Will's diary.

Buzios

2008-08-20T19:55:00.000-07:00

The next day is Saturday: oh no it isn’t. I’ve lost track of the days what with all these sun-bathing ‘groundhog’ days and it’s actually Friday. This means that we’re double booked in Rio and Buzios. We manage to get a refund for a night in the former and take a taxi with our new found chauffeur buddy Elias to the latter. Buzios is charming little town 200 kms NE of Rio, made famous by Brigitte Bardot in the 60’s when she fled here from the Brazilian paparazzi. The 3hr drive is fairly uninteresting apart from the views back to Rio from the giant bridge across the Baia de Guanabara.

The Hibiscus beach hotel is aptly named, with hundreds of the eponymous plants attracting the occasional hummingbird. Our room is up a bloody great hill and I foolishly offer to help with the luggage. God I’m unfit. The views make up for it across a pretty valley to a sliver of ocean in the distance. All the roofs are tiled in the Portuguese style but with a hint of Chinese pergoda adding to the quaintness. We walk along the trademark cobbled streets to Ossos for dinner. It takes 15 minutes but 5 of those are just to get back past reception. Luckily we manage to persuade a French restaurant to open an hour early as shortly afterwards the floodgates open. We are pleasantly trapped with some good minimalist cuisine (makes a change from over-ordering with the huge Brazilian portions) and a charming French manageress who tells us all about North Brazil as we are the only customers to brave the weather that evening.

By the next morning poor Karen has caught my dreaded lurgy and stays in bed whilst I take the kids out to explore. I decide to take our lives into my hands by hiring a sports buggy for £15 a day. This is great fun to drive and the kids love it, but it is a tad scary with the bumpy cobbles and practically perpendicular roads in places. After an invigorating spin round the peninsular we pick up Karen and zoom into town. The whole place seems very safe, almost sanitised, with some good little restaurants and quaint little shops worthy of a good browse. We bump back via two of the 14 beaches with great views of the sea, islands and fishing boats.

The weather turns on Monday and Tuesday and the battery on our buggy dies. Shortly afterwards the ignition key breaks too so I upgrade to a ‘superbuggy’ with plusher seats, flashier lights and extra va va voom. We enjoy a great lunch at the popular ‘el barco’. In fact it’s so good that we’re still there at 5pm and inadvertently save on a day’s buggy hire as the rental shop is closed by the time we stagger back. We check out Orla street where Bardot’s original house still stands along with a statue of her. As Karen pointed out, they’d need a lot more metal to make a statue of her nowadays.

The weather’s still not improving and we spend one day bombing around the peninsular without really knowing where we’re going and another at the rather chilly pool next to our new upgraded family room. Things deteriorate with the weather as Karen is still a bit groggy, Harley chunders at breakfast narrowly missing our fellow diners who flee ‘en masse’ and room service is shit. The ‘chef’/receptionist is too busy chatting up her boyfriend and we end up cold chips and ‘croque monsieur’ 2 hours later.

Finally a day of sunshine and we lounge on Brava beach. We rent beach mattresses,
but the tide comes in at an alarming rate and we have to retire to the charming greensward overlooking the rocky bay we’ve just abandoned. Unfortunately the bay is North facing so the sun sets early. That evening I tuck the family into bed (Karen included) and check out the local nightlife. Sadly there isn’t any at this time of year but I do enjoy a brace of rather good lasagna pancakes and foaming ale. I’m back by ten o’clock, so who says I’m a dirty stop out?

Flights in Brazil are expensive but we manage to sort out a good deal to Salvador. We can now spend the last day relaxing on the best beach of all Jaoa Fernandez. Not only is it easy walking distance as we’ve taken the car back, it also has beautiful white sand and a protected bay for safe kiddie swimming. I enjoy a long swim followed by caipiroscas, fresh snapper and a massage while the kids splash around in the sand and the sea at a healthy distance. I’m beginning to feel that life isn’t that tough after all.

BRAZIL

2008-08-20T19:54:00.002-07:00

Rio de Janeiro
Karen’s found another bargain **** hotel/apart for US$100. The only drawback is that we’re soon the only ones left on our floor that is having its first refurb. for 30 years. I catch a snippet of the Champions League Final in between the hammering. You have to feel for poor old John Terry. Oh well it’s only a sport – please hold my beer Karen while I go and jump off the balcony. Man U as well and Ronaldo had just missed – maybe next year…..

