Taking the Ali Out of Australia

Anyone still with me? Well we've come to the end of the road. I would like to begin this final post by thanking everyone who has followed my adventures through this blog. I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it. I would especially like to congratulate anyone who has read all 65 entries. In other words, well done Mum and Dad.

Back in December when the Sydney Opera House first came into view, it felt amazing to actually be there. Here was a place I had seen so many images of throughout my life, but it always seemed so impossibly far away, on the other side of the world. So it was almost surreal to be seeing it with my very own eyes. Returning to Sydney and gazing at the Opera House again, it also felt amazing to actually be there, but for a very different reason. It felt incredible to be standing in that same spot almost six months later after everything I had done and everywhere I had been. Strolling around the city on that first day in Australia, taking in the sights and basking in the sun, I had no idea that I would work in a timber yard, take charge of a dairy farm, play tennis on four different farms in Western Australia, participate in a dance party on a small island during a cyclone, hitchhike to a billycart derby...to give just a few examples of the many crazy events that unfolded.

I thought back to that first day in Australia and remembered being amazed by the long-beaked birds that strutted around the Botanic Gardens like a pigeon would at home. These creatures were unlike anything I had ever seen before, let alone in a public park! But that was before I had seen a kangaroo. Before I had seen dolphins, pelicans, parrots, cockatoos, kookaburras, flying foxes, wallabies, emus, possums, little blue crabs, the most colourful fish imaginable, koalas, dingoes, a reef shark and a whale. Before I had come face to face with a wild cassowary. This weekend, I didn't bat an eyelid when I walked past those birds in the Botanic Gardens.

 I remembered going to Bondi Beach and being awe-struck by its majesty. But that was before I had seen the white sands of Western Australia, the tropical bays of Magnetic Island, the 70 mile beach on Fraser Island, and the spectacular sunsets over the beaches at 1770 and Byron Bay.

Lastly, I remembered those initial conversations with fellow new arrivals at the hostel. Would we find work? Where would we travel to? Would solo travelling be ok? Would we have fun? Looking back, I never imagined it would all go so well.

Reflecting on my long journey around Australia, I thought about whether I could go for another lap, and a route quickly formed in my mind consisting of some of the many places I didn't visit. I could go trekking across the Great Dividing Range, explore Tasmania, check out Adelaide and other parts of South Australia, then fly to Perth, but this time hire a campervan and drive north up the sparse West Coast to Broome, then travel across to Darwin, journeying through remote towns and bizarre geological features. From there I could head south through The Outback of Northern Territory to Uluru, and then fly back to Sydney from Alice Springs. En route there would be interesting helpx placements to be completed, jobs to be found, great hostels to stay in, and friendly people to be met. Australia is a fascinating place of infinite possibilities.

Has my time in Australia changed me at all? Will there be any lasting effects? It's hard to put my finger on it, but I like to think it was more than just one big holiday. Maybe I'll be more laid back, perhaps sometime I'll use some of the skills I learned such as milking cows, Aussie phrases such as "too easy" and "no dramas" might slip into my lexicon, hopefully I'll see some of the many friends I made again. In fact, it's possible my outlook on life will be altered and I won't even realise. But there is one thing I can say for sure. The memories of this great adventure - and they are innumerable and hugely varied - will stick with me forever and no doubt grow sweeter as the years roll on. So although Malaysian Airlines flight MH122 is about to take the Ali out of Australia, the Australia will never be taken out of Ali.

The Home Stretch

When you're into the last week of a six month journey you have two options. Either you can feel gloomy that the trip is almost over and slow down to reflect on the adventure, or you can go as fast as possible to make the most of the remaining time. I of course chose the latter. In between leaving Byron Bay on Tuesday morning and arriving in Sydney on Friday afternoon I went stand up paddle boarding, caught a glimpse of a migrating whale while strolling around Coffs Harbour, played beach volleyball, enjoyed a BBQ in a beachside park with the cheerful folk from Port Macquarie Backpackers, walked 12 miles along the Port Macquarie Coastal Walk to the lighthouse and back, visited a koala hospital at feeding time, explored Newcastle (New South Wales' second largest city), and travelled 500 miles by bus and train.

There were two events during that hectic home stretch that summed up Australia for me:
The first was the walk to the lighthouse in Port Macquarie. To begin with, the weather was just beautiful. Winter is coming here but it was 25 degrees Celsius, still, and not a cloud in the sky. Then there was the succession of beaches. Between the hostel and the lighthouse I passed seven beaches, all of which would be famous and crammed with people (especially on such a nice day) if they were located in another country. But in Australia there are an astonishing number of beaches spread out across huge distances with few people around to enjoy them, so each of these Port Macquarie beaches were little more than another place where sea meets sand on yet another beautiful day, and as a result most were almost empty. I couldn't resist taking photos of all seven, even though I've already got countless pictures of very similar scenes.
The second event was a fun conversation I had with a Chilean man who stopped his bicycle in front of me in Newcastle. The man had recognised my world-weary Deportivo Quito football shirt that my sister brought me back from Ecuador many moons ago and was eager to show me the Manchester City shirt he was wearing beneath his sweater. Australia is a country built on immigrants - originally our convicts (some of whom were amazingly 'banished' to those nice Port Macquarie beaches) - and since then hoardes of Brits but also people from all over the world. They all have their own story to tell (I didn't hear the Chilean's as we only talked about football) and they all seem very happy in Australia. It is a nation full of cheerful, friendly people and pleasant interchanges between strangers like this one happen all the the time.

