Memories of Thailand

Same slide-show type of post as before, only this time I was able to put some actual video on:

I'll not post anything from Australia- it's been a family visit.

But now it is all over. For the last time, I'm dressed in my bush-shirt, grey cargo trousers and hiking boots. They are all faded now, torn, stitched and scuffed through Africa's bush, India's mountains, and Thailand's jungle.

I fly home in 5 hours.

Refering to my first post:

"On the 20th, it's all over. We're flying back to blighty. To get back on with The Job, and choose our new life. A family, a new washing-machine, car, compact disc player and electric tin opener. Good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Fixed interest mortgage repayments, starter home, friends, leisurewear and matching luggage. A three piece suite on hire purchase in range of f.."

My time as Grasshopper is now over.

Sadly.

Memories of India

Another slide show with photos and music from my phone. Even more hastily thrown together than the last one, as we leave for England tomorrow...

Kenya- A Reminder

Using pictures from my camera phone, I've put together a quick slide-show of pics from Kenya. The photo's I taken are not the best-just quick snaps I was able to take, as I had not lost the habit of keeping my phone constantly with me.

It's not great, but for me it's a reminder of what we were lucky enough to see and experiance.
It would be great to do another, good one, with proper photos we have when we are home. But I think The Job, and everyday life will overcome me when I'm home. But while I had nothing to do for an hour or so and thought I'd try out Windows Movie-Maker, here you are:

Melbourne

We left the Princes Highway into the spacious sprawl of suburbia that is so typically Australian- every house on a quarter-acre, mostly single story. We then picked up the cross-city motorways, where the houses became more familiar. Two and three story houses gave way to apartments, growing larger as we went. Then the flyovers gave views of the industry, business and finance of Melbourne, and the flashy skyscrapers of the Central Business District.

With very little difficulty we found the campsite nearest the city- 9Km away from the centre. Compared to the arrogant, awkward, pain in the arse city streets of Sydney, Melbourne was easy to get around, well sign posted, and almost, strangely, quite homely.

After so many hours driving, I was shattered- Mrs G couldn't share the drive as her driving licence was in her money-belt, stolen in Delhi. Once booked into the camp, a swift coffee, change of clothes, and a tea-cake, we were fit to "do" the city.

The cities tram network is a great way to get about, reasonably priced and late-running. Due to the late time of arrival, the tourist trail of museums were closed, so we hit the bars and a great restaurant in Chinatown. A large 3-dish meal, with mid-priced bottle of wine cost $60- I cannot remember the name of the place, but we were convinced to go in by a local bloke who caught us looking at the menu outside. He promised the best mixed satay in the world, and I couldn't really argue- it was indeed amazing, the best I had ever tasted.

The following morning we went to Pin Oak Drive- AKA Ramsey Street- the real street where Neighbours is filmed. We were surprised at how small it was- I struggled to turn the campervan around at the top. I felt very self-conscious staring at peoples homes, especially from our brightly painted campervan (pictured below). However, Mrs Grasshopper leaped out, camcorder and camera in hand, and done the tourist thing.

Soon as she did though, the residents started leaving their houses, jumping into their cars and taking off. I noticed a big guy in wrap-around shades and a high-vis jacket step out of a car, fold his arms and stare at us, looking just like a security guard. Along with the yellow "filming-do not cross" fences stacked up by the entrance of the street, and the exodus of residents, I figured filming was due on. We made off before being told to.

From there we went into the city centre, visiting the Melbourne Gaol where the famous bushranger Ned Kelly was hung for being a thieving murderer. He's a popular character here in Oz.

After seeing a show about Ned, and generally wondering around the 19th century prison, we went to the police watch-house, which was included in our ticket price. Following the 19th Century setting of the Gaol, and the advertisement of experiencing an "old fashioned arrest procedure" role-play, we were expecting an old fashioned Gaoler experience, complete with iron shackles and demo of Victorian coppering...

