smiling, offered condolences which I gratefully accepted. He did, of course, go on to win the tournament. So, at least, I had the pleasure of knowing that I was only beaten by the champion!
Ending the road trip in Cairns, I boarded a 'live aboard' dive boat for a few days scuba'ing on the Great Barrier Reef. This too was an amazing experience. Unfortunately, it was cut short by the advent of a cyclone that forced our ship back to harbour. However, this wasn't before I had some incredible dives and managed to get some quite passable underwater photographs.
Next stop Auckland and five weeks in New Zealand. I'm nearing the end of my journeys but there are still some adventures to be had and some great friends to be re-acquainted with. So, goodbye land of the Boomerang, Kangaroo and Kuala and hello to Godzone.
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