Supersuckers

A few nights ago we pulled into a nondescript little hamlet called Ellenborough, for the simple reason that there was a free camping ground there, and after staying in a nice holiday park for a few days in a relative lap of luxury we'd decided to save a few bucks and camp for free. By the time we found our campground it was around 8.30pm, long after the sun had gone down (it might be hot, but it's still autumn) and we pitched our tents in the glare of the car headlights so as to see what we were doing. When we woke up, we were surrounded by trees, beautiful hills and a gorgeous, clear river a few hundred yards away. We headed to the river almost immediately to have a bathe and a paddle, and generally clean ourselves up. The part where we swam was deep and calm, but it led straight to a shallow stretch where the river flowed much faster over some harmless looking rocks. Before too long, we were skidding down these rapids on our bottoms, which wasn't as painful as it sounds. Jen and Claire, weighing less than I, sped down to the bottom of the rapids, about 300 meters away. I meanwhile had become snagged on a large rock and was scared to move further incase I ruptured something I didn't want to be rupturing. I was busy holding on to my flip-flops with one hand and trying to free myself with the other, when I looked down stream and saw the girls shrieking, and with panicked expressions on their faces, running out of the water onto a little gravelly bank.

Now, put yourself in my position. Here you are, stuck to a rock in a river which seemed to be flowing faster by the second, trying desperately not to lose the flip-flops you'd bought only the day before, and you see your two companions screaming and flapping about, trying to get out of the water. Never mind that you are in a country where bites from simple creatures like spiders can kill you instantly, or where rivers and lakes are known to house no end of dangerous creatures. Never mind that your panicking companions have trekked through the Amazon, spent several months in Africa and would know danger if they saw it. Never mind that you can't go down stream because that is where the danger is, and never mind that going upstream, against the flow of the rapids could possibly take the best part of an afternoon. I turned myself round and hauled myself up the rapids, emerging only a few feet away on the bank covered in lichens, moss and a few scrapes but otherwise unharmed.
"What was all that screaming about?" I asked Jen when she came back upstream, trying not to let on that I had just spent twenty minutes trying not to soil myself.
"Leeches" she replied. "Hundreds of them, all over us!". And they were right. Upon inspection, I had a few dozen small black worms clinging to my legs and arms. But they were tiny and probably harmless, although if left undetected they will continue to suck on you until they are about the size of your finger. We headed back to the tents to dry off and calm down, and I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from saying something like "Leeches? That sucks..."

So we spent three happy, leech-free days in Port Macquarie, a pleasant sun-bleached town on the coast. It's rich in history, being the third penal colony in Australia after Sydney and Newcastle, and I happily explored the historic sites, including a quaint but informative little museum. We had a lovely sunset cruise up the river last night, and packed our bags today for another short jaunt up the coast. We also had the pleasure of sharing the camp ground with an amazing couple called John and Sandy, who travel around the country in a big old converted school bus, living off John's army pension. These guys are worthy of an entry all to themselves, but I'll just say that on our first evening we arrived back to find they'd cooked us dinner, and we stayed up for hours eating, drinking and sharing stories until the rain came on and we all went to bed.

So right now I'm sitting in Port Macquarie's library typing all this up, while Jen and Claire visit a Koala hospital nearby. They're coming back to pick me up for the drive up to Coffs Harbour, a few hours north of here. And hopefully, that's the last we've seen of the leeches.

Surfs up

There are two reasons I haven't spent much time on beaches in my life. Firstly, I grew up in Scotland, and secondly, I look like I grew up in Scotland. So when we ended up on Sydney's famous Bondi Beach last week and Jen suggested we spend the day there, I was naturally concerned. It's not that I care about my appearance, I was more concerned that the glare from my lily-white back and chest might blind the pilots coming into land at the nearby airport. But I relented and decided to dig out the swimshorts. More problems arose when I discovered, much to my horror, that I couldn't squeeze myself into them anymore. It's only been a year since I wore them, but my stomach was putting up a hell of a fight and wouldn't let me get them on. So a quick trip to a beachwear shop was necessary, and once I was fully kitted out we hit the beach.

