From Auckland to the States

We had a 6 a.m. wakeup call and headed on the road in darkness. As we drove along, we waited in vain for the sunrise. For what seemed like hours, we drove with headlights on. It turns out that the entire coast had experienced major fog – lasting most of the day causing cancellations of flights and people trying every way to get out of the city.

We finally arrived into Auckland and returned the wonder car and got a lift to our apartment/hotel. It was wonderful to find an efficiency apartment complete with kitchenette, laundry and cable TV. With only 2 days left, it still was nice to be able to do laundry and arrive home with clean clothes.

Mike and Kate had hooked us up with an old business associate of Mike’s who lives in Auckland. We were able to connect via email and phone and arranged to meet for dinner. We met at a waterside restaurant and had a wonderful evening talking to the locals and getting a chance to see how our perceptions and reality of life in NZ compared.

Our last day in NZ, we arranged to store our luggage and walked downtown. We stopped to check on email – and found an entire room filled with Asians on PC’s playing video games. Downtown, we watched an anti-war demonstration and saw the police arrive to break it up.

It was finally time to head to the airport for our long flight home. The flight, as most flights these days, was completely full. In fact, our seat mate was a 19 year old Irish lad who had a broken leg. He was heading home- amazingly going through LAX to the UK (not the most direct routing for someone with a broken leg). They weren’t able to get him into first class – or into a seat where he could elevate his leg (as recommended by his doctor), so he had to straddle the aisle and move every time anyone needed to pass. The story he told to the insurance company and the flight attendants was that he fell down the stairs at the youth hostel. To us, he told the true story. He was drunk as a skunk and playing chicken with his buddies. They were picking each other up and he was dropped on the ground breaking several bones in his leg.

We arrived in LAX, picked up our luggage, and walked to United’s domestic terminal to see if we could get a flight out that day. No such luck….all of the flights were booked and there were no flights available for the entire week – spring break travel. At that point, we were grateful for our horrible connections the next day. At least we’d be home. So, it was on to the hotel. We had a few drinks in the lobby bar and got caught up on the news from the States. We came home to 24 hour coverage of Terri Schiavo – a comatose woman who doctors said was brain dead with no hope of recovery- and the battle between her parents and her husband over pulling her feeding tube. We watched in absolute astonishment at the political drama unfolding….Republicans eager to cater to their base, the Religious Right, were trying to get Congress to stop the removal of the tube and GW flying back from Crawford, Texas to sign the bill into law. We were dumbfounded and feeling very estranged from this place we call our home.

The next day, we started our long journey home- traveling from LAX to Washington Dulles then on to Orlando for a midnight arrival. True to his word, Kenny Presley was waiting for us and we made the trip back to TGO. The next day we were ready to start preparing the house for our move.

Wellington

We left Picton in drizzling rain and boarded the ferry back to the North Island. It was St Patrick’s Day in Wellington. We had one museum stop before hitting the streets to see how the town celebrated. Te Papa, the National Museum of New Zealand, had a spectacular exhibit of Maori culture, history and artifacts.

After a stop at the local market to get a bottle of wine, we had dinner at a Malaysian restaurant- beef rendang. After dinner, we walked the restaurant row to see how St Pat’s day was progressing. It was pretty tame compared to a U.S. city.

Christchurch to Picton

Another drive on Highway 1 and more twists and turns, one lane roads and beautiful coastal scenery.

We had read about the lobster shacks along the road and found Nin’s Bin –a pick your own crawfish (lobster) – they steam them and serve them with hot garlic butter. You get to eat them on the picnic tables outside with an ocean view.

On the drive, we tried to come up with the best descriptor for the NZ tourist types:

* Adventure X’ers
* Bio-trekkers
* Scenery Seniors
* Bus Biddlies

Finally in Picton with no hotel room. We tried a B&B- no one home, a hotel – with the last room “just taken”. We finally found a nice place, close enough to town to walk in for a quick shopping excursion before leaving the South Island. Dinner was a local fish and chips take-out place, filled with a waiting room of locals. With fish and chips, wine and cable TV in the motel, we chowed down watching the details of the Michael Jackson trial.