My arrival in Sydney was greeted by fireworks. Of course, the 9pm fireworks display at Darling Harbour  was not held in honour of my epic journey around Australia, but I could pretend. It was in fact part of Vivid Sydney, a festival of light displays that was beginning that day. As well as the pyrotechnics, the show included lasers and moving 3D images of a dancer impressively projected atop the water. I had met up with a friend from the Whitsundays trip, Kathryn, and next we headed to Circular Quay, where both the Opera House and Harbour Bridge are located. The city was alive with throngs of people enjoying the warm Friday night and the atmosphere was especially great at the Quay. Around 50 light artworks had been set up for Vivid Sydney, which ranged immensely in quality, but almost all were utterly baffling. The best feature was undoubtedly the moving lights projected onto the Opera House, which enhanced the view of an already special building, casting it in different colours and patterns. Amongst the weird-but-effective displays was the set of giant inflatable rabbits that glowed white beneath the Bridge and a set of ten fitness balls that laughed back at us from the water. Then there were a whole bunch of exhibits that I can only describe as 'crap', such as a fishing net weakly illuminated by a solitary light.

The next day Kathryn and I boarded a ferry at Circular Quay and cruised over to Watsons Bay under bright sunshine. I didn't make it out onto the water during my first  stay in Sydney, so I had been excited for this moment ever since I I first left the City on a train to Cronulla nearly six months ago. The boat ride was great and so was the destination. Looking back over the harbour from Watsons Bay, there were the best views I had seen of Sydney, and looking out towards the ocean was the vastly different but also spectacular sight of cliffs weathered by the Pacific. Despite the Sydney winter officially commencing next weekend, I was still able to swim and emerging out of the water for breath while breaststroking to the sight of the City skyline was somewhat surreal.  However, the best part of the day was the return ferry ride. Standing right at the front of the boat with the wind sweeping through my hair, the Opera House and Harbour Bridge appearing increasingly magnificent as they grew ever closer, it was the perfect conclusion to an Australian adventure.

Stay tuned for the final blog post!

Album Review: Washed Out - Paracosm

Here is the review of my final travel album, 'Paracosm' by Washed Out.

Most of my travel albums will always be linked to a certain stage of my journey, depending on where and when I listened to them most. For instance, The Living End record was sent through my earphones every morning when I was walking to the Australian Open in Melbourne and Morcheeba's 'Big Calm' will forever take me back to the quiet beaches of Western Australia. However, 'Paracosm' has been played steadily throughout my entire adventure. I listened to it at The Peak in Hong Kong, during sunny evenings in Cronulla, while napping outside at Airlie Beach, in the Brisbane Botanic Gardens...

Washed Out is the moniker of electronic musician Ernest Greene. His music is often labelled as 'chillwave', which is a naff term but it correctly suggests that this is easy listening. Paracosm was an obvious choice on my list, as not only did I love Washed Out's previous album 'Within and Without', there was something about it that made it brilliant travel music. Perhaps it was the flowing tunes and care free vibe, or maybe it was just the fact that the video for the song 'Amor Fati' (an amazing song that everyone should hear) consisted of a series of travel clips. Paracosm has that same vibe and it's another great listen.
After a short introduction track, 'It All Feels Right' comes bursting in with a soaring melody that will instantly conjure up Australian memories whenever I hear it. The song sets the tone for the rest of the record - it's a peaceful, feel good sound that has you happily nodding your head. In other words, it's the perfect soundtrack for relaxing in scenic Australian locations. Following on from 'It All Feels Right' is 'Don't Give Up', a calm, positive number and then the tracks just flow into one another from there, and they're all great. With the exception of the introduction, each song has lyrics but they take a backseat here, blending into the music rather than being projected above it, so it feels much like an instrumental record.

'Paracosm' is certainly an album that works best as a whole, rather than just a collection of songs, but there is one cut that stands out - the penultimate track 'Falling Back'. While not as good as 'Amor Fati' from the previous album, it is a blissful song with a brilliant intro - the sound building into the chorus melody before projecting the song into the first verse. It's just great music that everyone should be able to appreciate no matter what their tastes are.

'Paracosm' isn't an album that will blow your mind. However, it is an album full of pleasing tunes with an at-peace-with-the-world vibe, and that makes it wonderful to travel with.

8/10

The Beginning Of The End

On Sunday, I left Lismore on a bus that took me on a scenic one hour ride to Byron Bay, the easternmost town in Australia. Having had innumerable conversations with backpackers about their travels, I can say with a degree of certainty that Byron Bay is the most popular destination. Everybody just loves it. Party people love it, nature-lovers love it, surfers love it. Many backpackers stay for at least a week and some much longer, losing track of time amidst the laid back atmosphere. Unfortunately, I only had two days to spend at Byron Bay, as I have just one week left in Australia and thus Byron is the beginning of the end of my trip. From Byron, I'll be making several stops as I travel down the coast to Sydney, where I'll be celebrating my final weekend in Australia before flying home next Monday.

My plan for the first of those two days was to rendezvous with a German girl named Carmen I had met in Queensland several weeks ago and walk to the lighthouse. However, my plans changed on the eve of my arrival, when I received a message from Carmen that bore the following question:

Do you want to try to hitchhike to Bangalow to see the billycart races?

There is only one answer to a question like that - yes! Yes, I did  want to try to hitchhike to Bangalow to see the billycart races. So the next day we were standing on the road out of Byron with thumbs outstretched, eager to discover what exactly a billycart was and how they would be raced. After around 5 minutes an elderly driver pulled over, but unfortunately he wasn't going to Bangalow. 15 minutes of patient waiting later we were beginning to lose hope when a vintage car stopped and the driver offered to take us up to the Bangalow turnoff. Very grateful for the ride, but still with some distance to go, we walked to the roadside and prepared for a long wait. So it was much to our amazement and delight when the very first car that went by picked us up! We were going to the billy cart races!

Bangalow is a town of around 2,000 people, located 8 miles inland from Byron Bay. It's a charming little place - the high street containing numerous cafes and independent retailers, then above the shops the apartments sported balconies overlooking the street. However, the feature of the high street being exploited on Sunday was its gradient. A decent slope but not too steep, it is perfect for billycart racing and a sizable crowd had lined the street for the event, which was called the Bangalow BillyCart Derby. A billycart, it transpired, is a homemade go-cart powered only by gravity. The entries ranged from very simple chair-on-plank-on-wheels vehicles to slick designs that looked like they may be using materials used by NASA. Some carts had three wheels, others four. Some had pram wheels, others bicycle weeks, others shopping trolley wheels. Helmets had to be worn and even these varied greatly, heads resting beneath antiquated bicycle helmets lining up alongside eyes burrowed inside large motorcycle headgear. Four carts raced down the road at once, with the winner of each heat progressing to the next round. It goes without saying that the Bangalow BillyCart Derby was a lot of fun.  

