23 Feb to 8 Mar Melbourne to Adelaide

23 February – 8 March, Melbourne and Mornington Peninsula to Adelaide

The early train: Car B, row 5, seats A and B. The only apparent difference between first class and coach is the price of the ticket… It’s a full train with regular stops along the route. It’s 900 kilometers to Melbourne and the trip will take just over 10 hours. Wonga Wonga is on the way, as is Murrumburra, Cootamundra, Wodonga, and Wangaratta. The landscape is rolling brown hills. As far as the eye can see, the arid scrub grass has been bikini waxed by sheep and rabbits. There is the occasional small copse of gum trees. The train is smooth and quiet, with a rhythmic sway that leads to an unavoidable deep REM state. The biggest challenge is avoiding drooling while being wrapped in this motion-induced coma. We reach the mandatory suburban skirting en route to Melbourne’s Southern Cross station. Population density quickly increases, as do the number of roads, shopping centers, and the like. From the condition of the landscape it is very apparent that the entire state has been dry for quite some time.

We had originally met Christine on the sailing cruise we took a couple of years ago, and are now more than happy to enjoy her hospitality… She picks us up at the station and we head off to a small group birthday dinner across town. It is a fun bunch, and despite our travel weariness, we manage to enjoy both the food (good Thai) and the company. We had noticed the drivers in the group carefully tracking their drinks. Despite the (deserved) Ozzie rep as hard partiers, the drink-driving laws are strict and inflexible. .05 is the limit. No exceptions. All alcoholic beverages have a “drinks equivalent” number on the side, based on a percentage alcohol and body mass baseline formula. Men apply the formula differently than women, and overall it turns out to be surprisingly accurate. On the way home we get waived through a DD (meaning Drink Driving here) check-station. Point made.

Christine lives about an hours drive south, around Port Phillip Bay from Melbourne proper in the small bayside town of Mornington. Port Phillip Bay was the original commercial harbour for the country. It still handles the lion’s share of container shipping. This is, of course, shared with a harbour that contains a variety of unique indigenous sea life. The harbour itself is, for all intents and purposes, a flooded lowland river basin: circular in shape, more or less 35 miles in diameter, with an average depth of 10 meters. Warm and shallow. Lots and lots of marine recreation: Sailing, jet skis, diving, fishing (commercial and recreational), swimming, etc. Commercial and recreational ventures inevitably clash with environmental ideals.

The most current Hotpoint issue is the dredging of the shipping lanes. Those for the dredging use logic, scientific studies, and demonstrable economic analysis to provide information for people to make a decision on the issue. So far, those against have used incredibly faulty math and highly emotional positioning. One of the strongest arguments against: Digging up the mud from the channels and piling it anywhere else in the harbour will raise the water level high enough to flood the beaches and homes along the perimeter. This incredible display of disconnected logic pains me to no end.

We have had the pleasure of meeting Hans and Rose. Hans is from Germany, Rose is from Turkey. Both had immigrated to Oz back in the 60’s, before they met. While everyone has a story, Hans’ is one you don’t hear about much nowadays: Hans was a 20-year-old policeman in Berlin the day the Wall was erected. He had been living in communist East Berlin for almost a decade before the Wall, and to this day has a less than positive opinion of forced socialism. He was fortunate to have been staying with relatives on the west side, though he had actually lived in the east. His fiancé lived in the east. When they finished visiting the prior evening they had no idea they would never see each other again.

He and a number of other young policemen were assigned to the “border” that first day. The wall started as a swath of cleared land with a continuous strand of coiled barbed wire. These confused young men were standing in a line, facing East Berlin, as Russian tanks took position along the opposite side. Hans still recalls the rumble of the Allied tanks taking position behind him to face their counterparts. He described the smells and sounds as if it were yesterday, and the gut dropping awareness that the Russian tank barrels had lowered. They were pointed directly at him, as he and his fellows were between them and the Allied tanks. It was then he realized the Allied tanks had responded in kind. A number of policemen choose to take a hasty and unrequited leave of absence at that particular moment. He held his position. Ideologically he agreed with the Allied position and was willing to support its actions. After a few years of living in a divided city he moved on to Oz. He still has a very high opinion of the US and the Allies, regularly arguing the better points of the US with his friends and co-workers. He was delighted to meet us.

We had a quick tour of Melbourne proper. They have a great central market. It’s a chaotic blend of Sunday flea market, discount shopping, things that have “fallen of the truck”, food stalls and butcher shops. JD finds a replacement for his “Gilligan” hat; a nice vented leather “drovers” hat. Much better UV coverage. Dashingly enhanced image, outback rugged even.

Smart individuals may occasionally people local governments, but collectively they create an entity with the intelligence of the average garden snail. A prime local example: The state of Victoria (as most of the southern part of the county) has been in an extended and devastating 5-year drought. Some locations have not had any rainfall in almost ten years. Watering restrictions have been place: 1 hour of watering on Saturdays only, short showers, car washes only at approved facilities that recycle the water, etc. If you have a hot tub/spa, you can only top it up with hand carried buckets (So you won’t leave the hose running accidentally…). Some locations, like the area Christine lives, do get rain. Not a lot, but enough to prevent complete devastation of the plants. One would think- Rain Cistern for outdoor water? Solar panels for hot water and home heating? Nope… It costs AU$30,000 in permits and fees to get solar panels approved. Cisterns are also heavily regulated with fees and restrictions. The local council feels that the loss of water and electrical revenue from these conservatory actions is worse for the economy than the need to actually conserve the resource.