Christchurch

The road to Christchurch was lined with signs warning, not of drousy drivers, but of speed: “The faster you go, the bigger the mess” ?? Why they worried about speed with the twists and turns of Route 1 was a mystery. Route 1- the only North/South road on the island was enough to make anyone motion sick. With no guard rails and white and yellow lines on the road with no rhyme or reason- with one lane bridges and bridges shared by both rail and cars, it was quite a drive.

We decided to try the youth hostel in the center of town and checked into “BaseX”, the home of every X’er in Christchurch. It was 14 floors of mostly youth hostel rooms with a few real “hotel rooms”- shared bath. But, the price was right. We had a laugh at the “Book Exchange”- the only book on the shelves was the Book of Mormon.

Christchurch is known as the most English of NZ’s cities. Cathedral Square Is at the center of the city and the area around the cathedral was packed with people enjoying the sunshine and clear skies of the south island. We took the standard city trolley tour to get an overview and spent the rest of the day walking the city streets.

Haast to Oamaru

We expected to face significant mountain passes for our morning drive. After a few hours, we realized that we had been through the passes- completely unaware. We passed snow capped peaks but traveled in the valleys.

We arrived in Oamaru with reservations at an old Victorian B&B for $130. Just as a lark, we decided to check out the Empire, an old hotel on the main street. While it was pretty basic with shared bath, at $48, we decided that the savings were worth it. We checked in, walked around town and decided to dine at our original B&B. After “roast of the day”, a few glasses of wine, we headed back to our hotel. Quite a lively town, the streets were completely empty by 5:30.

The city itself was charming. The city was built in limestone and had a large historic district of old hotels, banks, and churches.

In the morning, nothing was open- except McDonalds for breakfast. But Christchurch was in the headlights, so we grabbed our coffee and McD brekkie and were on our way.

Not least....but Haast

The ride from Hokitika down the coast was stunning. It was about 140 km south to the Franz Joseph Glacier. But since we didn’t feel any need to do a heli-hike, aerial sightseeing, or skydiving- we did a drive by to see the glacier from a distance and continued on our way.

We made a quick stop in Pukekura, the home of the Bushman’s Centre- and the giant sandfly (as well as the Road Kill Café).

We ended the day at Haast, a “town” of sorts- with a tavern, grocery store, café, laundry and motel. After checking out the tavern dinner options, we headed to the café for take-out burgers and went back to our room to have wine, burgers and watch Billy Connelly in NZ.

Hokitika Wildfoods Festival

The coastal drive from Nelson to Hokitika was spectacular. We saw a “weka” - relative to the kiwi—another wingless bird native to New Zealand.

The driving style in New Zealand was unique—John called his tailgating friends “Bumper buddies” as they were “crotch –cruising”. On the way, we saw a sign for “Horse-poo…Semi Rotten 50 Cents a bag”

Our Hokitika B&B was about 10km outside of town in a ranch house owned by a rather strange couple. With the festival weekend, we were lucky to find any rooms at all and we settled into our little room with twin beds. Janice and her husband, Des, ran the B&B—all three rooms. Janice was obviously the ruler of the roost. Des was a sweet, quiet, unassuming guy- Janice’s 2nd husband. Janice had been running a frozen chicken business- where she would take frozen food to the farmers along the west coast. Des evidently thought that he’d get to run the B&B when they opened it, but Janice quickly told him that he’d be taking over the frozen chicken route- and she’d run the B&B.

She was kind enough to offer us a ride to the city center so that we wouldn’t have to worry about parking- or having a drink or two. We stopped by the Visitors Center to get some idea of the schedule of events. The first advice from the girl at the counter: “Leave your dignity at the door”. She laughed and recommended that we attend the “Feral Factor Challenge” that evening.

The event was held in the middle of the main street on a make-shift stage. The 6 contestants were wearing T-shirts with the evening’s planned taste treats. The host of the show was a radio jockey from Ireland who did a great job of describing the foods and encouraging the contestants. The rule-“If it goes out, it must go in again”….”You can dribble, but not spew”.