We are perfectly positioned here for some serious tanning with Copacabana 100 metres one way and Ipanema 200 metres in the other direction. I invest in some black ‘Daniel Craig as James Bond’ swimmers and rush to check out the bevy of topless beauties. I soon discover that not everyone on the beach is a supermodel by any means. This is slightly galling from a lecherous lad’s point of view, but actually quite pleasing from a 40- year-old-plus-with-growing-gut perspective. There are plenty of interesting thongs being worn to show off many buttocks of various shapes and sizes. The ‘postage stamp’ bikini tops that barely cover the nipples also intrigue me. It seems the mainly Catholic Brazilians don’t approve of nudity but are perfectly happy for three 2 inch equilateral triangles joined by string to pass itself off as a bikini.

The kids are soon playing well in the sand and sea. Although we need to keep a constant lookout due to the dangerous rips, Harley and Ruby are well aware of the dangers from Vietnam and Australia. We can relax with our ‘ dos Caipiroscas con Smirnoff e hielo, poco azucar por favor’. The bloody language has changed from Spanish to Portuguese, just as I felt I was getting somewhere, but at least I’ve mastered one sentence. The only problem with getting a phrase off pat is that the bloody waiter thinks you can speak a bit of the lingo. He then starts chattering away for a few minutes, while I smile inanely punctuating his diatribe with the odd ‘si’ or ‘no’ and hoping not to be found out. By the second or third drink the game’s up, but at least I can then wait for my drink in peace and quiet.

Ipanema is more beautiful with misty isles out to sea and giant swallow-like birds wheeling gracefully overhead. There is a younger crowd too – crowd being the operative word. For the first few days the beaches are packed and it later transpires that this is due to a festival. The feeling of busyness is accentuated by the constant stream of hawkers chanting their way down the beach selling anything from corn on the cob to toe-rings. The good news is that you can come to the beach empty handed apart from a few Reals and your every need is catered to. Ice –creams are a bit of a rip-off at 6 Reals of £2 but who cares if they keep the kids quiet for a few more minutes. Body surfing is fun but the waves here are even bigger than at Copacabana. After getting ‘dumped’ from a ‘monster’ 3-metre wave and spending the next 30 seconds swirling around under water I’m a bit more circumspect. Karen is too after the waves cheekily pop out her left breast a couple of times.

After a few sunny days on the beach we take advantage of a more overcast morning to visit Păo Asucar (Sugar Loaf). We get a good view of Rio from the midway cable car stop, but the summit is above the level of the cloud and we see little apart from circling hawks that Karen reckons are crows. Back at the foot of the ‘loaf’ we enjoy an excellent buffet lunch. On the recommendation of the English-speaking waiter (he learnt the language picking strawberries in Herefordshire in 2000) I order a meat feast and some decent Argy Malbec (Norton 2004). The waiter even points out the holy Catholic relics on the way to the toilet, not realising that when a 3-year-old says he needs the loo, he needs it quickly.

Our Cultural appetite is whetted but not sated, so the next day we book the English-speaking driver Elias for a trip to Corcovado (Christ the Redeemer). He drives us via the Tijuca National Park, a huge rainforest, to the bus that takes us to the statue itself. We stop to admire a 3-toed sloth crossing the road. By the time this fascinating beast has made it across, stopping briefly to blink cutely at Karen, who always did attract the lazy, hairy type, there’s a 3-bus tailback behind us. I’m feeling rough but luckily there’s an elevator and escalators to take us to the top. The scale of Corcovado is impressive as are the 360-degree views of Rio far below from the Maracuna football stadium past the dwarfed Sugar Loaf round to Copacabana and Ipanema. It’s a shame Mr Whinge comes back from vacation to ruin the moment. For a moment I’m envious of a glamorous couple without a care (or kids), sipping champagne – I then realise it’s only ‘Méthode Champenoise’ and don’t feel so bad. I’m further cheered when a guide is convinced I’m a Hollywood actor who one an Oscar in 2000 (George Clooney ?!). It must be the orange floral shirt – or maybe it’s just my dashing good looks…

We have lunch in the pretty hillside suburb of Santa Teresa. The place is 300 years old with attractive buildings and quaint trams and we stay for lunch. The ½ duck in plum sauce is 75 Real, which is more expensive than in Ladbroke Grove but it is worth it and the local award winning beer is equally good. On the way back we drive past a couple of ‘favellas’ or shanty towns which look much less primitive than in Asia being mainly brick not wood. Elias tells us that they are too dangerous to visit. I’m not surprised as I’ve read that 99% of the wealth in Brazil is held by 1% of the people. Clearly those living in the ‘favellas’ are the poorest section of the 99% and they presume that strangers coming onto their turf are part of the 1% and keen to disencumber themselves of their wealth.

