I'M AT: Tasman Backpackers, Devonport, where I lasted just one match in the pool competition - OK and absolutely teeming with carrot-pickers; Cosy Cabins YHA, spotless and set in the bush, surrounded by wallabies and possums; and Launceston Backpackers, where the seriously wearying sarcasm of the manager failed to take the sparkle off of what was a pretty decent place; a tent on the Freycinet Peninsula; and a hostel in Hobart that I fail to remember...it was pretty forgettable.
I didn't know what to expect of Tasmania as the ferry pulled into Devonport.
It had taken me ten hours by boat to get there from Melbourne. The Spirit of Tasmania II was full of beardy old men and their pencil-thin wives. One of the gents I spoke to had a sick wife, basically an invalid, and he'd come here with friends, leaving her at home to give them both a break from the intense caring. He tucked into his ship-boiled hotdog.
The journey passed uneventfully via a mushy lunch and a couple of nice, fruity Cascade beers - brewed in Tasmania - and then we arrived. From the deck it looked like half the town had turned out to greet us. The next day I figured out it was actually all the tourists in the town that had turned out, for there really is nothing to do in Devonport.
I had ten days in Tassie, and it took me almost all of one of them to get my head round the fact that Tasmania's public transport is sparse, to say the least. Infrequent scheduling - the companies make most of their money doing school runs, so it's very tricky getting buses at the weekend - meant I'd have to stay longer than I wanted to in each of the three towns I'd visit, Devonport, Launceston and Hobart, and less time in the National Parks, which was where I really wanted to be.
Getting all the bus connections to work was like a Krypton Factor-type logic problem. I had to ask the squint-eyed woman in the visitor office to verify that I hadn't been maddened by timetables, but in fact she was full of good advice and booked it all for me. Should have gone straight there, really. She said she was jealous of my trip, and I told her to chuck it all in and join me. She squinted back at me.
So, my time in Devonport sank without trace, and I happily hopped onto the Tassielink bus from there to Cradle Village, which is just a few kilometres from the entrance to Cradle Mountain National Park, an alpine glory full of peaks and tarns and lakes and cairns. it's here that the Overland Track starts (it finishes in Lake St Clair National Park, 80km away) but I'd already decided I couldn't be arsed to carry six days worth of food and camping stuff on my back, so opted for day walks.
Cradle Mountain's a great place to be. The parks folk put on a free shuttle bus, operating twelve hours each day, which takes you to various huts and centres in the park. You can walk as little or as much as you want. I went for much. So on day one, I got the bus to the Visitor Centre inside the park and stomped along a 9km boardwalk through she-oak and eucalyptus forests, at the end of which I got my first sight of the Cradle Mountain range, jutting menacingly. I also walked round Dove Lake, which was very popular - overloaded with folk, really. But understandably so. You can drive to the car park and instantly relax into a scene of great beauty. It's a popular place.
I got the bus back after about five hours walking, and it was then that I saw the fire marshals, checking out the evacuation plans of the place I was staying. Mount Remus was burning and the village was under threat. It was all pretty worrying, moreso when you spend a couple of days in a place and get to appreciate the friendliness of the park and hostel staff. Their livelihoods are at risk. On the day I left, the fire was burning so badly that most of the longer walks in the park were closed, including the walk I did just the day before, on day two - up Cradle Mountain itself.
Day two started fairly early, with an 8AM bus to Ronny Creek. From here, a decent track took me up to Crater Lake and to Marion's Lookout, at about a thousand metres, from where you could see all the vast ripples of land, with water sitting in the folds. I got to Kitchen Hut at 11AM and started the climb up Cradle Mountain, which is steep, and had me and loads of others pausing for breath and dragging ourselves across massive boulders, squinting in the sun to try and follow the daubed red paint showing us the way. It's just like being on the beach, I told myself, just like climbing rocks on the beach. But of course it wasn't. So, pretty freaked, and sweating, I arrived at the summit, failed to enjoy it up there, and hurried back down.
