Moving On (Once More)

Well, March has just flown by and my time in Western Australia is up, and I have to say it was the best section of my Australian travels so far. The weather was perfect almost every day and my "working holiday" was tilted so far in favour of 'holiday' that I now feel guilty referring to it as such. The month was bookended by two great stays in the magnificent city of Perth, where it was really fun to be shown round by people I met earlier on my travels in Hong Kong and Cronulla. The centrepiece of this chapter was a two week helpx placement in Kojonup that was surprisingly busy - I envisaged having plenty of time to while away reading and wandering after completing my four hours work each day, but I ended up playing tennis, giving tennis lessons, going cycling, attending social events, and spending a couple of days on the South Coast in Denmark (a place whose beauty will take some topping). As a result, my stay in Kojonup was brilliant fun and I must have met upwards of 40 people during the two weeks, all of whom were wonderfully friendly and interesting to talk with. Then I headed East and enjoyed a five day adventure on my way back to Perth which featured typically exhausting amounts of walking, swimming, and cycling, but will be best remembered for the good times had and people met at the hostels in the evenings. I've really taken a shine to Western Australia, it's a spectacular place and its residents are so amiable and laid back.



A bizarre sign I saw while roaming around Bunbury.

My trip is now taking a tropical turn, as tonight I will be flying 2,000 miles from one corner of the country to another and touching down at 4.15AM in Cairns, to begin the final chapter of my Australian adventure. I'm flying home from Sydney towards the end of May, so for me the East Coast will basically be a giant home stretch, completing my lap of the continent. Given the great times I've had and the amazing places I've been to already, it's hard to believe I still have the entire East Coast to go - the part of Australia most renowned by visitors. Here's what's coming up on Putting the Ali in Australia: 

- I'll be celebrating my 24th birthday in the backpacker haven of Cairns.

- I'll be experiencing life in Queensland on more helpx placements.

- I'll be exploring a string of idyllic coastal spots, whose names are so wondrous that I can smell sunscreen and feel sand between my toes just reading them - Sunshine Coast, Surfers Paradise, Mission Beach, The Whitsundays... (compare this to the place names you would run into travelling down the East Coast of Britain - Grimsby, Skegness, Cromer...)

Stay tuned.

Australia Runs On Backpackers

Backpackers play an enormous role in the Australian economy. I didn't know this when planning my trip, and it took some considerable time while out here for me to realise just how important we are to Australia's fortunes. Because driving the country's economic prosperity from behind the wheel of a rusty campervan is a legion of adventurous, work seeking, perpetually cash-strapped, English learning, sun-and-fun-loving, unyielding optimistic backpackers.

We come from all over the world, but the majority of us are European, with Britain, Germany, and France most strongly represented. We're mostly between 18 and 30 years of age and we come to Australia for a variety of reasons: we're here to escape our home country, we're here for a fresh start, we're here purely for fun, we're here as a gap between school and university, university and work, or work and different work, we're here with dreams of immigrating, we're here for the sun, we're here for the surf, we're here to earn money to travel elsewhere (Vietnam, Thailand, New Zealand...), we're here on a whim. Some arrive with savings, other with just enough to survive until they find a job. We are here in our masses and we are everywhere. But why are we so beneficial to Australia?

Firstly, there is the sheer number of backpackers here. In each of the big cities there are areas dominated by giant hostels sleeping hundreds. In Sydney and Melbourne, you can constantly see young people on the move carrying backpacks like a turtle its shell. But we are not just in the major cities, as you'll find out later. Secondly, as travellers we're obviously spending a lot of money. However, the key is the design of the working holiday visa, which almost all of us are here on.
The working holiday visa lasts one year and allows you to work in Australia. And what a great source of labour we are. The guys are performing all manner of labouring jobs while the girls are ensuring the towns and cities are never short of waitresses or bar staff. The beauty of having backpackers available to work is that they can fill in and as whenever needed, allowing businesses to easily adjust their supply of labour to meet the demand for their products or services. For instance, I worked five different labouring jobs in Cronulla in the space of one month. For many employers, it can be much more efficient than having to hire permanent staff. Plus, we are more than happy to work for a basic wage, not only because we need the money to stay on the road, but because the wages are so damn good here. The bottom level hourly rate for 'unskilled' jobs such as fruit picking and bar work is $15-20 - around double what you would get in Europe. A clever caveat of the visa is that you can't work for the same employer for more than six months, so it can't really be said that we're taking jobs away from Australians.

From an Australian economic standpoint, the real beauty of the working holiday visa is the opportunity to extend it for a second year. To qualify for this extension - and whoever came up with this idea is a genius - you must complete 88 days of farm work in regional Australia. This work must be completed a specified distance away from the major cities, must be for eight hours a day, and must be actual farm work rather than, for example, housework in the home of a farmer. The classic job for obtaining the second year visa is fruit picking. Backpackers are picking fruit all over the country, so even in tiny towns in the middle of nowhere there will be hostels, such as Echuca in Northern Victoria, close to where I dairy farmer. Trying to get those 88 days of farm work can be a massive challenge, with supply of backpackers far outweighing demand in many places, so the further afield you go, the better your chances. Therefore no matter where you are in Australia you run into backpackers. I'm rare in that I am only here for around six months, almost everyone does at least a year and the majority do two. It seems most travellers can't bear to leave - one girl I met went as far as faking signatures on the forms to demonstrate completion of the 88 days farm work. She got caught and her deportation was imminent.