The contestants took their places.
Round 1 was announced—“Cute , live worms” in a cup. The first contestant, Vanessa- a young red-headed girl, did all she could to keep the worms down…gagging the entire time. All but one of the 6 ate all the worms. It claimed Tracey- as the first one out. 1 down, 5 to go.

Round 2 was “Cow udder with cottage and blue vein cheese”. Don claimed that it was better than the worms. Vanessa, the little red-head was eliminated based on the quantity consumed—unfortunately, she had thrown up most of the mixture- and it was down to 4.

Now, it was only the guys left—Luke,-the good-looking newspaper reporter, Graham-the local cop, Matt, Sheldon-a 33 year old spag moss man, and Don- the Red Moki from Hoki. With songs from the 70’s blaring from the sound system, it was time for …
Round 3- “Bull in a Glass”—bull testicles, penis and brain in bull semen- served in an ice cream float glass. It was too much for Matt and it was down to 3.

Round 4 – Chocolate Bull Shake—pureed bull liver with chunky kidneys. This time, Graham, the local cop, had to use the chuck bucket. When the announcer asked Luke what he would do with the $1000 prize, he said, “Hire someone to hurt you very badly”. The pressure was building and the crowd was going wild for their favorites.

Round 5 – Wild Goat Testicles with special sauce. They brought out pieces of goat scrotum and gave each of the guys a knife to cut out the balls and eat them. Sheldon managed to swallow his balls in 4 seconds…but Don, the Red Moki from Hoki was knocked out of the race. Sheldon described the dish as “the nicest one yet”.

Round 6 – Round- Bug Kebab It was down to three- Graham, Sheldon and Luke. The challenge- a bug kebab- giant waterbugs, huhu beetles and cycada laced on a skewer with olives. They choked down all the bugs and Graham was out.

Round 7 – The Final Round- Twisted Sheep Balls. The crowd was chanting and the final two duked it out. The first one to swallow down all of the sheep balls was Sheldon Kirby- the new champion of the Wild Foods Challenge.

We walked around town and started to sense a growing air of youth out of control. Drinking in the streets, crowds of 20 year olds staggering, yelling. We opted to get one glass of wine, watch the crowd, walked down to see the bands playing- then headed off to catch our taxi back to the B&B.

The next day, Janice drove us back to town to see what the festival was all about. There was a section of “crafts” – mostly tie-dyed shirts and candles. The actual festival was in a huge field with tents selling bizarre and disgusting foods. We decided to skip on the goat testicles and bull semen and head home to some wine and cheese.
It was a wise move….there were stories the next day of a stabbing and craziness in the streets.

When we got back, we shared our stories with Janice and Des. As they were just about to eat dinner, they invited us to join them and we had a good time talking.
Before we said goodbye to Hokitika, we had our breakfast- prepared by Des, with the bikers staying in the other 2 rooms and got a picture of Des and the cows.

On the way out of town, we had to stop to see the most bizarre motorhome conversion. It was a “blokes’ bus” – slept 12 with 6 bunks, rear couch with a sleeping platform above. In the front cab instead of the typical 2 seats, there were 5. One of the guys sported a t-shirt, “I fear no beer”. John was particularly fascinated by the twin front- steerable- axles.

Other memorable sayings:
* “Too old to die young”
* “After you’re 50, it’s not that you think you’ll die, it’s just that you don’t want to spend your time with dickheads”.

From Wellington to the South Island

It was a long drive to Wellington---in a country with 4 million people and 48 million sheep…about 12.5 sheep per person. (Not counting the 9 million cattle). We got into Wellington without any major problems, found our hotel and an over-priced Greek restaurant before heading to bed.

