Feb 2007

Day One:
An early rise on yet another sweaty morning in Perth, and we lugged our packs slowly but surely over to the pick-up point for the departure of our nine day adventure tour. Introduced to our Western Exposure guide Locky, a typically Aussie bushman complete with well-travelled, wide-brimmed hat, he soon had us all checked in and ready for the off. On driving to collect us, he'd already discovered a fault with our rather tatty looking van, and so we made a quick diversion to the depot to swap it in for a much more sterdy looking four-wheel-drive truck called Betsy, our driver-guides apparent pride and joy. During these first moments on the road, our guide explained the companies 'hands-on-adventure' policy, basically a referral to the fact that everyone was expected to muck in and help with the various tasks which needed doing along the way. Whether this motto would be fulfilled by all was anyone's guess.

As is common with these kind of reality experiments, the eighteen-strong group of passengers were generally keeping themselves to themselves, a few polite conversational murmurings between close neighbours at best. We'd only managed to travel a mere 150km from our departure point when we were forced to pull over, as Betsy, back from a recent trip from the red centre at Uluru, was spluttering uncomfortably due to some desert remains in the fuel tank. Forced to entertain ourselves while Locky messed around under the engine, we all began making brief introductions. On first appearance, we seemed to have a pleasant, yet diverse group, consisting of a handful of English and Irish, a mixture of central europeans, and three singles from Melbourne, Japan and America. The most obvious common thread at this point was the presence of four medical professionals, their varied specialities implying we could almost go as far as performing surgery in the Aussie bush without any major complications.

It wasn't long before our 'minor' engine problems were remedied and we were back on the road for our first major stop at The Pinnacles Desert in Nambung National Park, an area where thousands of limestone pillars, some up to four metres tall, rise out of the stark landscape of desert sand.

Created from a process dating back thousands of years, and far too complex to explain here, many of the various columns tend to earn themselves names such as 'Bulldog', 'Batman' or the 'Dolphins' because of what they come to resemble. I searched in earnest for any I thought may be one of these figures, but was only successful in finding a number of pillars that looked like a male appendage. Disappointing.

Driving on, we stopped for what would be the first of many sandwich-based lunches, prepared entusiastically by the group. All the while we continued to acquaint ourselves with our fellow passengers, Sarah uncharacteristically quick to strike up conversation with a young lass from Nottingham called Jodie, who was as equally uninspired by The Pinnacles as she had been, while I got chatting to our resident anaesthetist and all-round medical bod, Sinead from Ireland. The ice had been broken.

From there it was time for some hard driving in order to get us to our overnight hostel in Kalbarri, accompanied (at times painfully) by some of Locky's personable music selections. We did however have time for a quick stop for some sand-boarding, and while we all attempted the almost impossible feat, Locky was left with the job of digging the van out of the sand he had unwittingly managed to get us stuck in.

Things were not looking good when we returned, so we all rallied round to gather sticks and dig the wheels out in the hope we could get some traction. Tom, our Irish retiree, took the opportunity to grab some photo's of him standing with a frying pan or shovel to 'show the kids' his outstanding work.

We got going eventually, and were back on the road with a esky-full of 'p*ss', as the aussies like to fondly call the amber nectar. That evening, most of us managed to again muck in (already the enthusiasm was waning) to prepare a huge stir-fry on one of the large outdoor barbecues, followed by a good session on the beer to get to know each other.

Day Two
Awake by 6:30am, we were back on the road bright and early for the quick drive into Kalbarri National Park. The benefits of the four-wheel-drive were becoming apparent as we lurched and bumped our way down the dusty red track into the area, finally reaching our destination of Z-Bend Gorge at just after 8am. After a quick walk to the lookout, five of us took the opportunity to abseil our way down the thirty-two metres to the base, first using the traditional method, then taking the slight more unorthadox approach and going over the edge forwards.

Not being a fan of heights, I'm not ashamed to say that I was pretty close to bottling it as I glimpsed over the edge, but with a little encouragement from the professional at the top (basically, he wasn't letting me come back) I managed to get through it. My reward for this personal acheivement was to be dangled painfully (humourously for everyone else I suspect) in mid-air by Locky who had control of my descent from the bottom, probably removing any hope I might have of fathering children in the future.

After this quick adrenalin rush, we walked amongst the pristine waters at the bottom of the gorge before making the climb back up to the lookout in the blazing sun.