Unfortunately, the desire (bordering on desperation) of backpackers to get that second year visa means we are open to exploitation. I've heard countless stories of travellers being told "yeah, come here, there's heaps of fruit picking work going", then they travel hours and hours to a remote town only to find there isn't actually any work available, or it is only for two days a week. One guy - who was an idiot and deserved what he got - paid money online to 'guarantee his place on the farm', then turned up at the address to discover that he had been scammed and the farm didn't even exist. For this reason I am glad I don't have the pressure of completing the farm work for the second year visa. I wouldn't mind picking fruit and I would love the money, but I can do without the stress of finding the work and I refuse to be exploited.

The farm work requirement is genius because it solves the problem of finding seasonal workers to pick fruit. Watermelons can only be picked in Tasmania for a few months per year, likewise grapes on the Margaret River vineyards. Who else would be carrying out this work if not backpackers, who conveniently have to do three months of it! Backpackers are perfect for the job as they come in, pick the fruit while it is in season, then piss off without ever putting strain on Australian social services! Best of all, most backpackers quickly spend everything they earn, and they're spending it on Australian goods and  services! We're spending it on travel, food, and cheap Australian wine, we're paying $30 a night to stay in hostels, and we're splashing cash on expensive tours and 'once in a lifetime' experiences such as scuba diving. 

In conclusion, the working holiday visa is a great system for all involved. Australia gets its economy boosted and its fruit picked, while we get to work for good money and enjoy all the amazing things this country has to offer.

Adventures Between Kojonup and Perth

On Friday I left Kojonup after a brilliant two weeks with Tim and Anita. From Kojonup, it's a simple four hour bus journey North West to Perth. But I had more of the West Coast to explore, so I began my roundabout journey back to the City by catching a ride with Tim and Anita to Margaret River, which lies 200km west of Kojonup. Margaret River (a town I was disappointed to discover is not twinned with Virginia Water) is regarded for its numerous nearby wineries, which attract many visitors. However, the only aspect of wine I care about is its price, so I didn't bother checking out any of the vineyards. Instead, my agenda involved walking, swimming, relaxing, and (fingers crossed) some partying at the hostel. My weekend stay turned out to be a success on all four accounts.

I awoke ready to ramble on Saturday and set off on a 15km walk along the Margaret River itself. The best part of the walk was the start, where the water in the river was plentiful and surrounded by the enchanting forest of giant karri trees, some of which emerged atmospherically from the water. The end point of the there-and-back route was the Ten Mile Brook Dam, which being a dam wasn't all that special, but I returned through the forest with a spring in my step as I was desperate for a swim in those scenic stretches of river I passed early on. As far as refreshing goes, it was unbeatable, the water just the right temperature to cool off in after 15km of sweat accumulation. Continuing back down the river, I found a nice spot to sit dangling my legs in the water and here I relaxed with a book and a free fish foot spa that some minnows treated me to.

That night I found a pub to watch Chelsea thrash Arsenal while letting the crowd build at the hostel. Soon after returning, the outside deck area was alive with backpackers enjoying some drinks and conversation. I found myself entrenched in a series of interesting and hilarious debates with an Australian, an American, and later on, an Irishman. Looking back, each participant's contributions to this debate were fairly typical of the nations they represented:
The Australian - brash, mocking of the American, smug about the awesome nation he lives in.
The American - loud, dynamic to the point of hopping up and down while making his points, staunchly in defense of his country.
The Englishmen (myself) - unwilling to take sides, quieter, joining in with timely, insightful, impartial comments.
The Irishman - too drunk to contribute anything useful.
As comical as the chat was, the highlight of the night was a spirited game of flip cup. Flip cup is a very fun game played between two teams lined up on either side of a long table. The first player from each team drinks a small amount from a plastic cup, rests the cup upright on the edge of the table, then attempts to flip it so that the cup lands upside down on the table. Once they are successful, the next player down the line does the same and so on, with the first team to finish being the winner. The skills at this game I spent four years at American university developing came in handy as my team romped to a 5-2 victory, prompting a rousing rendition of "We Are The Champions" from our side of the table.

***

What is the strangest street name you've ever seen? In Margaret River  I passed "X-Ray Road", which replaces Glastonbury's "Leg of Mutton Lane" as my number one.

