This will be my last posting. I thought I would entertain you with some thoughts about Oz.

The universal greeting is “How’re you going?” to which the correct response is “Good, mate, how’re you?” and not “How kind of you to enquire. In fact, I went after breakfast”.

All their coffees are called something different. The most common are the long black, which we would call an Americano, and the flat white, which has no British equivalent – basically a white coffee, but not all frothed up.

Yoghurt is pronounced yoe-gurt

Universal response to any request is “No worries”

Driving is pretty much the same as here, except that ‘no entry’ signs are followed by a sign saying ‘WRONG WAY – GO BACK’ which is rather nice.

Speed limits are enforced with fierce penalties and are strictly observed, so far as I could see. I was told that many cars are fitted with a speed governor, because keeping down to 110 km/hr on empty freeways is pretty difficult.

Courgettes are called zucchini

Distances are vast. You can drive two hours from Bateman’s Bay, NSW, to Canberra, in what is a fairly well-populated part of the country, and encounter just two small towns along the way. In WA, the largest State, there is a population of 1.4 million, of whom 1 million live in Perth/Fremantle. The remaining 400,000 live in an area half the size of all Europe; clearly there is a lot of space between the people.

Thongs are flip flops, not uncomfortable pants

The major cities seem full of young people – through immigration Australia has added nearly 50% of its population in the last two generations. This bodes well for its future, by which I mean there will be someone to pay the pensions of the oldies, which is important, I think..

Fire is a constant worry, especially in NSW and Victoria, the most populous States. The Australian terrain, and the plants and trees that live there, have evolved to depend on regular fires, usually started by lightning, for regeneration. Pretty well every summer homes are destroyed and lives lost through fires, which can advance at devastating speed. We saw camp site notices prohibiting fires in all circumstances, which kind of defeats the object of camping, I should have thought.

The Aussies are, in my experience anyway, open and friendly. They will always stop and have a chat – if they hear an English accent you can rely on hearing about their geographic connection/ancestry/trip to England or whatever.

Despite the harshness of the interior, the large number of species that can kill you (whilst this can be exaggerated, there are certainly a large number of creatures which can seriously spoil your day), and the possibility of having your house burned down every summer, Australia is a beautiful country, blessed with, for the most part, good weather. It is not surprising that so many people go to live there. If the opportunity arises, we will go back, certainly to Bateman’s Bay, which is a gorgeous area. If we don’t, we’ve got many happy memories to bore people with.

Finally, I had so many complaints because people could not access the photos I put on my Facebook page, I have opened a Flickr account. The photos can now be found at http://www.flickr.com/photos/bobzinoz

This week we have two Wednesdays. We left Sydney, flew for thirteen hours, and landed in San Francisco five hours before we took off. How is this possible? Someone should look into this.

Anyway, it’s back to winter coats: on arrival, it’s cold and wet here. Staying at the Chancellor, on recommendation of friends; it’s a fine old boutique hotel, and in a good position in the city.

SF is not, I suspect, a typical US city. It is quite European in many ways: there are trams, and 3 cable car routes, not too much traffic, steep hills, haphazard little streets, and above all the views of the bay and the bridges. For my money the Bay Bridge is every bit as grand as the Golden Gate, for all the latter’s iconic status. We did the usual touristy things: up to Coit Tower on Telegraph Hill, for the views; Pier 39 for the tat; and cruise around the bay, taking in the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz.

Apparently, of all the prisoners who ever escaped from Alcatraz ,only five were not recaptured, and they probably drowned; although the island is only 2,000 yards from shore, the waters are very cold, the currents strong, and there are sometimes sharks.

The customer service ethic is very strong here, and people are very keen to please you. They have the original Levi’s store just round the corner from where we’re staying. I needed some new jeans so we popped in. The staff couldn’t have been more helpful, and one in particular was very keen to let me know his name was Bill. When we got to checkout, the cashier said “…and were you helped by anyone? Yes? I don’t suppose you caught their name?”

Finally, from the USA, the last word on the great thong debate. We think it’s a G string, Aussies a flip flop; here, as you would expect, they go both ways (see pic).

Tomorrow, we fly home.

PS. Sorry about the lack of more photos – wifi here is very flaky, and doesn’t last long enough for the upload. Will deal with this when I get home

Had to buy an umbrella! For the first time since we left home on 1 March it’s raining.

We walked down to Circular Quay, to the Museum of Contemporary Art where there was an installation by Olafur Eliasson, who did the weather project at Tate Modern, which we enjoyed. This was very good too; doubly so as we were able to claim concessionary prices as old codgers.

After lunch we caught the ferry to Manly. Manly is a suburb of Sydney, noted for its surf beach. It gets its name from the fact that a governor of NSW “admired the manly bearing” of the local Aborigines. Possibly he was a naval man. Not much to do there, given the rain, so we mooched around a bit and caught the ferry back.