Despite the day only just breaking into mid-morning temperatures, we were already reaching into the thirties, and so a quick stroll to another lookout at 'Nature's Window' was all we had time for before we were all happy to jump back onto the relative cool of the truck.

Next, we were whisked off to one of Locky's secret lunch spots, a rather shabby looking area of bushland just off the main highway, but with an all-important swimming hole for a quick dip. Basically an abandoned mining shaft which had filled with water from the nearby river, the murky waters did little dissuade us from diving in to cool off.

Continuing on, we arrived at Shell Beach in the late afternoon, and took a walk out to the shallow waters of this government conservation project before making an all-important beer stop and the last thirty-minute drive into the relative luxury of the hostel at Monkey Mia.

A barbecue dinner, alcoholic refreshment and some more group bonding followed, until I was bizarrly accosted by a rival, but obviously smaller, tour company driver who proceeded to explain the perils of doing our trip at this time of year, his disgust at the company we'd chosen to travel with, and our drivers' lack of smart appearance. I teased him about what a great time we were having until it got a little boring, and then rejoined the group. It was here that we began to see the first signs of two seperate camps beginning to form on the Big Brother Bus.

Day Three:
A lay-in apparently. By 7:30am we were all out on the beach, for the main Monkey Mia attraction. Each and every morning, a selection of up to twelve wild female dolphins come in for feeding.

The Rangers at the park have been observing the creatures for a number of years and now hold briefings for whoever happens to be on the beach to explain how the ritual and their lifestyles work. This morning there were at least fifty people lining the waters edge to see nine of the adult and younger dolphins, a select few being allowed to go into the water to feed them personally.

We weren't special enough, but Fiona from our group was wearing bright enough clothing to be selected and get out there to dangle a fish for one of the hungry mammals.

Before leaving, we had one more appointment to keep with a man named Capes, who was to take a few of us on a cultural Aboriginal Tour. Shoeless, and kitted out with traditional kangaroo skin bag and hunting knife, he took us out into the bush country and explained to us in a short two-hour tour how his people spot animal tracks for hunting, use the native plants and trees as natural calenders and to feed themselves, and respect and understand the country they are born into.

The Aboriginal people have a very powerful aura, with many traditions which date back thousands of years. The previous evening some of us had eaten some sea-turtle, which no doubt had been hunted and killed using the traditional methods. Despite the fact that this is only done sparingly by the Aboriginal people, it's safe to assume that some of the group may have declined to taste it had they known the medieval-style processes involved. Altogether, an enlightening and interesting look at a race who felt a great deal of persecution when the white-man arrived just a couple of centuries ago, and who are in many ways still fighting to win back their land and rights.

Ready for the off, we were all loaded and ready to make our way up the coast to our next stop at Coral Bay. We'd only managed to travel around thirty minutes out of Monkey Mia when Betsy began to experience the same problem she had on our first day out of Perth. Pulling up randomly at the deserted roadside in the baking heat, we all prepared and ate lunch while Locky tinkered once more to get us back on the road. By mid-afternoon we'd reached the Hamelin Pool area, but the truck was still playing up, so while we took a quick walk out to the fossilised stromatolites, Locky once again got himself involved with the repairs.

Hard graft in the forty degree heat was beginning to taking it's toll on Locky, and the problem with the engine didn't appear to be as straightforward as we'd all first thought. We all hung around for a good hour in the hope Betsy might have enough in her to get us to our evening's accommodation, and things seemed much brighter when she finally fired and got us back on track.

Things were running quite smoothly until around 25km from Coral Bay, when she once again began to give up the fight. It was 9pm, pitch black, and we were stuck in the middle of the bush. Whispered complaints and some truly startling attempts at being as miserable as humanly possible were beginning to appear, mainly from our happy-go-lucky German passengers who were having a good crack at bringing down the whole group because they weren't too happy with the truck issues. The rest of us remained open-minded however, aware that these sort of things can't really be helped, and so we opened up the esky and sank a few beers while we waited for the driver of the other bus to come and rescue us.

Day Four:
The mood seemed to have lightened the following morning when we all awoke to head out for our pre-booked day of snorkelling on the Ningaloo Reef.

