Category Archives: Uncategorized

A Tale of Two Cities

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The surprises of the trip to date are Hamburg and Rotterdam. Two inland cities, both situated on long rivers and both huge port hubs for shipping.  In my mind they also have long held reputations for crime, prostitution and red light areas where tourists go to ogle prostitutes sitting in windows, but that may be a reputation long gone. Full disclosure, I’ve not been to either city before, but am basing my memory from my 20s in Amsterdam when I did go and look at prostitutes sitting in windows. 

We arrive in Hamburg and are immediately swept up by drag queens, S&M costumed party people, and the entire sequinned and skimpily clad LGBTI+ community and all their supporters from Hamburg and surrounds- they are here to par-tay. We land quite literally over the rainbow. It’s the opening weekend of Pride month and there’s a parade and party that just won’t stop. Even if you wish it would, just for a few minutes. It does slow down with the Sunday handovers arriving.  

The most remarkable thing about Hamburg, aside from its many canals and fabulous waterfront, is the stunning Elbphilharmonie Concert Hall which dominates the harbour. It looks ready to set sail. To visit the public area at Plaza level, 37 metres above the water, we take the world’s longest curved escalator (80 metres).  From here we have a 360° panorama of the city. 

Sit down, cos here come some breathtaking statistics. Hamburg is the second largest port in Europe with four container terminals and 8,000 ships passing through each year, with 9.3 million TEUs, 125 million tonnes.  Big? You betcha. But hang on a minute. Rotterdam is way bigger – the largest port in Europe with over 30 container terminals handling more than 13,000 container vessels annually. It processes around 16 million containers aka twenty-foot equivalent units (TEUs), over 516.8 million tonnes of goods. That’s really hard to get your head around, so in both cities we take harbour cruises and have our minds blown. 

It’s hard to find words to convey the magnitude of Rotterdam’s shipping activity. In an hour we see only a fraction of its capacity: there are what seems like hundreds of canal basins fringed with so many cranes you could never hope to count them. Then there’s storage warehouses, cool stores, barge docks, truck and trailer parks – it goes on and on. 

For a complete contrast, we take a ferry further inland to Kinderdijk, a village in famous for its 19 original 18th-century windmills that still do the job. They’re part of a water-management network that also includes three pumping stations – these are rather more modern – plus dykes and reservoirs that control flooding in the low lying land.  In the original pumping station museum sits the old steam engine, which, in the olden days, would pump out 425,000 litres per minute at full power, before the conversion to electricity in 1924. Walking and cycling paths run through the area and the countryside here is beautiful of course, with the old mills contributing the charm. We do not see the little boy plugging a dyke with his finger to save his country as per the old story. 

What we do see is the equally fabulous Depot gallery. This mirror glassed round tower is the working heart of the (currently closed for refurbishment) Museum Boijmans van Beuningen. The Depot is the world’s first publicly accessible art storage facility, with hundreds of collection pieces on display almost everyday, alongside the working spaces of conservators and artists. I love that, as the gallery spaces are constantly changing, the current favourites are hung against glass so you see the back of the paintings. 

It’s funny to think we only choose to come to Rotterdam because we want to take the ferry to England rather than fly. I can only take so much airport security. We end up loving our time here and find it both fascinating and aesthetically interesting.

The architecture is engaging: apartments are never blocks, but off-set, or with interesting balcony arrangements. Buildings have a twist, or in one singular example, possibly never repeated, the cube houses (built 40 years ago)are rotated 45 degrees.  If you are fascinated, read more here. Kijk-kubusHome | Uncategorised | Englishkubuswoning Unfortunately we don’t get a chance to visit. 

The ferry to Hull is massive. We leave at 9:00pm while it is still light, so get to enjoy our last views of the lowlands, out into the North Sea. Let’s hope those windmills keep turning and the pumps keep pumping. If it all fails, fingers in the dykes will not stop the flood.

I still don’t see the point of clogs.

We’ve had a day

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It all starts well enough. We are on time for our train leaving from Hamburg to Rotterdam. It’s a long day, about 7 hours, of travel, with a couple of easy train changes. Hamburg to Osnabruek is a smooth couple of hours. Our 1st class Eurail pass has us sitting comfortably, drinking coffee and reading. We change, as scheduled at Osnabruek and settle in for the long haul to Amsterdam and our final change for Rotterdam. 