Before the afternoon heats began there was a parade that featured a hotchpotch of participants, including a Scottish band, vintage cars, stilt walkers, and dancing Indians who were possibly there in acknowledgment of the Bangalow-Bangalore name similarity, but I really have no idea. Once the excitable crowd had been pushed back a safe distance from the road, the races could begin. First down the slope was Bangalow Bill, the oldest competitor in the derby at 88, and it was his birthday! So the octogenarian was afforded a solo cart ride with the entire crowd singing 'Happy Birthday' as he slowly rolled to the bottom. Next up were the mothers races, which were won by a streamlined looking cart that resembled a bob-sled with pram wheels. After that came the main event, which featured carts of a huge variety of speeds - some needing to slam on the breaks to avoid slamming into the hay bails at the end and others going so slowly that the driver resorted to pushing the ground with their hand in a futile effort to speed up. Occasionally, a driver would make their cart swerve all over the road, drawing loud, collective gasps from the crowd that befitted far more dangerous and high velocity racing. Once, a swerving 'daredevil' collided with another cart sending both vehicles crashing into the side hay bails - an incident that I imagine will be enthusiastically talked about at every Bangalow BillyCart Derby for at least the next ten years.

By about 2.30pm we had seen enough of the Derby, meaning that there was still time to walk to the lighthouse for the sunset, providing we could catch a lift back to Byron. Again, there was no wait as we were picked up by a hippyish New Zealand-Brazilian couple who now lived in the area. They were very friendly and as we approached Byron the guy pointed out a green and white caravan stationed randomly in the corner of a field where a football game was taking place.
"I used to live in that" the driver commented.
"Actually, that was where I was living when we met" he added, grinning as he looked across at his partner.

The walk to the lighthouse and subsequent view and sunset were brilliant, so good in fact I did the same route the next day after body boarding in the morning. Byron Bay really warrants its popularity. From the lighthouse we could see for miles, over the beach and
 across the whole bay to the silhouetted mountains overlapping into the distance. It's not just the scenery and favourable waves that make Byron great - it's just such an easy-going place and the feel good factor is through the roof. Like myself, Carmen is also approaching the end of her trip, so looking out over the magnificent vista we chatted about our respective journeys and reflected on our upcoming return to real life. Although it will be nice to be back home, adventures like the one we had just had will be greatly missed.

***

It was obvious before we had even reached a bar that Monday nights aren't the biggest in Byron. First, a promoter from a Woody's Bar did a lap of the hostel shortly before everyone vacated the outdoor seating area, marking wrists with stamps that drew the bearer to Woody's with the promise of a free drink. Then, while en route Woody's we were intercepted by a minibus painted with the logo of Cheeky Monkeys, a rival bar. A girl poked her head out the window and tried to persuade us to hop in and go to her bar. We wanted to cash in on our free drink at Woody's, so we weren't being swayed. The driver chirped in with "Cheeky Monkeys is the busiest club is town" in one final effort to lure us in. Even if it is the busiest club in town, I thought to myself, it can't be that busy if you're having to drive around trying to pick up customers off the street! I had never seen anything like it and chuckled as I imagined a bar operating a similar service in Chicago or London. After a brief but fun visit to Woody's we strolled over to Cheeky Monkeys, a tiny distance that we somehow managed without minibus transport. Inside, a peckish Ali was delighted to discover that free chips   were laid out on the bar. A nice gesture it seemed, but the chips were saltier than the ocean, so salty that they left you gagging for a drink...cheeky indeed.

Aussie Food Review

The Australians love their food - the fact that they describe food as 'beautiful' (e.g. the bakery in town does a beautiful steak pie) tells the whole story really. However, I have only come across a handful of foods or dishes that are unique or special to Australia. Here they are and this is what I think of them:

- Vegemite - Perhaps the most notorious Aussie food item, the yeast extract spread was made famous on an international scale by the following verse of Men At Work's legendary 1981 hit 'Down Under':
"Buying bread from a man in Brussels
 He was six foot four and full of muscle
 I said, "Do you speak-a my language?"
 He just smiled and gave me a Vegemite sandwich"
It's impossible to describe or rate Vegemite without comparing it to Marmite, as they are both dark brown savoury yeast extract spreads that some find repulsive. There are a few key differences though:
1. Marmite is sweeter.
2. Marmite is more flavoursome (in my opinion).
3. Marmite is less viscous. While Marmite is thick, it would at least slide out of the jar if upturned. Not Vegemite. It is a solid lump.
4. Marmite is tastier. Much tastier. Vegemite is ok, I'm not disgusted by it like most backpackers, but it doesn't hold a candle to Marmite.

- Promite - The lesser known relative of Vegemite. It is basically exactly the same as Vegemite, but much sweeter. Sweeter even than Marmite. As a result, Australians can be strictly divided into Vegemite fans and Promite people. The rivalry is fierce, with Vegemite aficionados thinking their opposite numbers are wrong in the head for liking Promite and vice versa. Promite may not have been immortalised in song, but I much prefer it to Vegemite; thinly spread over buttered toast it really hits the spot. Still not as good as Marmite though.

- Snot Block - 'Snot block' is the affectionate slang term for the vanilla slice, a baked good consisting of three layers - flaky pastry on the bottom, vanilla cream (the snot) in the middle, and a thin layer of icing on top. Snot blocks aren't exactly unique to Australia, but nowhere are they as revered as in Victoria. There, snot blocks are the item by which a bakery is judged and where to get the best snot block is fervently debated across the state. I'm with the Victorians on this one - snot blocks are delicious and warrant all the hullabaloo surrounding them.