Many of the previous evenings moaners weren't planning on coming, which meant we had a fairly nice crowd out on the water for the day. It had been noticed over the past few days that Dave, a middle-aged Melbournian with a maniacal twitchy grin, had been taking sneaky pictures of the women, and although no-one was massively concerned for their welfare, a few were a little uncomfortable with the development. It was left to Sinead to approach him and ask that he refrain, only at this point realising that he was probably one of the most simple-minded men she's ever likely to meet, most of her diplomatic warning going straight over his head.

As we made our way out to the reef, the crew of the boat explained the safety protocols and handed out a few snorkling tips, and it wasn't long before we were in the water with the bright fish and interesting coral formations whilst trying to get to grips with the equipment.

This was simply a practice run for the main event. We were soon split into two groups, taking it in turns to swim out into the open water on the tail of the large Manta Rays being spotted by the plane in the skies above us. Following these creatures in their natural habitat was a fantastic experience, the last run being the best, where the three metre wide ray circled beneath me and then darted under my feet before heading out into the open water.

Our final snorkel experience was a guided one, the ships captain and marine biologist taking us out to the other side of a large section of the reef where we could swim above a handful of Reef Sharks. The day had come to an end, but I think we all took away some good memories.

Back on dry land, Locky had been working on the truck all day. He turned up to collect us from the boat, all chirpy at having fixed the problem. Betsy had been running for around two hours without problems, and it seemed our we'd meet our scheduled appointment with Exmouth that night. Only right then that we broke down at about fifty metres from the hostel. Our driver lost his cool for a moment, before regaining his composure and the smile we'd all come to know, whilst the difficult contingent yet again got on their high-horses and at one point demanding that I or Sarah call head office to complain. They were quickly informed that we had no intention of complaining and that they'd have to deal with it themselves, which of course put a little more distance between our already differing social groups.

We all returned to the hostel for the night, the eventual complaint with head-office reaping us a two-hundred dollar bar tab and the only contribution the otherwise miserable ensemble were to make for the group on the whole tour. A late night ensued, with drinks flowing until the early hours, a few of us taking ourselves off to The Bakery and what we believed would be a hip and trendy bar of some kind, but which was unsurprisingly an area of chairs and tables outside the establishment where bread was produced for the local community.

Day Five:
Early birds catch the replacement bus, and we were up at 5:30 to meet with the other tours driver who had very heroicly driven back to Coral Bay to collect us for the one-hundred-and-forty kilometre trip across the peninsula to Exmouth. A busy day was in store, with a trip out to the beautiful white sands and blue waters at Turquoise Bay on the northern end of the Ningaloo Reef.

Snorkelled-up yet again, we all made our way to the south end of the beach, immersed ourselves in the cool waters and let the current drift us up to the other end of the beach with no exertion required. The reef here is a little more sparse than on our previous days trip, but the sea-life was just as abundant, a few of our group spotting a turtle and even a shark in the clear blue waters.

After a few leisurely snorkels, we all retired to the lunch area, and an afternoon dip in the clear seas of the more secluded bay on the other side of the spit.

In the evening, the majority of the group paid for the change of scenery and a meal in the restaurant around the pool of the hostel. We were losing a couple of our original eighteen passengers that night as they were due to stay in Exmouth for some diving, and so again a late night was in order as the beer and random conversation flowed.

Day Six:
Our journey into Karijini National Park was to be a long one, with nearly seven-hundred kilometres to cover before nightfall. With the other tour finishing in Exmouth, we'd swapped buses and were now on the road with a reliable, but slightly less adventurous-looking van. Therefore, most of the day was to be taken up with driving through some of the most sparsely populated land in Australia much of it only good for mining, or sheep and cattle stations. Despite only a few lavatory and refreshment stops, we still didn't reach the site of our camp on the edge of the park until nearly 8pm, the setting sun meaning we had to be quick to get dinner going and set up camp for the night.

Of course, the Esky was full of beer and frivolity, and the thai curry was prepared lovingly by Amanda, our exuberant mid-wife from Minnesota and Jodie, who was still yet to actually eat an evening meal. Eating is cheating and all that.

A day of doing absolutely nothing meant we were all ready for bed nice and early, and so we unrolled our swags (a kind of canvas sleeping bag with a thin matress sewn into it), and hoped we could fall asleep under the stars. The bush and its variety of wildlife tend to make some strange noises at night when everything is quiet, and the heat is still at a stifling thirty-odd degrees for most of the night. I lay awake for most of the night, sweating profusely, and wondering how the snorer's amongst the party managed to pass out so effectively in such a strange environment.