The next day we were off to the South Island…
Our rental car company provided for a drop-off/pick-up service to avoid transporting your car from the North to South Islands. So, we dropped off our Sunny and picked up our ‘shit-box” on the other side in the town of Picton. It was a day of more twisty roads before arriving into Nelson. We found another in-town pub/hotel and met Pete and Rick- Norton and Triumph owners. After our visit to the WOW museum, we re-met them in the pub and had a wonderfully sloshed night of wine and a late dinner (at least I think food was involved…)

The WOW Museum was WOW! Founded in 1987 when a local woman decided to hold a fashion show to highlight ‘wearable art’, it gradually grew into an annual event and drew participants worldwide. The costumes in the museum were absolutely fabulous. They were made with everything imaginable- wood, paper mache, copper wire, soft drink cans—even lighting fixtures. The favorite competition is the “Bizarre Bra Award”. They were hysterical—especially the 34 Bee Cup—with tea cups for the cups and bees on wire flying around them. Or the Chandelier Bra- made from actual chandeliers- that lit up.

Rotorua - Sulphur City

We opted for a local firm for car hire- and picked up our “Sunny”. The New Zealand car market is filled with used cars brought in from Japan. Our little dream had 66,250 km on the odometer.

Our drive took us from Auckland, through Hamilton and Cambridge. We arrived in Rotorua – known as “Sulphur City” -and dropped our bags at the B&B. The city and surround have the most energetic thermal activity in the country- with bubbling pools, gurgling hot springs, geysers and horrible sulphur smells. We took the 2:00 tour at the Maori Center- with an excellent Maori guide. He spent time explaining the Maori customs before a walk through the hot springs.

The walk through the fields of mud pools and geysers was eerie. The guide assured us that this was the safest place to be—since the earth has got places to let off steam. With steam coming from everywhere- golf courses, fields- it was a little hard to believe.

We found an Indian restaurant for dinner and headed back to the B&B. We had a fitful night of sleeping-the mattress was so soft that we finally put it on the floor.

Off to Auckland

The shuttle to the airport picked us up at 6:40 am and we were off to New Zealand. The flight was uneventful and we arrived to beautiful sunny weather. Our hotel, the Aspen House, was basic, but well located. We walked downtown and had drinks and appetizers by the harbor.

Going from Sydney to Auckland is like moving from the U.S. to Canada. In Auckland, everyone is fit and trim, well-dressed and polite. This was obviously a country obsessed with fitness and outdoor exercise. We weren’t feeling like we fit in very well.

The next day, we checked email and found that E.D. had fallen and broken his shoulder cup. We got on the phone and called – a bit panicked given his age. My mom assured us that he was doing OK- but you could tell that the stress was getting to both of them. And, of course, having to deal with Mija wasn’t helping. We promised to call daily to check on him.

W took a city tour that morning to get a feel for the city. It’s a beautiful city, surrounded by water.

We went to the Auckland War Memorial Museum. The exhibits on the Maori culture were spectacular and we took in a performance of Maori culture, dance and song. While a bit hokey- it was a good introduction to the ethnic minority of NZ.

Dinner was at a waterfront Italian restaurant with a Macedonian waiter.

New Zealand Map and Route

The Drive back to Sydney

This time the ferry arrived at port 6:40 am and we were in our car and on the road by 9:00 –only to hit morning Melbourne traffic. We finally made our way through the traffic and were on the Princes Highway driving towards Gippsland. Lunch was a McOz at McDonalds. We finally got into Eden and found another Pub/hotel, the Great Southern. Wine and cheese for dinner.

Eden’s main attraction is the “Killer Whale Museum”. What an amazing museum- stories of a modern day Jonah, caught in the belly of a whale- and lived to tell the story. And the story of “Old Tom” (whose skeleton is on display). Old Tom was one of the killer whales who formed an odd alliance with the whale fishermen. The killer whales would herd their migrating cousins into the bay and prevent them from diving to escape the fishermen. In return, the fishermen would give the killer whales the tongues and lips of the dead whales.

On Thursday, it was another driving day—trying to make it back to Sydney. We drove non-stop except for a brief stop in Berry, just outside Sydney, to see the local pub with a bear skin on the ceiling and a gorilla on a crucifix. We hit Sydney at rush hour in the rain with limited maps. Fortunately, our sense of direction was good and we got to the hotel, returned the car and found a little Thai restaurant for dinner.