It was only on the Face Track, which skirts the bottom of the mountains, that I really got into it. The views down into deep blue lakes, across dry forests, were dramatic, and the path ground its way up and down over itchy rock. I saw my first snake - and shortly after, my second - on this bit of the walk, which was pretty overgrown. Turned out they were Tiger snakes, which, like the other two snakes on Tasmania, are deeply venomous, only moreso. They lived up to their reputation as being shy, though, and made for the leaves as I strode on.
And then, via the Twisted Lakes and over Mount Hudson, next to Hudson Lake, the walk was done, at Lake Dove car park, it had taken about six hours - very beautiful. That night I cooked pasta in the secret kitchen I found, in another building, which was handy as ours had been overrun by a tour group.
So, with news that the Cradle Mountain Summit track had now been closed, and feeling for the Geordie bloke I'd given my map to the night before, who was so eager to get up the thing, I left the place and journeyed to Launceston, which has one big natural attraction - Cataract Gorge. I went to the Gorge twice - the second time at dusk, where it had turned from the idyllic swimming-hole paradise that it had been during the day, into a dervish of bugs and drunks - and then spent the next day doing laundry and sitting in the park reading, watched the macaques in their enclosure, just one of the lazy days you can't avoid.
I had reason to save my energy, though, because a 30km overnight trip round the Freycinet Peninsula was next. The Freycinet droops like a drop of wax off of the East Coast of Tasmania, and is home to Wineglass Bay, which to me looked as though it had been lifted from a St Lucia tourist brochure, so golden and gorgeous it seemed.
Tassielink picked me and the inevitable German couple (German tourists are as numerous as Brits in Australia and when you meet them speak with the same weariness at constantly meeting their own countryfolk, despite being thousands of miles from home) from the station and ferried us, under grey skies with drizzle promised, to the Coles Bay Turnoff. From here we jumped into a small air-conditioned thing and went to Coles Bay itself. I'd planned on getting a 3pm shuttle into the park, giving me a few hours to dump my gear and hire camping equipment to take with me - but as it happened, they gave me a life much earlier, so I had more time to hike. They didn't charge me, either. Good people.
The first day, then, takes about four hours to get to the Cooks Beach campsite. From grey came shine and it was in glorious colour that I hit Hazards Beach, the first taste of this beautiful, beautiful place. Tanned bodies swam and I squinted to make out a gorgeous green island sitting a kilometre or so off the beach. I sat and ate a couple of pittas with a big grin on my face.
And from there I headed into a wilderness of bush, overgrown, thick with bark and tumble - saw two snakes, the second a much larger animal than I'd seen before. It was dark green, saw me approaching, stayed where it was and made a threatening gesture. For the first time, a snake had failed to take off like a scalded cat into the undergrowth. I waited, and sweated, and my heart pounded. It moved, so slowly, baqck across the path, facing me for a time, and then into the undergrowth on my left. Walking past, I could imagine it just feet from my bare legs. In there. Flicking its tongue at the human.
It left me alone, and I walked without taking my eyes off the path, onward to Cooks Beach - past a group of three stoned Aussies, who were walking the opposite way. They offered me a toke but quite frankly I'm not the best at tent-erecting, and attempting it stoned, using unfamiliar gear, just didn't appeal. I could easily see myself spending the first two hours at the campsite looking at the instructions dreamily. Maybe eating a a fork or two of pasta. Gazing at the stuff again. Wondering if I needed a piss or not. Getting stuff out, getting it wrong, panicking, nightfall - death. So I turned them down.