We move swiftly on to the last part of our tour – Downtown Rio. The first stop is a weird 1960’s cathedral - a concrete monstrosity with 4 massive stained glass windows. Still it’s original and somehow appealing despite it’s ugliness. We pass the ‘Rubik’s Cube’ Petrobras building and the former Royal Palace en route to Nossa Senhora du Candelaria church. There’s no time to stop as we whizz round Praca 15 de Novembro with its old well and Aqueduct that is now a pretty cobbled street with restaurants and shops. That evening is our last in Rio (for a while anyway) and we celebrate with dinner in the excellent tapas restaurant Jobi. The fish cakes are to die for as are the spicy jumbo prawns and by the time the beers and caipiroscas have stopped flowing we’ve notched up a 300 Real bill (£100). To make matters worse they don’t take Visa, we have no cash and the kids are ready for bed. I’m trying to work out how to sort out this impasse when a friendly local metals trader called Carlos agrees to ‘cover’ my bill. I take the family back to the hotel; go to the cashpoint and return to pay the bill in cash. I try to find Carlos to buy him a beer by way of thanks, but he’s gone. The manager is happy to see me though; I’ve never seen such a huge smile so I order a Courvoisier VSOP thinking it’ll be on the house. No such luck and the bill is now 328 Reals – still I do get presented with a Jobi keying for my troubles.

Santiago the Second

2008-08-20T19:54:00.001-07:00

Back at the good old Vittoria we try to sort out a Brazilian Airpass but to no avail. I drown my sorrows at the Chilean equivalent of a lap-dancing bar called a ‘café con piernas’ or ‘bar with legs’. Unlike in the UK the girls are actually middle aged ladies with decent pins who, instead of dancing round poles and fetching beers, serve coffee for 3x the price of Starbucks. So this is what the Chileans do for kicks – no wonder they’re so grumpy.

While Karen sorts out accommodation in Rio, I take the kids up the Cerro St Lucia. We climb up a steep rocky ‘staircase’ that is scarily slippery in places and dotted with treacherously spiky cacti. We are rewarded with a 360-degree panorama of the city and mountains behind, and even the smog seems to have lifted a bit. I cheekily set the camera to sunset mode at 1pm, as I may not get another chance of a clear shot.

That night Karen dons eye-mask and earplugs to protect against the TV and my snoring respectively. ‘I feel like Helen Keller’ she complains. It takes me a while to realize that she’s not talking about Profumo’s sexy lover, but rather the deaf and blind girl from Blue Peter. Karen may not be about to start sitting on chairs the wrong way round in the buff, but at least she’s sorted out flights and accommodation for our next stop in sunny Rio.

Valparaiso and Viña del Mar

2008-08-20T19:53:00.001-07:00

The culture and shopping capitals of Chile respectively, lie on the coast about 2 hrs drive away. Sadly we have no map, no language, no petrol and no money and we’re heading due north instead of North West – talk about well prepared. Luckily we find a garage with a cashpoint, some air and a map and I realize my error. We can’t take the map away or buy one, so I attempt to memorize directions on windy ‘b’ roads whilst trying to explain in my fledgling Spanish, to an increasingly confused assistant, that the tap won’t turn off in the ladies loo!

We manage to find the way up twisting foothills and down again. There are no signposts, but I convince Karen that all we need to do is follow the setting sun. This just about works but the bloody sun is setting by the time we find a reasonably priced hotel. It has taken 5 hours instead of 2, but at least we’ve seen a bit of the Chilean countryside at last which makes a pleasant change from a smoggy metropolis.

We’re in Viña del Mar at the Best Western as we couldn’t find anything in the more attractive Valparaiso. There’s not much here apart from Italian restaurants and shopping malls so we indulge in both. We even invest in some cold weather gear for the kids as not only is it chilly in Chile, but also we are hoping to hit the slopes at some stage.

It’s May 15th and Ruby’s birthday. Unfortunately for her she’s already had her main present: a helicopter ride to the Franz Josep Glacier. Still she is indulged further with High School Musical paraphernalia, including the sought after ‘Wildcats’ outfit; a horse and cart ride that costs 5x the price of a taxi; her favourite sashimi for lunch; a pig cake; another restaurant for dinner where the whole place sing ‘Happy Birthday’ in Spanish and a room full of balloons to add to the festive cheer.

Next we check out Valparaiso that is very pretty in a bohemian way. Houses and shacks decorate the hillsides with a variety of pastel shades. Driving is treacherous with steep gradients, potholes and a 6-point turn when we reach a dead end in front of a rather scary prison. Time for a bit of the old ‘shank’s pony’. Having enjoyed the Chilean version of Morris dancing with hankies instead of batons, we ascend the 48- degree funicular to the old historic centre. I enjoy the food here, especially the delicious wild boar and continued excellence of the locally popular Carmenère. Karen struggles more as the vegetarian option always seems to include bacon, ham or at the very least meat stock.