We actually got shown modern custody procedure almost exactly like we have here in the UK, and so were quite bored! The watch-house (police custody cells) was in use up until 1994, when they moved it to bigger, more modern premises. Since then, having left everything in the old one, they now book tourists in as a novel tourist experience. Admittedly, the cells were old and Victorian in design (like many old nicks in UK), but the booking-in procedure clearly doesn't change much over 14 years, or from the UK to Oz. Still, it was amusing to see how our fellow tourists enjoyed it!

We then set off for the drive into the country-suburbs, to see our family members- it was great, and we had a great time especially as I met mine for the first time ever.

We left back for Sydney just after 8pm on Sunday, driving until 2am, where we parked up at a rest area next to a full-size military submarine... Quite what it was doing parked up in a country town, in the middle of the bush I don't know. There wasn't even any water. It felt like an X-files set.

We slept until 8am, woken by children going to school... It was very surreal; in the dark, despite the illuminated submarine (WTF?), the rest area looked like any other you get on long Australian highways; toilets, covered picnic area, and a parking area.

Daylight however, shown us to be parked in the middle of a housing estate! The campervan that was parked in front of us had left sometime in the night, revealing a sign- "STRICTLY NO CAMPING!" I guessed that was technically just what we were doing, sleeping in our campervan.

A guy arrived to clean the toilets, and he eyed us suspiciously as I fell out the van, stiff and half asleep. Thinking brewing a coffee on our stove would confirm our honest mistake, we jumped in the front and made the last push to Sydney, roaring away in a cloud of dust. Slowly.

We got to Sydney by that afternoon. The city was a pain in the arse to get around- Sydneysiders somewhat arrogantly think your stupid, but you wonder why there are two signs for the airport, both pointing in opposite directions. Getting around India's cities is easier- I know from experience.

Our dour mood on arriving back in Sydney wasn't just the pathetic road signs and poor traffic management- it was knowing our travelling is at its end.

Two weeks until our flight. Maybe 1 more post.

Then home. I am looking forward to it, all things considered.

Victoria- and a pub!

We left Batemans bay first thing, anxious to get to Melbourne in plenty of time to see family we both have there.

The road swept along the coast further, over the Lakes Entrance giving amazing views, before heading inland. We crossed the boarder sometime after stopping for gas for our cooking stove and a caffeine fix. The landscape started to change gradually on our approach. Initially open grazing land of gentle rolling hills, with a mountainous backdrop, we were slowly drawn into deep forest, cut up by creeks and sudden stretches of flat grazing.

Doing the posted 100Kph, the campervan felt like it was flying along at warp speed, bouncing and swaying over every undulation on its suspension springs, it's engine screaming with my foot usually flat on the floor. At times the road became quite hilly, with uphills requiring constant gear changes and lots of revs to keep momentum, and downhill bends lots of forward planning, engine braking and nerve. Occasionally a break in the huge trees would give an indication of a valley or creek, but all of my attention was on the drive- not fast, but involving, and even a little exhilarating, particularly flying downhill after a difficult, noisy ascent.

As much as I wished I was on a bike, taking a relaxing flowing ride on this deserted, perfect tarmac, the fact it was challenging and exhilarating in a slow-speed campervan made it all the more appealing. A good sound track of the Doors, Rolling Stones, and the Clash from the CD player added to the fun.

We hoped to avoid night-driving, and the associated vehicle-kangaroo interfaces, so come sundown we were considering where to stop. We noticed some campsight signs, pointing the same way as a town called Orbost, so considered stopping there. But we appeared to be in the middle of no-where, so also considered just stopping for the night at a rest area.

But I wanted to find a pub, so we turned off for Orbost.

The town itself was a little unlike what we had seen so far, and had a frontier, almost wild west feel when we rolled in. It was a one-street town, full of serious pick-up trucks, 4WDs, and guys looking like they've lost their horse. The weather didn't help- the setting sun and heavy, just breaking rainclouds turned the world an un-natural, surreal shade of dusty off-pink.

I felt a bit of a prat turning up in a spray-painted, hippy camper van, in a town full of leatherfaced lumberjacks and calloused cowboys. But hey- I could see a pub!!