I don't know what it is about sand that is appealing to millions of people, I'd much rather the Pacific Ocean lapped up along a bank of nicely cut grass, but that's just me I guess. I knew that just by setting foot on the sand I was guarenteeing that for the next five or six weeks I'd be finding it everywhere. How does it do that? It was in my hair, my wallet, my camera, and most remarkably my shoes. Remarkable because I'd left them in the hotel across the road.

But we spent a good hour floundering around on Bondi Beach, not, it has to be said, one of Sydney's better beaches - it's quite crowded and very touristy, but I did start to enjoy myself after a while. When we bought our car it came with a free bodyboard - the main selling point for Jen - so we had fun trying to stay on that for longer than forty seconds.

We'd ended up back in Sydney after three days in the Blue Mountains - not, as I mentioned before, particularly blue or even technically mountains - but they were well worth the visit. The weather did a typically British thing when we got there - it changed without warning. But the skies cleared on our last day and we had a good few hours sightseeing before heading back to Sydney.

When we left last Friday, we intended on popping into Port Stephens on our way up the coast, as was recommended to us by a guest at the wedding we'd been invited to (it was in the most stunning of settings, right by the Opera House, but more about that another time) but we've enjoyed it here so much that we're still here. We've been in Australia for twenty days now and only made it a few hours north of Sydney. Still, I'm having fun despite the sunburnt legs I gained after a day of kayaking, and am currently quite content. Although that could be to do with the fact that I'm sitting in a lovely air-conditioned library, and the beach is miles away...

Some hot air

"We'd like to welcome you to Sydney where the local time is 7.45am and the temperature is a comfortable 23 degrees celsius"

Clearly the Captain of Virgin Atlantic flight VS200 didn't grow up in Scotland. Twenty-three degrees?! Comfortable?! At 7.45am?! Comfortable where I come from is seven degrees and a nice sweater. I'm exhausted, my fingers have swollen up due to the heat, and I'm sweating from pores I didn't even know I had.

By now you might have gathered that I arrived safely in Sydney, and that due to the heat and jet-lag, I am slightly irratable. Like I said, I arrived around 8am and made my way from the airport to my hostel, which was relatively simple. I knew I was going to like Australia when the tube train pulled into the station - it was a double decker. Air-conditioned, loads of room, and above all, a smooth and definately not cramped journey. Having suffered the London Underground for the last nine months, it was a welcome break.

I huffed and puffed my way to my hostel, my poor shoulders groaning under the weight of my rucksack. It's only about a fifteen minute walk from the station, but the heat made it feel alot longer. My first port of call upon arrival was the showers - after a twenty hour flight I was not smelling particularly rosy - but I soon realised I didn't actually pack a towel. I improvised however and used my yellow jumper. I've used it as a towel before so I was confident in its ability to perform the task I needed it to.

Once I was showered and adequately dried, I decided it was time to begin exploring Sydney. I left the hostel and headed in the general direction of the harbour and in particular, the Opera House. The walk took about half an hour and I passed through the Botanical Gardens on my way which are lovely, although I did get a slight hay-fevery twinge after I'd looked at one flowerbed too many. The path meandered through the gardens for a while until I was suddenly face-to-face with Sydney Opera House. My immediate thought was that it's a different colour than you think it is, but I quickly realised I still had my sunglasses on. Still, it's pretty impressive. My enjoyment was enhanced further as I heard a familiar sound in the distance - a marching pipe band had started up about two hundred yards away and launched into a rendition of 'Scotland The Brave'. It was as if they knew I was there.

After about half an hour ogling the Opera House I headed towards the Harbour Bridge, via the city quay along 'Writers Walk'. Writers Walk is basically an Australian version of the Hollywood Walk of Fame, the differences being that only writers are featured (the clue was in the name) and instead of stars, they get manhole covers. Each contains a quote from the writer relating to Australia and a mini biography. It's a really good idea that more cities should maybe copy.