Friday was the largest Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras Festival in the world. We started with a gay brekkie at the local café then took the Bondi Explorer to see the beaches and outskirts of Sydney. We stopped for a coffee at Bondi Beach and watched the pigeons attack a plate of Indian food at the café next to us.

We walked the streets in the gay district to get a feeling for the festivities to come. The streets were alive with gays and lesbians parading up and down the street. We got a coffee and watched the scene. After having our fill of the gay parade, we decided to spend our last evening in Sydney at our favorite sidewalk café. We got there for happy hour- 2 for 1 and entertained ourselves watching the people and making up stories about them—George C. Scottsky, Sluggo-the Chinese bin-head, Dick (Cheney) and Jane, and Mr Dog.

Signs we loved:
* “Drowsy Drivers Die”
* “Welcome to Glendambo ELEVATION 1150m POPULATION: Sheep….22,500 Flies…2,000,000 Humans…..Approx 30”
* Don’t Sleep and Drive
* Tired…..Dead

Tasmania!

After breakfast on our balcony, we did a bit of shopping and exploring Ballarat before heading off to the ferry to Tasmania. We arrived at the ferry terminal early- hoping to understand the process of boarding before the crowds started arriving. The ferry runs twice a day during peak months- but trying to get any accurate information was close to impossible. It was a true 3 Stooges check-in. We had time to get a bit of food and wine before queuing for the ferry. The queue started at 6:30 pm and we actually started to board at 7:30- after a two part screening process. The rule is no alcohol can be taken on board the boat. But, since we had our own private cabin, we decided to ignore the rule and take some wine and cheese in for a little private party. The ship took off at 9:00 and we did a quick tour of the boat before bed. The decks were packed with people settling in for their overnight trip. We were so grateful for our cabin after seeing the hoards of people sitting upright trying to get some sleep while others were hitting the bar, drinking $5 beers and watching TV.

We had some wine and cheese and slept soundly until the wakeup call at 6;25 a.m. Since the ferry didn’t get to the dock until 10:00 am, we decided that it was a huge plot to get people to spend money on their over-priced breakfasts. After the Tasmanian set of checkpoints, we were off for destinations unknown. We stopped at the (guidebook) famous, Ashgrove Farm Cheese, for some local cheese tasting. The road network in Tasmania was designed for maximum twists and lots of road kill.

We finally made it to the little town of Bicheno and found a motel on the beach and a great little French restaurant, Travella. Back at the motel, we had a few more drinks and talked with a couple from Sydney—she was a bird lover, he was a surfer.
On Saturday morning, we were up and heading down the coast towards Hobart. Another day of twisting roads—with names like “Break Me Neck Hill”. We arrived in Hobart and stopped at the Visitors Center to check on rooms. We walked into a room packed with people and heard the staff telling people that “there are no rooms left in Hobart”. In horror, we listened to people being booked into rooms miles away. We got to the front of the queue and were trying to work through options for a nearby town when one of the girls came over with a last minute cancellation at a hotel smack in the middle of town. We grabbed the $165/night serviced apartment and wondered if we shouldn’t try our luck at the lottery that day.

Saturday is the famous Salamanca Market in Hobart, so we dropped our bags and walked over to the market. For all of the hype, it was just a typical market-with a bit more tie-dye, candles and lavender than most. We grabbed a cab and asked him to take us to a local bar- and spent a few hours at Shippey’s at Battery Point, one of the oldest bars in the city. For dinner, we headed to the waterfront and had fish and chips on one of the boats docked by the pier.

With only a week in Tasmania, we were on a tight schedule to try to see it all. Sunday was the Tasman Peninsula. You couldn’t visit Tasmania without seeing the famous Tasmanian Devil. The species is now endangered- they’re being killed off by a mouth virus- so most of the remaining healthy devils are in captivity. They are truly bizarre creatures. Our first exposure to them was the sounds emanating from their pit. It’s a noise like nothing you’ve ever heard. At first we thought that the two devils in the pit were males staking out their turf. They would chase each other, barring their teeth and making this awful noise. It turns out that they were a male and female- in the pit to mate. Evidently, the male had been humping the female for three solid days and she wasn’t going to take it anymore. Then, when they were fed (fresh wombat), the male took the meat and wouldn’t let the female get close to him. The sound of crunching bones was awful—not one to waste anything, the devil eats everything- fur, skin and bones.