Day Seven:
I must have finally drifted off to sleep at around 3am as the cooler air thankfully entered camp, and was awoken by a beautiful sunrise as it came up through the trees.

Everyone was up and about within minutes, and we were soon loaded up and on our way into the Hamersley Ranges, a series of gorges formed some 2,500 million years ago when the earth was still forming into what we see today. Locky had been looking forward to this part of the trip for days and seemed to be in his element amongst the deep chasms.

First we made our way through a series of knee-high riverbeds until coming to a narrow section of the gorge which would lead into Handrail Pool. Swimming here is an unnatural experience, with nothing but thirty-metre walls of rock stretching above you. We lounged around in the cool waters for a while before making our way back out to the van for lunch.

For the afternoon, we made our way down into a second gorge, through another series of shallow rivers and into the renound Spider Walk. Here, the gorge is so narrow that both sides can be touched at once with your hands and feet, making for a kind of natural assault course should you wish to take it.

At the very bottom of this challenging walkway is Kermits Pool, my favourite of the three we were to visit. Here, a small but deep pool of fresh water has been created with ledges all around it's edges. The gorge is much more narrow than the previous, and so the sunlight only just creeps through into the pool, making for a much more eery experience. We hung around here for some time, grateful to be shielded from the afternoon heat.

A short drive back to camp, and I took the opportunity to keep busy and get involved with the barbecue, cooking up some spiced potatoes, sausages (snags) and steaks for the hungry group. Our cheeky Irishman, Tom 'Not a bother at all' McDonald, took the opportunity to oversee proceedings, diving in for a photo as ever to showcase his array of talents whilst on tour.

Apparently, "the kids will never believe it", and if they've got any sense, they probably shouldn't. Amanda meanwhile, in celebration of her last night with us, got completely smashed by necking numerous wines straight from the bottle and rolling around in the toilet after marauding cockroaches. A worthy farewell if ever we saw one.

Day Eight:
Sunrise was annoyingly punctual at waking us yet again. It was important we were all up quickly again as there only just time to get into the one remaining gorge on the itinerary before the group split, and those going back to Perth were collected by another bus.

Down into the depths of the earth we went again, this time scrambling through some quite heavy bushland to get to Fern Pool, a scenic lagoon at the base of a picturesque waterfall. According to Aboriginal legend, this was once a sacred sight for birthing, and so we were asked to respect the traditions and slide gracefully into the waters.

Swimming for an hour or so, we took one final opportunity to all get some group shots before making our way back to the buses and parting company. Luckily, we'd managed to offload a number of the less enthusiastic passengers, Amanda being our only casualty from the pleasant group who were left to travel on to Broome over the next day or so. It's safe to say that farewells on the whole, were not massively emotional.

And then, it was all about the driving again, our target being the campsite at Eigthy Mile Beach, slightly further on than our scheduled stop, so we could reach Broome the following day nice and early.

Temperature updates were a necessity here, Fiona's infatuation with the topic and her cute portable thermometre-clock duly obliging at regular intervals, and we even managed to wrestle the ipod away from Locky for a short while and select our own music to numb the boredom. On reaching our destination in the early evening, we all helped to prepare a quick dinner, cracked open the remaining beers, and made our way down to the beach to sit under the starry sky and listen to the tide come in. Fiona gave us all the benefit of her knowledge of Astrology, and we were all transfixed by one of the brightest views of the universe we had ever witnessed.

Day Nine:
After another fairly sweaty night of swagging in the open, we all rose and packed in eager preparation to get ourselves off to Broome and the bed which would eventually welcome us. Another fairly uneventful drive for a few hours saw us cross a few hundred kilometres of sparse bushland and cattle country. Arriving at our destination at just after 1pm, we checked into the rather swanky Mangrove Resort, a diamond in the rough we had been recommended whilst in Perth. A five-star resort, strangely offering four-bed dorm rooms to backpackers, it was nice to finally have the comfort of a mattress, and more importantly, some decent air conditioning.

Just before 6pm, the remainder of our group all jumped into taxi's and headed out to Cable Beach, a beautiful stretch of sand some ten kilometres north of Broome's centre. The majority of us headed straight for the Sunset Bar to meet Locky, whilst Sinead and Fiona both took the opportunity to ride a camel up and down the beach during sunset.

