Fix the feet, hop on the back

Last day, Thai massage, bit of pedicure and sightseeing on the moped.

The massage was different. Went to the "blind massage" centre, where all the practitioners have different egrees of sight handicap. First time I had a blind person jump on my back - literally.

And foot stuff. Wonderful. She must have taken about 3 kilos of dead skin from my feet (the other way would have been to cut my head off).

Fredrik the golf pro took us to the range for a free lesson. Must say, there are golf pros and golf pros. This one is both knowledgeable and very honest. If you're continually doing the same thing wrong, believe us, he'll tell you.

Moral of the tale. If you happen to be passing Hua Hin and fancy a golf lesson, or finding out the best tailor, bar, housing project, et al. Ask Fredrik

TTFN

Paul and Pia

Hua Hin. The King and I

Sad to say, but we've started the descent into minus temperatures and snow chaos back home. Staving off the inevitable with a visit to Hua Hin, one of Thailand's lesser known beauty spots and the permanent home of the King.

Interesting place. We'd expected holiday chic with beautiful people, super slim Thai people speaking impeccable English. ("Hello old chap off to the beach what? It's over there.") What struck us was just how small and Petite Thai people are compared to us obese Europeans who all look like heart attacks waiting to happen. MUST change our diets when we come home.

What we got was a chaotic centre packed with bars, loud music and people selling literally everything.

And then there was all the romance. Men older than me (and that's OLD) walking hand in hand with beautiful girls much younger than my daughter. Oh how refreshing to see true love in action.

Visiting our neighbour who works as a golf pro over here. He showed us both sides of town. The other side is packed with mega-luxurious homes that cost a tenth of what they would in Europe, golf clubs, a laid-back life style and an ex-pat community enjoying the sun and doing their best to believe that they would have chosen the other ex-pats as friends had they still been living in their own countries.

Houses were out-of-this-world though.

And don't ask me if my new Lacoste is genuine. Although have bought 5 hand-made super quality shirts for the price of one Boss in Europe.

Game, set and match Williams

Always wanted to watch grand-slam tennis, so bought tickets to the Rod Laver Arena for Monday, day before Quarter finals. Saw both Williams sisters in combat, squeezed around Davydenko.

First off was the graceful Venus. Long, and athletic, she struggled a bit against an Italian opponent, whose name I don't remember. Great game. Grunts, service breaks and Venus running out as eventual winner.

Biggest talking point was her skin coloured knickers that looked like she wasn't wearing any. Loads of men had paid a fortune to watch tennis, only to consider the great debate as it were.

Nest off was Davydenko who struggled for 5 sets and 4 hours against a guy from Spain (again, can't remember his name) but quite an epic.

Problem was that the match everyone wanted to see was between the great Australian hope, Sam Stosur, and Serena. It didn't start until quite late into the afternoon session, which meant the TV company cut the match after the first set. Popular? Not.

The match was a bit of a Bambi vs Godzilla thing. Bambi had apparently won in their last encounter, but it was clear after about 3 points in wasn't going to happen twice.

Stosur has a fantastic physique. Athletic, slim, Amazonian. But Serena is like a prop forward with the strength to match. Her serve was about 50 km harder than Stosur's and not much under the guys from the last game. She was ruthless. A case of "hate to meet her on a dark night". You'd need a dark knight to save you. And if he had a tennis raquet in his hand, you'd still be chanceless.

Lovely doubles match on an exhibition court. Wilander and Laconte took on Masur of Australia and a really funny Indian bloke. Superb entertainment - and a bit of tennis too.

Back to blue

In Katoomba for another go at the Blue mountains. weather looking good - on the windy side mind so it shouldn't be a case of rain stopped play.

This whole area around Katoomba is really well planned for tourists, with gorge hikes that are raised on boardwalks to protect the habitat, and lots of interesting info points about happenings, flora and fauna as you walk around.

The things to do apart from marvel at the views are the world's steepest train down, gondola up and cable car across the gorge. Although it doesn't feel too good in a wind of about 12M/sec.
Rounded the morning off with a bit of Roo for lunch, then did had a strenuous walk around Katoomba's chic coffee places and bookshops.

Time to hop back to Melbourne and some serious tennis

Tamworth. Both kinds of music

Country AND Western. With hats, guitars, and loads of fat blokes called “slim” singing really bad songs incredibly badly, you know you’ve arrived in Australia’s largest C&W festival. AHHHHN the blanket AHHHN the GRAAAOUND. (Ugh).

Actually it was really cool. Superbly friendly family event with people dancing in the streets. (Dancing and dancing. This was the line variety. 5 people twisted one way, five the other, but at least they all had cowboy hats on).