- Lamington - Another baked delicacy, this one really is an Australian icon, as evidenced by their serving at the Australia Day Breakfast I attended in Bendigo. The Lamington is a cube shaped cake covered in usually either chocolate or strawberry sauce and always smothered in dessicated coconut. Lamingtons are tasty, but if my sweet tooth has dragged me to a bakery its still the chocolate caramel slice for me, or the snot block if I am in Victoria.

- Golden Syrup Dumplings - I was introduced to these beauties by my host family in Bendigo and happily helped cook up a batch. Balls of dough covered in a syrup sauce and served warm with cream, custard, or ice cream. Wonderful. Check out the recipe at the bottom of this post.

- Kangaroo - Got your attention now, haven't I? Surely I didn't eat one of these lovable bouncing marsupials? Well I did, and I didn't feel bad about it, because there are so many 'roos running riot that some have to be killed anyway, so why not eat them? I consumed a kangaroo burger in Perth and enjoyed it greatly, although that owed more to the toppings and sauce than the choice of meat, as it wasn't that different to beef, just a bit leaner perhaps. Australians don't eat kangaroo often, but it's readily available in large supermarkets in the form of sausages, burgers, and steak. 

- Use of Beetroot - We eat beetroot in Britain, but don't use it nearly as effectively as the Aussies do. As everybody knows Australians love a good barbie and beetroot is usually present alongside the grilled meat. I highly recommend placing a slice of beetroot onto a burger before throwing on the tomato ketchup - it greatly enhances the enjoyment of cheap burgers.

- Pumpkin - I'm not talking about the Halloween-associated orange spheres here. In Australia, pumpkins are a vegetable a that is a lot like squash and I think they are excellent. They can be boiled, roasted, or - my favourite - made into soup.

- Custard Apple - A sub-tropical fruit with a green skin, white flesh and black seeds. They are fairly large, one serving about three people. And they are absolutely delicious. After eating one while staying in the rainforest near Cairns I instantly declared them as one of my favourite fruits. The taste is difficult to describe. When Asda introduced them to the UK in 2012 they heralded them as "having the flavour of toffee custard and the texture of sherbet." I don't know if that is accurate, but I can't do any better myself. 

- ANZAC Biscuits - It is widely believed that these biscuits made from oats and golden syrup were sent to ANZAC soldiers in Gallipoli during WWII. However, the biscuits actually eaten by these troops were rock hard creations that nobody would voluntarily eat today. Nonetheless, delectable ANZAC biscuits were sold to raise money for the war effort and are still on the shelves and in cookbooks today. They are simple, nutritious, and taste pretty damn good too. 

- Cherry Ripe - I'll finish off with some chocolate bars, starting with the Cherry Ripe. Despite being made by Cadbury, Cherry Ripes are only available Down Under, which is a great shame because they are fantastic. A sweet cherry coconut mix covered in dark chocolate, these bars really give you a boost when energy supplies are running low.

- Peppermint Crisp - Crunchy, crystal-like mint smothered in milk chocolate. Not as brilliant as the Cherry Ripe, but they go down a treat after a meal and can also be effectively crushed up and applied to desserts like cheesecakes and pavlovas.

- Tim Tams - Drum roll please. I can't imagine there is a food item hauled out of Australia in baggage more often than Tim Tams. Tim Tams are chocolate biscuits that are very similar to the Penguin bars that are known to Brits. There are many varieties of which I have sampled three so far:
Original - Amazing
Honeycomb - Pretty good
Dark Chocolate - Heavenly

There is a real sense of unity amongst the backpackers in Australia as we have a lot in common - we're all trying to get by spending as little as possible, we're all tired from bad nights sleep in hostels, we've all got stories (good and bad) of jobs in Aus and distance travelled, we're all trying to satisfy our wanderlust, we're all lost in a strange and giant country...and we've all got Tim Tam addictions.

Nimbin - The Hippy Capital of Australia

On Monday, with just two weeks to go until my flight home, I hopped on a bus in Brisbane and started the 930km journey back to Sydney. This meant finally returning to New South Wales, four months after originally departing the state. My destination was Lismore, a Northern NSW town where I was met my by my final helpx host who resides 5km out of town. It's another splendid place, green and pleasingly undulating, and the house is scenically nestled on the edge of a valley with grazing cattle roaming the surrounding land. My host is trying to live sustainably and plant trees and crops native to the area, so the majority of my work this week will be in the garden towards that end.

30km from Lismore is the small town of Nimbin, the hippy capital of Australia, and today I checked it out. Nimbin was once a prosperous dairy farming area, however in the 1960s the industry collapsed, plunging the town into a rapid decline. In fact, Nimbin almost shut down completely, but then everything changed in 1973 when the Aquarius Festival was held in Nimbin. It was a musical celebration of counter-culture and sustainable living that lasted beyond the festival, as some of the attendees stayed in the town and set up communes. Since then, it has been the place to be for a hippy lifestyle. In recent years, the Aquarius Festival has re-emerged as the annual MardiGrass Festival. A couple of weeks ago 15,000 merrymakers showed up to the 2014 MardiGrass, rallying for cannabis law reform and participating in a series of hilarious sounding events such as The Bong Throw (won with a huge toss of 49.9m), Joint Rolling (the "legendary" Bob the Joint Builder again dominating the 'Adverse Conditions' discipline), The World Stoned Chess Championship (described as a "wonderful success" by the local paper), The Hemp Olympix (Nimbin resident Hashy Stashy taking home the womens' title) and The Tug 'O Drug War.