As we watched the sun descend over the Indian Ocean, we feasted on a well deserved meal (much of it handily arriving for free) and reminisced over the previous nine days of entertainment.

Personally, we'd just spent time on an adventure that had been the highlight of the Australian leg of our trip. We'd seen and experienced some fantastic things on the way, and met some particularly unsavoury people who perhaps didn't have the same sense of adventure as the rest of us, but who thankfully did little to affect the mood of a very upbeat bunch. Most importantly, we'd shared time with and made a number of friends who we will hopefully stay in touch with for a long time to come. It was a little sad when it came time for us all to part during the following few days, but that is the nature of the travel game, and after a couple of days of well earned relaxation around the pool, the time came for us to leave for our flight onwards into the Northern Territory.

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Australia's west welcomed us into town with an electrical storm thundering wildly out in the Indian Ocean, making for quite a hairy late night landing into Perth International. Once the feeling of nausea had subsided, we took a taxi to our hostel where a quiet twin room awaited our weary bodies. On first impressions, The Underground hostel didn't look up to much, but for the sake of a couple of nights it would do just fine. It was upon check-in however that we were curtly told someone had royally cocked up our booking and that there wasn't a private room available, and only two spare beds in the whole building in a ten-bed dorm.

With little option but to accept this, we entered to find two Irish lads completely off their face and attempting conversation neither of us could comprehend, and one other girl looking equally bewildered. We knew we were likely to be in for a rough night, but nothing could have prepared us for the bloke who came in on two seperate occassions, at three and five in the morning, turning on the lights and sparking up loud conversation with whoever he could wake up. I could see Sarah across the room gradually losing control, but luckily things became quiet before she could let loose a volley of abuse and start a war in the middle of the night.

Swearing not to go through the same experience again, we managed to secure a double room the following evening for a discounted price and spent the first day in Perth getting our bearings and arranging some onward travel. Taking the advice of a couple of well-travelled and highly knowledgeable (?) pals from home, we booked a bus for the next day to the South West coast, and the small town of Margaret River.

Blessed with an almost perfect mediterranean climate, this stunning region is home to some of the world's most internationally acclaimed vineyards, wineries and chocolate producers, and boasts some of the best surfing conditions in Australia. We checked into our accommodation, the Surfpoint Resort, an incredible hostel about ten kilometres from the actual town but just a short stroll from the beaches, and generally chilled out here for five glorious days, spending much of our time simply sunning ourselves around the small on-site pool. Without a car it was tricky to get out and see much of the area and so for a break in proceedings we booked ourselves a day long scenic region tour.

Collected by our exuberant driver Andy, a portly fellow with a colourful history, he wasted no time in telling us all about his slightly questionable plans to retire to Indonesia and into the waiting arms of a young local lady who he had 'met at a party' on one of his frequent past visits. Either way, it was all entertaining stuff, and we pulled into our first stop at the cheese factory to await the arrival of our six other passengers for the day. The names of most of these people are beyond our recollection, but the fact that none were under sixty years of age meant we were by far the younglings of the group and spent most of the day jesting with the oldies and being a little cheeky. Cheese tasting completed, we were all then whisked off to the chocolate factory, where for the small sum of eighty pence you could buy a single gourmet chocolate, or for zero pence, you could fill your boots from the large bowls of white or milk chocolate buttons.

Next on the agenda was the wine tour, including a quick drive around the plant where the processes of wine-making were explained, and then into the store itself where the tradtional tastings occured. Myself a strict red drinker, and Sarah a strict non-drinker, we were surprised to find ourselves enjoying a couple of the dry whites and were quickly suckered into purchasing a bottle. After the old girls had had their fill of wine and browsing the random handbag sale, we were taken to our lunch stop, a 'sausage sizzle' in the midst of a small animal sanctuary, where we were able to stroke free-roaming baby Kangaroo's and Dingo's, and see some baby Croc's goaded into action by the Ranger's prodding.

The afternoon's festivities included a stop in at the Wicked Brewery, where some rather foul attempts at flavoured beers were their forte (note: leave the beer alone!), and a final rendezvous with one of the area's best ice-creameries. Altogether a rather nice day, admittedly consisting mostly of excessive eating and drinking.

We weren't exactly relishing the prospect of heading back to the city, Margaret River being the kind of place you could happily chill out in for a long, long time, but back at the hostel we sat chatting to Paul, an Aussie guy we'd previously had a drink with, and were offered a ride back to Perth with him the following day in his rental car. Not one to pass up on an opportunity to save a few quid and halve our journey time, we readily accepted, making it back into the city by late afternoon.