We had an opportunity to sail! We love to sail! The local yacht club has a social sail Thursday regatta. It’s a casual evening race. The price to be “rail meat” is a six-pack of stubbies (cans ‘o beer) and some snacks. Rail meat, for the sailing uninitiated, are the passengers who get to sit on the high rail to allow the skipper to take more wind in the sail without heeling over, or specifically positioned around the boat to change bow or stern angles to change speed. Noel Hayes, a retired importer/exporter, captained our boat: the Room2Roam. It was a 30 footer with a swing keel and carried Christine, an older bloke Garry, us and Noel’s normal “crew” of Scott. Scott has been crewing for Noel since October in the weekend sails. (Those are the ones that count…). Noel’s entire family sails, and his son was the tactician on the winning Sydney to Hobart race yacht. There were about 70+ boats, of all layouts and configurations. The Thursday race doesn’t allow spinnakers, as the boats tend to be full of inexperienced “crew”. We had been in the middle of the pack for the first turn, and Noel decided to try a wide swing on the downwind leg to push us through the second turn with more oomph. He didn’t time it quite perfectly… we crossed the finish second to last. As we were all getting on well, he decided continued our little cruise to watch the moonrise and sunset. A favorite Ozzie pastime, next to drinking and having fun, is discussing politics. Theirs, ours, anyone’s. Noel and Garry where on opposite sides of the local political spectrum. After realizing they wouldn’t agree, the talk shifted to entertaining past Prime Ministers. Apparently the shortest time serving PM, Bob Hawk, also holds the Guinness world record for quantity of beer consumed in the shortest period of time essentially making him the world’s fastest beer chugger. The interesting thing about his departure was his ability to be ousted by his own party within weeks of taking office.

Mornington is not a protected harbour so all boats are hauled out every evening, and put back in when the owner wants to sail. They have been trying to get council approval to build a breakwater for just over 100 years… The members are all confident it will happen eventually.

We’ve had a good week and a half of decompressing. Casual trips to the local wineries, markets and hedge mazes kept things very low key. The whirlwind of NZ and changing addresses daily was more tiring than we had realized. We ended up taking this extra time so we could join Christine on a visit to her cousin in Adelaide, South Australia.

Some Observations of our cousins Down Under:

Since almost everything that lives here can kill you just by looking at it, Ozzies have shortened as many words as they can. This is so they can be sure to say as much as possible during this short journey we call life. I’m going to list a number of Ozzie words, the interpretations will posted further on. See how many you can guess…

Brekkie...... Bickie...... Bikkie
Parma........ Tassie..... Ozzie
Chrissie...... Tram ........Pram
Trolley......... Nappy .......Bluey
Footie......... Thong .......Stinger
Ta .................Tuck .........Poppet
Pokie.......... Lollie.......... Sunnies
Roo’s .........Cray’s........ Nippers
Ambo

The Bush is any wild area not considered yard. “How’r ya goin’?” is much more common than “G’Day”. Milo is a malt chocolate mix, similar to Ovaltine, and flavors many many things chocolate. Ozzies claim responsibility for the Pie Floater: any meat pie, floating in a bowl of pea(?) soup (Though I think it’s really British).

If you ask a question to which the answer is unknown (here or NZ), the response will almost always be “I don’t knoooeew” with a drawn out rising inflection on the “know”. It creates an idea that the person not only feels that they should know, but that they are incredibly confused as to why they don’t. Embarrassed even. Accompanied by a facial expression that implies the whole thought will be meditated upon, pondered, and otherwise given over to every spare brain cell available.

A poached egg can, and does, appear on almost any dish: Sandwiches, burgers, Caesar salad, pizza, just about anywhere. Bacon too (What we consider Canadian style, only fattier- “middle shoulder” is the cut).

Speaking of our northern neighbor, both KK and JD are almost always taken to be Canadian. It seems that our accents are very “soft”, and are easily confused with the top third of our continent. Surprisingly enough, the only people to recognize our accent right away, always, are Germans. We have actually been thanked a few times for being understandable. The Germans tend to have a harder time with Ozzie English than American English. Why? I don’t knooeew…

We get to travel through the bush on our way to Adelaide. Western Victoria is normally the most lush and verdant region of the state. At the moment it is brown. Dry and brown. Tens of thousands of acres of pastureland are scrub and dust. Many of the ranchers and farmers have had to give up their livelihood. Interestingly enough the indigenous flora and fauna seem to be getting along well enough. Most of the local wildlife have adapted to these cyclical drought conditions. Hibernation, conditional birthing, dietary modifications and opportunism are the native survival traits. Staying off pavement when traffic is present hasn’t worked into the formula yet. The gum trees look like life-size bonsai.

We stopped off at Narrapumelap. It is the old estate of a Scottish-Polish rancher of the late 1800’s. The current family has owned the land since the 1950’s. Vandals had worked the place over good until the 1980’s.The son of the current owners, Kevin, has spent the last fifteen years restoring the original building. It has been his “hobby”, working weekends and such. Kimberly has reworked her vision of our next house. Stone walls, seasonal ivy and a tower are now the prime design elements…

A day was spent in the Grampians. They are an old mountain range that was hit by some devastating wildfires about a year and a half ago. A medium intensity 10 kilometer round trip hike took us to a nice peak. Four or five school field trips also made the trek. Even in Oz chaperones should be nominated for sainthood. Ozzie flies are as equally annoying as their NZ brethren, just without the teeth. As persistent as they are, they don’t bite. They may spend fifteen minutes landing and taking off one specific spot on your eyeball, inside your nostril, or inside your ear, but hey, they don’t bite…. The reward was some great views from the ridges. The rock climbing was all trad, and above our pay grade. We did get to see wild ‘roos, and thankfully not with the front of our car.

There are koala and roo warning signs posted along the highways. Dusk to dawn is quite the obstacle course, and the roadsides are littered with the losers. An adult roo can easily total a smaller car, and they are not the brightest critters out there. (Think deer that hop on two feet…) We never did see any koala along the road, live or otherwise. JD thinks the signs are there to keep kids busy on long drives: “Oi, poppets, keep an eye to the gums an’ let mum know if you see any koala’s…” (“Children, watch the eucalyptus trees and tell your mother if you spot any koala’s…”) You can easily tell the cars of the natives. Floridians all have large plastic bug deflectors; folks who live in the bush have steel roll-bar front-end cages. When (not if…) they collide with a large marsupial there is minimal damage to their vehicle. Sort of like the cattle/buffalo guard on old steam locomotives.