But a short way out of Osnabruek I become aware of restlessness in the forest. There’s monkey chatter and the odd screech from group of loud Americans – We were at the concert. I’m from Kansas City and I could’ve reached out and touched him! It was amazing. Yes, that’s all well and good but why are you gathering your bags to get off when we’re all going to Amsterdam. Further investigation reveals the train we should all catch is not happening and we need to transfer to a regional train then change again a bit further down the track. Why? No one knows, but we follow the herd. We gather bags and get off along with 50,000 others and move to the new platform, and wait. 

Then Scott realises he’s left his phone on the train. He takes off at a run back up to the platform, but the proverbial train has left the proverbial station. Faarrrkk.. The best the information office can offer is to give details to lost property. That fills us with confidence. 

Feeling pretty good about now as you can imagine. 

Nothing to be done but board the next train and consider options. Now the train we are boarding is about half the size of the train we just left, and everyone is hell bent on getting on. It’s like trying to squeeze the filling back into a sausage casing.  Then there’s half a dozen people with bikes and they’re determined to get on first so they can block the entry for everyone else.  Cheers. 

Half an hour on the sausage express and we change trains again. The only upside so far is no one is checking tickets. Because Scott’s train pass is on his phone. Which is on a train. And not the same train we are on. 

A WhatsApp arrives. From Scott’s mate Tony, who’s in Rome. Text as follows: Hi Bev, I just got a call from a person in Germany, he has Scott’s phone that he left on the train. We are embarking on our cruise today from Rome and basically are doing one night stops all the way to Barcelona where we then fly home to NZ, no overnight stop in Barcelona. One option might be to get the phone couriered to the Barcelona airport???  Let me know if I can help in anyway.

Like me, you’ll be curious as why Tony got a message. So is he. He received this:

Scott Wilson lost his iPhone in Our Train in Germany. The Phone is in Cologne Mainstation. You are his emergency contact. I would inform You About this. Maybe You can inform his wife About the Situation.

Scott says I’m his emergency contact, but clearly not. Perhaps he and Tony are now married? Or perhaps it’s a hangover from a motorbike trip. Maybe we have a “situation”.

Anyway, I engage in a long round of texts with the train conductor who has the phone. He doesn’t tell me his name, but I christen him Thomas (the tank engine). In a game of pass the parcel, the phone enjoys a tour of Germany and Thomas and his mates engage in an all new Olympic relay event. The phone leaves Cologne and continues to Munich, the final destination of our initial train. 

Good – we have friends near there and will visit them later in September. Maybe they can help. More texting and WhatsApping. They can help and give Thomas a call. It’s now in their hands. 

We arrive in Rotterdam after another train change. Scott looks pale and  is getting shaky, suffering device withdrawal. We have to make a beeline for the nearest apple reseller. €299 for a stopgap iPhone SE sees the colour return to his cheeks. He perks up even more when we check in to the accommodation and see the view. 

A Brief Trip to the Baltics

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We are walking up through the parks and leafy suburbs of Riga to check out the streets famous for stunning Art Nouveau architecture. There are stunning facades everywhere you look.

It is also the area where several embassies are located.  We find ourselves opposite the Russian Embassy, standing amid a bouquet of Ukrainian flags, one huge one demanding “Stop Putin Stop War”.  The Latvian Government has renamed the street address the Russian Embassy stands on as Ukraine Independence Street, so all mail must have this address or it isn’t delivered. Directly across the street, the building facing the Embassy hangs a massive, ugly skeletal image of Putin, which the Russian staff must look at every day. No room for doubt.

Riga is a really pretty town with expansive parks and gardens.  The Daugava river bisects the city, and there’s an off shoot canal which means the old town with its churches, Cathedral, and buildings dating back several centuries, is sandwiched between the waterways.  The most historic building is part of a complex known as the Three Brothers. The oldest, on the right of the picture,  dates from the 15th Century; the middle in the style of Dutch Mannerist, from the 16th; and on the left, the narrow Baroque house, probably from the 17th. 

The  Freedom  Monument is visible from all parts of the city and honours the soldiers killed in the Latvian War of Independence and symbolises, well, freedom, sovereignty and independence.  