Highlight of the event for Pia was the snake show. Great to know that Oz has the world’s most poisonous.

40 degrees today. What you might call Hot stuff.

Off back to the Blue Mountains. Hope to see it in the sun

Get high - in Armidale

Time to head home. Slowly. Went inland on the New England Highway. A parallel road to the coast that runs through the Oz hinterland. Another dose of beauty. Not spectacularly so, it looks like the best of English countryside in a sweep that seems to run forever.

They call this a highway, but even by Swedish road standards it’s quiet. The big excitement of the day was seeing another car.

Then we found Armidale, a town in high places. It’s actually the highest town in Oz at around 1500 meters. Which means it’s 35 degrees in the day, and 5 in the evening. Slept like logs when in the cool air.

Did a trip the following day taking in Amidale’s culture. A bit like one of those “world’s shortest books” jokes, but what was interesting was the aboriginal museum. We’ve deliberately kept away from that kind of thing, as we can’t stand digeridoo music (or however you spell it). But this was interesting. One guy showed the plight of his nation through some high-class art.
One painting depicted the time some natives killed a sheep farmer who’d deliberately driven his cattle into their feeding lands. They were rounded up and pushed over a cliff. The ones that refused to jump were shot. Doesn’t make you proud.

Went for nine holes of golf in hat must by definition be Oz’s highest golf course. Really disappointed that there were no wallabies on the green. Golf here is great. No showing cards, no slope system, no strict adherence to rules, just go out and have a great time. Actually makes the sport enjoyable instead of a mathematical formula.

Catch the waves, especially from the mini bus

Bin surfin. No relation to Bin Laden, but a bit worrying all the same. The instructor had the classic long-haired look without the beard. And burning eyes. No Kalashnikov on the mini bus seat if you failed to rise, so to speak.

The guy started the day as a joker (“Irish, eh, how many beers do you guys need to get board” to a party of hungover participants from Belfast). But he soon got serious, without being serious. Lot’s of warm-up stuff, stretching (he was the guy who said “it’s what hippies call yoga” – what a lovely comment). Then the technique. Some of us, certain unmentionable blonde females took to this like the proverbial duck to water. Others of us couldn’t catch a cold, never mind a wave.

But eventually, and to use another quote from said instructor, “feel the motion from the ocean”. And even people with sufflé muscles can rise more than once.

¨Feel the motion from the ocean”. What a lovely cliché. On hold till the right job comes up. Sea-U. Need a copywriter?

Wonderful, wonderful day. OK, I need to go back for another lesson, but Pia. Impressive.

And seriously, if you ever get the chance. Just do it. If you don’t you could probably twist that in Oz to “Just die hot”. The guys we went with were called style surf. www.stylesurfingbyronbay.com. When in Byron...

Sea Kayaking. Don’t worry about the shark.

18. Jan, Went sea kayaking today. Superb. The brave instructor that took us was from a company called goseakayaking.com.au. Lovely guy. Typical for the region. 40 something, long hair, suntan, no intention of ratracing.

After a brief intro (“this is a paddle, this is a boat”) we were off to brave the waves. That meant paddling in harmony over the white water till we got out to sea. Hmm. “Left, right” sounds so easy but for some reason it can become amazingly difficult. After an hour or so at sea he showed us how to surf our canoes onto land. Most people in the group – including ourselves, stuttered in with the canoe covering our heads. Still, the sun was hot.

Exiting the island was also tricky. There was a strong cross current to negotiate which meant lots of lefts and rights to get us out to sea. Worked OK till a monster wave changed our plans and sent us head over heel back to the beach.
And then came the shark. The company guarantee you that you’ll see wildlife. What they mean is dolphins, rays, turtles, etc. When the fin shot by, the guide was full of research about how sharks actually hate the smell of human blood, how big the boat shadoe looks under water (shame sharks can’t see) etc ,etc.

What a wonderful day. The next step? Follow in the instructor’s kayak tracks. Off to Canada to follow the whales.

Byron Bay. New age, old-style surf. And Di

Byron Bay is the business. Full of cool surfers, loadsa wannabes and Paul Hogan’s pub. It bustles with beautiful people, all with the obligatory board thrust under their arm. A bit like after ski, no one ever sees them in the water, but they look good on land.
Met Di, again. And of course at Paul Hogan’s place. Paul eas actually around, anf you’d have thought that one old, white haired guy would have said hi to another one. But no. And I thought Ozzies were supposed to be social.

Di’s a regular in these parts. Loves the tingle tangle, decent clothes, massage, yoga (stretching for hippies according to our surf instructor – more later) and general ambience of one of the world’s coolest places.