The posted speed limits have no grace. You can be, and many are, ticketed for even one over. The limits in the bush are a somewhat reasonable 110kph, and you don’t travel faster than that after dusk anyway. Distances are vast. It is easy to travel 80 or 100 kilometers without the hint of people, and this is the main road between Melbourne and Adelaide.

OK. Here are your Ozzie English answers:

Brekkie (Breakfast)
Bickie (pronounced Bye-key: Motorcycle- as in Hells Angels bickie club)
Bikkie (Biscuit, cookie)
Parma (Chicken Parmesan)
Tassie (Tasmania)
Ozzie (Australian)
Chrissie (Christmas)
Tram (Local in-city surface train)
Pram (Baby carriage)
Trolley (Shopping cart)
Nappy (Diaper)
Bluey (Portuguese Man ‘O War)
Footie (Australian rules football- Considered a religion in South Australia)
Thong (Flip-flops, sandals- “No Thongs” signs do not refer to undergarments…)
Stinger (Box jellyfish- can be deadly, and often is)
Ta (Thanks, good bye, have a nice day)
Tuck (to Eat- “Tuck into that pie floater”, tucker is food: “Ice cream is good tucker”)
Poppet (Munchkin, younger child)
Pokie (Video gambling machines, similar to video slots)
Lollie (Any kind of hard or soft candies)
Sunnies (Sunglasses)
Roo’s (Kangaroos, young ones are Joeys)
Cray’s (Australian spiny lobster, good tucker, runs about AU$52/Kilo)
Nipper (teenage surfer, lifeguard trainee)
Ambo (Ambulance)

We roll into Adelaide in the late afternoon. We are here in time for both the Adelaide Fringe Festival and WOMADelaide. It should be a highly entertaining weekend. We are staying with Christine’s cousin Suzanne, her hubby Rob and the kids: Christen and Kane.

20-23 February, Arriving in Oz

20-22 February, Sydney Australia

We left the hostel just before 5am. Our shuttle driver was looking forward to a trip to the states next fall. He was going to spend our winter in Colorado driving for Mountain Express. He figures five months work in the states will equal about a year and a half’s salary in NZ.

Our three and a half hour flight was a virtual hour and a half with the time change. Leave Kiwi-land 7am, arrive Sydney 8:30am. Oz customs has a when-in-doubt-declare-it policy. If you have a prohibited substance, food or such, and declare it, they look at it and let you know. Worst case they keep it. If, on the other hand, you forget you might have something and they find it, its two to four hundred dollar fine on the spot. Incarceration can also be an option if the customs people feel it was intentional… We check “yes” on a bunch of boxes on the visitor form: yes we have food, yes we have nuts, yes we have been in rural areas in the last thirty days, yes we have been on or near farms in the last thirty days. We get to queue up in the “Something to declare” line. Kimberly has to give up her Turkish dates, other than that we are golden.

We grabbed a shuttle to our hostel. Traffic was insane. The twenty-minute trip took over ninety. Local temperature: 28C (83F+/-). We are staying in Kings Cross, an infamous red-light district near the harbor. As it turns out in Sydney everywhere is near the harbor. It’s a really big harbor, with lots of nooks and crannies. We discover that the insane volume of traffic is due to the historic arrival of the Queen Mary 2. The QM2 is so big it has to dock at the naval quay, just down the hill from Kings Cross. A huge number of Sydneysiders are trying to get close to the waterfront to see the spectacle.

Our hostel is a dump, however the staff is excellent. We are provided with a detailed map and there is a great self guided walking tour down to, and along, the harbor. It meanders through the botanical gardens, past the Opera House and over to Circular Quay and the Rocks, then into the CBD (Central Business District, it took a while to work that out in NZ, downtown road signs, buses, and trains are all labeled “CBD”, or more familiar to us, “City Centre”)

Sydney is built into the local topography. It is hilly, but not as up and down as Seattle or San Francisco. A short walk down the hill brings us to Woolloomoolloo Bay and the naval quay. Vehicles are moving at less than a crawl near and along the waterfront. The QM2 is an imposing bit of steelwork. Before we could see the actual boat, the top of the superstructure was visible over the treetops. Kimberly couldn’t figure out why someone would top a building with such an odd design… It is indeed a floating city. The military actually moved both a destroyer and a sub tender off the quay to let her tie up. For all the technicla stuff here is the Cunard site: QM 2

We slowly work our way through the photo taking throngs to get up to the botanical gardens. In addition to all the curious, there are the normal everyday masses of joggers, strollers, lunch-takers and the horticulturally observant. This is a busy place today.

As we have mentioned (over and over it seems…) the Brits know how to put together a garden. This is by far the most spectacular specimen of botanical gardens we have seen yet. We head out to Mrs. Macquarie’s Chair, a point at the end of this particular promontory. Back in the day, the original governor built a special chair for his wife here, so she could sit and watch the arriving ships. The original chair is long gone, but some newer seats have been added, and the views remain. Form this vantage you can see across, up, down and back along three of the primary waterways. Sailboats, jet boats, the Harbour Bridge, the Opera House, commercial ships, cruise ships, skylines, and neighborhoods are all seen from this point. A very pleasant walk indeed. We head ‘round towards the Opera House, officially the most photographed icon in the southern hemisphere. This is understandable, as the gardens set up numerous vantage points. Even the most unconfident of photographers can still achieve some stellar shots along here. The Opera House itself is a marvel of architectural engineering.

When the building engineers need to use theoretical physics to figure out how to build your design, and then still manage to do it, you know you’ve accomplished something: “Oi, Mick, ‘ow you reckon this’ll hold up?” “I don’t ‘neeoow… If we have enough speed behind the rivets, the resultant energy should have mild anti-gravitonic properties maybe?” “ Ay, good on’ya mate, we’ll giv ‘er a go. I have that speed-of-light rivet gun warming up as we speak”. Contrary to popular belief, the curves are not representative of sails, but rather are semi-spherical to produce an idea of nested globes.