Monuments and sculptures are everywhere, honouring the past and looking to the future.  We walk for kilometres through beautifully planted gardens along the canal, then board a boat trip out onto the river, passing under a total of 19 bridges over the river and canal. Across from the old town, the National Library is a striking modern building, inspired by the Castle of Light and Glass Mountain from Latvian mythology.  

We’re in Riga after a four and a half hour bus trip from Tallinn, where we flew from Prague. We abandon our initial plan to take train from Tallinn to Berlin via Latvia, Lithuania and Poland. The trains are very slow, requiring several changes and, while cheap, just feel like a waste of time. The bus is almost half the time of the train, is very luxe with wifi, movies, coffee machine, and, of course, a toilet. 

Tallinn, another UNESCO world heritage site, does attract a lot of tourists, but it is nowhere near as crowded as Vienna or Prague. Being on the coast does mean, however, cruise ships.  The buses ferry them from the port, and long suffering guides wield numbered paddles aloft to lead the aged and infirm up hill into, yes, you guessed it, the old town. Red faced, they pant their way along we think it might be wise for some groups to have another guide at the back wielding a defibrillator. 

We walk the city walls, and up a very narrow steep spiral staircase to the top of the Hellemann Tower, which gets very squeezy when there’s oncoming traffic. Imagine running up and down the stairs with your sword or bow and arrows when defending the town.

As luck, not mine, would have it, there’s a Maritime Museum in a large round tower built in the 1520s, with the charming name of Fat Margaret. We start at the bottom where the star exhibit is a wreck found on 2015. It’s a 20 metre long koge, a specific style of vessel, and it was buried in the mud for 700 years. if you squint at the roughly boat shaped pile of crusty broken lumber you can see it. Or just look at the drawings on the wall. As we wind our way up Fat Marg the exhibits take you through the age of sail, to steam, and into the modern age. Far too many models for my liking, but some good stories in the audio and video sections. At the top of the tower there are more great views. All the way to Finland.

Reflecting on our limited experience in the two Baltic states of Estonia and Latvia, they appear less economically successful and very wary of their neighbour to the east. It’s cheaper than our experience in Austrian cities and in Prague – to visit, to stay and to eat and drink – but not significantly. In fact the costs are closer to those in New Zealand. Bear in mind we are in the tourist part of town, doing tourist stuff. That is why we’re there after all.

Clocks ticking

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It’s time to board our flight. Why are we the only ones at the gate aside from four over excited teenage boys rocking full body gold lamé – we don’t ask.  I check my boarding pass. This is what happens when you get up at 4:30am: you confuse your seat number, 8C, for the gate number 6D, which is at the other end of the concourse and on a different floor. We arrive as boarding starts. You could say it was perfect timing, but I prefer it without the heart attack. 

 We’re leaving Prague after a busy five days. The airline is Eurowings, Lufthansa’s low cost (it’s all relative) arm. Being German run, it is well organised, unlike the bun fight I remember from flying Ryanair one time. The first and last time. The PTSD lingers. 

The old town is positively heaving with tourists, mostly European, though it is still a destination for sad Brit-boy stag parties wandering aimlessly and shouting. We see a dozen extras from Dazed and Confused wearing t-shirts with a bare chested big bellied picture of James, who looks like a real catch.  I want to tell the bride, whoever she is, to run very fast. We witness one “hen” party tottering over the cobblestones and they all look like they’d rather be at home watching Love Island.  Those cobblestones are rugged and tough on your feet. Scott is keen for us to hire bikes, but when I see people juddering along, possibly losing teeth, I lose enthusiasm. I fear the flapping of my bingo wings would give me so much lift I’d take off. 

A walking tour is a better bet and local Mikel takes us around the old town to, among other places, the Jewish Quarter. While the Nazis plundered Jewish artefacts from other occupied cities, Hitler preserved the Jewish Quarter in Prague as a “Museum of an Extinct Race”. I guess the laugh is on him, as there are six synagogues still operating. That said, the Old Jewish Cemetery is thought to hold 100,000 bodies although the 12,000 tombstones indicate they are buried between six and twelve bodies deep. 