No Oz trip is complete without a bit of surf and chic that is Byron.
Check out the lighthouse. One of the first spots spotted by a certain James Cook. The guy who “discovered” Australia. The fact that there was already umpteen thousand Aborigines here already is neither here nor there.
Which makes me wonder why the Ausies have a thing about poms. Let’s face it, they’re all fairly recent descendents.

Arrawarra. Where else?

Off to Byron Bay, Oz’s own mystic centre. But as it’s not a small drive we scoured the map for places to stay in between. And came up with Arrawarra. Lovely place. A bit up market with a snooty camp manageress, but the whole kit, with private beach, private pool and spa, and loads of public kangaroos feeding on people’s lawns, much to their nnoyance. On the way there we stopped of at Gaol Bay. (Loads of bays, not all of them so penile, if that’s the right word!

Gaol Bay is interesting. First they kept run of the mill convicts there – your Rooney types, then they kept loads of Germans there during ww1. Not sure how many were captured and how many were simply interned for being of German offspring during the war. Anyway, internship was no hardship as the cells were kept unlocked and the prisoners could spend all day on the beach as long as they were back by 6.00. After that they amused themselves with amateur dramatics, bit of sport, etc. Penal system’s never been the same since.

Love Oz

We’re becoming Nr 1 Oz fans. They’re polite, helpful, exceedingly social, and, surprise surprise, obey every law that’s thrown their way. I thought UK/Sweden were nanny and super nanny, but this place… It’s Australia Day on 26th Jan and the police want to ban the sale of alcohol. It’ll be like New Year’s Eve without bubble.

Ended up next to one of the nicest families you could ever wish to meet. Funny, generous – And loads of them. They started by loaning us space on their washing line, then brought us round a fish (!) starter, then invited us round to some people they knew (we’d never met) after the no talent show. And believe me, there wasn’t any.

So you drink some wine. And maybe a beer or two, then they invite you for more, and more – then the security guard comes and asks you to be quiet.

On his sixth visit he began to look a bit forlorn as one Swede and one Pom tried their best to close the roof on their camper. Said Oz family lent us a few towels to cover the roof with. And said security guard? To be honest I’m not sure., Might be a bit embarrassing if two people our age are banned from a camper van park.

When it rains…

Forster. “quiet” beach resort with caravan park. “I can’t put you on the island, cos you’ve got a sink”. Thank god they didn’t.

Went to walk on said mosquito infested island. Pia bought magic repellent with “deet” Never heard of it. All I know is Pia walked on the Island mosquito free while I became the prime target. At one point it was impossible to see my head, as it was in a cloud - of small creepy things.

Then the rain came. Talk about monsoon. The heavens opened, and the happy campers, looking on under a hot tin roof called the kitchen all looked VERY worried about the state of their belongings.

Blue mountains, grey skies

The typical guidebook shot of Oz is the three sisters, breathtaking outcrops of rock in the Blue Mountains.
So we had big plans. Hit the rocks, take the night time floodlit hike, cable car then mountain railway.
Did the rocks. Down came the mist. And the rain. And being intrepid campers we heard the gentle thump, thump of rain on the van aallllll night. Don’t knock stars on hotels, no matter how few they are, or which tyre company awarded them.

No point in scenic views with no scene. So off to the south coast beaches. Via places called Newcastle, Swansea, Cardiff, and other difficult to pronounce stuff.

And when we get old, we already found out what we'll be travelling in.

Some people blog about food. Great. We found the most appalling food ever. It was at a restaurant called Islandia in Swansea. We should have known when we walked through the door and placed our orders with a waitress that was wider.
We thought: salad with chicken breast gourmet dresing, the works. We got: chips and a bit of old bird between two pieces of white bread with a bit of lettuce strewn on for good measure. A weight on our minds.

Right Manly

Wanna walk? Take the Manly ferry from the Circular Quay and walk the Manly scenic route. That way you get to explore the true beauty of both Sydney's harbour and its surrounding beaches.

It's a 10 k route through bush, beautiful houses and beaches for every taste, from the family/small kid beach with nets around the swimming area, to chonga chonga music places.

Lots of plaques commemorating the original aboriginal owners of the land (original aboriginal - hmm). Anyway, seems like people have developed a bit of a conscience - although a bit late.

In the paper today they had a surfers' etiquette. How to turn and how to give way to passing surfers. The only thing I pass nowadays is water - all too often.

Sydney. Bridge, Opera and stuff

OK. Sydney. Famous for old bridge and newer opera house. They're great but look better on the boat to Manly (next post).

We always thought that Sydney was a laid back place with people spending too much time surfing and drinking and not enough time working. Not so says the taxi driver. Claims people in Sydney live to work, where we in Europe work to live.I'll drink to that.