In the evening we went to George and Natalie’s in the suburb if Lewisham. They’ve done a lot of renovation to the house and garden of which they’re justly proud (“come and see my basil!”). They’ve done it all really well, and have ‘before and after’ photos, including pics of Natalie covered in paint, and wriggling in the ceiling space. He had promised us a barbie, and wasn’t going to let the rain stand in the way, rigging up a huge canopy over the patio. We were joined by Natalie’s mum and dad, and after baby Amelia (7 weeks) had been put to bed, sat down to a feast (including kangaroo – much more sustainable in Aussie conditions than beef). This was our last night in Australia, and it couldn’t have been nicer: lights in the garden, rain pouring down…..

Last word on Australia: two countries divided by a common language. We were half-watching some crappy morning TV programme in the hotel, and the big story concerned a restaurant in Brisbane who was surcharging customers who came in wearing thongs. Why would you go out to eat in your pants? Turns out, over here when they talk about thongs they mean flip flops. When we were in Perth I had seen a sign outside a pub saying no thongs or workboots, which makes sense now. I know in Wales or somewhere they’ve had to stop people going in Tesco in their pyjamas, but pub-goers in thongs and workboots…..? I would pay a lot to see that.

On to San Francisco in the morning.

We’re in Sydney now, staying at a hotel next to Darling Harbour. Around the harbour itself is a huge complex, completed in 1988 to mark the bi-centenary of the first convicts arriving from Britain, and the creation of the NSW Colony. The complex comprises exhibition centre, conference centre, aquarium, a Chinese garden,museums, restaurants, bars, and entertainments of all sorts. There are loads of people around, and if you’re there as the sun goes down, and the lights come on and reflect in the water, it all looks quite magical, especially if as now there’s a full moon as well.

Sydney is a modern, bustly, multicultural city, though unlike, say, Perth, a good deal of the old has been preserved. One such area is The Rocks, which we reached by walking the length of George St. This is a bit like walking down Oxford St and finding yourself in the Lanes in Brighton. After a nice lunch we walked down to Circular Quay, where the boats come in, and the around the harbour, by way of the Botanic Gardens, to Mrs Macquarie’s Chair, a lookout point for the best view of the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge. Mrs Macquarie was the wife of the Colony’s first governor, and apparently this is where she liked to have a bit of a sit down when on one of her strolls. The picture shows Mrs A and the view from this very spot.

It was quite warm and muggy, so we treated ourselves to a ferry ride back to Darling Harbour where we visited the aquarium. There are some really bizarre creatures in here – the pig-nosed turtle, the Australian pineapple fish, the pot-bellied seahorse, to name but a few – as well as the stuff you would expect, and all are very well showcased and described. There was also a tank containing a duck billed platypus, but like the kangaroos of Pebbly Beach, he was nowhere to be seen. The finale was the oceanarium, full of horrible looking sharks and huge rays. Simon’s friend George’s wife Natalie’s dad was CFO at the aquarium on the day when the glass sides fractured and the fish and the visitors mingled rather more intimately than they had expected. That must have been a day to remember. For the visitors anyway; fish can’t remember anything.

Tomorrow we're getting the ferry to Manly, and in the evening a barbie at George's, and a peek at the new baby. More anon.

Today we climbed a mountain. Actually we didn’t. Trevor and grandson Owen climbed Mount Pigeon House, so called because it’s got a flat bit on the top that looks like a pigeon coop. Pat and Glenda and I climbed up a good deal of the way, then went back down to the bottom to wait. There, a pair of goannas (a big lizard shaped a bit like a crocodile, but harmless) were posing for photographs (see pic above). There is a public loo there as well, employing a method of sanitation called the “long drop”. I could describe this more fully but this is probably not the place.

Mount Pigeon House is reached via a long, long dirt road, which, being dry, is very dusty. In some stretches the depth of dust on the track made driving a bit like driving through snow. Naturally cars kick up a great deal of dust and any car following has to keep a respectful distance. This didn’t trouble us going there, but coming back we were behind a car, and at one point visibility was such that we had to stop and wait for the dust to clear. Naturally, some fool in an SUV roared past us and kicked up a huge dust storm, so we had to wait even longer. What an arse.

Time was getting on and we hadn’t had any lunch, so we went to Ulladulla for a bite to eat. This is a lovely little fishing town, (see pic) with a perfect harbour, with kiddies’ playground and various little eateries.

This really has been a good week; this is a beautiful part of the world and the folks who live here really are very lucky.

Tomorrow, we are going to Canberra airport for a short flight to Sydney, for the next part of our adventure

Re the last posting, something seems to be awry. Will try again tomorrow!