The frontier-town feeling stayed when we went into the local mini-market for supplies. Everyone in the shop knew everyone else, asking each other how the kids were, who was cooking that night, and such like. The shop was out of canned chilli (my favorite camping food), so we went across the road to the small Woolworths, which looked very out of place. In there, similar chattering was going on- everyone knew everyone, and seemingly their business too.
Stocked up on extra-hot chilli, coffee, and bread rolls, we followed the signpost left onto the campsight.

"Corr, not anava bleeder!" The guy on reception shouts when I ask him if he has an un-powered site available.
I look at him dumbfounded.

"You're a Bleeding POM!!!" He explains "Dunno why we call you POMs though- it was us who were prisoners of her majesty" he says thoughtfully.

I like this chap, with his friendly banter immediately.

"$13.60 mate" he tells me, which is more than 10 dollars cheaper than the last place- which itself was pretty cheap compared to many places $30+.

A bit of small talk later, Mrs Grasshopper hands over the cash and we're parking our campervan next to a hedge-row, seeking shelter from the now quite heavy rain.

The back door of the van provided overhead cover as I heated the chilli, which we scoffed at the table inside the candle-lit van with a cold bottle of VB lager. Once the rain had eased, we set off on the short walk back to the pub.

With a narrow covered veranda running the length of the building, and 1860's colonial architecture, I half expected western-style swing-doors as we approached.

The bar was packed, warm, smelt of beer, and was noisy with the chatter of a busy night. Pictures, jockey shirts and posters decorated the walls, beer glasses lined a shelf above the bar, and the furniture was basic, high-standing wooden tables and chairs, with low tables and chairs in the corners. There were no poker machines, but there was a pool table in the adjoining room, labelled "The Snake Pit". Everyone at some point turned to look at us as we squeezed our way to the bar, but it wasn't an uncomfortable stare- we were just a curiosity. Two glasses of Carlton draught were passed over for a very reasonable $6.80, and we made our way to the only free table, next to a wall covered in photos of the pubs patrons- fishing, dirt-bike riding, winning raffles and in various states of drunkenness. I gave Mrs G the only chair at the table, but 2 minuets later a young fella sits a chair down next to me: "There ya go mate!"

Mrs G and and I looked at the photos, pleased at last to have found a Proper Pub- somewhere to socialise, relax, and have a drink with other people local to the area. Mrs Grasshopper reached up to point to a photo, only to knock it off the wall. While trying to pin it back, she knocked off another one.

"Stealing our photos now are ya?" A voice calls over from the bar. It was a short, stocky blond bloke in his 40s, who immediately walked over with his hand out; "Robbie Price. Where you from mate?"

"North England...mostly" I say and shake his hand.

At this he breaks out into a huge smile "I fackin love England!! Spent quite a few years there, racing speedway bikes. I loved it mate!"

I explained I'm into motorbikes, riding a VFR800 back home, but don't know much about speedway. So started a thoroughly enjoyable hour chatting to our new found mate, who told us stories that had us laughing out loud, from when he raced in England, and before that racing horses as a teenage jockey. He gestured to the jockey-shirt on the wall- "That's why me and the landlord here hit it off so well, he loves his horses too." Originally from New Zealand, he'd settled here in Oz as a painter and decorator after his motorcycling career, enjoying the easy lifestyle and ability to easily find work.

Before long our drinks were finished, and I knew if we stopped for another one, we would end up here all night. We said our goodbyes, regrettably turning down Robbie's offer to stay the night at the pub, and went back to the campsight. It was by far the best pub we had been to in Australia so far.

The following morning I went for a run, aiming for the Snowy Mountain river. The morning was grey, and very cold with a fresh breeze, so I started running straight out the campsite. Hidden by trees, it took me a few turns to actually find the river, but once I did, I happily pounded the path running alongside it for a further half hour. A couple of times I passed people, who all shouted a cheery "Good morning" to me as I sweated and snorted past them, worrying one mans German Shepard, which I found amusing. By the time I got back to the campsite, steam was rising freely from my t-shirt and my trainers were soaked in the morning dew. But the grey clouds were thinning, and after a hot shower, a coffee and a bit of bread, the sky was clearing as we hit the last of the Princes Highway to Melbourne.