***

On Monday morning I travelled 40km North to a small place called Quindalup, which is basically a row of houses running parallel to the beach, plus the wonderful Dunsborough Beachouse YHA where I was staying (more on that later). When booking my bus there I made a mistake under the pressure of a rising internet café bill and booked to arrive in Yallingup and leave from there the next day, rather than Quindalup. Yallingup is only 15 minutes or so prior to Quindalup, but being accustomed to British public transport I worried after realising my error and tried unsuccessfully to phone the bus company. British public transport workers have a reputation for being a miserable, uncompromising, jobsworth lot, so I feared responses from the driver such as "sorry mate I can only take you to Yallingup" or "I'm afraid you'll have to buy a whole new ticket". But this is Western Australia not Britain, I thought to myself, and quickly stopped worrying. Rightly so, it turned out - I was dropped off in Quindalup for no extra cost. In fact, the driver was so laid back and reasonable that he let another passenger travel all the way to Perth on a ticket he had mistakenly only booked to Bunbury - a town well over two hours journey time and $30 lower in fare to reach than Perth. How refreshing to see.

***

After checking in I hired a bike from the hostel, which meant that another strenuous day of physical exertion was in store. I set off for Cape Naturaliste, which given that 'e' on the end couldn't sound any more like a nudist beach, so I mentally prepared myself for the inevitable selection of fat Germans who would undoubtedly be developing full body tans there. The route to the Cape was as charming as it was challenging. I visited a succession of immigration-inducing turquoise-watered beaches, but repeatedly riding down to sea level and climbing back up again was brutal on the legs. Meanwhile, the hard saddle of the bike quickly led to a painfully sore bum (what is it with hire bikes and uncomfortable saddles?). I'll never know whether Cape Naturaliste is a popular nudist spot or not - the beach I journeyed to was deserted with the exception of two surfers in the water. After refuelling on bread and cheese (to say 'cheese sandwich' would imply other fillings, or at least the presence of butter or mayo) I continued onwards to Sugarloaf Rock. This section of the ride involved a long ascent followed by a steep descent to the sea. While gleefully whooshing down the hill I could hear a voice coming from somewhere inside my left quadricep that seemed to be saying "you do realise you'll have to cycle back up this!" It was blissfully ignored. An information board informed me that Sugarloaf Rock is "the world's most southerly nesting point for the red-tailed tropic bird", more importantly from my perspective it is the westernmost point I will reach in Australia. I sat a while looking at the large rock that jutted grandly out of the ocean and braced myself for the gruelling return journey.
Cycling up hills, especially in hot and humid weather, can do funny things to your brain. This theory was proved in the supermarket on the home stretch back to the hostel. Not only did I spend the best part of ten minutes choosing a sauce to go with my beef and rice, I then just couldn't remember what my debit card PIN was. After two failed attempts I decided I better pay with cash.

***

A word about the Dunsborough Beachouse YHA, as it is a fine hostel. Its garden backs right onto the beach, there is a nice outdoor area to hang out, its clean, its kitchen spacious and showers powerful, its long term residents friendly (including a clan of Estonians), its just a great place to stay. Best of all, there were no other guests in my six person dorm, so for $30 I had a room to myself and the kind of sea views Mrs. Richardson from Fawlty Towers yearned for.

***

Tuesday morning saw me waiting in the rain (rain!!!) for the bus that would take me out of Quindalup and 75km up the coast to Bunbury, but it never came (had my Yallingup cockup somehow cost me?). I tempered my frustration at the lost time and money by reminding myself how remarkably smoothly the whole trip has gone so far, and I managed to catch a couple of other buses that still got me to Bunbury before 2pm. Bunbury is Western Australia's third biggest city with a population of just over 60,000. It's a pleasant enough place with a harbour and long beach, but the weather was grey with thick cloud for the majority of my 24 hours there, so the city didn't look its best. Nonetheless, I had a good time in Bunbury - wandering around, playing pool at the hostel, and visiting the Dolphin Discovery Centre, which was enjoyable despite a no-show from the dolphins.

Today I travelled the remaining 170km back to Perth by train, thus completing this fun little adventure up the West Coast. I'll be seeing out the week in the City, staying with the same helpx hosts I was with before I left for Kojonup.

Margaret River

Denmark / Snaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaake!

Don’t worry, I haven’t hotfooted it to Scandinavia. Denmark is a small town on the South Coast 80 miles from Kojonup, and the latest reason why I’m falling in love with Western Australia. My hosts own a holiday house in Denmark which they rent out and from Sunday afternoon to Tuesday morning we stayed there to do a little work on the place and enjoy this wonderful destination. This area really dazzled me because the scenery in several locations was not only stunning, but unlike anything I had seen before.
 
Firstly, the house was nestled amongst towering trees unfamiliar to me. These were the tallest ­trees I had ever gazed up in awe at. The giants are karri trees, a type of eucalyptus found solely in the small South West corner of Western Australia. Often thin, uncannily straight, and capable of growing to over 80m tall, karri trees are a wonder of nature – it seems amazing that they can stand. Nestled amongst this awe-inspiring bushland were a large number of cacophonous birds, including parrots and magpies. The deck of the house, engulfed by the immensity of the trees and the sound of the birds, was one of those places where you can sit and really feel like we (humans) are guests on this planet.