Doing much better on our hostel choice on this occassion, we checked into the Emperor's Crown (ultra-squeaky bunks being the only downfall) and settled ourselves back into city life. Being back in town for the weekend was ideal timing, and we'd promised to meet up with Grainne and Kit again. The plan was to have a cheap meal somewhere and then hit a few bars, but none of us really banked on what the evening soon became.

We arrived at the restaurant to find that our friends had brought their cousin Julie with them, a distant relative they had only met themselves a few days prior. Everything was going swimmingly, the Margaret River wine flowed, the meal was decent, and Julie even got up sneakily and paid the bill for us all which was very kind considering we didn't really know her. From here however, things went a little bit pear-shaped. Moving up the street to an Irish pub, we were met by Louis and Susan, another two close friends from their home in Dublin, and we all got the beers in and generally enjoyed the surroundings. Julie however had other plans. A plan which basically involved moving onto a different bar in the Tenerife-like Northbridge area after every drink. Kidding ourselves that she was just trying make our Perth experience a more varied one, and not suspecting in truth that a monster was being cultivated by the demon wine, we all went along a little unwillingly to the next bar on her agenda. Once again we settled in, but were soon being told that it was time to leave by 'Auntie' and off we went again to our third establishment of the night, a large cheesy pub/club called Mustangs, very similar to one of London's Aussie Walkabout bars. It was here that things went completely nuts, Auntie doing her best to cause upset by making some rather unthoughtful remarks to Susan and generally bringing the night crashing to an end. By this time, we were all pretty leathered anyhow, and calling it a night seemed like the best way to stave off any more uncomfortable showdowns.

Sunday came, and we'd been looking forward to going to the Big Day Out for some time. Basically a one day event, we would get to see a number of bands and soak up some summer festival action. On arrival, it was clear that this was going to be nowhere near the scale of the kind of events we see across the UK in the summer, but this hopefully meant we would be able to get a little closer to the acts. We'd been looking forward to seeing the Killer's who were disappointingly mediocre, but were thoroughly impressed by Muse who were much better than we'd anitcipated. Kasabian were the show-stoppers for us however. Playing on one of the smaller stages, we found ourselves amongst a majority Brit-based crowd and only a handful of rows from the front, getting us right in amongst the atmosphere. A number of Aussie and US bands also made appearances, making for an enjoyable day in the sun.

We spent our last few days doing the normal tourist thing, taking ourselves off to the old port area of the city in Freemantle, the white sandy beach in Cottesloe, and up to the panoramic views overlooking Perth from the lush greenery of Kings Park. Although it seemed like a nice enough place, it was one too many cities for us, and we were literally biding our time while we waited to hook up with our tour of the West coast.

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Setting off early, we left Melbourne in rush-hour traffic for Ballarat, a gentle three hour highway drive into Goldfield country, with Tom and Lisa following closely in their classy Ford Falcon. Ballarat is Victoria's largest inland town, a development springing from the discoveries of gold in nearby Bunninyong in 1851, attracting thousands of diggers to the area in search of their fortune.

We were here to see Sovereign Hill, a popular attraction where a recreated mining town serves as an entertaining living history of the era, complete with actors in traditional period costume. The town itself struck us as a little Disney-esque, but within a few minutes we knew we were in for an enjoyable time.

After a quick wander around the classicly Victorian architecture of the theatre, stores and taverns in the main dusty street, we stopped in at the gold pouring demonstration where one of the resident experts turned a big gloopy pot of fourteen-hundred degree molten metal into a solid bar worth a whopping thirty thousand quid. Unfortunately, the young chap was far too quick to stash it away before any of us could distract him and get our hands on it.

Moving on to the Diggings area, a cheerful chap showed us around the gold field area and taught us how to successfully pan for gold, a skill we were pretty unsuccessful at mastering despite numerous attempts. A quick pantomime (quality performances all-round) was followed by a delve into one of the mines itself for a quick tour and a look at a replica of the biggest nugget ever discovered, weighing in at a whopping eighty-two kilograms.

Some ridiculously simple bowling followed, where it is physically impossible to miss no matter how hard you try, and a quick look at the candy-making was all we had time for and we returned to our barracks accommodation for a well-deserved barbeque.