Another batch of pics cab be found at http://www.facebook.com/editphoto.php?aid=161484&success=1&failure=0#!/album.php?aid=161484&id=521859549

It really is a very nice part of the world here. Bateman’s Bay, on the Clyde River, is at the Northern end of a whole string of villages, woodland, fantastic beaches and blue water. I’ve had holidays on Greek Islands with beaches less nice that this one, and this is just one of many.

Trevor and Glenda took us to one such today, Pebbly Beach, to see the kangaroos that abound there. I have attached a pic of Glenda and Trevor with Mrs A. Oddly, given the Aussie penchant for naming places after their most obvious feature – for example the Great Sandy Desert, the Snowy Mountains – Pebbly Beach has no pebbles at all. Neither, on this occasion, did it have any kangaroos, though we did find some poo. We made a short detour to South Durras, where we did see a mother kangaroo, with a joey, and another in the pouch. The mother posed for some photos, (see pic) and then she and the joey remembered urgent business elsewhere and hopped off.

Trevor took me surfing today – see pic. We had to go down the coast a couple of bays to Broulee Beach to find a decent swell.

You have to lie on the board, then, at the crucial moment, spring into an athletic pose standing crouched on the board, then go. My days of springing athletically, even in optimal conditions, never mind on a moving board on top of a big wave, are behind me, I fear, so I opted for the beginner’s lying down pose. That worked quite well, for a few goes, so I gained confidence and adopted a rather stylish squatting/kneeling combo. That went well, too, until one ride when I had the nose a bit low and was pitched into the sea. So I have now not only surfed in the Pacific, I’ve drunk a good deal of it as well.

Later, Trevor showed me how it should be done – he’s been doing it for more than 50 years and can do the athletic springing thing with no trouble. We had to get back because we were going somewhere for lunch, but we will probably go again. I hope so - it really is a fantastic buzz.

Changing the subject completely, here’s one other thing I’ve discovered. The Australian States assert their individuality wherever possible: for example, all the eastern states – Queensland, NSW, Victoria, Tasmania - are in the same time zone (GMT+10) but they don’t all have daylight saving. So here in NSW we’re currently GMT +11, and between October and March you have to adjust your watch crossing to and from Queensland. Given that people must commute that journey daily, it really makes no sense at all.

We’re on our way to Canberra to meet Glenda and Trevor. To avoid going back to Melbourne we’re following a route given to us by the two old boys in Dunkeld (see earlier post). It takes us through some nice little towns and rolling green hills, reminiscent of Sussex. Except for the nice weather, of course.

It’s a long way from Ballarat to Canberra, too far to drive in one go, so we’re staying overnight at Albury, a medium-size town just over the border in NSW. My book fails to find anything to say about Albury, so I guess it’s of no particular historical interest. It looks a pleasant enough town: there is one long street – Dean St – which runs through the town and has all the shops, restaurants and bars. Saturday night so the young folk are out in force. It’s very hot, well over 30 degrees.

Left Albury early Sunday morning, for Canberra. Most of the route is via the Hume Freeway; Australian freeways have an upper speed limit of 110km/hr, which is almost universally observed. There are bossy signs every few kilometres telling you to slow down (“Slowing Down Won’t Kill You!”) or to have a lie down (“Powernap Now!”) I guess that given the distances and the lack of visual variety it wouldn’t be surprising if drivers tended to nod off. Then again, there are small pleasures - on the way we passed signs for colourfully named towns: Wagga Wagga, Tumbarumba, Rumpi Pumpi*, and such like.

We crossed the Murrumbidgee river and stopped for some tucker, as they say here, at Gundagai (pop: 2,400, elevation: 230m), a pleasant little place with more than a hint of the Old West about it. And so on to the nation’s capital.

When Australia needed a national capital, in the early 1900s, they couldn’t agree between the rival claims of established Melbourne and upstart Sydney, so they decided to purpose-build a capital city in neither place, and gave it its own territory (Australian Capital Territory, or ACT). The American architect Walter Burley Griffin was hired to design the city from scratch, and much of central Canberra is built around Lake Burley Griffin, and is walkable. All the big national buildings are here, Parliament House, the National Gallery, National Library, High Court, etc. It is not a typical big city though in that it lacks skyscrapers and heavy traffic, and has a quiet charm.

In the morning we’re going to take the rental car – we’ve covered 1600 km since picking it up in Melbourne - back to the car hire place downtown, put our luggage on the pavement, and wait for Glenda and Trevor to pick us up.

*I may have imagined the last one.

Ballarat, where we are now, was founded in 1851 when gold was found here. The biggest nugget in history, weighing about 70kg, was found here. For a while it was the richest town, per capita, in the world. You could get anything you wanted: ice for your drink was brought from Boston, Massachussetts.

The whole experience has been re-created at Sovereign Park, an open air, working museum, staffed by folks in period dress who will pose for photos, while professing never to have seen a camera before “prithee, what strange phenomenon is this?” The pic above gives the flavour.

