Heading south down Highway One. - Ultimo, Australia
Ultimo, Australia
Where I stayed
YHA and Back Packers Hostels
I had set the alarm for 5:00am but could not get much sleep as I was experiencing the usual restlessness that accompanies the night before in setting out on a new adventure. My pack had been loaded and re-packed several times and weighed on the bathroom scales, so as to check the weight. This was necessary If did I not want to pay any excess baggage fee, on the coach that I had intended to take south along the Princess Highway.I had chosen this route, as although the highway turns inland in places,it mostly hugs the ocean foreshore nearly all the way to Melbourne.
My pack weighed in at 16 kilos, but when mounted upon my back and shoulders, felt as if it was almost double that.
At 4:55am, I was too alert to sleep and switched off the alarm before it rang. A quick check of the most essentials,.. a mouthful of warm sweet coffee and I was on my way to the station to make my way in by train to Sydney's Central Rail Center where I would expect to change to board a bus south along the coast road to Melbourne., then hopefully by boat across Bass Strait to Tasmania.
Looking back at my travel diary, I had made the intial entry concerning,the renewal of my YHA ( Youth Hostels Australia )accommodation membership and also had booked a three month bus pass. This allowed me the freedom to hop on and off the bus almost at any destination between Sydney and Melbourne as I pleased. This was absolutely ideal, as I used it to the max and really did get excellent value for money.
Unfortunately, the new Panasonic digital camera, I had purchased, had disappeared the night before I set off on my journey, so I had to use the old standby camera, but so far, it has more than proved itself with snapping excellent quality photos. I'm not sure how I managed to lose my new camera though? This fact did dampen my mood somewhat, but that seemed most appropriate as it poured with rain all the way to Melbourne along the south east coast on my trip.
Reading the first notes I scrawled onto my pad, I noticed I had made a note that it was very dark and cold, the morning I set off for the station and my computer saying the temperature outside was minus one (-1). That is cold, but it was going to be mild compared to where I had planned to eventually head, and that was Tasmania. Yes the place where the icy cold wind seems to blow in across from the Antarctic. Freezing Tasmania, land of the Tasmanian Devil and Tiger?( Thylacine ). Ah, historical Van Diemen's land!.
As I sat on the suburban train heading for Central Station, I noticed workers most probably on their way to their jobs. They slumped in cold cloth seats, reading the early morning news papers and sipping coffee from brown paper cups, Everyone else seemed oblivious to me and the heavy laden back pack, which by now was rocking to and fro on my back and shoulders in the carriage. This familiar early morning scene with dozing passengers,seemed to remind me that it really was my time to be travelling again.and not a moment too soon.
It was still pretty dark when the train carrying its passengers arrived at City Central Interchange and I hopped of the train and found my way to the bus terminal and noted it was still very dark and I would have a wait before my south bound bus would arrive. This gave me time to read the local paper and have some breakfast. I knew it would be some time before I would have a chance to eat again. By sheer luck, the bus terminal had a heated room with a t.v. screen and I sat there sipping my coffee and checking that I had the correct, destination and time printed on my bus journey ticket. I was excited if not just a bit anxious as, I really didn't know exactly what lay ahead on my journey, as I had not arranged accomodation and the thought of being stuck somewhere in the rain, did prompt me to get off my ass and brave the cold dawn and walk around the corner to where the Sydney YHA was located. At first, I had chosen Eden on the far New South Wales coast, seeing that the bus was going that far, but there didn't seem to be a YHA located there. Next I chose the coastal town of Merimbula, and felt a little more secure that at least, I would have some sort of roof over my head for a night or two. But as it eventuated, accommodation was never to be problem on my journey,as the reader may discern later on in this blog.
As there was still some time until my bus would arrive, I began a short stroll down George Street Sydney and actually did notice the weather had begun to close in on a cold damp Sydney. I had probably picked the worst weather to travel in, as the clouds to the east and north had a very threatening thunderous appearance. I remember thinking to myself, that if this was the weather I was heading into, then it was going to be one soggy trip to begin with. That prediction eventuated to be very accurate indeed.
Finally after waiting for what seemed some time the bus arrived in its bay and finally I was aboard as it began to wind its way, through the inner city streets then out on to the highway and finally we were headed for our first major passenger pick up point in Wollongong City. This is where it really began to rain heavily and continued to do so for the next 1230 kms, almost to Melbourne.