On Sunday, after sweeping a blanket of fallen leaves and branches from the roof, we went for an evening stroll alongside the calm waters of Wilson Inlet. For me, the novel aspect of this spectacular location was how the bush reached right up to the water, with no beach or rocks inbetween, resulting in an attractive clash of green and blue. There was a real sense of tranquillity about the place. A squadron of ducks moved swiftly across the water, pelicans soared through the air, there was little in the way of noise, and not a single boat on the Inlet. We walked along the Bibbulmun Track, a 1000km footpath running from Perth to Albany on the South Coast. Some nutters walk the entire trail in one go, and such maniacs starting from Perth are on the home stretch by the time they reach Denmark, with Albany just 50km down the coast. I chuckled at the thought of a fatigued, emaciated, dirty, sweaty, heavy backpack laden trekker walking along this stretch of the track – how awful it must be for them to walk past carefree folk out for an evening stroll, carrying nothing but the afternoon tea and cake in their bellies, knowing that they are soon to return to cold beers and barbequed meat, while you face up to an evening meal of dehydrated food sachets for the sixtieth consecutive night. 

Wilson Inlet

Monday was a day that will live long in the memory. Once I’d completed an atmospheric and entirely voluntary 6am run, we drove past Wilson Inlet out to a beach named Greens Pool and took a stroll from there to Elephant Cove. It was a remarkable stretch of coastline where enormous, smoothly weathered boulders shielded natural pools of dreamy turquoise waters from the onrushing waves. I had seen that idyllic sort of light blue, clear, calm, picturesque, irresistibly inviting water before – most memorably at The Blue Lagoon in Malta – and on countless occasions I have looked out upon deep blue oceans with raging waves gradually eroding rocks. But never before had I seen both kinds of sea in the same place. It was a combination of Caribbean and Cornwall that was a breathtaking sight to behold. After a smashing pie lunch (my Thai green curry pie was spot on), I put my wheelbarrow prowess to use on the large piles of leaves and sticks we had built up on Sunday, then we visited more nice beaches and enjoyed a cool dip in the sea. A fantastic aspect of Australia is that there are so many nice places and so few people that somewhere that would be a honeypot site swarming with tourists in most parts of the world is a quiet, unspoilt location here. This was the case with everywhere we went around Denmark – magical places and we barely had to share them with anyone.

Greens Pool

Everyone talks about the East Coast, the West Coast is also heralded by many, but this stretch of the South Coast will take some beating.

***

Australia is home to many of the world’s most poisonous snakes, but until today I had previously seen just two, both while on the road - one dead, one alive. This morning, I had my first close encounter with one of the slithery, slimy customers. I was cutting back some plants when something moved amongst the deep pile of fallen leaves that had gathered underneath the plant. I immediately jumped backwards and saw that it was a snake! I briefly paused to examine the section of scaly black skin that was now exposed, and then made a steady backwards retreat. My snippers must have been only inches away from catching the snake, and I sure am glad they didn’t because the beast might have retaliated. The dead snake that was on the road in Northern Victoria (which was then picked up by the tail and shown to me) was a brownsnake, the second most venomous land snake in the world. I have no idea what snake I had a run in with today or whether it was dangerous - I could only see a small part of its body and it was completely black, so my attempts at identifying it using the internet were futile. I was pleased with how calmly I reacted and felt like I was very brave, but I did spend the rest of the morning looking twice at hoses!

Early Bird Cycling Part II: The Boulevard

I enjoyed Friday morning's 6am cycle so much that I agreed to go on another ride on Saturday. This time, it was with a group of around ten hi-vis clad riders, on bitumen road, and at the marginally more civilized time of 6.30am. Unlike Friday, the sky was free of clouds and the sunrise beautiful, and the line of fluorescent blobs riding into the sun up ahead was a magnificent sight.

Keeping pace with the group was a massive challenge for one simple reason: These early bird cyclists all rode slick road bikes with thin tyres, lightweight frames, and clip-in pedals, whereas I was on 'The Boulevard'. The Boulevard is the name given to a squeaky blue bike that I wheeled gingerly out of the back of my hosts' shed. Seldom ridden, it is a hybrid bike that doesn't know what it wants to be. The tyres are too thick for pacey road cycling and too thin for journeying off the tarmac. It features enough front fork suspension to be a nuisance on smooth surfaces, but not enough to   handle any rougher terrain. I can tell you what it isn't though: fast.

The route was tough due to its constant undulation. Never a flat stretch, it was long uphill followed by long downhill. However, the brutal nature of cycling is that the ascents take forever, while the descents are over in a flash. Therefore, it felt like I was always climbing. Brutal as these climbs were, they were my only chance to narrow the gap that opened up early on between myself and the rider second from last. Characteristically determined, I took every uphill as fast as I could, standing up on the pedals and staying in a high gear, grimacing at the increasing pain in my legs, and wincing at the momentum I was losing to that bloody suspension. Climb after climb I would make up ground, only to lose it all again on the downhill thanks to the sluggishness of the wretched Boulevard. Eventually I did catch up with my quarry, but only because he stopped.