No matter. The building is really quite the sight. Sydneysiders are justifiably proud of this little treasure. We continue on around circular quay: Lots of open cafés, ferries and buskers prancing about. We end up in the Rocks. The Rocks are the original sleazy part of town, back when the majority of the population had been criminals working off their sentence. Narrow alleyways and buildings are blended into the sandstone cliff sides. The area was saved from re-development back in the seventies and is now home to boutique shops and small restaurants. An essence of its tawdry past lingers still, however the modern criminal sleazebag would much rather set up shop in Kings Cross. (More on that momentarily…)

After a delicious and affordable seafood lunch in the Rocks, we head back through a different section of the gardens. An unusual screechy warbling is emanating from the trees. Its not an unpleasant sound, familiar, yet not. Dry conditions have left many treetops with thinner leaf than normal. Hanging bundles of dry leaf debris, maybe some kind of nests, are silhouetted in the treetops. Organic smells, not strong, but noticeable, linger in the background. After a few meters we see a nest move… then a few more… The nests have wings! Flying Foxes! (Fruit bats) Just like the ones in the second Crocodile Dundee movie. (Apologies to our Ozzie friends for having to use that as a reference…) You can tell the tourists here in the gardens; we are staring up into the trees, mesmerized by the activities of these large flying vegetarians. Sadly, almost the entire natural bat habitat has been destroyed throughout this region, as well as in most of New South Wales, over the last century or so. The bats found the gardens on their own, and have been living and breeding here for decades. They feed on fruits and nectar in the “native” trees throughout the gardens. It is a living testament to the quality of the gardens that it can support this many creatures, while at the same time being unfortunate that they have to live here in order to thrive.

The QM2’s sister ship, the QE2, is due in port about 6:00 (18:00 local time…). There are fireworks scheduled for 9:00 (21:00) to mark this unprecedented occasion: Two really big cruise ships, neither of which most Sydneysiders would want, or will, ever embark upon, docked together in the southern hemisphere. However, everyone likes a party, and fireworks… We wander a few blocks from the hostel at the appointed time and find a good spot along the wrought iron fenceworks. As JD is securing his camera to the iron, a bloke sidles up next to KK and says “How ‘bout a kiss love?” KK obligingly leans over to give him a peck on the cheek. It is at this moment the poor fellow realizes he doesn’t know KK… In classic Ozzie fashion he quickly runs with the situation: Some pleasant banter, an apology or two and we are all good mates. JD is precariously wedged into the fence in order to take timed exposures. The bloke politely points out the incredibly large spider that is slowly stalking JD’s ear… Knowing we are in the country that provides 8 of the top 10 most deadly creatures on the planet we pay attention. (Sydney is home to a particularly nasty variety of funnel-web spider. It packs enough punch to take out ten or so normal sized people…) Our not-so-little new companion is a Huntsman Spider. A palm-sized arachnid that is, supposedly, non-poisonous. Dobermans are non-poisonous, and I wouldn’t want to be bit by one of those either… JD gives the critter room. It turns out it just wants to see the fireworks as well. After the show KK is ready to turn in. JD decides to try and find a pub recommended by the hostel.

Kings Cross in reminiscent of Times Square circa 1975-1985, only in miniature: Five or six strip clubs, a few dozen hookers, one crack dealer, two pot dealers, a sprinkling of upscale cafes and restaurants, a McD’s and a police headquarters. JD gets to observe a blend of families, sailors on leave, locals looking for action, and backpackers having a laugh. Three hookers and two dealers approach him as well as all of the strip club touts. Highly entertaining. He never did get into the pub he was looking for. The local entertainment guide in the hostel mentioned you should always haggle for the strip club entry…

The next day we got to try out the local public transport system. Sydney has an extensive, accessible and affordable subway/bus system in place. There is, of course, a Kings Cross station. We buy a couple of train/bus combo tickets to get us to Bondi Beach: The beach to see and be seen at. A popular cliff-walk path is in place that runs about 10 k down the coast. We walk about 3.5k to Bronte Beach and back. The water is magnificent, as are the views. We decide to absorb some UV on Bondi. Breasts are not taboo here, and many of the ladies choose to avoid tan lines. JD, ever the gentleman, keeps his camera in the bag, picks a point 30 degrees above the horizon, and never once moves his head for three hours… Yeah, that is exactly how KK remembers it… JD feels that is his story; he’s sticking to it.

Gelateria’s abound. No TipTop, but gelato is much preferred anyway, less fat, more flavor. We find a gelato stand called Wild Thingz. JD orders a double scoop, expecting the normal, delicate, tiny golf-ball size rounds one gets in most gelato places. This particular place is recently opened, and trying to make a name for itself. That name is Oh-My-God… It was too big to fit in, on, or around the cone. “Two Scoops” was more than half a pint, precariously perched on top of a waffle cone. Turbo licking was required to catch the immediate heat induced liquid cream cascade from running all down the arm in the ambient 40 degree C temperature. Life is good.

We hop the bus back to the train, then on to Central Station. We are picking up train tickets to get us to Melbourne on Friday. The Sydney subway system is amazingly clean, well marked, and runs at nowhere near capacity. There a five inner city lines, with most having extensions into the inner ‘burbs. Central Station is the congregation point for the city lines and the lines that serve the outer ‘burbs and the other states. Central Station is HUGE. We walk about a kilometer to get to the interstate train platforms 1 through 3 (vs. platform 9 ¾ …) and the ticket booth. Sadly, the only seats left re in first class. Near as we can tell, the difference between first class and coach is solely which car the seats are in.

The train will be leaving at 7:03am in the morning on Friday (12:03pm Thursday in Seattle). We’ll be getting up at O’dark thirty to catch the subway train to central… Oof. Happily we can haul our checked bags down tomorrow night. We received a “deal” book from our hostel that includes ten free drinks at ten different pubs around Sydney. Two are near Central, so we decide to check on out after picking up our tickets. The Scubar is famous for its Monday Night Crab Races. It’s Wednesday. ‘Nuf said.