The ocean views from the road especially south of Kiama, proved to be absolutely breathtaking and the rain falling upon the heavy seas as it pounded the coastline, were quite spectacularly visible from my bus seat window. I wasn't sure how some of my photos would turn out seeing as they were snapped through fogged up glass at times but still, I was pleasantly surprised at the clarity and detail. Past Kiama the road stretches for miles aside lush rolling farm land with the ocean in the backdrop, quite often appearing then disappearing behind a grassy headland. This magnificent senery appeared now and again, with the occasional stretch of golden sand of a beach or a rivulet bank in view. Most of this scenery had been familiar to me years ago, as my father would take us on day trips on his days off work. That was all a long time ago, and I had now noticed some old buildings and road signs no longer existed but, some very nice new improvements to the roads had made traveling a lot smoother and in some places, more picturesque.
Our first port of call was the township of Nowra, which is bound by the Shoalhaven River and Great Dividing Ranges to its west. We arrived in Nowra to a very heavy downpour of rain and the bus driver commented that he could barely see the road, even with the windscreen wipers going as fast as they possibly could. Pulling into Nowra there was an announcement that we would have 30 minutes for a meal break and that there was a cafe that was probably the closest. Getting off the bus, I was hit by a gale force wind and almost soaked by torrential rain. I headed for the cafe and sheltered. The quaint little cafe ( and that's being generous) was crowded and ordering food was a problem, as the bus pasengers had a long wait to be served and a short time to eat their food. This is one aspect of organized bus travel I dislike, as it means being rushed. No food or drink allowed on the bus.
One interesting thing, I recorded in my note pad was the conversation I had with a bearded man, with no shoes on his feet and long hair to his shoulders. He had obviously been sheltering in this road side cafe, his hands clasped around his warm cup of brew. He told me his name was Pete and he lived just out of Nowra, but was reluctant to come into town, as he didn't like being amongst the town's folk and then he went on to describe the problems with his estimation of the crime increasing rate there, and the general reluctance of the local council to act on any thing immediate. Pete reminded me of a modern day 'soothsayer', 'naysayer' or prophet however one may wish to describe him. Yes, more like a "Doomsday Prophet" if you like. He was a quite likeable chap, just the same, but when I told him I was headed for Melbourne, his smile faded and a depressed look once again appeared upon his unshaven face. He didn't like cameras so I wasn't able to include a photo of him in my blog. He added,.. "them photo cameras is the devil's toys." Maybe he was right. That wasn't the first time my camera had been an omen, for at times I had attempted to snap an eye catching scene only to realize that my camera had not been switched on, or had automatically switched its self off. Un-be-known to Pete, whilst leaving the diner in Nowra, I mischieviuosly snapped a shot of him sitting at the table amidst the towns folk, but his image was not in the photo. Woha, that's really scary stuff, and I still can't explain why Pete just wouldn't materialize digitally. Hmmm,... well he did speak of the curse upon the towns folk..maybe that was applicable to those folk just passing through as well?
All in all, the bus driver had given us 45 minutes to buy and eat our food then be back aboard the bus ready to roll. I could feel a a case of traveler's indigestion developing, as I tasted the greasy remains of the cafeteria food on my palate, and to make things just that bit more nausiating, the wind outside, had become so gusty, that it rocked the bus and blew the torrential rain almost vertically towards the remaining boarding passengers. I think from memory just about everyone was soaked wet through to the skin.
South of Nowra, the scenery continued to be magnificent, with occasional views of the Pacific Ocean and sandy beach inlets and finally our coach reached its next stop Bateman's Bay,which is another very picturesque sea side town, with a bridge over a river inlet widening to a bay mooring yachts and other sea going vessels. It had been a long time since I had been in this southern part of the world but, some things still looked familiar from memory.
After snapping some photos of the boats being buffeted around in the inner harbour swell, I struck up a conversation with a Filippino woman whose absolute idol was 'Rose Hancock'. Rose, a now very prominent figure in the Australian World of Wealth, had begun her life in Western Australia, as a maid, married her boss and then inherited his fortune when he died. I was most impressed with the way this young woman was putting her message across, that if a man has nothing materially, he is nothing of a man and that she herself was looking for a wealthy man to take care of her. "Oh I said, can I call you Rose then?, (tounge in cheek)"the younger woman now suddenly scowled at me. "Ah true love I thought",and my final parting thought for her was that ..."I really hoped she got all that would eventually come to her,... everything she deserved".........