The most popular site in the old town is also, according to google, one tourists rank among the most overrated attractions in Europe. The Astronomical Clock on the tower of the old town hall dates back to 1410, reason enough, I would think, to be interesting.  It’s complex. It shows four different times known as Old Czech time, planetary hours, sidereal time – useful only to astronomers – and German hours, useful not just to Germans but all of us as it shows the current time, marked with 24 golden Roman numerals along the circle of the astrolabe.  The clock not only tells us what time and day it is, but also tracks the movement of celestial bodies like the Sun and Moon. Wow. So much information. Why then do people think it’s overrated? I’m not sure what they expect, but thousands turn up on the hour to watch the four figures that flank the clock, vanity and greed on the left, death and lust on the right, come “alive”when the skeleton (death) rings the bell. The two blue doors at the top open, and for 30 seconds the twelve apostles pass by, presumably trying to drive out vanity, greed and lust. Maybe that’s why people don’t rate it. They’re happy being vain, greedy and lustful. 

Kafka, the novelist was born in the Jewish area and there’s a statue commemorating him there. He was a depressive and morose bugger, as you will know if you’ve ever read Metamorphosis. Consequently there’s another sculpture of Kafka that takes you by surprise. If you come at it from a certain angle, looks like he’s hanging, but then you realise he’s holding on by one hand. This is the work of Czech artist, David Černý.

In recent years Prague has become a bit of an exhibition ground for Černý’s unusual and frequently provocative and controversial sculptures.  Of course I love them. If you follow my instagram you’ll have seen one already: two men pissing into a pool the shape of the Czech Republic. We stumble across Černý’s work all over the city, but still see only a fraction of it. There’s a prominent statue of St. Wenceslas on horseback at Wenceslas Square, but Černý turns tradition on its head, literally, with a sculpture that has horse upside down. 


Butterfly Effect is an installation of two Spitfire aircraft fuselages fitted with butterfly wings, attached to the sides of a mega store. Every few minutes the wings move, reminding us of the butterfly effect. In the words of the artist, referring to the Czech pilots who flew in the Second World War: “A small fighter plane with a skillful pilot can ignite the fire of a battle that will eventually sweep away even a large aggressor. The butterfly effect is the theory that the flapping of an insect’s wings can trigger a chain of events that will cause a hurricane on the opposite side of the planet.”

Never mind the Charles Bridge, or Prague Castle, or even the Astronomical Clock, all groaning under the weight of tourist expectations, Černý’s work alone is worth the trip to Prague. 

When you’ve sold your caravan, what next?

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It’s time to brave the wider world, starting tomorrow

A family to visit in Dubai, with a 2 year old grandson to meet; a wedding celebration in Salzburg; trips to countries not yet explored – Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland; friends to visit all over the place; new babies to meet; adventures yet to reveal themselves. And blogs don’t write themselves.

Stand by for reports from the front line – or hopefully not, unless Russia invades more neighbours, then we may be away longer than we expect.

Instagramers can see progress by photos on @bevzac56 and @scottzac45

Taiwan Part 2: Earthquake(s)!

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I know many of you think I write these in real time but I don’t. Thank you all those who have messaged hoping I’m not still there, or betting I’m glad not to be!

I’ve been home for two weeks now so I am not clutching my pearls worrying about aftershocks. But I am shocked by yesterday’s events. Even though I am well gone, for some reason if feels like a close call. Hualien, the town with the tilting buildings you see on repeat on the news, is the town that services Taroko Gorge, the beautiful National Park I enjoy the most in my Taiwan travels. It is naive to hope the gorge isn’t damaged, but I suspect with the epicentre so close there is significant rockfall. Those of you who follow my Instagram will know I feel a dickhead wearing a safety helmet on the Swallow Grotto Trail walk, but I just now read this on CNN “All the deaths were in Hualien County, among them three hikers killed by falling rocks in the tourist hotspot Taroko Gorge, the NFA said. Falling rocks also killed a truck driver in front of a tunnel on the east coast’s Suhua Highway“. I don’t feel quite so much of a dickhead now, though I suspect a helmet would be no match for a car sized boulder on the head.

Without a helmet on a Taroko Gorge trail
I hope the Temple of the Eternal Spring is still eternal

I head down the east coast to Taroko Gorge/Hualien after my first few days in Taipei. I can’t emphasise enough how steep and rocky this part of Taiwan is. Travelling along the coast we go through countless tunnels, many of them several kilometres long. The coast road is precipitous, plunging straight down into the Philippine Sea. Richard, my guide, tells me that several years ago a landslide hit a bus full on Chinese tourists and swept it into the ocean and they never recovered anyone or anything, not even a door handle. It gets deep very quickly.