Thursday is Aquarium Day! The Sydney Aquarium is supposed to contain all Oz based sea life. We pick up the special “city hopper” subway ticket. Unlimited on/off in all the inner city stops- $5 Oz. JD is really enjoying himself, maneuvering between the different subway lines.

On the walk to the aquarium we find Dymocks Booksellers. Three stories tall and a quarter of a city block in area. It appears to be the Ozzie answer to Barnes & Noble and Borders. Lonely Planet guide books are published here in Oz (Melbourne is their corporate headquarters), There are three full rows of guide books, including smaller ones like: “Guide to the three blocks of South Central LA non-residents can visit” and “Tampa- a city on the move”. OK, I’m making those up. However, it turns out here are a lot of niche books published by Lonely Planet. (“Somalia on less than 5 cents a day”…).

Something we truly do not appreciate in the states is the availability and affordability of books. Forget the absolute discounting of Amazon.com. Full retail in B&N, Waldenbooks, Borders, etc is still fully one-third to one-quarter of the price here or in NZ (and from the sounds of it, the UK). Second-hand booksellers charge more for a dog-eared copy of a non-descript bodice-ripper (Harlequin novel) than a brand-new copy would ever cost in the states. That being said, it has been tough for voracious readers like us to buy books, even used ones. No matter, we wander the store for well over an hour. It is one of the best-stocked bookstores we have ever been in. All it needs is a café and wireless…

Down to the waterfront of Darling Harbour and the aquarium. We have very high standards with aquariums. Seattle and Baltimore are the current tops on our list. Variety of life, viability of tanks, and realistic presentation are the markers for our experiences. Sydney has bumped its way to the top. Well-marked and appropriately lighted displays and tanks, approachable docents, and the shear volume of critters that is almost overwhelming score it major points. There is a walk through, and under, seal habitat. A walk under fully stocked shark habitat. A walk-through Great Barrier Reef habitat, and assorted other over-under-through displays that cover all that Ozzie fresh and salt water have to offer. Touch tanks. For the poppets there is a “Find Nemo” challenge with a check-card to find all of the characters from the movie. We held out until the verge of starvation before we hunted down lunch on the harbour. (Be sure to link over to Sydney Photos as there is no way for me to post but a small portion of the aquarium shots here)

During lunch we asked about a peculiar (to us anyway) long-beaked bird. The server didn’t know what it was called; however she referred to it as long-beaked garbage eating chicken bird”. Now we know.

We had been told by a variety of Oz veterans we needed to visit the Minus 5 Degree Bar. It is a vodka bar with an ice room. For a nominal fee you can don a winter coat and sip frozen Russian vodka on an ice table. Since we do that regularly in Vegas at Red Square (Mandalay Bay, South Strip) we pass on the ice room and instead enjoy some of their in-house infusions. KK has a cinnamon flavor while JD works on a pepper-spice concoction. Both are quite tasty and lead us to make a variety of infusion plans upon our eventual return to the states.

JD has specifically been carrying his “long-lens” all day. He wants some better shots of the flying foxes. While we were getting liquored up it has become quite overcast. As we head to the gardens it begins to rain. Not a monsoon or anything, just enough to make it unpleasant to walk in. We hurry through the gardens to the nearest subway entrance and opt instead to return to Bondi Beach for more gelato. Yum.

We have the option of bringing our checkable bags to the station tonight. Since we’d rather not have to haul everything in the early AM (bleary-eyed and crabby…) we do just that. After dropping our bags, we try another free-drink place. This one is definitely livelier. Some Ozzie techno-rock fusion videos and a number of younger 20-somethings doing what 20-somethings do: Drink, try to Hook-Up, drink some more, repeat… We have a good laugh realizing we could actually be, in theory, the parents of some/all of the crowd. We imagined a few looking our way and thinking “Ohmygawd- they look my mum’s friends! Whyaretheyhere? Ithoughtthisplacewascoolerthanthis!” JD had to have a second beer just to terrorize the little whippersnappers. We dragged our Royal & Ancient bones back to the hostel to prepare for the long day on the train. Tomorrow evening we’ll be in Melbourne, visiting with our friend Christine.

More Sydney Photos

14-19 February, Akaroa through Christchurch

14-19 February, Akaroa to Christchurch

Banks Peninsula is an ancient volcanic cinder cone system. The cinders have had time to compress into a sandstone type rock. A few of the calderas weathered, collapsed and opened to the sea. This produced long narrow inlets combined with arid hills and valleys reminiscent of the eastern Washington and Oregon Cascades, the northern central California Sierra foothills or even the San Jose area; Dry arid hills sculpted by some ancient rains is the picture I’m trying to paint here. Before Europeans denuded the region it was forested by a variety of drought tolerant trees and shrubs. The Maori mostly had fishing settlements along the coastline.

French settlers entered the most seaward inlet and founded the village of Akaroa near the inner end. The inlet is about 20 kilometers long and maybe two to three kilometers wide. The shoreline is irregular and accessible. Nowadays the area is primarily a get-away community for Christchurch. Lots of tramps, bike trails, cafés, marinas, and very little fresh water…

We found an amazing little butcher shop in the village. JD threw together a nice little Valentines dinner: Minced lamb skewers with lightly spiced peanut sauce and garlic-venison-cherry sausages accompanied by garlic roasted veggies along with our last bottle of TeAwa pinotage. Roughing it is really not so bad… The real joy is that since tomorrow will be today in the states, we get to have Valentines again!

Had we mentioned the deer farms? There are numerous Red Deer farms throughout the country. Sometimes they share pasture with sheep and/or cattle, oftentimes they are in their own pasture. You can always tell the deer pasture by the really high fencing… domesticated venison is surprisingly delicate in texture and flavor. There is no similarity to wild venison “gaminess” or dryness. These deer don’t forage erratically or spend a lot of time running from predators.