A man, in period dress, showed us around ‘his house’. He hailed from Swindon, originally, and asked us if we would excuse him briefly as he had to go and shout abuse at some school kids. There is an exhibition where the same gold bar, weighing 3kg and worth $22,000, is endlessly melted down, poured, and re-set, for an audience.

The whole place has been carefully reconstructed – anyone who has seen the TV series Deadwood will get the picture – apart from the whorehouse, obviously.

Apart from the above, not much to report - Ballarat renowned for what it was not what it is now. In the morning, on to Albury, NSW.

Relatively short – couple of hours – drive from Melbourne to Torquay, the eastern end of the Great Ocean Road, along the south coast of Victoria. Torquay nice little place, seems like retirement spot, judging by the crowds at the bowls club we passed on our way to lunch. Perhaps the old folk from Melbourne are taken here after being rounded up and processed. Spent a happy afternoon wandering along the miles of beach, then back for a shower and dinner.

The Great Ocean Road runs from Torquay, to Warrnambool, 300km of winding road. Sometimes the road wanders inland a bit, but mostly it hugs the coastline, offering spectacular views of craggy rocks and sandy coves. This part of the world is known as the Surf Coast, by estate agents anyway, and it certainly seemed that every usable beach had a few surfers on it. We did a detour to have a look at the Erskine Falls, in the Great Otway National Park. As well as the waterfall, we found a big black snake having a bit of a nap on the rocks. We considered waking him up, but decided not to.

Lunch at Apollo Bay, then pressing on the Port Campbell, where the interest lies in the 12 Apostles, a number of sandstone monoliths just off the shore. There may well be twelve, but it’s impossible to find a spot from where you can see more than a few at once. Pic above shows some of them.

We’re staying overnight at Port Fairy, just past Warrnambool. This is a preserved 1850s fishing village, very quaint, and with an air of the wild west of cowboy films about it. Two-storey wooden buildings with verandahs line a broad main street, and you can park right outside wherever you decide to go.

It was St. Patrick’s, and we saw a group of eight or so people dressed as leprechauns (well, dressed in green anyway) carrying instruments, touting themselves from restaurant to restaurant, trying to find someone who would like them to play. We saw them rejected from several joints, and the last we saw of them they were huddled disconsolately in the street, where it had just started to drizzle. How we laughed!

Our next overnight was Hall’s Gap, in the Grampians National Park. On the way we stopped at a little place called Dunkeld, a nice little town, to look for a petrol station. We popped in at the Tourist Information office, which was manned by two old guys, volunteers, who were both retired farmers. They couldn’t have been more helpful. I think they just wanted someone to talk to – they even offered us coffee – and one of them told us that when he was in his twenties he had been to England, and done a few things he wouldn’t have wanted his mum to hear about. Then he went back to Oz and became a model citizen. Many Aussies in their 60s tell the same story.

They had a stats sheet on the desk, showing the numbers of visitors in 2009, by nationality. Lots of Brits, of course, but Germany was the clear winner.

Fire is an ever-present worry here – there are warning signs everywhere – and in 1944 Dunkeld was pretty much burnt to the ground. The Tourist Information place stands on the site where the old town hotel was. A lot of the trees along the side of the road look distinctly singed.

Also, we saw our first kangaroo today – it hopped across the road in front of the car, just as they’re supposed to.

When we got to Hall’s Gap and checked in, we were given a pin and asked to stick it in a map of the world, as near as possible to where we lived. There had been so many
Dutch visitors that he had had to find a bigger Holland and paste it over the real one, just to accommodate all the pins. They must all be sitting in Eindhoven, or wherever, saying “I know, why don’t we go to Hall’s Gap, Victoria, I hear it’s really neat”. Only, in Dutch, of course.

In the afternoon we set off to have a look at Mackenzie Falls, but it was ridiculously hot, well over 30 degrees, and very muggy, and the falls weren’t that great either. Anyway, off to Ballarat in the morning.

The really weird thing about Melbourne is that there are no old people. None at all. Not one. I think they’ve all been rounded up and taken away. It’s a bit spooky walking about because you suspect that at any moment someone will spot you, and have you carted off. I’ve already nearly had my collar felt for banana smuggling, and now I may be in breach of Melbourne’s age laws.

Anyway, as of tomorrow I won’t have to worry because we’ll be off to Torquay (the one in Victoria, obviously) as we start to drive the Great Ocean Road. Everyone says that this is well worth the effort. After Torquay, Port Fairy, then inland and across country to Halls Gap, followed the next night by Ballarat, Then on to Albury (which I think is in NSW) and finally Canberra, where Glenda and Trevor will pick us up and take us to Bateman’s Bay. So eight nights, eight different beds, many miles of driving, and lots of things to see.