Boarding the bus once again, we headed further south along the Princes Highway
through towns such as Bega and a small place called Cobargo, which I could almost describe as a one horse town, just accept the horse must have run off, even if it was the middle of the night. By chance, I began talking to an attractive woman sitting in the bus seat ahead of me and she had a very thick European accent, which turned out to be Hungarian in origin. I asked her where she was going, as the night outside grew darker and even rainier., Our bus driver then suddenly detoured off the main highway and was now seemingly, recklessly speeding up narrow country laneways wide enough to allow only one vehicle at a time a safe passage. The middle- aged woman, turned to face me and said, "I am going to "warmer". I though I knew it was freezing outside, but she either thought this place was going to be warmer, or she expected to find some place warmer, then I thought, she must have come from a cold hole of a place before hand. Not too long afterwards the bus pulled up in front of an old ramshackle building, with torrential rain pouring from its down pipe guttering. The bus head lights illuminated a sign that said "Post Office and General Store." "Man oh man", I thought to myself, this place must have been the original "Hicksville". Then another sign a few hundred yards further ahead pointed to a small village named "Quama". It suddenly occured to me that,the poor woman was attempting to say Quama, but had troubles pronouncing her "Q"s and "W"s. That may have explained 'warmer',but still it bedazzled me, as to why this woman would fly all the way from Europe to come to this tiny dot on the map, with no one there to meet her, in the pitch black of night and pouring rain. After all,there was nothing there but a small hut, that served as post office and store, but was itself not much bigger than a dog kennel with a letter box.? I put this one in the too hard basket because I knew I was getting too weary to fathom this mysterious experience. Looking back over my notes, my early start and extra long day travelling would have accounted for my tiredness at that point and my disbelief at these seemingly simple country folk.
The next port of call was to be a place right on the ocean front and I was booked into a Y.H.A. accommodation in a place called , Merimbula. On the way there whilst still on the bus, I began to worry as in the Y.H.A. guide book it said that the reception desk closed at 7:00pm sharp and that it was about 15 minutes to closing time but the bus was still an hour away. Or so I thought( actually I was a few hours away) I expressed my dismay at the prospect of being late with no where to sleep, when the bus driver suddenly sprang to life, and said, "hand me that bloody mobile phone" and then he hit re-dial and spoke to somebody at the Y.H.A.s front desk, then handed me back the phone and said,... "all settled, you'll be right mate."...and I asked, "how can you know such a thing?" and then the driver replied,."I know because the bus only goes that far tonight and I'm staying there as well,.. so they know you're on board with me, so chill out and enjoy what's left of the ride."Well", I had a smile across my dial for the rest of the way to Merimbula and being late was not going to make any difference thanks to our friendly driver.
Reading back over my visibly water stained notebook, I recall that arriving in Merimbula that the bus driver had actually dropped me off at a place called Marine Parade, from where he took the bus to the depo for refulling and said he would see me at the 'Wanderah Lodge' later. Marine Parade really lived up to its name. As suggested, it was really marine, as just about everything was by now underwater due to local flooding, including half the roadway that ran beside the harbour and bridge that crossed it. Yes just about everywhere was semi-submerged due to the continual downpour.
Finally, I arrived at the lodge, a sodden back pack making me stagger as if drunk, but was pleasantly surprised to find friendly staff and a hot shower with very clean facilities. It wasn't long, however, before my stomach had begun growling as I had not eaten since lunch time that day and it was now almost 10pm that evening. The problem was that the food rations I carried were either soaked and at the bottom of my sodden back pack or were just unappealing at that time. From memory it was a little of both. The other pressing problem, was that this township of Merimbula seems to go to sleep at about 7:30pm,this happens during winter months and that chances of any food shops being open thereafter was very unlikely. Still I braved a walk into town across the bridge in the pouring rain and eventually found a McDonald's Restaurant about to close for the night, but seeing that I put a good case foward, the manager let me dine in and then offered me a lift to where I was staying. Overall that was very good of her and was one more example of the kindness and friendly hospitality that I was to find on my journey south to Tasmania. Looking back over my notes, I remember jotting down:
"YHA" very clean rooms , got good hot showers,but rules,rules,rules.
Yes that may have been the case but apart from that bus driver, whom I never did see again and myself there was no-one else there to beak the rules as the signs always implied that rules were made for the good of all and that meant groups of people generally. I was about the only backpacker there and that meant I got a good night's sleep if nothing else. I noticed that I had made another entry into my travel note pad saying:
"awoke early this morning to the sound of pouring rain, dressed hurriedly then walked back into town for some breakfast" and then noticed in the light of day, just what a beautiful view lay before me, watching the boats and yachts bobbing up and down in the inner harbour of Merimbula".