We had the chance to walk along with one of the workers on her morning feeding routine and got first hand info on all of the other animals in the sanctuary—the frog faced bird, the wallabies, and kangaroos. We even got to feed the wallabies (and see some humping kangaroos).

Port Arthur was next on the agenda and we took a tour of the site. It was particularly interesting after reading Jack Weatherford’s book. In 1830, the Tasman Peninsula was chosen as the place for a penitentiary for the worst convicts. The peninsula was a natural penitentiary as it was connected to the mainland by a strip of land less than 100 metres wide. Between 1830 and 1877 (when the penal colony was closed), some 30,000 male convicts passed through here – most never left the island.

Rather than using corporal punishment, the prison was designed under the “silent” or “separate” system. The inmates lived in complete silence. Each inmate had a number- no name- sewn into his gray uniform. They could not speak to anyone- not to each other or to the guards. The guards used sign language and even patrolled the hallways in slippers to muffle the sound. The idea was that the silence would provide the prisoners with the opportunity to reflect on their crimes. If they were allowed out of their cells, they had to wear a cloth cap and mask over their fact to insure anonymity. They were allowed to leave their cells for one hour a day- solitary exercise facing a blank wall. Five times a week they attended church services. Even in the church, they were placed in separate booths that completely hid the inmate-except for his face which could only look forward toward the pulpit.

If the inmates violated the rules, he was put into a “dark and dumb” cell….complete darkness, with walls three feet thick. No sound or light entered the room. They received daily food rations of bread and water – but they were delivered at random hours to prevent the inmate from using the arrival of meals to monitor his stay. If the inmate was particularly bad, he had to wear leg irons attached to a chain in the wall. The guards would pull on the chain, raising the inmate off the floor and raised him in the air, leaving him to hang upside down in the darkness for hours.

This “Model Prison” made the inmates go mad. To handle the insane inmates, a lunatic asylum was built on the grounds.

On the way back to Hobart, we took the road through Richmond, or “Biddlyville”—a cute town of brick buildings, antique shops and biddlies.

A new term: Shipies- used to describe women who are “mutton dressed up as lamb”

The next morning, it was off to Queenstown. Once again, there were no straight roads and bikers traveling on them at 100 mph. The final descent into Queenstown was dramatic- with deep, eroded gullies and denuded hills – from the years of mining operations. We found a room at the Pub/hotel- Empire Hotel. The car park was filled with Japanese bikes. It turns out that we were sharing the hotel with a girl’s biker club. We had dinner in the hotel and watched as they streamed into the dining room- all dressed up for the Academy Awards.

We had quite a drive the following day- from Queenstown back to Devonport for our return ferry. We went through the mountain towns of Zeehan and Tullah, stopped at the Lactos Cheese Factory and stopped by for a photo stop with the big penguin- in Penguin. We found a little Indian restaurant in Devonport for dinner before our boarding and then it was off again at 9:00 pm for our trip back to Melbourne.

Tasmania Route

The Pub Crawl in Ballarat

We dropped Jean and Gordon at the airport at 10.30 for their flight to Singapore at 2.30 and we said our reluctant goodbyes and wondered where and when we’d meet up again.

Without a map, we made our way out of Adelaide (which is a city that seems to go on forever). Before long, we were back on the road. It felt strange to be on our own again. With a drop dead date to get to the boat to Tasmania, we wanted to make time. We stopped for lunch in a typical Aussie town, Coonalpyn, at Peg’s Shoestring Kitchen. We were the only one eating Peg’s special cuisine (tuna salad sandwiches with chips), but as we waited for our meal, we browsed through her selection of magazines- from August 1997!