Will post when I can.

PS. The lift in our hotel is serviced by a company called Schindler. Schindler’s Lifts? Really?

Melbourne impressions: clean, broad streets, trams everywhere, huge choice of eating places. Downtown is grid system, with free tram touring the perimeter and several other tram services around the downtown area. Everyone looks so young, I’m the oldest person I’ve seen since we’ve been here.

Federation Square is the centre of the action, so Sunday afternoon we walked down there. We found Melbourne’s diversity being celebrated. There was a craft fair, with stalls representing a huge number of ethnicities. There was a performance stage, with big video screen, where an Indian dance troupe were performing energetically to some loud Indian disco music. There were about six girls and four blokes dancing. It was the sort of dancing that breaks out in a Bollywood movie when you were hoping for the sex scene. After the Indians had finished their act, a Mexican mariachi band took their place. A cue to leave if there ever was one.

There is a sign up saying that in Melbourne there are 230+ languages spoken [editorial note: the UN recognises 195 countries in total] and 130+ faiths, but only one community - Victoria.

Had a stroll down to the Yarra river for a while, and afterwards hopped a tram back to the hotel, but it was so hot we got off and walked.

Andy's been nagging me to show some pictures. Here are some that we've taken so far

http://www.facebook.com/editphoto.php?aid=158471#!/album.php?aid=158471&id=521859549

If it's Saturday we must be in Mebourne: capital of Victoria, Australia’s second biggest city, population 3.5 million. From the air, air huge sprawl of housing and greenery, with a prominent sky-scapered CBD down near the water. Solid, fine architecture, Hove to Sydney’s Brighton, if you get my drift

Picked up the rental car at the airport and drove to the hotel. We had printed of a route from Google Maps, and all was going well until, a couple of blocks from the hotel, a road we needed to go down was closed for road works. Trapped in the one way system, we drove around for a while, and eventually sought help from a guy running a pony-and–trap tourist ride. He was very helpful, and even stopped the traffic for us so we could do a U turn. You don’t get that in Worthing.

Our hotel is on the edge of Chinatown, so there are plenty of restaurants though, oddly, a lot seem to be Korean. A bit further along, Lygon Road is lined on both sides with eateries – Italian, Indian, Thai – so we’ll be in our element. We ate at Toto’s, the oldest pizza place in Australia (Established 1961! Inducted into the Pizza Hall of Fame!). Our waitress was a Londoner, doing a year out here before finishing her doctorate, in psychology. Later we met two ladies, weekending here from Adelaide. One grew up in Portsmouth, and is married to a man from Titchfield; the other has an Italian parent, and is married to a Ukrainian. Once the Portsmouth connection had been established, we were up and running. I read in the Qantas magazine in the plane that more than 50% of the current Australian population was either born abroad, or has at least one parent who was. That’s refreshing your gene pool on a major scale.

Tomorrow, some exploring.

How to describe the journey to Alice Springs? Well, it was very long. Still no kangaroos. Perhaps they’re a myth.

We’re in Northern Territory. (Motto: No Pooftahs!) Intllectuals thin on the ground here I suspect. The local press portrays a land of rustic idiots and wife beaters, a bit like Littlehampton, really. “Stabbed in the back while having sex, that’s why I’m a bad driver” explains one headline. Another front page shows several pictures of different sets of over-excited citizens punching each other in Darwin.

NT, for one reason or another never achieved Statehood, so they can’t vote in federal elections for parliamentarians to send to Canberra. But steps have been taken to stop them feeling left out: they do vote, and their elected representatives do go to Canberra. They just can’t vote or say anything.

Alice Springs, where we are now, was originally a staging post on the telegraph line that was being built, and named after Alice Todd, the wife of the construction manager. As there is also a Todd Mall, Todd Street and a Todd river, we may assume that Mr Todd was The Man in these parts.

The Todd river does not have any water in it, so for the Henley-on-Todd regatta, held annually in October, the boats have to have holes cut in the bottom so the contestants can run along the dry bed.

They get a lot of sun round here and the Crowne Plaza, where we’re staying, has the biggest roof-based solar generating capacity in the southern hemisphere, producing up to 80% of its energy needs.

That’s about all I can find to say about Alice Springs. Off to Melbourne in the morning.

Went to Uluru today. We have all seen pictures, but nothing prepares you for the reality – especially the way that it rises, without fuss, directly from the flat desert floor. There’s nothing else for miles, then suddenly this gigantic red rock. Actually, the red colour is iron oxide staining what would otherwise be a much less attractive grey rock. Try selling pictures of that! Higher than the Eiffel Tower, it was laid down 640 million years ago (or less than 5,000 years ago if you go to school in Kansas). There are algal deposits down the sides, from running water – it rains there from time to time – and a couple of decent waterholes. The bloodwood trees were in bloom, because it rained a few days ago; they don’t bloom on a seasonal cycle, they just wait for it to rain, then off they go.