As I had arrived in the dark and pouring rain, I did not notice just how close we really were to the Pacific Ocean and thought what a great town this would be in High Summer.
I spent the day in Merimbula, sightseeing and chatting to the locals about the history of the township itself and noted some of their own life histories. After all I had time to kill, as the bus to the next location was not to arrive until around 6:45 pm that night. The rain continued to pour down as I sat beneath a canvass covered shop front and slowly sipped on a hot flat white coffee.' My note book records my entry at that time as saying:
"
Sparrows attacked me at breakfast this morning at McDonalds.-bloody nuisance, need a cat to take care of diving attacking sparrows whilst I eat my breafast.
Sunshine attempting to break through clouds but stormy clouds hovering around south eastern horizon. Have taken a good look around Merimbula; found internet cafe caught up on some e-mails, Found people from Information Centre very helpful concerning advice on prospective accommodation in Eden tonight."
As from my notes, I recall that there was no YHA in Eden but apparently there was affordable accomodation at a place called the "Great Southern Hotel", which was itself a legend landmark in the history of the old whaling town of Eden located on the far south coast of New South Wales.
The rain continued to pour and the bus journey from Merimbula to Eden was just under an hour and a half. I remember being let off the bus just at the bottom of the main street of Eden in a howling wind and being buffetted around with my heavy back pack as I made my way to the great old Hotel. Upon arrival outside the old historic building, I sheltered for a while while I unloaded my pack then went inside to find the bottleshop, where I had been instructed to ask someone called 'Joe' about accommodation. As it turns out, Joe was a very good looking young lady of about 20 or so years of age and said with a smile, "You looking for accommodation"? Yes I replied, returning the smile, well she said "most of the place is brand new and is empty so you're in luck". She described the accommodation as "The Back Packers" section of the hotel but in reality, it was a building situated behind the old hotel itself. But as it turns out, it cost me the small sum of $20 per night, to stay in an empty four bedded room, -that is two double bunks- but the kitchen and shower facilities were first class. I had really landed on my feet, so that first night in Eden, I splashed out and celebrated by ordering a meal of steak eggs and chips and downed a pint of beer, which for me is unusual as I seldom drink when I travel, still I was glad to have somewhere cheap and an excellent deal, to stay for a night or two.
Although I thought I was the only traveller there, there was actually another traveller staying in the newly renovated accommodation, of whom I did not become aware until, I discovered food cooking on the stove in the kitchen and a glass of beer sitting on the dining room table. These belonged to a German traveller whose name was Roland. I found it funny that Roland had heard me come in through the front door and had gone to see who it was, but we both had walked in opposite directions around the inside verandah looking for who or what belonged to the "ghostly" foot steps. Finally we met up in the kitchen and introduced ourselves and had a good laugh over the incident.
Roland was a computer programmer from Berlin in Germany and had rented a car and was driving from Perth to Sydney. It was unfortunate that, I was headed in the opposite direction to Melbourne otherwise I could have got a lift with him. We both had a good time chatting about our home environments and school days and families. I guess Roland liked company but at the same time was a bit of a loner, sometimes when it came to travel, although this was not the case later on when I met up with my brother Dave again in the Philippines( but that is much later).
I must also mention, that after Roland had left on his car journey to Sydney, two other visitors came to stay in the same place that I was staying and one in particular had a very interesting tale to tell about how he came to Australia. Jason was from Vietnam,and was a jolly looking fellow with a quick wit and a mischievous grin, and had come to this country when he was 25 years old. Jason had been a refugee in a boat raided by pirates off the coast of Thailand when they were 13 days out to sea. He was picked up floating in wreckage by a French naval ship in International waters and taken to France, where he later emigrated to Australia These days, the two guys were actually only a stone's throw away from where I lived in western Sydney, so that was a coincidence and a good conversation starter.
Reagan by contrast presented as more of a laconic character from Cabramatta, was quiter by nature and worked as Telecom-( now Telstra ) technician and whos job was to climb huge telecommunication towers in all weathers and maintain the equipment that needed servicing. Quite often he would be required to climb hundreds of feet up a tower that was already itself sitting on top of a two thousand foot cliff face. In heavy winds and rain that's some balancing act: harnessed or not. Jason who also assisted Reagan said he had no problems with heights as he'd worked on board a sailing ship in high seas and was quite often used to climbing the main sail mast to check the rigging and had gotten used to bad weather. Climbing towers to him was not much different. Reagan had grown up on a sheep and wheat property in Keyrang near Swan Hill, in far south west Victoria and spoke with a slow broad drawl-"hat pulled low cross an unshaven face". A real country bumpkin ( who smilled as if he'd swallowed a pumpkin ). Thats Ok as I'm sure both Jason and Reagan upon reading this account would laugh at this comment. They were noted for their sense of humour-larrikins both of them.