Shortly after my victory of sorts, I passed the 'Welcome to Broomehill' sign. Now I've looked at maps of the area and seen that Broomehill is quite far from Kojonup. I couldn't believe it. "I've cycled to Broomehill!" I said out loud in a tone of triumphant shock. Several hundred metres down the road I said "I've cycled to Broomehill" again, but this time in a tone of horrified shock. You see, I had suddenly realised that cycling to Broomehill meant only one thing - I would have to cycle back. How stupid I had been! For some reason I had assumed that we would be doing a circular route. But we hadn't turned off once and there had barely been any corners. Moreover, I knew perfectly well that all the roads around here basically beeline from one town to another. However, I was so in the zone that I hadn't considered any of these things. I was so caught up in the gruelling chase and the beautiful morning-sun-illuminated scenery flying past that I hadn't thought at all about where I was going. Moments later, the leading peloton passed me heading in the opposite direction, confirming my fears that the ride was in fact a simple there-and-back route. This was a problem because I had gone flat out on the way to Broomehill. Now I had nothing left in the tank and was only halfway.

The return to Kojonup was an epic struggle. Lactic acid was building up irreversibly in my slowly pistoning legs, the old hand-on-thigh technique was being utilised to help push down one leg, and the lowest of The Boulevard's crunching gears were being treated to extensive use. Even the sky had darkened to reflect my mood. During every uphill I thought I would have to stop, my body wanting to flop sideways onto the road without even bothering to dismount the bike. But on every ascent I pushed through the pain barrier and reaching the top of each hill felt like a small victory. By the time the town's outhouses came into view, the cost of my weary efforts to keep the pedals turning was my sanity.

After riding, the cyclists are joined by friends and family for a coffee in the local café. I arrived to find my fellow riders all merrily sipping and chatting after a pleasant Saturday morning cycle. Contrastingly, I waddled in with legs stiff as wood, feeling like I had just finished the Tour de France, or at least the Giro d'Italia. I had only cycled around 36km, but I went flat out and did it in around two hours, and I did it on The Boulevard.

Early Bird Cycling and Other Stories

From Day 1 of this trip, I have somehow managed to constantly tire myself out through physical exertion. No matter what, I have ended almost every single day exhausted and with aching muscles. Most jobs I've tackled have been like a long workout, when exploring new places I've inevitably ended up walking miles upon miles, and when I've had some spare time I've embarked on runs and ab workouts. Sometimes it's been unavoidable, such as when I've been handed a strenuous job, but other times it's my own fault, such as today. When my host Anita asked me yesterday if I wanted to join her and a friend on a 6am mountain bike, why did I say yes? Then, when I enquired how long we would ride for and she replied "about two hours", why did I not reverse my decision? And when the shout of "Alistair, are you getting up for cycling?" permeated obnoxiously through my bedroom walls at 5.23 this morning, why oh why did my response not consist of two words, one being "off"?

Getting up wasn't actually too difficult - In Kojonup I've been going to bed around 10pm and waking up at 7am, so I'm on a fairly early schedule and have plenty of sleep in the bank. Furthermore, Anita had cooked eggs and toast and by the time I'd washed this hearty breakfast down with a cup of tea I was raring to go. I both hoped and expected that a beautiful sunrise would be the rewarding worm that this early bird would catch, but it was disappointedly cloudy. Then it started drizzling. The first rain drops since October, and they were falling on my head as I was about to commence a 6am bike ride! Unbelievable. Is was a false alarm though as the rain abated in a matter of minutes.

The ride was well worth waking up for. We cycled along dusty gravel roads that transected scenic farmland and didn't see a single car until the home stretch (unsurprisingly, given that the Shire of Kojonup is home to over 1 million sheep, but less than 3,000 people). The ride was moderately tough, as although there were no steep hills it was a route of non-stop long gradual ascents and descents. Biking certainly proved to be a great way to see nature: bright green parrots regularly danced out in front of us, foxes scampered sinisterly across fields, a pair of emus strutted goofily around a paddock, making a peculiar knocking noise not unlike the sound of a drum, and at one point a trio of kangaroos hopped classically across the road. These creatures were all marvellous to my eyes, but (with the exception of the emu duo) they are all a bloody nuisance to gardeners and farmers. Towards the end of the ride, the clouds started to disperse and the morning sun cast some beautiful lighting over the hillsides, distracting us from aching legs. After the cycling I carried out four hours or so of work in the garden, which wasn't strenuous but still demanded a fair degree of physical exertion, so it's another day where sitting down comes as a relief. Tomorrow I'm going on a 6.30am road bike ride, doing more gardening work, and then playing tennis all afternoon...

***

While I was working in the garden this morning, Anita yelled "Alistair" with an urgency suggesting that I wasn't being summoned for morning tea. A fire had broken out nearby and we hurtled towards the billowing smoke in the ute. The firefighters here are just the local farmers, who rally around the blazes in makeshift fire trucks when a cry of smoke is sounded. Meanwhile, the women (plus myself today) do their part by making sandwiches for the firefighters. So we entered the home of the farm where the fire had started and worked frantically in the kitchen, chopping tomatoes and buttering bread with an unprecedented intensity. The fire was catered pretty well, with sandwiches, fruit, biscuits, tea, and coffee. However, judging by the dismay of the homeowner at not having any cake in the house, previous fires have been done better. When we arrived at the paddock the fire was already out and there was just a large black section of field and a lingering burning smell. What I had pictured as a dramatic scene of flames, smoke, and battling hoses, ended up being a tea party held off the back of a ute. Another fire broke out as we sipped and chomped, but it was out of our jurisdiction. Then at around 1.30pm more smoke was sighted, but it was far away and probably didn't need catering as it was just after lunch.

