Australia, the closing chapter.

It feels miles away where I last posted a blog, in Western Australia actually, a town called Geraldton, using the free wireless of a "restaurant" (term used loosley) called Mc Donalds. Ever in an adventure, moments after updating the blog Lancelot made an entrance fit for a knight who has failed in slaying a dragon and rather sheepishly announces that "Ze keys are locked in ze van". Brilliant. After scouring the internet for locksmiths working at 8 pm and getting a rather pricey quotation, we decided to put our DIY skills to the test. Whilst I youtubed all the (worryingly large number) of "how to break into a car" videos, Lancelot managed to bring back a bounty of tools for the operation. Wedging the top part of the driver's door open by a millimetre or two with a screwdriver, we had just enough space to put our coathanger-come-door-lock-knob-thingy- releaser to the test which worked beautifully. Woo, oh the celebrations. I wouldn't be surprised if it didn't cross Lance's mind that a career in professionally burglary may be suitable for him, particularly with his ability to misplace luxury cheeses into his pocket rather than the supermarket basket.

Perth. I have to say that the days of outback driving made me feel pretty good behind the wheel. Straight roads, no traffic, just the odd cow or kangaroo. Driving into Perth was a terrifying experience. I mean Lance did point out that I was doing everything right, but both Kirsty and I were aware that one little bump and our damn van might never get sold. And we now have 3 and a half days to sell it in. Oh yes, and there was that small incident of me using the steering column as a brake in the test drive way back in Darwin. Needless to say, unsurprisingly uneffective but stupidly positioned exactly where the foot brake is on normal vehicles. So my first crash, be it at 2mph whilst stopped at a roundabout into a number plate proudly reading "RETIRED". Ouch, luckily practically no damage.


Saturday night, Lance and I tested the town on his last night in Australia, and getting repetitively turned down for being "dressed too casual" or "invalid wierd-German ID" we still had a good but rather chilly night out, whilst Kirsty was catching up with a friend in Freemantle and sapping up the free accommodation. After losing the best Van advert poster ever invented, a second one was hastily drawn up and we paid double per sheet to get it printed in COLOUR so it stood right out from the hundreds, like literally almost hundreds of other vans being sold, and had been up for weeks. Calls were depressingly few, despite most of Perth being covered with "Escape the cold....buy our van!" slogans. When it got within 24hours of me having to fly out the $3450 was slashed to $2000, absolute steal. And about 7 hours before escaping Perth our financial prison was opened, when we sold the asset for $1800 to a pretty little British-Dutch couple. We tried to minimise the wool-pulling, and went pretty honest, although the 5 days before its Rego runs out, the broken rear tail lights, the recently cracked windscreen (thank you pebble from a road train) and mysterious redundant parts oin our engine that had a Irish lot of mechanically-aware potential buyers rather concerned, we got Kitty sold, and that is what matters! She was a lovely van, and $500 or so she cost was definitely worth the fun we had in her, the freedom, and the adventures.


Back to Cairns and I was very devious in not telling any of the "JJ crew" (the hostel I had stayed in the two previous times I had been in Cairns) that I was about again. I loved that hostel, as my first flight into Australia on a Saturday afternoon had me playing ring of fire and getting into the pre-drinking debauchery immediately before a guaranteed fun night out. However having already spent 5 days and a subsequent week in Cairns either side of my job on Dunk Island, I did nort want to risk getting trapped again, particularly as I only had 9 days to get down to Sydney and see as much of the East coast (often dedicated for 2 months at least in a travellers itinerary!) as possible. So I stayed for all but a night at another very family-feel hostel that almost snared me, but with a little help I got sorted and booked my self-made trip south for a pretty bargain price of$750, accomm and transport all included.