On the wall was this saying:

“If you love something, set it free. If it returns, you haven’t lost it; if it disappears and never comes back, then it wasn’t yours to begin with. And if it just sits there watching TV, unaware that it’s been set free, then you probably married it”

We got into Ballarat, an old mining town, and using our LP, stopped at what was listed as an inexpensive hotel/bar. It was in the middle of major renovation- and we gulped at the room rates—upwards of $200. At 6 PM, and no other recommendations in Lonely Planet, we took to the streets and found another hotel/bar that looked a bit more affordable. Using our “Rules of Hotel/Pub Accommodation”, we checked out the room and asked the question, “What time does the bar close?” The owner told us that the closing time wouldn’t be a problem, but that we should know that it was the night of the local colleges’ “Pub Crawl”—1200 college freshman would be making their way across town, stopping in groups of 300 at the local pubs- ending with a huge blowout complete with band. With no other options, we decided to chance it and made our way to a Thai restaurant recommended by the owner. Dinner was absolutely heavenly.

We hadn’t seen much evidence of the pub crawl as yet. We got back to the hotel and decided to stop for a drink at the bar. Prices were great- specials for the pub crawl had wine at $2 a glass. I was all for leaving before the first group of 300 arrived, but John convinced me to take a front row seat by the door and watch the show. It was amazing- they descended like locusts on the bar and we were immediately surrounded by Aussie 18 year olds—already well on their way to being “pissed”. We were shocked to find that a few of these 18 year olds actually wanted to talk to us. They were probably just as shocked to see two old farts sitting around on this particular night.

We found ourselves adopted by a 20 year old girl named Kirsti with a larger than life personality. She had us in stitches telling us about her nursing education – she “loves blood and guts”. During the summer, she would work in a nursing home and she had stories of giving showers to 92 year old guys who would proposition her. She talked with us the entire time allocated for this pub….and then, came back – dragging along her ‘hot guy” from her high school and one of her roommates. We can’t remember laughing so hard. It was a great way to get back to OZ- on our own. Made us miss Jean and Gordon though—they would have loved this place!

Winding down in the Barossa Valley

Entries from Jean – In White My comments in Italics:
After a good night’s sleep, a shower and a good continental breakfast, we were back on the road heading towards the Barossa Valley where we’d decided to spend our last few days. The landscape was now much flatter and the temperature was cooler, 20 degrees at 9.15 a.m. which felt decidedly cold. When we stopped for petrol, John wondered about replacing his fly net which he thought he’d lost (he later found it in the car). One of the locals in the garage asked if we were heading up i.e. towards Alice springs or down towards Adelaide. We told him we had been to ‘the Rock’ and were heading back. He said the flies weren’t so bad this year compared to other years. Is he joking?? They were horrendous but no – apparently this is a ‘light fly year’ God help those who visit in a heavy fly year!

Had a roadside stop at a place called Bon Bon. This was just a roadside rest area thoughtfully provided with chemical “dunnies” – the sign on the toilet lid said “If you haven’t eaten it, don’t drop it down the tube” Oh gross!! I won’t give you all the details but suffice to say that if we hadn’t been desperate, we wouldn’t have used it. The next toilet stop was Glendambo again – “Welcome to Glendambo. Elevation 150m. Population – Sheep 22,500, Flies 2,000,000, Humans 30” . Took a photo of Freddy behind the bar who remembered us but I don’t suppose they see that many people out there. Then stopped for lunch at a disgusting café where the bacon sandwiches tasted of fish. (That brought back memories of my childhood for some reason) Still 650 kms to go.

At our last roadside stop, we found the birds sitting on the picnic tables with their mouths open—they were SO hot and dry. Gordon and I found a few plastic buckets and filled them with water. Within seconds, they were covered with birds, dying for a drink. Even the trees in the Outback are unique. While most trees grow tall to reach sunlight, these trees space themselves out for water. It was hard to imagine a more inhospitable landscape.

There is a weed at the side of the road whose fruit looks like yellow tennis balls but has the texture of apples. This is not indigenous to Australia but is believed to have been carried there as seeds on the feet of camels as they are the only animal who will eat them. Apparently they taste disgusting.