The coast road south from Taipei to Hualien

It’s a surprise to learn there are almost 300 hundred peaks over 3,000 metres, mostly covered in dense forest. As we leave the lower parts of Taroko and head inland and up, the drive is unnerving: mountain mist shrouds the valleys and it is difficult to see further than a few metres ahead. When we do emerge above the clouds, it’s spectacular – not to mention a relief – as Taiwanese drivers mistake a Sunday drive for a kamikaze mission.

What I fail to understand, however, is why, when we are back in another cloud at the top of the pass, where it’s 0 degrees and there’s frost coating the bushes, people are out taking photos of each other and the mist.

If, when you watch yesterday’s earthquake footage, you wonder why the Taipei 101 tower doesn’t sway, I can explain. At 508m tall it offers stunning views over Taipei and the surrounding area, but even more interesting (especially yesterday) is the Damper Ball. This is a giant golden ball suspended between the 87th and 92nd floors: it weighs 660 tonnes – more than 100 African elephants, but I guess a big ball is easier to manage than 100 elephants – imagine cleaning up after them. The damper acts as a giant pendulum and stabilises the tower in very high winds, or earthquakes. How cool would it be to have been up there to see it in action?

As I say, I am safely home now. However when I checked in to my Taipei hotel for the final couple of days following my trip south, it amuses me to see a multi language leaflet with the title “What to do in an Earthquake”. The very next day I feel the telltale sway and a quick google tells me it was magnitude 4.5, enough to freak out tourists who don’t live in an earthquake zone, but barely a ripple for me. I guess I’m lucky it wasn’t yesterday – even I might have had to Drop, Cover, and Hold.

Screenshot

Taiwan Part One: no caravanning involved

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I realise I’m out of practice with this long haul travelling lark as I try to enter Taipei through the Residents Only line. It’s even more obvious as I pile into an airport taxi and have an immediate heart attack as I can’t find my phone, which has my credit card, bank card, and drivers licence. I’m in Taiwan with just my passport and about $200 in local cash.  

Stop! I shout at the driver. Poor man lurches to the curb and I gesticulate for him to open the boot so I can check my bags. This is ridiculous. Only seconds earlier I send a text announcing my safe arrival. My rational mind knows the phone is in the car, but my lizard brain has left the building. As panic threatens to overwhelm me, I see the phone in the footwell of the car. For God’s sake woman, get your shit together. 

It takes little time to get a feel for the city and find my way around. The MRT (metro) is cheap, most trips around central Taipei cost no more than $20 Taiwan, so just over $NZ1.00; clean: no graffiti, litter, or beggars; orderly: everyone lines up at the barrier to board, giving disembarking passengers room to exit; quiet: there are messages reminding passengers to use headphones and speak quietly; and fast. It is quite a change from New York or London or other big city metros where you are in a noisy, grubby human pinball machine being eyed by people who look like they forgot to take their meds.

I kick off my visit with a three hour walking tour of the historic part of Taipei and around the political/Governmental district, which includes the imposing Chang Kai Shek Memorial Hall. It’s a stunning site with curved blue tiles on the roof and slanted cream walls. Looking from the top of the 89 steps leading to the hall (he lived to 89) you see extensive gardens and a huge square. The National Theatre flanks one side, the National Concert Hall the other. Inside the cavernous hall is the “Great Man”, sitting with his arms on the chair arms and smiling benevolently, emulating the statue of Lincoln in Washington DC.

But there the similarity ends. A few hundred metres away is 2-28 Peace Memorial Park, named after the vicious crackdown by the KMT on locals protesting corruption and economic hardship. The number 2-28 refers to 28 February 1947. The next four decades of White Terror were marked by brutal martial law and it’s fair to say Chiang Kai Shek is not universally revered. There are some efforts, subtle as they are, to reduce the reverence paid to CKS, such as renaming the Memorial Square Liberty Square.

The big ticket item is the Changing of the Guard which takes places every hour on the hour. Now you may think you have seen it all in Athens, where the pom pom lads prance prettily in front of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. I agree, this is elegant and enchanting. However the ceremony at the Memorial Hall is next level, though the choreography is more Joseph Goebbels (think goose steps and Hitler) than Parris Goebel (think Superbowl and J. Lo). There’s lots of heel clicking and rifle tossing and serious expressions. You can find videos on YouTube.