As it was, it was simplicity itself, so I settled in, had a wine, walked out to look down the empty beach, saw clouds over the sunset, went back into my sanctuary, put the stereo on, ate my cold dinner and slept, huge ants walking over the inner sheet. There was a heavy storm, casting pink lightning into the night air, but by and large it stayed where it was, across the foaming ocean, and we just had a light shower. In the morning it was calm as I ate a gentle breakfast, listening to the frupp frupp frupp of the resident wallaby's tongue as it licked rainwater off my flysheet, two small paws clawing gently at the fabric.
Monday 26 February 2007
Thursday 15 February 2007
AUSTRALIA: From Melbourne to Melbourne
I'M AT: Port Campbell YHA, a nice gaff with big rooms, good beds, barbeque area plagued with hungry flies.
The Great Ocean Road is pretty famous, I guess, one of the best drives in the world. Lacking transport, I had to decide which of the many tours I wanted to book onto. Many of them take you to Adelaide, which was where I wanted to go next, so this would have made sense. But there was something about Todd's brochure that intrigued me.
Ride Tours take you to the far end of the Great Ocean Road and drive back along it, over two days. This is unique, and to the group's smug satisfaction meant that we had most of the viewpoints, beaches and sights to ourselves, uncluttered by all the other tour groups, who start at the Melbourne end.
It's a great trip. Todd was brilliant, efficient and funny, relaxed, a brilliant bloke. Got to wish him all the best. www.ridetours.com.au And we saw loads of stuff - koalas sleeping in the trees; kangaroos bouncing across a manicured golf course; kangaroos again, in the bush; a sleeping emu - and this was all before we started on the actual road.
The Great Ocean Road was built by returning soldiers, much of it hacked out of the cliffs, as dynamite was impractical. It twists its way past limestone stacks, the most famous (although not the most beautiful) are the Twelve Apostles, and we had a really truly spectacular sunset whilst we were there. There are many other stacks and rock formations - London Bridge, Loch Ard Gorge, the Bay of Martyrs (were we swam in the cool blue ocean) and the Bay of Islands. It's a beautiful and relaxing trip, all the better for having an entertaining and knowledgeable bloke leading the tour. And we even, somehow, managed to do something very unusual for groups of backpackers - got truly hammered at a small pub in Port Campbell, from where I made a drunken phone call.
Great trip. I couldn't meet up with Kenny and Leonie and Liz and the rest of the group at the free Twenty20 game the following Sunday, though. Tasmania beckoned.
The Great Ocean Road is pretty famous, I guess, one of the best drives in the world. Lacking transport, I had to decide which of the many tours I wanted to book onto. Many of them take you to Adelaide, which was where I wanted to go next, so this would have made sense. But there was something about Todd's brochure that intrigued me.
Ride Tours take you to the far end of the Great Ocean Road and drive back along it, over two days. This is unique, and to the group's smug satisfaction meant that we had most of the viewpoints, beaches and sights to ourselves, uncluttered by all the other tour groups, who start at the Melbourne end.
It's a great trip. Todd was brilliant, efficient and funny, relaxed, a brilliant bloke. Got to wish him all the best. www.ridetours.com.au And we saw loads of stuff - koalas sleeping in the trees; kangaroos bouncing across a manicured golf course; kangaroos again, in the bush; a sleeping emu - and this was all before we started on the actual road.
The Great Ocean Road was built by returning soldiers, much of it hacked out of the cliffs, as dynamite was impractical. It twists its way past limestone stacks, the most famous (although not the most beautiful) are the Twelve Apostles, and we had a really truly spectacular sunset whilst we were there. There are many other stacks and rock formations - London Bridge, Loch Ard Gorge, the Bay of Martyrs (were we swam in the cool blue ocean) and the Bay of Islands. It's a beautiful and relaxing trip, all the better for having an entertaining and knowledgeable bloke leading the tour. And we even, somehow, managed to do something very unusual for groups of backpackers - got truly hammered at a small pub in Port Campbell, from where I made a drunken phone call.
Great trip. I couldn't meet up with Kenny and Leonie and Liz and the rest of the group at the free Twenty20 game the following Sunday, though. Tasmania beckoned.