The purpose of the trip was to see the monolith at sunset, and I have enclosed a pic of this – pretty good, no? No wonder the local indigenous folk attribute all sorts of magic to it. Parts of it, sacred to the Anunga, are out of bounds, and this is respected by the tour operators.

To Kata Tjuta. Formerly known as The Olgas, discovered in 1872 by explorer Ernest Giles, and named for Queen Olga of Württemburg, Kata Tjuta is a series of sandstone and basalt domes. Bigger than Uluru, though made of several individual pieces, not just the one. Walked the Walpa Gorge; not strictly a gorge so much as the crevice between two of the domes. Stunning scenery, parrots in the trees, and camel poo on the track.

Tjuta, Uluru, and Mount Conner, collectively the three monoliths of Central Kata Australia, are all that’s left of the once-mighty Petermann range, the rest now eroded completely away.

Haven’t seen a kangaroo yet, other than a dead one beside the road, but did see some wild camels. They are the descendents of those introduced to the country as draught animals, but which, their career cut short by the arrival of the railway were released into the wild. There are also wild horses, called brumbies, but we didn’t see any.

Took the bus to Kings Canyon, 300 km up the Lasseter Highway. 300 km without passing a single habitation. Surprisingly verdant though – they’ve had some decent rains, following fires, perfect conditions for new growth. Stopped en route at the International Coach Station of Central Australia – in reality a pull-in near a crossroads where, by prior arrangement, passengers are transferred between buses. A practical arrangement, given the emptiness of the terrain.

Just before Kings Canyon, we stopped at Kings Creek Station. ‘Station’ in this context means something close to ‘ranch’. This one farms camels, and caters to the passing trade between Ayers Rock and Alice Springs. This is the real outback, lacking, how can I put this, sophistication. If you felt in need of a camelburger, this is the place to come. Their coffee very good though.

Overnight at Kings Canyon resort, and on to Alice Springs tomorrow.

Don't pet the dingos

It is really difficult to appreciate the vast size of Australia, or the huge distances involved. We were chatting to the waitress at dinner the other night; she said that she came from a small town in NSW, about 8 hours from Sydney. If you were eight hours from anywhere in England you’d be in Germany. She said that when she and her boyfriend drove here (Perth) from NSW it took four days. It’s difficult to imagine a journey that long, especially as vast stretches of it there would be nothing at all to keep you awake.

Drove the rental car back to Perth Domestic Airport and took the ten o’clock to Ayers Rock, as the airport is still called. Named after Sir Henry Ayers, a prominent businessman and former premier of South Australia, the rock itself is more than two miles long, over a mile wide and 342m high. A single piece of sandstone, it is reputed to extend 3 miles underground (how do they know?) and is a very big deal to the local indigenous people, the Anangu. The whole area is sacred to them; in 1985 the land was ceded back to the Anangu, and the traditional names reinstated. The land is currently leased back to the Australian government, and jointly managed

Flying out here – a relatively short two-and-a-bit hours – you can see the barrenness of the land. With no cloud to obscure the view you could see that there was absolutely nothing down there but baked ground and scrubby vegetation. The only visual variety was that the ground became redder as you got nearer the centre. While you are waiting for your luggage to come off the belt, you can read a poster warning you to watch out for dingos. Their advice is not to stroke them.

We’re staying at what is really the only place you can stay, given there is no town as such, the Ayers Rock Desert Resort, which is a complex of hotels, restaurants, shops and whatnot. It’s completely self contained, and everything’s very expensive because it has to be brought in from a long way away. Everyone who works here has to live here as well. It’s around 30 degrees now, much cooler than in summer, we’re told, and there’s a surprising amount of actual green, as opposed to scrubby, vegetation here. Flies are a big problem. They’re harmless, just a nuisance, and a lot of people are going about wearing hat-mounted mosquito nets. It looks a bit idiotic, but it may be better than flies up your nose. We’ll see. Tomorrow (Weds) we go to see Uluru, staying until sunset to see the changing colours, followed by a barbie. The following day we’re up very early to see the rock at sunrise, after which we go on to the next bit of the tour, Kings Canyon. That ends up, the following day, at Alice Springs.

Internet access is very difficult to find so this may be my last posting for a few days

Sunday, 30+ degrees, so we headed for the beach. The Sunset Coast, just north of Perth city, goes from Cottesloe up to Scarborough, miles of white sand. You’ll get the idea from the picture. To get there you have to get down to Riverside Drive, then onto the Stirling Highway. What we didn’t know, though everyone else in Perth did, was that today is the Perth Triathlon. The cycling bit was taking place along Riverside Drive, so all the access roads were closed. We had no choice but to head into the city, where we had an hour or more of sitting in a jam, trying to find a route, anywhere. We couldn’t even get back to our apartment. Eventually we discovered that we could get to Kings Park, where we knew we could park and get some lunch, and wait for the roads to reopen.