To pass the time, we thought up good names for sports teams:
v The Glendambo Go-anners (a go-anner is a type of Aussie lizard)
v The Woomera Wool-bailers
v The Coober Noodlers
v The Alice Springers

This was a long tedious journey with little to look at in the desert. As we got further south however, we passed lots of salt lakes which looked like water and were very picturesque. Eventually, we came back to Port Augusta so stopped at the Information Centre, bought more water and choc ices and managed to get booked in a cottage for three nights. It was called ‘Treasured Memories Cottage’ and was in a place in the Barossa Valley (where they make the wine) in a town called Tununda. Each couple was paying $100 per night including breakfast which would be left for us. This place was about three hours from Port Augusta and at 4 pm when we were there, the temperature was 28 degrees – lovely.

We found Tununda and stopped almost straight away at a Thai/Indian/Australian restaurant in a converted railway carriage. After a nice meal, we found the cottage which was lovely – detached and all stripped pine, lace and little extras like chocolates, port, pot pourri and personal photos. The theme of the place was the Titanic and there were lots of pictures and other references to it around the place. Gordon and I were on the top floor in a bed with a lace canopy, John & Debs were in another room downstairs with a four-poster bed. We had a spa bath and a shower and it was all very luxurious. That night we sat about drinking wine till late.

Next day, Monday the 21st, we all awoke late with hangovers so the day was spent lazily mooching around Tununda and sunbathing (the first chance we’d had – too cold in Adelaide and too hot up country ). Tanunda was a lovely tourist town, mostly built along one long street with a few small shops and restaurants. We decided to eat out so found a German restaurant which we thought would be a nice change but it turned out to be owned by yet another wacko. This guy, Heinz, was born in Dresden but left Germany at aged 6. He began by stating how much he hated Americans for “everything they are doing to the world”. He was actually quite rude seeing as how he had two American customers in front of him but he was obviously weird. He talked at length about his life so far and how his inspiration in all things was Jonathon Livingston Seagull (do you know this? – its about striving for the impossible and is the type of thing they bring out at management conferences – pretentious rubbish!). Apart from slagging off Americans, he said that although he allows the Chinese to eat in his restaurant, he makes them sit outside because “they eat like pigs” but even they do better than the Japanese who are not even allowed in! He warmed to Gordon, told him he looked like a school teacher, and talked to him at length even escorting him to the door but the rest of us got the cold shoulder. And anyway, the food wasn’t much cop and the wine was rubbish!

We spent the next morning and early afternoon visiting some wineries and sampling the local wines. We thought the best was Peter Leiman’s where we also had a lovely lunch sitting in the garden and watching the lovely Australian birds.

That night, Gordon did a barbecue and then we all sat talking and drinking wine. This was our last night in Oz and we had lots to look back on.

Why Coober Pedy?

Entries from Jean – In White My comments in Italics:
Once bitten twice shy and this time we decided to stay above ground. We found a good motel-type place at only $88 per room which was clean and well equipped and welcome after our recent experiences of sleeping in tents and cabins. Had a quick shower then headed back to Tom & Mary’s for more delicious garlic prawns and a couple of carafes of wine.

Then we went back to the hotel bar which was full of weird locals and having had our fair share of wacko’s recently, Debs and I decided not to hang around and we left John & Gordon to get to know them. We later heard about the multi-millionaire who had an opal ring bought for $4000 but supposedly worth $50,000 (which Gordon said was garish and ostentatious) who came from Brazil – another fugitive from justice? He was 60 but had a young trophy wife, Yvonne, who was fine until she smiled and revealed a full set of black teeth! Then there was the Brit – a carpenter who had lived in CP for 27 years (why?), had 6 children and readily admitted to being “quite wealthy”. He was originally from London and came to Australia as a carpenter and somehow graduated to the opal mines where he made his fortune. He still goes ‘noodling’ i.e. sifting the mine waste for missed opals which can be quite lucrative. (They can make $100-150K/year) Gordon and this guy really hit it off and after we got back Gordon sent him a set of chisels as he finds it difficult to get hold of them in Coober Pedy – well, he would! We were quite sorry to leave in a funny way. There are many stories in Coober Pedy – this has been just one of them.