Tuesday 13 February 2007
AUSTRALIA: Mucking about in Melbourne
I'M AT: Melbourne Connection, a strange place, friendly enough, but where the kitchen's closed at 10pm (so you can't get at your cold beers after a night at the cinema) and you're not apparently able to drink anyway, despite there not being an in-house bar or fridge with beers for sale. Apart from that, and the high turnover (much rustling in the mornings before check-out), it was OK.
You could get stuck in Melbourne for years on end, I'm sure, ligging from gig to flick to party to cup final.
In the few days I was there, I managed to see England beat Australia at cricket (a defeat from which, as I write, the Aussies still haven't recovered); go to a huge beach party in high winds, saw loads of rrrrrrrrawk bands hammering their fretboards; saw five films (Last King of Scotland, Volver, I'm Your Man, The Good Shepherd and Notes on a Scandal, all of which were pretty good - Scandal was beautifully evil, Last King was compelling. Good Shepherd was a bit slow.); ate at noodle bars and curry trucks and fast food courts and stuff; walked in the Dandenong ranges, and saw my first wild animal, an echidna, which lumbered past spinily; went to Melbourne Zoo, where unfortunately the alien tigers are given great prominence than the native platypi; and so on.
It's a place of high-rise, where trams rattle through the streets, cars are forced to do strange u-turns into red lights to turn right, where the river Yarra runs gently through, fit groups of rowers gouging a channel in the shape of the coxswain's call. The biggest casino in Australia is here. I didn't go.
And there seemed no reason to leave, until I saw my bank balance. Beers here are 6 or 7 dollars a pint - London Prices (three quid-ish) - and you can burn, burn, burn your cash without even really trying. The same amount would buy a bed and a good meal in Bolivia.
It was this madness that made me spend a further 150 dollars on a two-day tour that would bring me right back to where I started - albeit via the Great Oean Road.
You could get stuck in Melbourne for years on end, I'm sure, ligging from gig to flick to party to cup final.
In the few days I was there, I managed to see England beat Australia at cricket (a defeat from which, as I write, the Aussies still haven't recovered); go to a huge beach party in high winds, saw loads of rrrrrrrrawk bands hammering their fretboards; saw five films (Last King of Scotland, Volver, I'm Your Man, The Good Shepherd and Notes on a Scandal, all of which were pretty good - Scandal was beautifully evil, Last King was compelling. Good Shepherd was a bit slow.); ate at noodle bars and curry trucks and fast food courts and stuff; walked in the Dandenong ranges, and saw my first wild animal, an echidna, which lumbered past spinily; went to Melbourne Zoo, where unfortunately the alien tigers are given great prominence than the native platypi; and so on.
It's a place of high-rise, where trams rattle through the streets, cars are forced to do strange u-turns into red lights to turn right, where the river Yarra runs gently through, fit groups of rowers gouging a channel in the shape of the coxswain's call. The biggest casino in Australia is here. I didn't go.
And there seemed no reason to leave, until I saw my bank balance. Beers here are 6 or 7 dollars a pint - London Prices (three quid-ish) - and you can burn, burn, burn your cash without even really trying. The same amount would buy a bed and a good meal in Bolivia.
It was this madness that made me spend a further 150 dollars on a two-day tour that would bring me right back to where I started - albeit via the Great Oean Road.
Wednesday 7 February 2007
AUSTRALIA: Eng. (270) won by 14 runs
I"M AT: The Pink House, which is a place you should never go to should you need ask for a taxi to take you there, especially one driven by a large and glaringly heterosexual gentleman.