As you would expect, Nimbin is a colourful village where the key words are 'sustainable', 'organic', 'peace', 'love', 'wisdom', and most significantly 'marijuana'. While strolling around town I saw people rolling joints willy-nilly and I was offered weed by around ten different dealers, including once while in the museum. There is a police station in Nimbin, but they don't seem to care about what goes on in the town. And why should they? I'm not a weed smoker myself, but no trouble seems to be caused in Nimbin and if the police were to crackdown then the village would surely lose its unique charm very quickly. Australia, like so many countries, is full of boring, characterless small towns and Nimbin is wonderfully different and interesting. The question of whether marijuana should be legal is waaaaay beyond the scope of this blog, but in the tiny country town of Nimbin I say let it be.

As for the Nimbin Museum, it was unlike any museum I had visited before. I was hoping to learn about how the town became the hippy stronghold it is today, but there was nothing educational about the place. It was basically a giant collection of random artifacts that I suspected were the unsold stock from the Nimbin shops of yesteryear. These objects were thrown together chaotically into exhaustingly colourful and crowded rooms, then interspersed with scribbled quotes from the likes of Krishna and those seemingly-clever-but-ultimately-meaningless sentences of wisdom that will occasionally appear on your Facebook newsfeed, such as 'if you're not part of the solution you're part of the problem'. It was all a bit overwhelming and I didn't know where to look.

On the streets of Nimbin I didn't see any national banks or fast food chains. What I did see was a myriad of shops selling crystals, herbal highs, bongs, tarot cards, chimes, sloganed T-shirts, various rainbow coloured apparel, incense sticks, decorative trinkets, meditative balls, books with titles such as 'The End of Money and The Future of Civilization', and hemp. Ah, hemp. Nimbin is obsessed with hemp. It seems like the locals believe hemp is the solution to all of the world's problems and a couple of stores are almost entirely dedicated to it. Hemp seeds and related produce such as hemp protein powder were of course available, more unexpectedly were hemp ropes, which are apparently soft on the hands, and hemp moisturiser in case the ropes aren't so soft after all.

I wasn't in the market for any hemp items and neither did I want any of the other stuff these shops were selling, so the only things I bought in Nimbin were a pie and chocolate caramel slice from the bakery, and the extent of my indulgence in the Nimbin lifestyle - an organic pear. Forgive me if I elaborate on the chocolate caramel slice, because it was heavenly. A generous slab of rich chocolate rested atop the thickest layer of caramel I have ever seen in such a delicacy. The hefty weight of the above was impressively supported by a flapjack style base that was supremely crunchy. It was delicious. It was huge. And it was a bargain at $2.70. So I didn't get high in Nimbin - legally or otherwise - but I did get an almighty sugar rush.

Australian Football League: Brisbane Lions v Essendon Bombers at The Gabba

So far on this trip I've seen some great sport in some brilliant arenas - Sun Pegasus' dramatic 4-3 victory over Eastern Salon at the Mong Kok Stadium in Hong Kong, Australia regaining the Ashes at Sydney Cricket Ground, and 5 crazy days of heatwave tennis at the Australian Open in Melbourne. With football, cricket, and tennis covered, there was one sport remaining I really wanted to catch: Australian Football. To be honest, with my time running out in Australia (just two weeks left now) and the geographical distribution of the teams (10 of the 18 teams are located around Melbourne) I didn't think I would get to a game, so I couldn't believe my luck when the Brisbane Lions had a home game on the weekend I was in Brisbane. Therefore on Saturday I was rather excited as I headed to The Gabba to see the Lions take on the Essendon Bombers.

I'll start by trying to explain the rules for the benefit of all non-Australian readers. I'll keep it very brief so I can get to the action quickly, and also because your author doesn't know the rules very well himself! The game is played between two teams of 18 players on a huge field - the entirety of a cricket pitch, with the goals at either end of the long sides of the oval. As for the goals, they consist of four upright posts, so that the ball can go through the middle two posts for a score of 6 points, or through the outside posts on either side for 1 point. To score these points, the oval shaped ball is kicked through the posts, usually from the hands like a soccer goalkeeper's kick. Height doesn't matter. There are three ways to move the ball around: 1) Run with the ball, but every 15 paces a player has to bounce the ball. 2) Kick the ball, dropping it from the hands then booting it. The most efficient method. 3). Hand passing the ball, throwing is not allowed, but parrying the ball with a clenched fist or open palm is. Tackling is done by hauling the player with the ball down. Finally, a game consists of four quarters that last around 30 minutes each - it seems to vary with each quarter and I have no idea why!

Got all that? Good. Onto the game...

After making a right hash of finding my way to the stadium on foot - I ended up going through a hospital at one point - I bought a ticket for the reasonable price of $25.50 (about £14) and took a seat in the third row, just to the left of the goal posts. You probably get a better view of what is going on from higher up, but with no allocated seats I fancied getting as close to the action as possible. Looking around, I was surrounded by the red and black apparel of Essendon fans, so I decided I would cheer on the Bombers. Although what I really wanted was a close game - I had seen bits of several games on TV and many had been boringly one-sided, with one ending in a score that was something like 110 - 20. Going into the game, Essendon, one of the many Melbourne teams, were nestled in mid-table while their opponents were rock bottom, so I feared another landslide would be on the cards. How wrong I was...

Before kick-off, the songs of the two teams were blasted from the speakers, with the Essendon anthem seeming to contain the line "the other teams are all shit". Then the game got underway and it was madness. I'm sure there is great technique and strategy involved, but to me, especially from my low level seat, it looked like a complete mess...the ball flying around, players crashing into each other, all at great speed. What was going on?! I did have the benefit of hearing the opinions of a loud Essendon fan stationed behind my right ear. He was one of those typical sports fan who is irate and irrational in equal measure. When Brisbane went five points ahead after a few minutes he started panicking, announcing "if we lose to the bloody Lions we may as well shut up shop". He singled out one of his players for constant criticism, the scapegoat being a defender called 'Hurley'. And he offered varying and ever-changing reasoning as to why his beloved Bombers were struggling to dispatch the weak opposition, ranging from the feasible - "they're not creating space" to the vague - "they're waiting for things to happen".