That evening we all headed back down into the gold town where some not very 1850's-like open-top buses pulled in and were soon delivering us to the 'Blood On The Southern Cross' sound and light show which tells the colourful story of the 1854 Eureka rebellion.

Tensions during these times were high. The gold-fields were over-crowded and the government had imposed strict licensing laws which were crippling the miners and their hard-up families. Added to this, the workers were constantly policed for these licenses by a specially formed force of violent ex-convicts who received good rewards should anyone be found without their pass, a situation which obviously invited abuse. Things finally blew up when a local landlord killed an enebriated worker and the miners became disgruntled when the governer's let the publican off the hook. A large-scale rebellion was steadily building, which eventually culminated in the tavern being burnt to the ground. After months of debate, the combined armed forces finally went to work on the outspoken community with a surprise invasion one early December morning and the startled rebellion was crushed within about 15 minutes. The troopers and police then went wild, destroying tents and property without reason, bayoneting the wounded, and shooting innocent bystanders. Eureka was descirbed as a massacre. Despite the loss of life, the Eureka Stockade highlighted the need for fair treatment and justice for gold miners, and is still hailed as of crucial importance in the making of Australian democracy to this day. This entertaining show played out as the finale to an informative and interesting day.

The next morning we all visited the on-site gold museum and a classically victorian street in the town centre to round off an enjoyably entertaining couple of days in the historic area, before the four of us parted company once again. The other two were heading back to Melbourne, while we had plans to go and see some of the highlights of the Great Ocean Road.

We took a brief stop in the small town of Torquay for some fish and chips, and paid a visit to the world famous surfing spot of Bells Beach, star of the final scene in the film Point Break and recently in the news because of a savage shark attack (aiding our decision to leave well alone), finally reaching our destination of Lorne, a small beachfront town just past the gateway to the Great Ocean Road. We hung around in this meditteranean-style resort for two days as it consistently hammered with rain, unfortunately foiling any plans we'd had to go to the beach or see some of the local sights.

It was in this torrential rain that we set off along the coast once more. Rocks from the surrounding cliff-face were sliding off and littering the road, making the drive along the famous highway slightly treacherous and making many of the stunning views obselete. Luckily the mist had cleared by the time we reached the Twelve Apostles, a famous selection of rocky stacks which have been abandoned to the ocean by eroding headland. There are now only six or seven remaining apostles, the name giving the whole spectacle a little more grandure than it probably deserves, but a nice picture postcard moment nonetheless.

We took an overnight stop in the relatively large town of Warrnambool, still smarting a little over our lack of Great Ocean Road scenery, and headed straight to The Grampians, a forty-square kilometre National Park containing some of Victoria states most outstanding natural features. This wasn't the location I would have ideally picked to spend my thirtieth birthday, most of the happy day being spent driving to and admiring some rather unique rock formations. Party on! We did have a pleasant, but fairly uneventful day however, the highlight being a splendid cappucino ice-cream from the local parlour where I had an enlightening conversation with an old bloke, followed by a less than inspiring beans-on-toast supper, all making for a lively welcome to middle-aged life. I'd like to subtly add at this point that my darling girlfriend of five years didn't even bother getting me a card. Nice that. Send all hate-mail to her usual address...

After a couple of nights we took off again for our final destination, the lengthy six-hour journey slightly out-doing our more optimistic estimates. Once in Adelaide I was secretly hoping we'd get a decent night out and we were in luck as our Irish room-mates Kit and Grainne (pronounced Gronya) turned out not only to be particularly friendly, but also keen to help me belatedly celebrate my big day. We all went to a slightly backward pub (there aren't many forward one's in fairness), where the barman took a bit of shine to us and kitted us out with Australia capes and a multitude of free drinks. Hard to argue with that.

We used the hire car for one last beach trip to the little bay at Glenelg, and then spent our last day in town joining the locals in their Australia Day celebrations. Capes at the ready, the morning parade featuring many of the local communities from all over the world led us to the park by the river where the days main activities were taking place. The Lord Mayor raised the flag, and a twenty-one gun salute brought the festivities to their open. Staged entertainment kept the crowds happy, especially the cheesy boy-band singing their selection of pop covers earning them a number of girly screams. The afternoon drifted by, and although it wasn't the riot we'd quite expected it was soon over, and we were back at the hostel packing our bags in preparation for our late night flight to Western Australia.

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