My first stop of my shameless gap-year territory tour ... yes, I do deem myself above the likes of gappies, in the travelling hierachy, as I do with flashpackers who carouse around with their pink suitcases, on the otherhand bring along the hemp and bongos and I am swooning at such heros of the travelling world... was The Whitsundays. After changing my mind from sailing the ultimate party boat called the Pride of Airlie, I went for a real sailing boat, having circumnavigated the world a few times, and won many races (be them 30 years ago!) I was not let down. It was incredibly fun helping out getting the sails up, winching when you tack, and trying to get around the boat when it is knocking up a dozen knots and feels like it is about to tilt completely over. Whitehaven beach was spectacular, with sting rays and lemon sharks (or some other citrus based shark) flanking the outskirts of the perfectly white (88.9% silica quartz) sand bars. Snorkelling was good but I feel a bit of a connoiseur at it now, with the same old fish doing the same old things around the same old coral. Still, would be a shame if poor environmental management, global warming and coral bleaching destroys the waterworld for the future generations of snorkellers. I was part of a good group of 21 of us and 3 crew, and played some good goon games, and it was a shame that the night bus was beckoning me to get down to Rainbow Beach, to see the Whitsundays in time.

A two hour briefing and the hardest I have had to concentrate and (attempt to) pay attention in a year greeted me on arriving at Dingo's Hostel, on the mainland by Fraser Island. The self-drive tours which I was booked on to (along with about 50 others in 4x4 Toyotas with 11 person capacity) had caused big concerns recently as one had rolled on the sandy beaches a month or two ago and killed 2 instantaneously, 1 permanently paralysed and another just died in hospital last week after struggling for life since the fateful day. The risk were real, but from it being drummed into us on how important it was not to be a "baffoon" to "keep below 60kph" and to 'keep the steering wheel straight on soft sand" we were all pretty prepared for it. Being one to shun responsibility as much as possible, I even decided to drive a little along the beach on the last day, when everyone was a bit used to being thrown around the back and felt less like there lives were in the drivers hands.

It was all a good laugh, with my group being made up of 5 Irish, one of whom I never saw sober, and 5 Brits from different places, not the melting pot of nationalities you sometimes get, but an array of nationalities broad enough to keep things interesting. We ate great on steak and chicken stir fry, we drank well (as I am sure you can imagine) and we slept well. So well in fact that I woke up in a sizeable puddle after the fly sheet had blown off in the night and the sky decided to pour it down. I was a sorry site in the morning, and vowed to be the one putting up the tents "properly" the next day rather than rigging the huge tarpaulines together that made a nice little area for a party. The island was beautiful, particularly when the sun decided to come out, Lake Mackenzie being the most incredible blue, clear water I have ever swam in. Other highlights included trying out my new frisbee (having to scare a Dingo away from stealing it- the old canine instinct), and looking after Frank the Tank, the biggest, drunkest liability I have ever had the pleasure of travelling with.

A night spent listening to a new friends conversational monologue back on the mainland, and I headed off early the next day to see Byron Bay. It was pretty quiet, being low season as it is pretty cold, but still well worth a visit, if not for a fun night out and the beaches at night but for the free surfing lesson I had the next day. I was pretty hung over, but the sea takes no sick notes and it horrifically pounded me so that salt water was dripping out my nose for the resty of the day. In between successive episodes of drowning, I did enjoy myself, and as I had done it ovwer in the West Country in the past I got the knack back relatively quickly and was riding the swash standing up, being able to skip the kneeling stage, which I personally found almost harder. After a quick break to inhale lovely sea air rather than lungfuls of waves, my instructor took me out deeper, where I actually managed to ride a few actual 4/5 foot waves, standing right up and surfing them to the sand. Then of course I horrifically wiped out a few more times and before long it was time to head back and make my way that evening to Sydney.

Which is where I am now, having got in today, and is where I am going to leave you. I got a facebook message a few hours ago from a mate I went tubing with in Vang Vieng, Laos, and we are going to meet up for a few drinks as it is both our last night in Australia! How times have flown. Also on a side note, I feel like I have met most of the people in the world. In Perth I went to King's Park (beautiful views over the converging rivers into the sea) with a polish med student from India, stayed at the hostel with another canadian guy from Laos, and bumped into a face I recognised but neither of us could pin point where. Kiera, a girl then comes down the stairs who I know from the slow boat when I was travelling with Mum and Dad, so that explains where I know this other guy from... no actually, he has just met her, I stayed in a dorm with him in Nha Trang, Vietnam.

What a small wolrd!!

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