Before dinner we worked up an appetite tramping out the Owena peninsula (JD thinks it is more of a hilly spit), which put us into Akaroa harbour. The hike brought us to a hillock with a stunning 360-degree view around the harbour. You need to time the hike to avoid high tide; otherwise you get to hang out for an extra hour or so waiting for the trail to reappear.

Less than 90 kilometers puts us into Christchurch. “The” city on the south island, Christchurch has a user-friendly layout, and a decent public transport system, and a bit of history and flavor. Our hostel is located just across from the botanical gardens and a large park. The botanical gardens have been incredible. You do have to give the British credit when it comes to long-term vision for gardens. Trees are planted with how they will look in the next century kept in mind. Kilometers of walking paths, sitting areas, monuments, and huge open spaces for picnics and events.

Kimberly has been plagued by a strong reaction to the sand fly bites of last week. Large angry itchy vesicles that make her somewhat insane and prevent her from sleeping have erupted across her hands and arms. She spoke to a local naturopath as well as researching a bit on line to confirm it was just a strong reaction. Topical itch lotions and a tea-tree oil relative to prevent infection if a vesicle opens up is all she can do until they go away. It can take two to four weeks. She is really not keen on sand flies at the moment… Most locals just say “Been on the west coast have you?” and nod knowingly.

We drive to Port Hills to check out the local climbing action. The climbing is on a group of outcrops on a ridge high above the city, yet only twenty minutes out. We left some mostly fine weather and drove up into a misty, howling 40mph wind and ambient 50 degree F nastiness. The rock has potential, grippy and solid, but the conditions really bite… We admire the view, quickly, and take a scenic drive back around to the city. We catch a movie, the cheap matinee was only $14.50 each, “Music & Lyrics”. Cute and funny to anyone over 35 who actually lived through the eighties.

Saturday is the first fine day we have had in weeks! A casual stroll through the botanical gardens, a quick jaunt in the museum, and a moment to watch some of the buskers performing. While catching up on local news and enjoying a mocha, two stories of tourist stupidity stand out:

Story one: over at the Franz Joseph glacier two tourists, an Aussie and New Caledonian, decided to cross three separate, well marked and large barriers, along with passing no less than twelve “Absolutely Do Not Enter, Death May Occur” signs to explore an ice cave at the base of the glacier terminus. Not surprisingly, part of the cave roof collapsed, partially crushing the one genius, and breaking the leg of the other. The broken legged Einstein managed to drag his buddy to the cave entrance. Certified guides on the “safer” trail along the glacier heard the cries for help and risked their own lives to rappel down and pull these idiots away from the cave entrance. The same cave entrance that continues to randomly drop assorted lethally sized ice chunks 24/7. The guides all agreed that none of them would have actually entered the cave to save these guys. No rescue service would have either. At least they weren’t Yanks…

The next story, while less dramatic, still makes you wonder what short circuits exist in certain brains. Remember our description of the tramps around Doubtful and Milford Sounds? Considered the most challenging and advanced tramps in a country that prides itself on the diversity and quantity of its hiking system. The shear inaccessibility of the trailheads alone prevents most trampers from even attempting these routes.

Quick background info: If you rent a locator beacon, similar to an avalanche beacon but with a longer range, you are “insured” for rescue should something unexpected happen. Fall into a crevasse or break a limb, get really lost, or whatever, press your “I’ve fallen and can’t get up” button and a helicopter with rescue team will be dispatched to pull your ass out of the fire. Cost is about $35-40 NZ.

OK, time for story #2: A woman of unknown nationality had been “rescued” from deep in the fiordland on the Milford Track with a blown knee. She and her companion both had beacons. Insurance doing its job, right? Nope- insurance abuse at its finest. Turns out the woman had just had major reconstructive knee surgery three weeks prior to this hike. Her doctors all told her no strenuous activity during rehab. I don’t know about anyone else, however I would consider attempting what is agreed to be the HARDEST HIKE IN THE ENTIRE COUNTRY a strenuous activity… While the rescue team was saving this person from herself, there could have easily been a real emergency that needed addressed. Heli’s are not cheap, nor are rescue professionals. Any time you are flying nap of the earth in a steep mountainous environment there is a measurable probability of something untoward happening.

We decided to check out the local nightlife for our last Saturday in country. Perusing a live music guide we found an indoor/outdoor pub with acoustic rock. There was a stag party in progress when we arrived. The groom-to-be was a fit twenty something whose mates dressed him up as “Borat”, with a mesh wife-beater T-shirt, short-short denim shorts, and one of those neon Japanese over-shoulder thong Mankini’s… He was having a very good time. A small group of Asian tourists came in and lost their minds when they saw him. The girls all surrounded this guy for photo ops with video, camera and camera phones. The party was highly entertaining, and JD was bummed that the one time his camera was not attached to his arm was the one time he really needed it… bummer mates, no pics of this evening. The next pub was another one of those surreal moments: Irish bar called Sullivan’s with an early Grunge looking band playing Johnny Cash covers.

Sunday we returned the rental car. No speed photos to date, nor any new dings or dents. Next to the airport is the International Antarctic Exhibition. They have a minus 25 C wind chill tunnel, a penguin rescue, and a number of informative and interactive Antarctic exhibits. Christchurch is the staging, support, and departure point for almost all of the Antarctic science and exploration teams from all nations.

One full day left and then we wind down our New Zealand trip. We have an O’dark thirty departure for Sydney on Tuesday morning.

More Photos: East Coast South Island

Trivial Tidbits and Impressions:

Kilometers Driven: 5,230
Photos Taken: 1,860
Hostels slept in: 20
TipTops eaten: 60 (30 each)
Longest drive: 420 kilometers
Sand Flies squashed: 10’s of thousands
Average gas price: $1.43NZ/liter ($5.43NZ/gallon, $4.07 US)
Populations of NZ: 4 million people, 40+ million sheep, 21 million cows
Average UV index: 11 (on a 0-12 scale)
Average air temp: North island: 25C (77F) South island: 18C (64F)
Days in country: 32


New Zealand is indeed a beautiful country. The people are friendly. It is called the land of the long white cloud for a reason. Here, as in Oz, the price you see is the price you pay. The exorbitant GST is built in automatically. Taxes are significant. All meat products are free range. Lots and lots of lush verdant grazing land. Produce has as much, if not more, chemistry on and in it as in the states. We had a blast, however it is time to move on to Oz.