As I got closer to the bridge, I walked through what I thought was just a randomly well dressed crowd of people, but very quickly realised I had in fact walked right into a wedding, just across the quay from the Opera House. It was a fantastic backdrop, and if I ever thought that getting married and doing so in a romantic location were important, then that is the location I would probably choose. Luckily the nupitals were over by the time I swaggered into the ceremony, but it must have made for an amusing sight.

Happy that I'd been to a wedding for only the second time in my life, albeit accidentally, I walked under the bridge and followed the coastline around by all the docks. After about an hour and a half of walking I ended up right back where I started, on the doorstep of my hostel. I kept going however, and headed towards Kings Cross, which is basically the Soho of Sydney. Full of travellers, gay people and sex shops. By this stage I was dying for a pint so I popped into a sports bar for a quick Castlemaine. Feeling refreshed, I continued walking through Kings Cross when I walked past a girl who was clearly staring at me. It was such a lingering look that I thought for a second it might have been someone that I knew, but it soon became apparent that she was trying to lure me into a 'strip club'. I've spent enough time in the center of London to know that the so-called strip clubs are never as they appear. They entice you with a cheap entry fee but once you're inside the drinks can cost anything up to a hundred pounds, and you are forced, usually by a large bouncer or two, to pay up. Luckily I do not have first hand experience of these 'clip joints' as they're known, but I definately know what they're all about.

By the time all this excitement was over I was thouroughly exhausted, so I decided to head back to the hostel and type all this up and check my emails. I'm not really sure what to do tonight but it's the Mardi Gras parade through Sydney so I might go and check that out. It's a massive carnival and half a million people are expected to turn up, so that might be quite interesting.

Incidentally, to promote the Mardi Gras and the fact that it's National Gay Week or something, people have been going around with pink versions of the Aussie flag, which I have to say, actually makes it look better.

It's 33 degrees now. Scary stuff.

Keep your arms and legs inside the car at all times

I was speaking to my brother James earlier and he suggested I post a blog entry detailing how I'm feeling the night before I leave for my round the world trip. I poured scorn on the suggestion at the time but decided it might be a good idea, so this is what I'm attempting to do.

I've been on many rollercoasters in my life and I feel very similar to how I do as the train reaches the top of the track and curves round before teetering on the brink of the sudden drop. The clack-clack-clack of the chain pulling me up is still ringing in my ears and I'm completely unprepared for what lies ahead. I'm trying to glance at my neighbours but my head is restrained so I can't get any indication of how anyone else feels in this situation. Every second feels like a decade but I know that the whole thing will be over in a flash, so I have to put all the negative thoughts out of my head and not take a single second for granted. I knew what I was in for when I started queuing for the ride but I'm still nervous about the sensation I'm going to get when I finally plunge down that first drop.

But I guess that's natural. I was actually reading the journal entries from my first few weeks in London earlier and I still can't quite believe that I did that. Move to London, I mean. It doesn't really seem like something I would do.

Actually, that leads me on to another thing I've been thinking about lately. A few years back my ex-girlfriend and flatmate, Cat, buggered off to Australia for a while. We kept in touch via the marvel of MSN Messenger and she would frequently have a go at me for not being more spontaneous and always doing the easy thing. Going to the same places, with the same people, with boring regularity. I was quite comfortable with who and where I was back then so I brushed her comments off and decided that that was who I was and that I wasn't going to change.

Fast forward a few years and I'm sitting with Elvis in the managers office at Enfield. He asked what I'd been up to on my day off and I can't remember what it was exactly but I'd gone out somewhere on my own for the day. He laughed and said
"So you're just a 'have wheels, will travel' kind of guy?"

I think living in London certainly changed me ever so slightly in the way that I do tend to enjoy going out and exploring my surroundings more. There was just so much to do there that it was impossible to stay indoors all the time watching DVDs. I'm not saying that I turned into a crazy hyperactive go-getter who can't sit still, I'm just saying that I think there's been a subtle change in my personality. That's all.

Anyway, I suppose I should stop rambling on, I've done what I set out to do I think, which is capture how I'm feeling on the eve of my excellent adventure. I feel okay. A bit wobbly, but okay.

There, will that do?