Brisbane had the better of the opening quarter, then Essendon got going and a succession of loudly cheered goals scored at my end put them 40-28 ahead at halftime. However, the Lions came out firing after the break and quickly narrowed the gap to 43-40, then after some flowing attacking moves they took the lead for the first time 15 minutes into the third quarter, sending the majority of the 26,500 crowd at The Gabba into raptures and the loud Essendon fan into a doomsday monologue - "I'm just sick of this. I'm sick of this Bombers team. I'm sick of the way we're playing football." 13 minutes into the fourth quarter, the scores were level at 57-57, with fans commenting on what a low scoring game this was. It was very exciting. The game is played at a frantic pace with no stoppages at all. Trainers clad in all pink are constantly roaming the field and if a player requires treatment the game goes on around them, the pitch being so big they are never in the way. Furthermore, the contest was hard fought and it was getting tetchy between the teams, with the off-the-ball scraps falling between soccer 'handbags' and ice hockey fights in terms of violence. "That's it, bash his head in!'" shouted the loud fan as an Essendon player grabbed an opponent by the scruff of the neck and tossed him onto the ground. The crowd was getting increasingly louder as the game wore on and I couldn't take my eyes of it. Meanwhile, I was enjoying seeing my favourite part of the game performed live - the throw-in. If the ball goes out of play unintentionally, then an umpire stands on the sideline with his back to the pitch and hurls the ball over his head as far as he can. It's a fair way of re-starting play that is brilliant in its simplicity and I was amazed at how far the umpires could launch the ball in this manner. It's apparent that there is a lot of technique involved in this toss and I imagine a selection of niche injuries associated with its execution.

Two single point scores either side of a goal worth six points put Essendon back in front, 65-57, and I wriggled in my seat with anticipation of a tense final five minutes. But then, with 25:40 on the clock, the full-time horn sounded. All of a sudden, the game was over. The Essendon fans all around me were up on their feet singing along to another rendition of their club song, but I was too baffled to celebrate. Why had the game suddenly come to an end? The other three quarters had lasted almost 30 minutes. What caused this last quarter to be cut off so abruptly?

Once the players and officials had left the field, the gates were opened up and the crowd were allowed onto the grass, turning The Gabba into a crossfire of footballs kicked by swarming youngsters. I walked across the pitch soaking up the atmosphere having had a great time and I was happy my adopted Bombers had won, but I was still wondering what determines how long a game lasts.

"Don't Turn Left"

Avid readers of this blog may have noted that recently I've not been exhausting myself as per usual. Of late, there has been a lot of nice beaches and jovial chit-chatter and playing with kittens. Therefore, you may be wondering, what has happened to the typically high levels of physical exertion? The long, dehydrating walks, the days of labour leaving me with an insatiable appetite, the insanity inducing bike rides...where have they gone? In other words, what has happened to the pain? Well this week in Nambour the grimace was back on my face thanks to two gruelling bike rides.

My fellow helper Chris had been told about a spectacular waterfall and some refreshing rockpools close to our host house, so on Tuesday we set out in search of these formations. The road was a steeply undulating one and more up than down on the way out. We weren't going far - less than 10km - but the combination of the climbs and the bike I was on left me walking the bike uphill at times. Chris had swiped the good bike, leaving me with an old, cumbersome, thick-tyred ride that was too small for me. By the first ascent the front tyre had deflated. Furthermore, the wretched bike was also displaying a cruel reluctance to slide into the lowest gears when I needed them most. Determined not to be beaten, I stood on the pedals and applied maximum force. The result was extreme panting, battered leg muscles, a crater of a blister on the palm of my right hand from pushing down on the handlebars, and sweat stinging the scratches on my forearms sustained while gardening that morning. The pain was well and truly back. As I struggled on I was reminded of my ride on 'The Boulevard' in Western Australia, when I tried to keep pace with far superior road bikes. On this occasion my companion wasn't on a slick frame, but at least his hybrid bike was decently sized, had fairly thin tyres that weren't flat, possessed a useful array of working gears and wasn't around for the fall of the Berlin Wall. Meanwhile, my transport left me wishing I was back on The Boulevard! Thankfully, we managed to pump up my front tyre and it stayed somewhat inflated for the rest of the journey. However, there was another problem - we couldn't find the waterfall. We struggled up and down a gravel road through a forest until we reached a large dam, but the waterfall we expected never materialised. Had my friend been tricked by a backpacker bashing local? On the way back we did see the waterfall, which wasn't exactly gushing water although it was quite nice I suppose. We never made it to the rockpools.

That wasn't the hardest ride of the week.

Shortly after arriving in Nambour last Sunday I was chatting cycling with my hosts, as they are both enthusiasts. I enquired about what routes I could ride from the house.
"Don't turn left" my host replied hastily.
"It's 12km, all uphill, and the first 500m are very steep. You wouldn't want to cycle it". Well that sounded like a challenge. Later that evening I was flicking through the guest book that contained photos and the words of the 125 helpers who have stayed at the property since 2010.
"How many of the 125 have turned left on the bike?" I asked.
"None" came the immediate response, which was accompanied by a small shake of the head suggesting that no one had even considered it. That sealed my fate. A large red button had been shown to me and I had been told not to push it. On Friday, my last day in Nambour, I pushed that button.

I was fairly confident I could complete the 12km excursion to the small hilltop town of Mapleton, as I had the good bike and I've always considered climbing to be my strength as a cyclist. During my daily 5 mile ride to school I would power up the short hills by maintaining a high gear and standing on the pedals, meaning that I was barely slower on the ascents than on the flat. This hill was a completely different beast to those tiny Somerset undulations though. I had only travelled 50m after turning left out the drive when I was faced with an almightily steep ascent. I crawled up with the lowest gear engaged, each rotation of the pedal demanding the full strength of my leg muscles. The person who painted the yellow bicycles on the uphill side of this absurd gradient would have been pleased to know their work hadn't gone to waste after all.