09-13 February: Dunedin to Methvin

09-13 Feb Dunedin to Methvin

We are indeed feeling the post-kayak muscle awareness. JD has a few blisters on his thumbs, and KK is very aware of her traps. Clearly we are seriously buff specimens of humanity. Some of the archival fly bites are really starting to itch. They also form a hard and touch sensitive measle-like bump. Attractive. KK took first turn at he wheel for the drive to Dunedin. She really likes these southern roads. All gentle rolling hill farm country. They are “wide” (there is actually a 2 foot shoulder on each side of the road…) and have minimal traffic. Of course, there are also minimal towns, minimal toilets, and lots of mileage between TipTop ice-cream stands. The maps have little dots with names. These little dots do not always have a physical counterpart in the life-size world. We kept thinking the next village would have a toilet stop. (Almost all have a small public toilet somewhere along their main drag). Unfortunately there never were any next little villages. Farm communities everywhere have a similar profile. This patch of earth will be called Wendon, or Mable Bush, or Cragie Glen, just for a reference point to figure out how far the sheep wandered that day. “Oi!, Katy, the flock has spread all the way to Wee Darby. It’ll take a day to put ‘em back together! I’ll ring up Mick and have him run the dogs and his truck by Clinker Hill…” No real places, just marker points for the locals. (Similar to “make a left just before where Old Man Burns’ barn burned down in ’42)

We rolled into Dunedin around 2pm. A short easy 4 hour drive today. Dunedin was the original Scottish settlement on the South Island. It is built into the hillsides, is mostly cloudy and damp, and everything is made of stone. Ah, we feel at home. The city center is a double octagon, and all directions use The Octagon as a reference point. It is really quite lovely. It is also home to the Speight’s Brewery, and Cadbury Chocolate.

We are staying in an old rectory that was the Bishops residence in the early 1900’s. It is still surrounded by religious schools. It is called Hogwartz… With the innate ability to ignore the drizzle, we walk down the hill to explore the city center. We each only have one pair of long pants, and light spring jackets. It’s about 58 F. Brrrr. It seems like a perfect time to tour the Cadbury chocolate factory… Cadbury has been in Dunedin since the early thirties. The tour was aromatic and informative. They have three constant shifts. It takes 6 months to produce the New Zealand supply of Easter candy, which is consumed in less than a week. We got to wear hair coverings, and JD got to have a “snood” for his facial hair. Stunning. We ended up with a bag of free yummies, as well as a trip through the company store.

We shuffled over to the Speight’s brewery. It was surprisingly expensive, two beers $15.60 NZ! Tasty, but not that tasty… We then wandered into the Octagon to try another lively looking pub. This one had vodka, so KK ordered a Feijoa (Fu-joe-ah, or fee-joe-ah) flavored, shaken and up. We had the alien gibberish deer-in-the-headlight look from the bar gal. KK assumed she couldn’t be heard (there was some loud R&R on) so she repeated it loudly and slowly. The bar maid smiled vacuously and asked “so would you like that on ice?” JD, ever the international diplomat and interpreter, realized the international incident this communication disaster was about to unleash. (Coffee ordering we could get, heck people from Montana can’t necessarily order a coffee in Washington… but cocktails are shaken and served up in every western country that has distilled spirits!) Using advanced mime skills, pictograms (not unlike the ones pasted to the outside of Voyager 1) and single syllable words, made the unsuspecting bar gal understand a brand new method of serving a cocktail…

Anyway, Feijoa is a New Zealand fruit that is in season two to three weeks per year, can only be harvested when ripe, and lasts about 24 hours off the tree. Many people on the north island have a feijoa tree. A mature tree can produce over a thousand fruits with ease. By the end of “ripe” month you can’t pay someone to take your excess feijoa. The local papers have lists of feijoa recipes: cake, preserves, breads, stews, kebobs, face cream, enemas (ok, no fruit enemas…though I am sure it would work in southern California…), and hundreds of other things to do with your ripe feijoa. As a vodka flavor it is vaguely reminiscent of teaberry. The actual fruit, which we had as a preserve at Chris & Tina’s, is more citrus than teaberry, and had a slight buttery texture. It was quite delicious. A neighbor with a feijoa tree is like a neighbor who has planted too many squash and zucchini. They are happy to give away as much as you can carry.

Saturday we awake to a gray mist, and it’s not from morning breath. We are in Scotland! We haven’t yet seen Nearly Headless Nick, or Dumbledore, but we are looking… It’s cold and drizzly. Today we are off to watch a 15-band pipe & drum competition being held in the octagon. We also found a great internet café, with reasonably priced coffee and wireless. JD catches up on photo labeling, but can’t seem to get the blog interface working. It is a problem on Blogger’s end… It worked well enough to post, add photos, etc, it just wouldn’t save the work. An hour of WiFi time pissed away…

We have both finished our latest books and have been in search of replacements. The hostel book exchanges have not been fruitful here on the south island (More action junkies here, rather than the laid-back introspectors of the north island…). A newer paperback will set you back $25-$40 NZ… Yep up to $30 US for a paperback. We are, luckily enough, in a college town (30,000 students at Otanga University) so 2nd hand bookstores are all about.

We found a “discount” bookseller as well. KK decided since we are staying at Hogwartz, and the final book is out in July, to reread book 6 of Harry Potter. On sale it was only $19.90NZ.

Sunday had a weather shift: It was misty and gray, rather than gray ad misty… We spent the morning catching up on writing, staring at the walls, and otherwise being non-productive. We offered to take a couple of other wanderers out the Otanga peninsula to find some penguins.