***

From emptying a house of furniture to extracting tasty white stuff from cows, I've worked plenty of jobs that have had a satisfying end result. Perhaps the most rewarding yet was yesterday's fencing with one of the farmers. By fencing, I of course mean putting up a fence rather than poking beekeepers with a bendy sword. Barely a minute had passed after I secured the final section of fence into place before a legion of sheep came dashing into the paddock and towards the very recently boundaried river. Sorry lads, it's fenced off now.

***
Earlier this week I learned how to drive a tractor. Besides drinking copious amounts of cider, there are no skills more classically Somerset than milking cows and driving tractors, so it's funny that I've done these for the first time in Australia, despite living in Somerset since I was ten.

Some sheep on the farm.

Back to the Back of Beyond / Aussies - Laid Back?

On Friday I travelled 250km South East from Perth to the inland town of Kojonup, where I was met by my new hosts and driven a further 8km to their farm. It's another place that some would hasten to call 'the middle of nowhere' or 'the back of beyond', but I have a new standard for such labels after my dairy farming days around the empty plains of Northern Victoria, especially as I knew that the population would rapidly tend towards zero if I headed from there towards the centre of the continent. The Shire of Kojonup is a lot like Northern Victoria in some regards - it is an extremely sparsely populated area of farmland, the big city is several hours away, and the combination of relentless sun and water shortage has rendered the fields a golden-yellow hue - since mid-October there have only been 8mm of rainfall here. However, this part of Western Australia isn't giving me the same remote, barren, even harsh feeling that I was hit with in Northern Victoria. I attribute this to several factors: Firstly, the landscape here is not completely flat and featureless, but pleasingly undulating and blessed with plenty of trees, with the farm enjoying scenic views of fields and trees gently ascending the surrounding hillsides. Secondly, the flies. Oh, the flies! On the dairy farm they were merciless in their covering of my face and buzzing in and around my ears. In thankful contrast, none have bothered me here yet. Thirdly, the savage run of 40 degree days I sweated through in Northern Victoria hasn't been recreated here - so far it has been manageably hot during the days and then it cools off in the evening. The farm I'm staying at is home to a whopping 15,000 sheep and the farmers also grow canola, wheat, barley, and oats. My jobs are mostly going to be around the garden rather than on the farm, but I'll still have plenty of opportunities to learn about the business so it promises to be a fascinating two weeks.

***

If Brits were asked to name characteristics of Aussies, I think 'laid back' would be one of the most common responses. However, I haven't really seen sufficient evidence to support that stereotype yet. Sure, I have met a plethora of superbly laid back Australians, but I've also encountered many who aren't distinctly easy going, and met a handful who are about as laid back as Harry Redknapp during the final ten minutes of a relegation six-pointer. So overall, I wouldn't say Australians are noticeably more laid back than other people. However, my hosts here in Kojonup, the incredibly friendly Tim and Anita, are gloriously laid back, and it is surely people like them who have given Aussies their laid back reputation. It is impossible to imagine them ever rushing around and I don't think I could fluster them if I tried. For example, yesterday Tim and I were driving an archaic truck down a dusty road when the engine started sputtering. We had run out of fuel (avid readers of this blog may recall the same thing happened on the dairy farm). Was there shouting and swearing? Were fists bashed furiously against the steering wheel? Were there stern watch consultations to determine how much time this delay was going to cost us? Nope, Tim simply commented "we seem to be out of fuel", calmly stopped the truck on the side of the road, remarked "that's one of the exciting things about working with old machinery", and phoned his son for help.

On Saturday, the 100th day of my travels, I accompanied Tim to the weekly tennis meetup where I joined a number of equally laid back guys for a fantastically laid back afternoon. We arrived at the farm that was hosting this week's edition just before 2pm and four of us hopped on a court that was full of character and bad bounces in equal measure. The court was fenced in by chicken wire and the concrete surface was cracked and uneven in places, giving the opportunity for devilish serves that landed on the forehand side, then bounced wickedly and irretrievably over to the backhand side. Surrounded charmingly by farmyard, trees and fields, it was a lot of fun to play on. There were 13 players and just one court, so the ratio of sitting on the side and talking to playing was high, and that was just fine with everyone.  The matches were played to the sound of jovial chatter and laughter, sometimes directed at the play but more often about anything and everything. It was noticeable and refreshing how the conversation never drifted from the light hearted and agreeable, with nobody taking advantage of having company to moan or argue. Meanwhile, none of the players were whining about their game or the court, with effort being put in but winning or losing inconsequential. At around 3.30pm, tea, sandwiches, and cake arrived courtside. At 5pm, the Esky was inevitably rolled out and by 6 everyone had shunned tennis in favour of beer. Just before seven the crowd started to disperse, but until then not one of the 13 guys had been needing to rush off somewhere.