The first 500m was indeed carnage, but I made it and the slope became more gentle after that. As I started to get my breath back the route flattened out and I began to enjoy myself, taking one hand off the bike and looking out across the Sunshine Coast hinterland. The scenery was beautiful and I thought about how it was the complete opposite to the Northern Victoria landscape where I dairy farmer. There, the land was scorched yellow, completely flat, and there was precious little water to be found. Here, luscious green grass sloped down the hillsides until running into green trees and the dams were generously stocked with water. My joie de vivre was short-lived though as I whistled around a corner to be met by a giant road sign bearing the words 'STEEP WINDING CLIMB'. Underneath the letters was a depiction of a car ascending an unrealistically steep hill and the s-bend symbol, below that was the troublesome news that this would persist for 1km, then at the bottom in white letters on a red background were the words 'REDUCE SPEED'. Well, yes, I would be reducing my speed. It was another bottom-gear-standing-on-pedals-snails-pace climb and it felt like the longest 1km of my life.

At the top I exhaled deeply, rattled up through the gears and increased my cadence. The speed felt rapid after such slow progress and then I was gleefully plunged into a downhill! I couldn't wait for the return journey. Unfortunately my high velocity was quickly zapped by more hills and as I passed a succession of echidna warning signs I wondered if Mapleton would ever arrive.
Eventually the 'Mapleton' sign marking the start of the town came into view, but there were two clues that the actual town was still a grind of a ride away. Firstly, a tourist information 'i' sign with '2km' written below it. Secondly, I could see it. A collection of white buildings were perched atop a hill, still a long way above me. A few hundred metres later my suspicions were confirmed when I came face-to-face with another of those big 'STEEP WINDING CLIMB' signs, 1.2km this time. I could see the start of this ascent and it was almost as steep as those first torrid 500m. I had to dig in physically and mentally to conquer this final climb, although the outcome was not in doubt by this point - with the end so close there was no chance of me folding and I pedalled into the quaint centre of Mapleton having not stopped once the whole way. Victory!

In Mapleton, a nice lady from the Tourist Information Office took the photo below so I had proof to show my hosts, and I raided the bakery for a steak pie. The ride back was brilliant; the 'REDUCE SPEED' part of the giant road signs that now read 'STEEP WINDING DESCENT' being joyously disobeyed.

Mapleton - conquered.

One Man's Junk Is Another Man's Treasure

I was in a bad mood for the duration of the one hour train journey from Caboolture to Nambour on Sunday. I was sad to say goodbye to my host the catwoman, Ivan (the Dutch helper), and all the cats. It was a good thing we had going there. We all got along brilliantly and the evenings spent chatting (did you know that in Utrecht you can buy bicycles off homeless people for €5?) surrounded by kittens alternating between nap and play will be missed. During my final night in Caboolture there was an adorable moment that summed up life in the house nicely:  Ivan was cooking another delicious dinner, chopping onions with Imogen the cat resting on his shoulder having climbed up earlier to observer the food preparation. Both Ivan and Imogen emerged from the stove and into the sitting area with onion eyes! There were smiles all round as little Imogen walked around rubbing watery eyes with a paw. I was also in a bad mood because I was concerned about my flight home, or lack thereof with Virgin no longer operating between London and Australia. But the main reason for my discomfort was probably my hunger. I don't do well when I'm hungry - I get agitated and downbeat very easily when fuel supplies are running low. At Nambour, a Sunshine Coast town 60 miles north of Brisbane, I was met by my next helpx host and driven to their home, where my mood instantly changed. What an amazing property it was! And it became even cooler when I was shown around after a very well received cup of tea and lunch.

The house looks out onto a huge garden that leads down to a big pond created by a dam, but that's not the best thing about it. Around the edges of the grass are an incredible variety of trees including bamboo, pine, and paperbark, but that isn't the property's greatest asset. The place is very quiet and you can only just make out other rooftops through the trees, which is remarkable given the home is just 1.2km from the centre of town and surrounded by other houses, but that isn't the number one feature. The house and garden are both full of cool stuff acquired from garage sales -  old barrels, a giant wagon, a permanently waving model of The Queen, interesting decorations, even the cars came from garage sales, but this result of a belief in the 'one man's junk is another man's treasure' adage is not the icing on the cake. Nope. Undoubtedly, the most brilliant aspect of my home for the next week is The Pirate's Tavern. The Pirate's Tavern is a small standalone structure in the garden that was built by the previous owners as an aviary. The current residents, a retired British couple, didn't want the birds, so instead they threw in a table and chairs, a bar, cutlasses, wooden bows, a soft toy parrot perched in a cage, a collection of 100 year old books, a fish net ceiling decorated with shells, and numerous other interesting trinkets. Finally, they hoisted up St George's Flag and The Jolly Rodger and stuck up a wooden sign - which was a great find at a garage sake - reading 'Pirate's Tavern: Strong Ales & Loose Women'. While being shown this marvellous creation I must have said "cool" a hundred times and I think I even said "wicked" for the first time since I was eleven.

It takes a lot of work to maintain and improve the whole property, so that is where helpx helpers come in. Since joining the system in 2010 my hosts have had around 125 helpers! That doesn't mean the helpers are treated as mere labourers though, already I've enjoyed some wonderful conversations and terrific meals with my hosts and another helper, from Germany. My 4-6 hours of  work a day here will be a lot of fun.

The Pirate's Tavern

Album Review: The Apples In Stereo - New Magnetic Wonder

I've now listened to all of my travel albums and here is my penultimate album review. What did I think of the 2006 effort 'New Magnetic Wonder' by American band The Apples In Stereo?

So far I have enjoyed all of my travel albums. It's true that The Triffids' 'Born Sandy Devotional' wasn't quite as great as I had hoped and the records by Wavves and The Living End both had their flaws, but they have all been good albums that I will continue to play for years to come. Disappointingly, New Magnetic Wonder bucks that trend and I won't be listening to it all the way through again. At least I hope not.