Housing 2.6 million people, the city itself is very spread out but easy to get around: everything is clean and tidy despite the lack of rubbish bins. I make enquiries. When there were public rubbish bins, people would bring all their household rubbish out and fill the bins rather than disposing of it at collection centres. Why wouldn’t you? So the Government took all the bins away but also promoted an initiative to reduce waste and promote recycling. They now have one of the highest recycling rates in the world. Go Taiwan.

Still on the cleanliness schtick, let me mention public toilets which, unlike rubbish bins, are plentiful. In every Metro station, public park, transport station, museum, temple and rest area you will find a spotlessly clean facility. I thank years of yoga when there is no western style throne and squatting is the only option – falling in is not an option.

In Europe I find you tire of cathedral after cathedral: in Asia it’s the same thing with temple after temple. Once you learn the difference between Buddhist (there’s a big fat buddha sitting there) and Taoist (a riot of colour with numerous beardy gods and no big fat buddha) and Confucian centres (no colour, no fat buddha) there’s not much different to admire, though the rooflines are always fascinatingly decorative.

I pretty much eat my body weight in dumplings, particularly xiao long bao, the pork dumplings with soup inside. On a previous trip to Shanghai I take a class to learn how to make these, but any attempts at home are more dumpster than dumpling. Street food is plentiful and delicious, even if sometimes you don’t know what you are eating, and often it’s better you don’t.

The two young women in the photo are making something that looks interesting, and there’s a queue of people so I reason it must be good. A thickish batter goes into what look like mini muffin tins, which sit over a heat source. Something unidentified gets plopped in, then more batter and cooking and turning commences. It takes several minutes and for my T$70, about $NZ3.50, I get a small basket of six with fried onion and some sauce. They are quite delicious and I eat them still not knowing what they are. When I go to the night market I see a big sign for Tayoyaki, a Japanese snack. A-ha, octopus balls! and just like you, I never knew octopus had them.

PS: I’m too lazy to set up another blog now we have finished caravanning, so sorry about the false advertising.

And here we are

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Back home again. This time we are home indefinitely and there are no future caravanning plans; after four years it does feel a little weird. Especially when you leave 33 degrees of sun and balmy weather and come home to this (see pic below). It does make you question your judgement.

Which places do we like the most? Well, there’s lots of places, but we both agree the south coast of Western Australia is hard to beat. To quote me, all the beaches along this stretch of coast SE Western Australia sparkle with pristine sands, and mercifully the only things missing are cafes, shops, houses, and assholes. There are also stunning natural landforms, towering forests of ancient trees, interesting history, and nice people. You can remind yourself about why we like the area so much here, here and here. We would travel back there again, no question.

Tingle tree
Lucky Bay

And I can’t go past Coral Bay, so good we go there twice. Swimming with humpback whales, whale sharks, manta rays, and turtles is indescribably joyful and, in every sense of the word, amazing. Different every time, and every time a delightful wonder.

The trip across the Nullarbor is also a treat – read out it here and here. In fact, I love all the long outback drives. Each Roadhouse is an opportunity to experience another slice of Aussie life – with all its shades of good and bad.

What would we do differently? Not much, though we have a list of things we should’ve (would’ve, could’ve, didn’t) bought/buy. These include a blow-up paddle board/kayak – there were waterways we would have been able to explore further, and just general mooching around on the water; an electric chainsaw – for firewood when free camping in out of the way places, and fending off potential serial killers – this is Australia after all; a coffee machine – for obvious reasons; a roof rack, a battery drill with an adjustable torque setting, and some easy attach anti-flap clamps for the awning.

What were the unexpected delights? Random art projects, be it on grain silos, dams, water towers or city walls. Give an Aussie a blank space and they’ll slap a mural on it – and they are fantastic. The images generally portray some aspect of the history or people of the area. Sometimes you stumble on a stunning image in the middle of nowhere, other times you can spend some time meandering along a mapped out trail which leads you to places you’d otherwise miss.

Meeting some wonderful people at campsites and freedom camping along the way. There are a lot of the aforementioned assholes as well, but most people are generous with their time and tips about places to visit, camping information, and campsites – sometimes too generous, and it’s hard to get away.