When people imagine laid back Australians, I think they picture slackers with a beer in one hand and a skewer of barbequed shrimp in the other - people who are laid back by virtue of not doing much or caring about much. But that is cheating at being laid back in my opinion. My hosts and the tennis guys are genuinely laid back. They all work extremely hard on their farms and have families and property and so forth to take care of. But they are happy, cordial, unstressed and just don't worry about things that don't really matter, which is almost everything when you stop and think about it. It's nice to be around.

A view from the farm.

Album Review: The Triffids - Born Sandy Devotional

Of all my 'travel albums', the record I was most excited about is Born Sandy Devotional by Australian pop-rock/indie band The Triffids. The oldest album on my list, Born Sandy Devotional was released in 1986 and is considered by many to be a classic. In fact, it seems that out there somewhere are a tiny strand of the population who simply worship this record - just look at the length of this article about it! When my limited edition remastered edition off eBay arrived at home I imagined myself listening to it as I travelled amongst distinctly Australia scenery and expected to return to Britain worshipping the disc myself. I was also enticed by the album's title, which seems to mean everything and nothing at the same time. So, is Born Sandy Devotional a classic?

The first thing to note about this album is that it takes several listens to get into, as it is rather strange. This is partly because of frontman David McComb's vocals - he announces the lines more than he sings them - but is primarily due to the cryptic and often bizarre lyrics. What does the refrain of "sleep no more, sleep is dead" on Estuary Bed mean? Who is the chicken killer of track three and why are the children singing "here he comes the chicken killer again?" And if you are going to attempt to decipher the seven minute Stolen Property, then I wish you the best of luck with that. Although the lyrics can be confusing, there are some clear themes that run throughout the album. It's a record of despair, longing, distance, and barren Australian landscapes.

The album does begin in a pretty classic manner. Opener The Seabirds is a compelling narrative with some memorable lines and is followed by the melodic and catchy Estuary Bed. The baffling Chicken Killer is next, and whilst not in the same calibre as the first two tracks, it continues the impressive pace the record has kicked off with. Unfortunately, Born Sandy Devotional then starts to lose its way and never really regains any momentum. Keyboardist Jill Birt takes the mic for Tarrilup Bridge, which is atmospheric but forgettable. Lonely Stretch is the most straightforward song on here, it's a tale of getting lost on the spookiest of back roads, with the line "I took a wrong turn off an unmarked track, took a wrong turn couldn't find my way back" sung with an appropriate degree of panic. It's an enjoyable song, but it lasts a little too long and the big ending just isn't that big, one of many examples of how this record sounds its age. Coming in right at the heart of the album is Wide Open Road, the most famous track off Born Sandy Devotional and the only one I had heard prior to this trip. And it's a classic. The song conjures up images of travelling across barren stretches of sparsely populated, sun baked land with its expansive sound, pounding drums, and powerful lyrics. Wide Open Road is surely the soundtrack to rural Australia. Frustratingly, The Triffids fail to capitalize on the momentum initiated by Wide Open Road, as the following two songs - Life of Crime and Personal Things - feature confusing lyrics and leave me questioning their purpose. The penultimate track, Stolen Property, is not bad but doesn't feel nearly as epic as it is supposed to, again probably because the music hasn't aged that well. That leaves Tender Is The Night, sung by Jill Birt, her voice works well on this one and it is a nice song that ends a somewhat pessimistic record on an uplifting note.

So there we have it. I want to love this album, I really do. However, in reality there are a few songs here I love, but just as many I merely like, and as many again that don't really do anything for me at all. A classic? Not in my opinion. An essential Australian album? Certainly.

7/10

Am I Normal?

Throughout my solo travels around Australia a question that keeps recurring in my mind is 'am I normal?' For instance I had to ask myself that when I was swimming in a deserted Cronulla sea pool at 10.30 at night. The question was certainly pertinent when my tennis watching time ticked over 30 hours on only the third day of the Australian Open. And I couldn't escape such thoughts one evening at the Cronulla Beach YHA, when after a tough day of labouring I found myself still hungry after wolfing down an enormous plate of BBQ sauce drenched beef and rice - my move to subsequently cook two eggs and eat them with toast left one of many stunned guests to comment "it's making me feel sick". Of course, I don't really care whether I'm 'normal' or not, and I'm not even sure if I know what 'normal' is. But I do worry about myself sometimes.

Another such occasion presented itself today, when I was genuinely excited to do a job that would leave most inventing niggling injuries to avoid. I'm currently on a helpx placement at a house that is a 15 minute train ride away from Perth CBD. The family I'm residing with are extremely friendly and also British (they moved out here in 2006), making my stay very homely. They wisely decided to take advantage of my presence and order their firewood stock this week. Today, my job was to shift it from the driveway where it was dumped and stack it at the back of the garage. It was a big pile of logs, but I was relishing the task. It was a job that would play to my strengths and constitute a great workout. Furthermore, I saw it as a challenge and that was exciting. Fuelling my competitive attitude towards this chore was my host, who had previously remarked "I don't know whether it can be done by one person in a day, it will be tough, hard on the back". 'Bring it on' I thought, lets see if it can be done by one person in an hour.