From what I had heard about The Apples In Stereo, I was expecting a poppy, catchy, fun record that would hopefully provide the perfect soundtrack  to my whimsical travels down the East Coast. New Magnetic Wonder is both poppy and catchy, but unfortunately it's not much fun, as I have several major qualms with the album:

Firstly, there are a large number of  interlude-style pieces on here which are less than a minute long. As a result, this 50 minute album is made up of 24 tracks! These short tracks are mostly instrumental, none of them are the slightest bit memorable, and I really don't understand their purpose. It would make sense if they aided the flow of the album or help make it sound like a complete piece of work, but in fact they do the opposite. For instance, after the upbeat 'Sunndal Song' I had to sit through five of these random little tracks before getting to the next proper song. It's like the band are trying to make the album seem so original and sophisticated, when really it's just a collection of simple, repetitive songs fleshed out to the max. Worst of all, one of the short filler tracks is titled 'Non-Pythagorean Composition 1', which for a pointless 26 second drone of noise is so pretentious it beggars belief. Then, the album ends with 'Non-Pythagorean Composition 3', leaving a sour taste in my mouth. What happened to 'Non-Pythagorean Composition 2'? Did it ever exist or is this numbering a further scheme of The Apples In Stereo to make themselves seem smart?

Secondly, lead singer Robert Schneider's voice can be rather grating. Occasionally it is alright, but most of the time it is a sneer that gets annoying very fast. Female vocalist Hilary Sidney takes the lead on a couple of  tracks, providing a welcome changeup, but her voice isn't allowed to shine, as I will explain during my third complaint...

There is just too much going on during these songs. Most of the proper tracks are repetitive with simple lyrics, yet all manner of instruments and layers of backing vocals, often distorted, are thrown recklessly into the mix creating a messy sound that can be exhausting to listen to. Take the chorus of 'Sunndal Song' for example - the strange distorted voice singing along with Hilary Sidney and that annoying buzzing noise ruin what would otherwise be quite a pleasing song. In music I believe that less is often more - how many awesome songs are made up of only three chords, or are just one person and a guitar? - here, a bit less of everything would have resulted in a more listenable experience.

I should say some nice things about New Magnetic Wonder, because it isn't all bad and I've been very rude so far, but then The Apples In Stereo bring it upon themselves for thinking they are so amazingly clever. 'Energy' is a great song. Bouncy, joyful and very simple, it's just an infectious tune. 'Beautiful Machine (Parts 3-4)' is another track I'll be replaying, as it soars to a majestic instrumental climax. Besides those two, there are maybe one or two other songs I won't be in a hurry to skip if they come up on shuffle, such as the energetic first track.

It's not like I haven't given this album a chance to grow on me - I've struggled through the whole thing four or five times and each listen has been frustrating. There are numerous songs that I start out enjoying, but then they keep repeating themselves and more and more sounds get added until it becomes infuriating and I just want it to stop. 'Same Old Drag' and 'Open Eyes' are two of many examples, the latter painfully stretching out for over five minutes. So I believe this could have been the really poppy, catchy, fun album I was hoping for if the pointless tracks were axed and the actual songs stripped down and then shortened, resulting in a total duration of 35 minutes of less. However, in its current state New Magnetic Wonder is a difficult listen.

4/10 

A Slow Pace of Life

I've now been in the cat house for six days, so I'm really getting to know the cats. I spend most time with the 'teenagers' that reside in the main kitchen/dining/living room of the house. These eleven cats are a fun bunch who alternate between charging around with manic energy and drifting off into peaceful naps. The other day the entire crew became fascinated by the mysterious appearance of a small golden chocolate egg (its appearance was also a mystery to me - where did it come from?), closely examining it and one would occasionally tap it with a degree of caution, like a human working out whether something is too hot or spiky to hold. Later, a cartoon featuring a fly and a spider came on the television, causing several of the young whippersnappers to stand right up to the TV and amusingly make swats at the 2D creatures. Of the teenagers a few stand out in my eyes - Spiderpig, who climbs up you when you're standing and perches on your shoulder like a parrot, Pastel, who enjoys early nights snuggled up in someone's arms, and Knuckleduster, a scrawny, furless, bundle of energy named after a pattern on his side who is so lovable and always entertaining to watch prance about. Then there are the 'Little Rascals' as I've dubbed them, a roomful of rebellious kittens who seem to prefer going for both number ones and number twos in their bed rather than in the litter tray. Last but most definitely not least, there is my pal Zachary, an adult I hang out with daily who purrs like a generator.

The great company of the cats, my host, and another helper from The Netherlands hasn't been the only nice aspect of this week. I've also been enjoying a slow pace of life,  as I have so often in Australia. Every morning here I go through the routine of cleaning the cat rooms inside the house, replacing litter trays and so forth. I start at 7am and such is the size of the job and the thoroughness required that it's around 11am by the time I've finished. It is one of those jobs that just takes a long time. This may sound tedious, but besides a few other odd jobs there is nothing else I have to do here, so there is no need to worry about the time taken. The morning routine partly takes so long because I'm going at a somewhat leisurely pace. Sure, I could powerwalk around and try to get it all out the way as quick as possible, but why rush? I'm in no  hurry, I would rather do the job well than quickly, and its not like I'm operating that slowly, I'm just not moving at breakneck speed. Also, the time mentioned above includes a break for morning tea. And it can be a lengthy break. While not pushing the hour mark like some morning teas in Kojonup, we enjoy a sit down outside, a cup of tea, some toast, we listen to the birds and have a natter, only returning to work when we feel like it.

Once I'm done with my chores for the day there isn't really anywhere to go as I don't have a car, but that's quite alright with me. In the afternoon I'll climb into the hammock with a book and inevitably fall asleep for undetermined periods of time, it of course not mattering how long I snooze for. In the evening, after the cats have been fed again, dinner is another drawn out affair with nothing to do afterwards except flick on the television. Then I'll get an early night and a long sleep, because why stay up late?

I'm enjoying this slow pace of life, as I should be, because it certainly won't be this way when I'm living and working in London.

The youngest kittens with their mother