Hot Springs – we never had a clue about the Great Artesian Basin that sits under a huge chunk of the mid to north east, and the many hot springs that are available.

floating down the river at Bitter Springs

Did you go everywhere? No, but we covered a lot. Colour coding on the map shows where we did go, and when. The blue line is 2018 is a precursor to caravanning – we flew to Darwin, hired a car and drove to Broome. We met so many campers and caravaners on the road we see no reason not to join in. So 2019 is the yellow trail; 2020 we all stay in our bubbles at home; 2021 is the pink trip across the Nullarbor and up and down WA; 2022 the purple took us from Perth almost the whole way round, ending in Mellbourne for a return a couple of months later in December /January 2023 to visit Tasmania. The murky orange, 2023, is our last trip along the Queensland coast.

All in all six, trips trips between April 2019 and October 2023 – no travel on 2020; 103 weeks of Aussie adventures. The Landcruiser had 18,000km on it when we bought it for $A91,000, and 95,000kms when we sold it for $A80,500. It was a machine – absolutely no problems, took us anywhere and everywhere, hauled us out of sand, rolled over some ugly terrain and didn’t miss a beat.

The caravan has new Kiwi owners who are going to live, work and travel around Australia for the next few years. They got a bargain.

end of an era, and yes, Walter the koala came home with us

How much did we spend on diesel? Don’t ask, don’t know, don’t care

Will you go back? No immediate plans

Do you recommend it? Hell, yes.

The Coast of Diminishing Returns

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Sometimes, more is not better. That is the case as we travel further north up the Queensland coast. There’s more heat, more humidity, more things that want to harm, or kill you. Now, when we go to the beach the signs are less than encouraging, warning of strong currents, marine stingers and crocodiles. The only thing less inviting would be attending a party political rally. While it is not quite stinger season yet, it is close as temperatures are rise and the ocean is getting warmer. Beaches have “stinger net” areas for swimming, which might enclose 250 metres of a two kilometre long beach, so it’s not really like the beach at all – especially when the tide’s out, then it’s more like a big damp sand pit.

stinger net at half tide

The small and invisible pests are the worst. Midges. The very word strikes fear into my heart. Where mosquitos are like attack helicopters and let you know they’re coming for you, midges are more your stealth bomber – and the real damage happens after they’ve gone, and you wake in the middle of the night ready to tear the itchy skin off your body. I am an expert in the range of insect repelling techniques and potions; even my moisturiser is insect repellent. In this instance I subscribe to the more is better philosophy.

We arrive in Airlie Beach, capital of the Whitsundays to meet with family for a week. My oldest brother, sister in law, five nieces with their three husbands, one boyfriend, and seven kids all travel in from New Zealand and Melbourne. There are moments of mayhem, especially when Scott hands out water pistols – and yes, it’s even worse when the kids get a turn.

The idea of cruising the Whitsundays has a dreamy appeal – gentle tropical breezes, white sandy beaches, snorkelling in clean, clear waters. That’s what the brochures sell and we are ready for it. The weather has different plans. For the entire week the wind doesn’t drop below 30knots (55 kph) making water activities more like water torture. Our full day charter, booked well in advance, goes ahead, and the 2.5 hour trip to the snorkelling spot sees one adult and one kid feeding the fishes. For a lot less money we could have taken the Cook Strait ferry in a gale force wind and had the same experience. But when we arrive at the designated bay, it is a bit more tranquil than the open sea and there’s a great deal of fun bombing off the top deck. You can’t do that on the Interislander.

no children were injured in these activities!

We are at the southern end of the Great barrier Reef and here we find a mix of lovely, floaty soft and hard corals. The soft corals are beautiful, waving so gently in the current they seem to be breathing. Colourful fish dart about, hiding in the gaps and flitting back and forth. It’s very pretty, but the wind does make the water a bit choppy. I now know how much energy it takes to keep a kid afloat while you adjust their mask and try to convince them to keep their mouth closed on the snorkel. It’s a bit like being hugged by a drowning koala. The conditions mean no paddle boarding or kayaking as the skipper would be picking us up in Fiji, which in hindsight might be nice.  But by the time we all get home the worst is forgotten.