After some lunch, and a visit to the Aboriginal Art exhibition, we could see traffic was moving along the river, so we headed off up to Cottesloe, three hours later than planned. Given it was a Sunday, and hot, the beaches were pretty parked up, but we found a place at Swanbourne (or Swanny, as it says on the life guard’s hut) and had our first dip in the Indian Ocean. The swell was not enough to please a surfer, but enough to trouble you if your bathers elastic was a bit dodgy. If you like the beach, this was the place to be: a few surfer dudes, families, a beachside restaurant with showers, and a life saver hut with Swanny on its board. What more could you ask?

Kings Park was established at the end of the 19th century and covers 1,000 acres of Mt Eliza, overlooking Perth. It is mainly bushland, but includes many cultivated areas showcasing the flora of WA, and botanical gardens. There is an elevated treetop walkway, so you can get a better view of the colourful birds. Up the far end, where we didn’t go, there are child-friendly interactive things. In addition to the usual information centre, coffee place, and shop, there is a memorial to the Western Australians who died in the two World Wars, and another to the victims of the Bali bombing. Also, the Aussies are keen on commemorating notable Australians, especially if they were influential in WA. So there are plaques everywhere: some for various women’s groups, perhaps active in the suffrage movement, often merely for existing at all – the WA Macedonian Women’s Group for example, for their contribution to something or other. There are lots of men honoured too – local politicos, some bloke who was the chaplain in the goldfields, anyone who in some way made things a little better. The best thing, though, is the fantastic views it offers of the Swan River, and Perth itself. It really is worth the trip for that alone. The picture shows a typical view.

We entered the park by climbing the 242-step Jacob’s Ladder, and noticed that, when we left, around 6pm, the steps were being used as an impromptu jogging track by a surprisingly large number of people, some just running up and back down several times. Back home you have to join a gym for that sort of thing.

WA is the biggest Australian state, accounting for around one third of the total area, yet it is largely empty. Nearly everyone lives in Perth and Fremantle. It’s a wealthy state, originally from gold and opal mining, more recently from iron ore and other minerals. This prosperity is reflected in the state capital, Perth, which looks as though it has been designed to win a best city contest; the broad, clean streets, pristine buildings, greenery, the river and the Indian Ocean beyond. It is sunny nearly every day, yet there is no water shortage. The people who live here really are very fortunate.

A lot of things here show Oz’s British history, especially place names and street names. For example, you have His Majesty’s Theatre, Guildford, Herne Hill, Palmerston Street, Brighton Road, and suchlike. Aboriginal influence is also clear from some of the place names, Joondalup for example, and Gidgegannup. Looking at the map of the Swan Valley, which I have in front of me, you can see the sort of tell-it-like-it-is descriptive names that we see on wine labels: names like Windy Ridge, Rocky Gully, and Dingo’s Bum. (OK, I may have made one of them up). There is a town up the coast called Shark Bay. They actually called their town Shark Bay. (Presumably Paedophile Bay was already taken.) “I know, we’ll go for Shark Bay!. That’ll bring in the tourists!” Some things are the same as in England but called something different: Walls’ ice cream is called ‘Streets’,and a Mondeo is a Ford Falcon. One thing I’ve noticed is that real estate boards here carry a cheesy picture of the realtor, looking faux-sincere, or faux-thoughtful, depending on the image they want to project. Really horrible.

Perth. The worlds most isolated city. Sail west and your first landfall is South Africa; to the south, Antartica; Sydney is nearly 4,000km to the East. In fact, if you want to find anywhere with more than about six people you need to go north, to Indonesia, and that’s 3,000 km. So, pretty isolated, then.

But it’s a spacious, confident-looking place, with the Swan River at its heart: broad three lane roads, modern skyscrapers, lots of greenery and trees, blue sky, busier than I’d expected. Free buses in the city centre.

We’re partly self-catering here so we had to go food shopping. Who’d have guessed that Woolworths, here, has green signage and is a food supermarket?

Went out to the airport this morning to pick up the rental car – we flew in too late last night so the rental desk was closed – which turns out to be a Holden Epica, but it looks like a Vauxhall to me. While I was waiting for the car to be brought round, I was idly looking at the display of brochures detailing the various charms of Western Australia, and edging away from a trio of people dressed in a uniform of orange shirts and bush hats. I thought they might want to tell me about Jesus, but it turns out they were volunteer WA tourist-helpers. One of them, Neville, turned out to be enormously helpful on Perth-related topics and, learning we were from Worthing, confessed that he had spent his wild youth there (well, Brighton). Brighton Pier seemed to hold fond memories for him. I think his wild days were long behind him.