Angelina was a young teacher from North Carolina; Simon was getting ready for grad school in Ohio. She had been a third grade teacher for a few years back in the states, and was now looking for a Kiwi to marry… She absolutely loved this country and really was not planning to leave. He starts school in March, and was getting his last sights in before he was off to Ohio. Angelina was one of those eternally happy people. She was so excited with our little jaunt, regularly exclaiming how this was “the best day ever!”. You could tell she meant it. We both think she approaches life with this attitude every single day. Not a bad way to view things at all. We have decided to have many more best days ever.

The Otanga peninsula runs about 45 kilometers out from Dunedin. The tip is home to the only mainland based giant albatross rookery in the world. It is also home to the largest wild population of the endangered yellow-eyed penguin, as well as recently re-established (returned after a 50-70 year absence…) Hooker sea lion breeding beaches. We enjoyed a scenic ride out, with the sun making cameo appearances. We left Dunedid in the late afternoon. The penguin’s return to the nesting grounds 2 hours or so before nightfall, currently around 7:45-8:00. The yellow-eyed are a skittish species, and the DOC (Seemingly the most powerful individual government department, the Department of Conservation, controls, directs and is responsible for over one third of the whole country…) has special tracks (trails) and blinds to watch the penguins from. If the returning birds see any movement on or near the beach, they won’t come out of the water. The blind is set up about 100 meters (Football field or so) from the nesting area, midway up on the side of a hill. Flash photography is discouraged because it freaks the birds out, and may cause them to abandon their nest(s). Non-professional flashes are not really useful past 10-15 feet, though easily seen for hundreds. The sun had been becoming less and less afraid, with a persisting wind hanging on at 25-35mph, and it was cold. Really cold. Almost snotsickle cold. Brrrrr. We patiently waited for over two hours, and did see three or four of the beasties. One of which was actually already hanging out on the hillside when we arrived. He hung out in the same spot. Every so often he would move his head to scratch his armpit (wingpit?). After an hour and a half, he “oozed” onto his belly. After a brief rest, he stood back up. Slow deliberate reps, the secret of physical fitness… Activity is additive.

JD missed having a really long lens on his camera (A mounted 1,000mm or 1600mm would have been perfect… Birthday hint?), and is depending on the file density to be able to find the birds in his photos. You be the judge…

We are able to slow down a bit now. A short drive, 120k, brought us to Omaru, a small seaside farming community. We stayed on a working hobby farm. Sheep and alpaca. Sheep were primarily for food, alpaca for fiber.

We learned that specific breeds of sheep drop hair naturally, while others need to be shorn. The hair droppers are meat sheep, while wool sheep get trimmed every nine months or so. Rams are almost always meat, as you only need one to “service” a large number of ewes. Kimberly wondered about the apparent “maleness” of the rams visually. No neuticals here… Baseballs maybe. JD felt that since a ram had lots to do during the fertile time it would need a larger supply depot… What Would Ira Say? (Ira is an east coast veterinarian friend whom we enjoy calling late at night with all sorts of critter questions…)

I don’t think I had mentioned the one real negative to our mouse powered muscle car: The radio is Japanese. Made in Japan is not the issue. It is set for Japanese frequencies… Here, as well as in Oz and North America, FM band reception covers from the mid 80’s to around 107.9. It utilizes the odd numbers 96.5, 98.3, 102.5, etc. This radio covers 70.0 to 90.0, in one step increments. Unless a station is at the “bottom” of the dial, we get nothing…

This being said, we have found New Zealand talk radio! It is funny shit. There is a different level of censoring, and as long as you’re not dropping the F-bomb you can pretty much say what you want. We got to listen to a few topics mostly dealing with local Kiwi issues. What we really loved was the “white trash story of the week”: A local farmhand was feeling a bit randy. He called up a hooker for take-away (prostitution is legal here). A younger, twenty-something, lass made the house-call to his caravan, situated on the farm he was working at the time. After the “job”, he wouldn’t pay. He claimed he had no money. Here is where it gets entertaining; She went home and told her mum she had been “stiffed”. Her mum (age 40) called a couple of mates and off they all went to the farmhand’s caravan. She calmly explained the concept of capitalism to the young man, and he reasonably discussed the theory of customer satisfaction and when to cut your losses. Quite the economic summit… No, this is not how it went… Remember the riots in Seattle a few years ago during the big WTO summit? The people smashing the windows and burning the cars had absolutely no direct connection with the economics being discussed. Imagine if they did… After Mumsy couldn’t get blood from the stone, (Farmboy stuck with his “gots no money” story) she and her mates pulled out a couple of baseball bats and beat the crap out of Farmboy’s car. (You thought it was going somewhere else, didn’t you… this is a civilized country after all…LOL). Farmboy then fired up a nearby tractor and played Monster Truck Challenge on Mumsy’s car. Farmboy then called the cops. Everyone was arrested. Farmboy had a least five counts brought against him, including: “Incurring debt by deception”, intent to defraud, vandalism, and burglary. Mumsy was charged with vandalism, assault, and setting a bad example (ok, I made the last one up…) He is doing some jail time, Mumsy had to pay for his car. The hooker never did collect.

Callers had a field day with this story. One fellow brought up if you are dissatisfied with a contractors work, you are not obligated to pay… Others brought up fee for time, no guarantees implied. KK felt if the farmboy “finished”, he was satisfied… JD sided with the magistrate: If you call out a service person, any profession, with the intent to not pay, your personal satisfaction with the job is a moot point. Pay the fine, and do the time.

We then meandered to Methvin, a ski town near four of the south islands ski destinations. Ski towns are great places to go off-season. As long as there are some summer activities, biking, hiking, etc, the local businesses stay open. Rates are always better, people very laid back, and certainly less crowded. All was mellow in the little off-season ski town. We met a German couple who where just finishing a six-month stint that had included Central America, and a young Swedish couple who had just finished 6 weeks in Thailand and were just starting 5 weeks here, with a passage through NYC on their way home in a couple of months. From here we are off to the Banks Peninsula, an old volcanic cone just east of Christchurch. We have six days left before we’re off to Oz.

More Photos: South Island East Coast