Starting at exactly 1pm, I rushed towards the pile and frantically tossed logs into the wheelbarrow, then hastily reversed the length of the garage to the stack (which currently contained a small amount of wood), and hurled the logs down, hoping that my hosts shared my view that tidiness of stack is of no importance whatsoever. That was one 'barrow load done. How many more? Looking at the mountain of logs the answer was a lot. An awful lot. An hour was perhaps being absurdly ambitious. These thoughts were contemplated while on the move, there was no time to spare. After 15 minutes I was sweating profusely (the pile of logs was directly under the scorching Perth sub) and the stack was rising nicely. However, I seemed to have barely made a dent in the pile, which still cut an intimidating presence. I decided there would be no further time checks and turned from man to machine, shifting the wood rapidly without regard for my progress or wellbeing. Before I knew it, the pile had been reduced to a single layer of logs. But what was the time? The home stretch was made tricky by my ungainly stack, which was now two rows deep and tilting ominously in my direction, requiring care to ensure the last few logs didn't slide off immediately after they were stacked. Regardless, I hurried towards the finish line. Once the last wheelbarrow was successfully unloaded I ripped off my gloves and flicked on my phone. 2pm! Not one minute before, not one minute after. Remarkable! I had smashed  the job in exactly one hour! Putting my phone down, I spun towards the newly assembled stack and gave it the Lleyton Hewitt style fingers-to-forehead celebration. Walking over to the rake, I then went for a double fist pump. The sweeping took about 15 minutes, then I cooked off in the pool, took a quick shower, and crushed some leftover chicken pasta bake - barely two hours after finishing a sizeable lunch. Am I normal?

Wednesday 5th March 2014, 1-2pm - my finest hour?

Perth

After Sydney and Cronulla and Melbourne and the Great Ocean Road, I was already feeling staggered at how spoiled Australia is with desirable places. Then I arrived in Perth. Around the Victoria coast I was starting to need long sleeves and trousers at times, but stepping off the plane at Perth on the last day of February I was hit with bright sunshine and 35 degree heat that had me muttering 'endless summer'. Then, on Saturday, when the spectacular views of the skyline and Swan River came into view from the vantage point of Kings Park, I said to myself "come on Australia, you're starting to take the piss now".

Perth is just awesome. A city of around two million people, it has almost doubled in size over the past 25 years and is still growing, and indeed booming - cranes punctuate the skyline and a big new quayside development is underway. While Sydney felt like an American city and Melbourne a European city, I'm not sure what Perth feels like, besides a lovely place to be. Built where the Swan River meets the sea, you are never far from water, and all this water combines with the greenery of the many parks and trees to make the place look fantastic. While the CBD overlooks the river, travel just 15 minutes West and the city meets the ocean, such as at Cottesloe, where the beach is splendid and the sunset I caught there on Sunday evening was magnificent. An interesting aspect of Perth is its vast distance from the nearest major metropolitan area, Adelaide which is over 2,000km away. Furthermore, Western Australia is a giant state, almost four times the size of Texas, yet over 90% of the population live in the small South West corner where Perth is situated. As a result, you don't have to travel far from the city to find yourself standing all alone on an isolated beach. Perth is lively, uber-modern, affluent, pretty, enjoys a blissful climate, and seems just reeks of 'quality of life'. However, all this has added up to make Perth become one of the world's most expensive cities.

The weather was scorching on Saturday and it was a great day. A girl I met in Hong Kong showed me around the city, then in the evening we met up with some her friends and went to the Urban Orchard, a garden which welcomes you to pick its fruit and veg and plays host to live music every night. My expectations for the band weren't high, so I was delighted to learn that they were a ska band and even happier to discover that they were really good. The band were named Special Brew and had folk of all ages up on their feet 'skanking'. Skanking is a unique style of dancing done exclusively to ska music and basically involves hopping up and down swinging one leg out and then the other. It's a lot of fun and actually makes for a good workout. One of her friends, a Belgian, was asking if I liked punk and wanted to go to a show with him that night. He was a bit surprised when I said yes! It's mightily rare to meet someone who likes the same punk bands as I do, so we were both quite excited and with midnight approaching my friend and the Belgian's girlfriend went home while we headed off to see Perth punk band The Decline. The crowd was small and pretty flat and the venue wasn't the best with the band playing from a hole in the wall rather than a stage, but The Decline were rocking and it was a good time. Moreover, I had been hoping to attend a punk show in Oz without expecting it to actually happen, so at 1.15am I walked back to the hostel a happy man.

View of Perth from Kings Park

Monday to Friday I will be staying with a family on another help exchange. They live a 15 minute train ride from the CBD, so I'm greatly looking forward to getting to know the city better.