The apartment here is close to the central business district (CBD as they say here) and has a bedroom, bathroom, and well-equipped kitchen/diner/lounge, air-con of course. We have a telly which can receive all manner of Murdoch-owned crap, but very little for grownups. We’re wi-fi enabled, but only on production of a credit card; you have to buy a minimum of an hour, but it is a specific hour, not 60 minutes to use when you like, so I have to plan my online time carefully. We also have a balcony with table and chairs, which enables a view of the tennis court. Oh, and a six lane flyover. Not like in Sorrento where we had a balcony from which we looked out on the Bay of Naples and Vesuvius. Then again, Italy doesn’t have kangaroos.

Temperature is in the upper 20s, and there is a SW breeze here which springs up about 11am most days, called the Fremantle Doctor (because it makes you feel better). Some days it gets quite strong. There is a small pool here and I noticed that one of the parasols had blown in the water.

Tomorrow (Friday) we’re going to explore the little towns and beaches to the North. Pam at my French class recommended having a look at Cottesloe, so we’ll do that, and maybe Scarborough. Everyone says we must go to Kings Park, so we’ll do that too. Because of a late change of plane times from Singapore, we’ve got a bit less time in Perth than we thought, and we want to explore a bit, and go to Rottnest Island. More anon.

I had a banana in my carry-on bag, to eat on the plane, but I forget about it. Arriving at Customs in Perth, you are faced with big signs warning against the importation of many things, including fruit. Fortunately I was able to put the offending item in the quarantine tub before it was discovered. The import of alien bananas is considered a serious crime in Australia, punishable by imprisonment and/or a fine of $60,000 (I am not making this up). Good job they didn’t find the rhubarb I’d hidden in my sock.

Walked down to the river today, for a nice lunch (thanks, Lynn, for the tip). As you walk about you can’t help but notice how upbeat and optimistic it all is. Employment doesn’t seem to be a problem; our hotel was seriously overstaffed, by UK standards, with about 4 employees for every guest. Every time you stand still someone comes up and offers to help you, which can get wearing after a while.

Great chrome and glass offices and malls are everywhere, all with escalators and water features. Sometimes their USP is unclear, though exclamation marks predominate. One I particularly liked was called the fx:1 academy, whose speciality was ‘abundance management’. Their slogans included ‘Adapt Optimal Trading Habits!’, ‘Lock In Profits Consistently!’ and – my favourite – ‘Earn Precious Pips!’ I wonder what it all means.

Everyone says Singapore is very clean, and it is. Street sweepers operate from cycle-powered rickshaws, with their brooms and bags of collected rubbish in the back. The ethnic mix of the place seems to be Chinese and Malays, with some Indians, but you notice that the lads on the rickshaws are none of these.

Back to the hotel to pack and wait for the taxi back to the airport, then to Perth.

Singapore is very modern, clean and bustly; skyscrapers, parks, expensive German cars. All the signage, without exception, is in English, and they drive on the left. It is also oppressively hot (30+ degrees), and humid with it.

The thing to do in Singapore is to visit Raffles Hotel, and especially the Long Bar, which is a haven of cool away from the heat and bustle. You can have a Singapore Sling, if that’s your tipple, but we discovered they did a very nice cranberry juice at an absolutely reasonable $11 (£5.50). A snip, I think you’ll agree. I have enclosed a picture of Mrs A in said Long bar. The other thing you have to do is to throw your monkey nut shells on the floor. There is a huge bowl of these nuts on every table, and the tradition is to chuck the shells on the floor. Naturally, being Brits, chucking our detritus on the ground is second nature, so we were able to join in with enthusiasm.

More tomorrow, perhaps.

Late leaving Heathrow owing to electrical fault. The engineers eventually resorted to the time-honoured tactic of turning the plane off, and switching it back on again. This worked a treat and we took off a mere two hours late

We’re travelling Premium Economy, which seems quite nice. For example when the meal comes round you get a tiny tablecloth, and coffee from an actual cafetiere. We considered flying business class, but it would have added £4000 to the cost, a ridiculous percentage of the whole price. As it happens we will be airborne for around 40 hours over the whole trip, so the maths is quite easy; five hours into the flight I am happily thinking what to do with the £500 I just saved.

Arrived Singapore, airport transfer worked perfectly, hotel very posh, Singapore appears a fine, clean city. Shower first, then explore - more later

Picked up all our tickets, itineraries and vouchers today. This makes it seem more real somehow.

Glenda phoned this morning to say that their neighbours have offered us the use of a holiday flat on their land while we're in Bateman's Bay. They keep this for their own visiting relatives. We will take them up on this offer - staying at Glenda's would be great but she and Trevor already have two of their grandchildren living with them so it's probably for the best.

Only a few days now....