Batemans Bay

We continued down the sunny Princes Highway, sometimes heading off onto brown-badged "Tourist Drives", which took us onto clear ribbons of tarmac that hugged a dramatic coastline. Where-ever there was beaches there were surfers, making full use of the huge waves and bright sunshine.


I didn't envy them in the water though- sunny or not it was still a touch on the cool side! Mrs Grasshopper kept an eye out for a shop selling duvets and quilts, as I threaded our "Divorce" (camper-van) through small towns, villages, and exhilarating coastal highway.



We stopped off at a few towns, for coffee, photos and a bite to eat. We enjoyed lunch at an excellent Thai restaurant, which made me think of my Muay Thai trainer Deeday, and all the lads back at the camp.



We had a great day being a proper tourist, and stopped at sundown in a town called Batemans Bay, booking into a well-equipped campsite a 10 mins walk from the centre.



The Proper Pub Hunt continued...



...and failed. But only just.



We initially strolled into the Soldiers Club, which in the typical vein of NSW "Clubs" had a soul-less bar area, and busy casino area. It also had the restaurant area, and surprisingly a hair salon. We stopped for a drink and used their pricey internet, before heading off.



The following bar was a lot nicer, no poker machines, comfy bar stools and large leather chairs to relax in. One chap, clearly an off-duty employee, drunkenly shouting at us the $10 chicken schnitzel offer when he realised we were tourists. Once he finished the list of toppings (about 15 in total), he almost fell off his bar stool. I grinned as I paid for our Carlton Draughts.





"Shut up Steve, your scaring them!" The on-duty barman tells him, looking embarrassed. I look at Steve and smile, shaking my head once.


"They don't look scared..." He slurred back, looking at me through glazed eyes, friendly and quite happily pissed.





The Schnitzel was duly considered, on account of the laid back, friendly atmosphere of what was almost a proper pub (although it was actually a hotel) but we chose to have a further wonder about town instead. We bought a cheap duvet from Woolworths, got a good look at the Bay itself, with its leisure boats lit up by fairy lights, and felt the cold, biting offshore wind, before succumbing to fast food and an early night.





The following day we were to be in Victoria.

On the Road...

In a camper van called Divorce (It's spray-painted down the side) with my wife... Worrying, considering my driving and her map-reading...

It does 110Kph... down-hill... sometimes... It doesn't brake..., and it has "Honk if your really bad!" spray-painted on the back. It took me a 100K's to stop jumping and panicking about my driving when other road users sound their horns and gesture at me, usually at major junctions and traffic lights. Or maybe my driving really is that bad...

We only done a few hours the first night, pitching up outside Wollongong, before looking for a pub.
Amazingly for us- We failed.
We found a club- of the casino, bowls, and darts kind that seem to be everywhere in NSW. Devoid of atmosphere, but full of poker machines, it was at least a warm place to spend a few hours- it was freezing that night! My search for a nice, cosy local "pub", where you can meet strangers and have fun away from gambling remains fruitless. The guys in there seemed nice enough, once their empty schooners of beer torn them away from their gambling and they passed a few words topping up at the bar.

Surely we can find a good, traditional Aussie pub in Victoria?

After a freezing, fitful nights sleep, the following morning was mega bright and sunny, so I set off for a run along what seemed like the biggest coastline I've ever seen. The waves were big, the surfers were big, the beach was big, even the bloody seagulls were big.

Despite the glaringly bright sun and cloudless blue sky, the morning was still colder than crisp so the hot showers at our campsite were very appreciated. After a breakfast of sausages and egg, bought the night before at the local butcher and cooked by Mrs G, we carried on up the Princes Highway... (on the lookout for somewhere we could buy a cheap duvet)...