I regret not having all the photos in this blog that I originally took whilst on my trip ( although some survived, but a lot have disappeared due to the loss of my camera's memory chip falling somewhere to the floor and possibly been swallowed by a vacuum cleaner ). So I can only describe in words what would have been augmented by good photos. Unfortunately, I only have my hand written notes to go by. Still, I must mention that I found an excellent Fish and Chip shop not far from where I stayed in Eden and was served by a lovely woman by the name of Kylie. Kylie was very friendly and welcoming and I ate fish and chips in her shop whilst I watched the rain pour down outside. Like many people who lived in Eden, she had travelled from Sydney, fallen in love with the south coast and settled there. Kylie was just one of the many interesting folk that I met on my first leg of my long journey.
From memory, what struck me most about Kylie was her expressive eyes and the way she made you feel at ease by just chatting away. But this sense of ease was short lived when I spotted her surly looking husband, glaring at me through the little quarto window at the back of the fish shop watching me eat my fish and chips. I pretended not to notice as he maniacally chopped away with the razor sharp meat cleaver of what ever it was that lay before him. I shuddered in horror as I imagined it to be the remains of an ill fated ex-boyfriend of his beautiful wife. I could just place the image of this guy on an old whaling ship from long ago, a patch over one eye, a meat cleaver in his hand, shouting out, "tie that scurvy dog to the yard arm" Grrrrr", Shortly there after, my appetite for fish and chips seemed to have disappeared.Hmmmm. I was sure if I were going to dream that night, it was going have been a nightmare about fighting off Long John Silver.
Moving on I visited some of Eden's historic places like, The Garden of Eden, a tiny area adjacent a small Anglican church,( Anglican from memory but in reality, it may have been another denomination. ) The garden had many rose bushes and other small low growing shrubs planted there, but at least someone had used their imagination to good effect. Still I can honestly say I'd been to the Garden of Eden and was most impressed.
Next I wandered down the steep hill towards the ocean forefront to Eden's Old Lighthouse-attached to what may have once been the lighthouse keepers cottage and was now a museum housing some very interesting historical memorabilia from whaling ship days. Unfortunately there was a pretty hefty fee for looking around inside the museum and photos were strictly taboo, unless prior permission had been sought in writing and another fee paid. I passed on this point but must say that even from walking around the outside of the lighthouse and surrounding grounds that I was most impressed with the way the old buildings had been renovated and preserved.
A cruel wind howled as I attempted to snap digital photos in between heavy rain squalls that would come and go as I sheltered beneath a tree growing beside a park bench that had been there since, how long was impossible to tell.? It looked very old and historic itself. Still I enjoyed this stormy day as I could see quite a distance out to sea from where the lighthouse had been built and the heavy ocean pounding the southern coastline,deluged with pouring rain, conjured vivid imaginings of ships rounding the cape in the pitch black dead of night, their captains and crews watching for the Lighthouse's warning beacon.
History has it that many sailing ships and their crews had come to grief off that coast in many years gone by. Still since those years, Eden had become almost a small forgotten town as the once boomimg fish cannery factory had closed and work had trailed off and now it would appear that tourism was Eden's most active attraction.
My short stay in Eden, had been a pleasant one, if not a little damp but moving on I reboarded the 2:00am bus, this time taking me across the New South Wales / Victorian Border on to Melbourne. During that part of the journey, whilst still driving along The Princes Highway I had managed to doze off to sleep, listening to the monotone drone of the buses engine, when I felt our vehicle, suddenly swerve to the left and break, then suddenly accelerate once more. I sat bolt upright to discover that our bus driver had in fact just taken evasive action to avoid colliding with a tree that had fallen across our side of the road. Needless to say that after this incident, I had not felt much like sleeping for the remainder of our journey to Melbourne. Travelling on, further, we passed through old familiar coastal townships of Sale , Orbost, Mowe and a few others that I can only now vaguely remember. Later that morning in early light of day, we had approached the city of Dandenong, which is a place that I had visited some years before .Memories flooded back to my days spent in this particular place, as I had once dated a young woman and shared a flat with her parents living in the same house. All such a long time ago.