So, I'm in Sydney for just one full day, and I've done the touristy thing - walked round the Botanical Gardens to the Opera House - which is tiled, white and grey, and really scaly up close, but as mesmerising as it looks in the photos - walked round Farm Cove to Circular Quay, got a ferry out to North Shore then walked back over the Harbour Bridge, sat in a park for a bit, decided not to go into the Museum of Australia cos it was too expensive, walked to the Anzac Memorial and took pictures of a statue of an Unknown Soldier crucified by his own sword, made by a guy who served at the Somme, and then walked into Chinatown, where I am now, and where I intend to feed my face.
And later I'm going to Manly Beach for a walk, maybe in the rain, cos it's just started to thunder.
So what can I say so far other than there are millions of tourists here, it's very hot (much hotter than New Zealand), it's full of young fit folk, and there are skyscrapers and stuff. I'm sure you're thanking me right now for such insight.
I'm off to Melbourne tomorrow to watch England take on the Aussies, in the Melbourne Cricket Ground, which holds 120,000 people and will therefore be the largest stadium I've ever been to. It was the venue where England first played Australia in a Test match, too. And quite frankly I'm more excited than is healthy.
But it looked until last night that it'd be Aus v New Zealand, and in the last fortnight I've joked with the folk I've met that I'd be there as an honorary Kiwi for the day. Christ, I should imagine they'll be feeling ruined with disappointment right now. As chance would have it I was watching last night's decider in the Empire Bar, near the hostel, with a Kiwi, a bloke from Christchurch in fact, from where I'd just flown, and he couldn't have been any nicer. Even when, fuelled by Victoria Bitter, I started cheering at every dot ball.
Garry mate; I'm sorry. But it was a Pom with the ticket, so it's only right and proper that the Poms are, against the odds, playing. COME ON!
So, I'm in Sydney for just one full day, and I've done the touristy thing - walked round the Botanical Gardens to the Opera House - which is tiled, white and grey, and really scaly up close, but as mesmerising as it looks in the photos - walked round Farm Cove to Circular Quay, got a ferry out to North Shore then walked back over the Harbour Bridge, sat in a park for a bit, decided not to go into the Museum of Australia cos it was too expensive, walked to the Anzac Memorial and took pictures of a statue of an Unknown Soldier crucified by his own sword, made by a guy who served at the Somme, and then walked into Chinatown, where I am now, and where I intend to feed my face.
And later I'm going to Manly Beach for a walk, maybe in the rain, cos it's just started to thunder.
So what can I say so far other than there are millions of tourists here, it's very hot (much hotter than New Zealand), it's full of young fit folk, and there are skyscrapers and stuff. I'm sure you're thanking me right now for such insight.
I'm off to Melbourne tomorrow to watch England take on the Aussies, in the Melbourne Cricket Ground, which holds 120,000 people and will therefore be the largest stadium I've ever been to. It was the venue where England first played Australia in a Test match, too. And quite frankly I'm more excited than is healthy.
But it looked until last night that it'd be Aus v New Zealand, and in the last fortnight I've joked with the folk I've met that I'd be there as an honorary Kiwi for the day. Christ, I should imagine they'll be feeling ruined with disappointment right now. As chance would have it I was watching last night's decider in the Empire Bar, near the hostel, with a Kiwi, a bloke from Christchurch in fact, from where I'd just flown, and he couldn't have been any nicer. Even when, fuelled by Victoria Bitter, I started cheering at every dot ball.
Garry mate; I'm sorry. But it was a Pom with the ticket, so it's only right and proper that the Poms are, against the odds, playing. COME ON!
Friday 2 February 2007
NEW ZEALAND: Top five day hikes so far
1. LAGUNA 69 (6 hrs) - Huaraz, Peru 2. CERRO FITZ ROY (8 hrs) - El Chalten, Patagonia, Argentina 3. TORRES DEL PAINE, DAY ONE (8 hrs) - Parque Nacionál Torres del Paine, Patagonia, Chile 4. ROB ROY TRACK (3.5 hrs) - Wanaka, New Zealand 5. TONGARIRO CROSSING (6 hrs) - Tongariro National Park, New Zealand |
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