The next day the blokes go fishing and, surprise surprise, report rough conditions and tough fishing; a mediocre adventure mitigated by the consumption of a record numbers of beers. We cancel the last day’s snorkelling and beach trip in the interests of family unity, avoiding further trauma to children, and returning from holiday with the same number of people as left. 

The week ends as it begins, with Air New Zealand completely stuffing up various family bookings, requiring the repurchase of tickets, extra nights accommodation, and family groups split by ridiculous ticketing processes. Here in Australia, Qantas is the subject of a Senate Enquiry into flight prices and consumer rights following a tidal wave of marketing disasters. It doesn’t help that Alan Joyce, the CEO of 15 years, left early with a $24 million in bonuses and share options. Perhaps Air NZ will take note and proactively sort itself out. Oh how I laugh to think that might happen.

Windswept and interesting, that’s us

The Northern Migration

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Do you ever wonder who comes up with group terms for birds and animals? Such as a parliament of owls, an array of hedgehogs, or a tower of giraffes (yes, really)? This is a rabbit hole that deserves excavating at some point, but as most mornings we wake to a cacophony of high pitched faarrrk, faaarrrk, faaarrks, heralding the awakening of the crows, I can easily understand why the collective noun for these faaarrrkers is a murder.

We are nearing the end of a three week stay at Blacks Beach, 15 kms north of Mackay. The beach stretches six kms and is as usually punctuated by fishers people tryng their luck. The fishing is patchy, but the keen anglers are now bringing in Spanish Mackeral, though I have yet to see one grace our table. The fisherman tells me he’s not that keen.

We are lucky to have not one but two sets of visitors while we’re here. Aussie mates Eleanor and Philip are doing on water what those from the southern states generally do on the road: heading north over Winter. They leave Lake Macquarie, south of Newcastle, NSW in early July and this is the first time our paths converge. We think we’re lucky with our whale encounters off K’gari/Fraser Island, but every day they are sailing with hundreds of migrating whales and, in the solitude and quiet the open ocean, they can hear the whales singing in communication.

It is hard to fathom the numbers of migrating whales: estimates vary, but around 60,000 leave Antarctica and begin the world’s longest mammal migration of 5,000 kms to the warm waters of northern Australia where they mate, calve and teach their newborns how to be whales. Comparisons with the vast numbers of “grey nomad” caravaners heading north over Winter are inevitable, though there’s probably a bit less of the mating and calving.

Each time we go to a lookout – or the Eimeo pub which, while otherwise unremarkable, is on a bluff and has stunning views and sunsets – we see humpbacks. At this time of year they are heading back south. As will the caravaners and yachties as Spring arrives.

While Martyn and Sue are here we take a trip 80km inland, up the Pioneer Valley, to Eungella and Broken River. Our mission is to see platypuses and this part of Australia is recognised as the world’s most reliable location for observing them in the wild. The drive starts as we expect with miles of sugar cane fields, a couple of sugar mills and little else. Then the road climbs. And climbs. And climbs, zig zagging almost 700 metres up to Eungella where we can look back out over the rainforest back to the coast.

But the platypuses – Broken River does a great job of making sure you have the best chance of seeing these shy creatures. There are paved walkways with information boards describing the habitat and local flora and fauna. Two viewing platforms, one up and one down stream sit at broad calm pools, and further well beaten paths edge the river. Dawn and dusk are the best times for viewing, but patience is definitely the order of the day. After 45 minutes squatting riverside, I need knee replacements. As I decide to walk down and try the other end of the river my reward awaits at the road bridge. A feisty little animal – monotreme actually – is ruffling the waters and riverbed looking for tidbits. We see several more over the early evening so we’re relieved we won’t have to get up at dawn and try again. FYI a group of platypuses, should you be lucky enough to see more than one at a time, is the very appropriate paddle.

photo credit for playtpus photos goes to Martyn and Sue.

We are on the final countdown now, with just under two months of travel remaining. In mid October we fly home, mercifully a few days post the New Zealand election, so we are missing all the rhetoric and hyperbole that is typical in the run up. I’m extremely confident in the Electoral Commission however, as having moved 500 metres up the road and notified my change of address (same post/zip code), they apparently don’t have enough information about which electorate I’m in. IT’S THE SAME ONE! Sorry Kiwis, but there’s something we can learn from the Aussies – introduce democracy sausages – it might make the election more palatable.