I had also been to Melbourne City many years before and although some places seemed to have changed little in a long time, there were many, places I did not recognize as a lot of city buildings had come and gone and the bus terminal, to which we had arrived, had been built in a place called Victoria Cross Staion. Still it did not take me long ,with the help of a map and some friendly Melbournites, to get my bearings once again and find my way to my next lot of diggs, which was the YHA in Collins street. I heaved my back pack from underneath the buses luggage compartment and wearily headed for my next place of rest.
The process of getting booked in to The YHA in Melbourne itself, was a little more complicated and took a lot longer than I had first anticipated as, there were many people coming and going ( mainly back packers) and there was a considerable wait until the busy counter staff got around to calling out my number. Still I managed to secure a shared room, even if it was through half closed and weary eyes. Some other fellow traveller, suggested I try a tumbler of water to refresh myself and I must add that Melbourne's water had much improved since I had been there last. Now it had become quite drinkable. Still someone from Melbourne may justly have said something similar about the Sydney water supply. Your taste buds are affected by your environmemnt, well anyway, according to what I had read. Still this banter, was a continuation of an inter-city rivalry that had been going on since both cities were in their infancy. Not much had changed over the years in this respect.( all good fun, as even the YHA cleaner asked me if I knew the best thing ever to come out of Melbourne..and when I answered "no, what was it.?" he laughed and said, "Why the road back to Sydney of course". ). To this day, I hold much respect and affection for Melbourne City and its people.
During the few days actually spent looking around in Melbourne,I visited the local Melborne Art Gallery, crossed the seemingly, backward flowing Yarra River a number of times,, stood on Queen's Bridge, visted the magnificent Botanical Gardens, briefly visited the famous Young and Jackson's Hotel adjacent St Paul's Cathedral,and Flinders Street Train Station. I walked down St Kilda Road to the War Shrine, where I ascended the many steps and engaged in an interesting conversation concerning the history of Australia's involvement in both the Great Wars ( 1914-1918) and (1939-1945.)..( and incidently later during my travels I found myself also standing at the foot of the steps at the Imperial Japanese War Shrine in Japan- Pleasae read for a later blog entry Japan ). Here I actually felt as if I was piecing together gaps in my knowledge of my country's history, and to make matters even more intriguing, the curator of the War Shrine, just also happened to be an historian, and so we had quite a lengthy conversation.
Whilst walking through the well manicured gardens surrounding the Shrine, I noticed a statue to commemorate, the bravery of nurse 'Edith Cavel', who was executed by enemy firing squad for helping British POWs escape. This I found particularly touching, as her statue's facial expression, to me, looked so agonizingly sad. Had I have been there, as a soldier at that time in history, I may have suggested a game of cards instead of bullets. (although I don't think that would have gone down very well with the enemy Commandant ). I smiled to myself, and imagined I had actually known Edith, wanting to protect her,.. and her also having been a good looking sort too. ( no disrespect intended ). Still I also knew, that I was a long way from home and perhaps feeling just a tad lonely. That may have had something to do with this flight of imagination. I also knew Tasmania awaited me and thought it better to move on,... and so move on I did.
It was whilst staying at the Melbourne YHA, that I met, two other travellers, from the University of Queensland, Jonathon and Justin. Jonathon was studying Aeronautical Engineering but said he had a phobia about flying. I found this just a bit ironic and asked him whether or not he'd already designed any aircraft? His friend Justin burst out laughing and added that, having to fly in something Jonathon had designed may explain his phobia. We all had a hearty laugh at this suggestion. Justin by contrast, was studying Biotechnical Engineering and was going to graduate from his degree soon. They had both been in Melbourne,on a hiking trip and were due to fly home to Brisbane the following morning. All three us shared the same room, and told jokes most of that evening until the last one of us drifted off to sleep. and that was the thing about travel and especially being on the road, is that one tends to meet very interesting people, share some of their thoughts and life's experiences, then almost as soon as having met them, you all suddenly part and go your separate ways. Still, my travel note book, recorded the major highlights and the laughs we all shared.
Come 6:00am the following morning,the "two cherubs"as I had dubbed them, were already awake packing their things,getting ready to head out to the airport to board their flight home. Upon their finally leaving, we all shook hands and exchanged well wishes. I made my way to the YHA kitchen on the third floor of the building and began making myself an early morning cup of coffee, when I suddenly bumped into a very friendly girl from Hamburg in Germany. Her name was Katherine, and she really was the typical goldy/blonde haired blue eyed girl from Deutschland. We immediately began to compare travel stories and it wasn't long before I realized that compared to Katherine, I hadn't really travelled to as many places as some other quite younger travellers had. Still I didn't let this worry me too much, as I knew our conversation would make for some interesting Travel Blog notes.