Sydney is a very pleasant city. Surrounded by water and colonial history. Go to:
The Rocks. The first settlement from the 1780s.
Look at the bridge from underneath, and of course the harbour. That's about it really. Oh and you can eat cheaply Mondays and Tuesdays in the heart of the city. Steaks as big as your arm for ten dollars - sick squid (£6)

Wine glass Bay. Walking in wonderland

Started the day walking Binalonga beach (it really is called that) is officially voted as one of the 3 best beaches in the world. And yes, you can whale watch in winter. Both kinds.

From there we drove into the Freycenet National Park (24 dollars to get in). It sports a range of walks for most abilities, starting with fairly strenuous. We took the 5 hour, 2 beach, climb over the rock for the stunning views tour called Wineglass bay/ Hazards Beach circuit. Serious bush walking and wallaby spotting. Plus the 5-foot long tiger snake that slithered its way past a petrified Pia. “Den’t tread on them mate. They’ll killya”. Oh. Thanks. Must bear that in mind.

Heading back to Launceston we came across the foxhunters return in Capbell Town. Paid 139 dollars and expected a run of the mill B&B. Got 4 star luxury and 5 star service from a place that was an old coaching house. Steel poster beds, gold fittings, extra rooms, the whole kit. Plus a tour of the cellars and the grounds around. The landlord had only bought it 4 weeks ago. With the great service we got, it’s bound to be a roaring success. Don’t you just love people who dare to follow their dreams?

Hmm. Descending into Sydney – for better or worse. Time to stop writing.

Launceston – small car, big falls

Hired a mini type car – Hyundai Getz – to take us to Ralph Falls. What we didn’t know was that the “road” was a kangaroo infested dirt track. Bonking’s always been one of my favourite pastimes – till we bonked our way up a mountain in a car designed for being on a straight go-kart track.

View from the top? Yup. Ralph Falls on the way from Launceston through the Midlands to the east coast. Another spot of beauty. Tasmania’s problem is that you run out of superlatives – a bit like being a wine critic - How many ways can you describe a fantastic view/grape? Perhaps with just a hint of cheekiness? Anyway, this waterfall ran down hundreds of meters from the middle of nowhere to, errm, the middle of nowhere.

We drive down this dirt track for about 15 kilometres, just miss running over several ‘roos, and in the middle of ingenstans (that’s nowhere in Swedish) we hit one of the best pubs around. Talk about an anomaly. Pub’s full (of bikers – “yeah guys, we gotta Yamaha”) no spare place to stay – restaurant heaving – but no houses anywhere - for miles. Reminds me of an old Dire Straits song – it’s a mystery to me.

Anyway. Said landlady with pub – the pub in the paddock at Pingalonga, or wherever, has it for sale. So if you fancy leaving the rat race and owning your own place…

Ended up in St Helens. Not the one with pork pies, Rugby League and supersized women, the one on the eastern Tasmanian coast – with pork pies, no rugby league- great beaches – and supersized…

Mount Wellington – Master and commander of Hobart

Of up another mountain today – and again by bus. Mount Wellington took us from almost sea level to around 1400 meters high – and through some serious bush.

Even if we’ve both eaten and drunk far too much these last months, we wobbled our way to the top in about 3 hours, only to follow a track down that cut through to nowhere. Once we got back on track we saw some free climbers defying death on the rocks, just above our heads. Me? He only thing I like on the rocks is whisky.

Popped down to Salamanca, Hobart’s Lilla Torg, and watch the Tassie trendsetters drink their way through Friday. Both agreed that it could be great to be 22, but could you be bothered going through life again? Loads of hassle really.

Stayed in the hotel Astor close to the centre of Hobart. The character of Mrs Munster/Morticia were based on the owner – the completely eccentric but ever-lovely Tilde. loadsa kilos and an attitude that said, “if you don’t pay me, I’ll put a curse on you and you’ll die”. First time we left a tip.

Port Arthur – Prisoners’ paradise, or the Hobart from Hell?

So you steal a handkerchief. And you end up doing time in a cove on the other side of the world. Port Arthur was an idyllic spot, but one where they sent all the nasty re-offenders to cut down trees and make boats for Her Majesty.

Now it’s a really interesting tourist attraction where the guide tells you all about the Island of the Dead (convict burial place) and how people tried to escape.

Two of the best were the guy who jumped into a kangaroo skin and tried to hop past the guards. Shame they took him for food and treated him as fair game, and the guys who steered the commandant’s boat out to sea, and got recaptured more than 6 months later in Sydney – talk about almost made it.


The way back took us through the breathtaking Tasman coast. We can stick as many pictures as we like up here, but the only way to see the true beauty of life as far down under as you can get is by visiting it.