In the course of our conversation, we discussed our favourite animals, when Katherine suddenly said she knew her dog back home in Germany would pine for her. "Yes" I thought to myself, never mind that dog,if I were her boy friend, and she'd left me to go travel the world, I'd do more than pine for her,... by the time she got home to Hamburg, I'd be a 'bloody pine forest.' Yes OK then , um ah, well she was rather good looking to say the least.
Moving onward, I had still not booked my passage by boat across to the Apple Isle of Tasmania as other back packers were telling me it's much cheaper to fly and a lot quicker. Well,it's often the ride to the journey's end that makes it most memorable and the people you meet along the way that makes the journey more interesting. Flying doesn't do any of that for me. I don't see much when I fly. So I planned to take the boat across the ocean, although it may have been somewhat more expensive, that was my plan and I was sticking to it. I always said one day I would do exactly that. I still had a few hours to make the most of, so I decided to do a trial run on the 109 tram from Collins Street in the city, to Port Melbourne, where there it sat docked at the pier. There it finally was, "The Spirit of Tasmania". It stood several stories high, large as life and able to carry many passengers and cars across Bass Strait in all kinds of weather. Magnificant, was the word I use to describe her. I'd done the run on the Tram to Port Melbourne just in case I ran short of time later on and had to make a rush to board the boat. This way I knew where I'd be headed and how to get there.
After I had arrived at the southern sea port, I had a look around the boat terminal and struck up
a friendly conversation with two guys named Richard and Carlos. Both of whom were very knowledgeable about plants and plant physiology. Carlos,a biologist, was from Columbia and was studying a masters degree, majoring in Soil Science and Richard from Melbourne, worked as gardener at "Huntingdale Golf Club". I found conversation easy and was able to,
discuss various aspects of plant life and the general science of ecology with them. We all three got on famously and I promised that I'd e-mail them when I'd finished this blog.
Looking back at my hand written travel notes,of which I always kept handy, just in case I saw or experienced anything interesting, I note that I'd jotted down:,
"finally booked a passage on the Spirit of Tasmania, travelling tomorrow night.
Boat leaves around 7:30pm- from docks in Port Melbourne. My booking is
for a deck recliner- the cheapest seat on the boat and I'm hoping that,
this will not mean that I shall be stuck, sitting on some toilet
seat staring out the port window into the darkness".
Still cheapest seat or not, it still cost a lot more than it would have to fly, but as
I said earlier in this blog, I'd rather the experience of the boat
across Bass Strait, then fly and see nothing. But as it turns out, I
saw next to nothing anyway, as it was almost pitch black, apart from the
plethora of marine navigation lights and the lights of the occasional
oil tanker, anchored in the pitch blackness of the channel, most
of what I saw as my own agonized reflection of trying to get comfortable
on a rediculously uncomfortable deck recliner chair.'
Looking again at my travel diary, I see and I remember how I passed my time in
Melbourne whilst waiting for the day to board the boat to Tasmania: My
hand written notes remind me:
"Sitting here in a cold grey Melbourne morning, as boat doesn't leave here until 7:30 pm tonight. But must be at wharf two hours before hand. This is Check In Time. Very
chilly this morning and decide to walk along Flinders Street and on to
Southern Cross Railway station for a hot cup of coffee. Sitting in cafe,
sipping warm delicious coffee and observe Melbournites going about
their early morning business against the back drop of a steel grey sky.
Later I meet two Korean students back in kitchen at YHA, they are
travelling to Sydney later that day, and say they love Australia.
Sitting here, little to do as sun begins to shine first time since rain
began, almost a fortnight ago. My hand written diary entry continues
27/7/ 11. What did I do today to fill in time?-Visited Yarra River,
Crossed Yarra over 'Queen's Bridge'. Visited botanical
gardens,-photographed 'War Shrine Memorial'. Used toilet in Young and
Jacksons Hotel. Photographed, Saint Paul's Cathederal. Stood on Steps of
Flinders Street Railway Station. Visited Melbourne's Art Gallery.
photographed memorial statue of Nurse Edith Cavell. attended a rock
concert and street fun fair, where I observed many entertaining acts.
photographed some musicians and street buskers,. all in all had a very
full day in Melbourne CBD, whilst waiting for boat to Tasmania to dock."
Well,I must admit, the journey across Bass Strait, was during the hours of
darkness, around 15 hours but I understand now what they meant by a deck
recliner. A deck recliner turned out to be an adjustable seat, snot
green in colour, with foot rest, most of which were, poorly maintained
and as it eventuated, extremely uncomfortable to sit in.
Of all the places that I've ever spent a night of misery during my travels and
trying in vain to get a few hours sleep, that was without doubt, the
most uncomfortable place I'd ever endured. That recliner,was more like
what could only be described as 'torture rack' . I could quite easily
say that any one person who had to sit in it, for more than a few hours,
would probably end up needing the services of a orthopaedic sugeon.
As it was mid winter, and very few passengers aboard, so there were other
recliners that were vacant, but to no avail, they were all, just as
bloody well uncomfortable. It didn't matter where I sat, aches and pains
had only just begun but what promised to be a sore night, actually,
turned out to be a very humourous time indeed. This was because the guy
in the deck recliner, next to mine, was called 'Martin' and he was a
about thirty five year old Irishman from Dublin. Martin had of course
professed be be a non-drinker, a good God fearing man just except that
he had emptied the best part of a bottle of whiskey into his stomach and
caused me raucous laughter, listening to his complaints of how
uncomfortable, he had himself felt and how the booze had acted as an
anesthetic to numb the already numbed limbs. This pain elixir was most
necessary if Martin was going to survive a night on the high seas,
stretched out in his rocking and rolling recliner chair. Martin was on
his way to Tasmania, to see some of the old historical sights and see
some 'Irish convict history', that was made so long ago when the first
settlers had arrived there.
I had to concede that Martin's complaining was somewhat annoying at first, but then his disguised laughter became infectious, as it sent me into spasms of laughter, listening to him
saying:
"Ahrrrr feck.., fecken hell,..ah pain in me fecken back..if
this is what me fecken Irish convict relatives had to fecken well put
up with, on their way to fecken Van Dieman's Land,... banged up in
chains in the hold of some fecken ship for nine months, I could expect
that they would be fecken glad of an early death,.... just to get away
from the fecken pain of it all."
And also Martin, would periodically yell out:
"Oh fecken Jayses..'this fecken chair is so fecken uncomfortable", ..I
think I've just about broken me fecken ass trying to sit on this feckeng
thing."
I must admit that what I had suffered in being "layed out" in that deck recliner, Martin's humourous complaining more than made up for any discomfort I had experienced. Martin's comments and angry drunken outbursts continued as the ship rolled its way out
through Port Phillip Bay through the night, and across Bass Strait
towards the promissed land. As the ship's cabin lights dimmed, and the
steward's voice suddenly came over the ship's intercom wishing everyone
aboard a 'safe and comfortable night', Martin suddenly yelled out :
"Oh feck,feck, fecken jayses, he's got to be out of his fecken mind,.. if
he thinks it's possible to get any fecken sleep laying on one of these
fecken things."
I still find it hard not to laugh whilst telling this story as I did really trade my pain and uncomfortability for many hours of hysterical laughter at Martin's comments and the
situation in general. It was a hard night, but one I shall never forget.
"Oh the pleasure and the pain of it all".
After a couple of torturous hours and a fitful sleep, I turned towards the cabin window to
see the pink glimmer of predawn light as our vessel was approaching
land and half asleep, I turned to notice that Martin was no longer
laying prostrate on the killer recliner chair, but now appeared to be
fast asleep, wedged into an alcove on the carpeted deck area beneath his
shamrock green sleeping bag, with his head cleverly placed upon an old
inflated bladder of a wine cask for a pillow." "Let him sleep"!!,.. I
thought to myself, as neither of us would have had more than about 2
hours at most. and besides the thought of what he may have blurted out
should he be woken up, was almost unthinkable.
With the predawn light now beginning to illuminate the ocean's surface, I decided to get
to my feet and then heaved my hefty back pack over my weary shoulders
and fastened the waist strap tightly around my mid section. It was good
now suddenly feeling the bulk of my pack slide into place in the small
of my back. This appeared to be making everything feel, once again
manageble.
I slid the door that separated the inner deck recliner area, from the lower outside deck to a blast of freezing cold air. I could smell the salt of the ocean and the sight of sea gulls
squarking and circling high above the rear deck of our ship. To starboard, I could now clearly see the approaching dock land areas as the mighty engines of the Spirit of Tasmania, seemed to be slowing down and in fact reversing, at the approach of our huge car carrying ferry.
There it lay ahead, at last Devonport Harbour. We had reached the north
coast of Tasmania. Although cold, weary, unshaven and hungry, I still
could not hold back the mounting excitement I now had begun feeling,
as I was about to put foot in Van Dieman's Land.