It’s time to head back to smogsville. Incredibly it only takes 1¼ hours as we find the quick Ruta 68 at the first attempt. We take a detour south to the recommended Pirque, but there’s not much there apart from a closed Concha y Toro HQ and some pleasant cow filled countryside where we stop for a picnic.

SOUTH AMERICA

2008-08-20T19:52:00.000-07:00

CHILE

Santiago the First
I feel excited but a bit nervous as we touch down in South America for the first time. We have no experience of this continent, no language (neither Spanish nor Portuguese) and no sleep. Interestingly we arrive in Chile’s capital 6 hours before we left New Zealand, which causes havoc with our sleeping patterns for a couple of days. Luckily check out time here is a civilised midday, so it doesn’t matter too much that the kids have been going to sleep between 3 and 4am. After the first two days in the posh ‘Crowne Plaza’, to give us a gentle introduction to a new continent, (good English spoken, comfortable rooms, reasonable massages and even ice machines), we head back to reality, and budget, at the 3-star Vittoria Hotel.

The manager here is a friendly German (actually Spanish but lived for a long time in the land of Hamburgers and Frankfurters, hence not a contradiction in terms). He gives us a great deal on a quadruple room (actually two connected doubles) for US$90 instead of US$130. He also explains some of the differences between Spanish Spanish and Chilean Spanish, but as we have no clue of either it’s way over our heads. Breakfast is shocking, but you can’t have everything…

We head out to explore on a Sunday and it’s like a ghost town. We eventually find a café open on the main square (Plaza de Armas) – a name that turns out to be a popular one for main squares in SA. The waiter very kindly helps us with our first two words of Spanish that turn out to be ‘huevos’ and ‘pochados’ (‘eggs’ and ‘poached’). I decide to add Spanish to Ruby’s homework schedule so that I can learn something at the same time. Another unknown is the currency. We eventually realise that the prices with .000 at the end are thousands of pesos rather than dollars, so everything is over twice the price we thought!
We admire the statue of the founder of Santiago, Pedro de Valdivia - in particular the unfeasibly large ‘cahunas’ of his stallion – as well as the grand cathedral and acrobatic drumming displays performed by children as well as adults. Our guidebook’s highlight, the museum of Pre-Columbian Art is a bit disappointing as half is closed off and the remainder has no real focus, just a mish-mash from all over SA. There are a few highlights such as tiny mummified babies, large wooden sculptures in human form that used to accompany the funeral processions and Coca related items, including a metal prong that makes you vomit to prepare you for the hallucinogenic experience to follow. I consider ‘half-inching’ one to avoid a hangover on my next night out!
It really could have come in handy as the following night I order a plate of cold meats and cheeses, not realising it’s meant to be shared by 2-3 people. Even the delicious Carmenère can’t wash it all down and ‘prongless’, I’m forced to take out a doggy bag and snack on the remains for the next few days.
We decide to take the funicular up St Christobel Hill. We also get a cable car to the Chilean style playground that has real steamrollers rather than plastic cars and stilt like totem poles rather than climbing frames. On the way back we enjoy splendid views of the Andes @ sunset as well as the less splendid smog that stifles the city below like an unwelcome blanket in a tropical motel. Maybe this is the cause of the general grumpiness here in Santiago, or maybe it’s a result of years of oppression under Pinochet. Whichever it is, we decide to find out if other parts of Chile suffer from the same malaise. We hire a car and head North West towards the twin tourist towns of Valparaiso and Viña del Mar.

North to Auckland

2008-08-20T19:51:00.002-07:00

Airport security are intrigued by our food bag and ask us: ‘kint you git iny diry (dairy ie food) in Aucklind?’ We politely respond that we could but we already have some thanks and they good-humouredly let us through. We enjoy a short scenic flight over mountains and volcanoes before landing in the positively balmy 17 degrees of Auckland where the amusing steward almost convinces me to put my clock forward an hour for the North Island. We check into the snazzy Heritage hotel/apart where the only drawbacks are a scabby air-con system that hasn’t been cleaned in years and a total lack of kitchen equipment presumably designed to encourage people to order room service. We don’t fall for this cunning ruse, but rather head to the harbour for dinner overlooking an old NZ America’s Cup Yacht. I go for the budget special pork chops whilst enviously ogling Ruby and Harley’s freshly stone-grilled fillet steak – talk about spoilt….

The next day we are wandering around Sky City when we see an advert for the 192-metre 75kmh ‘freefall’ tower jump. ‘Why don’t you have a go?’ says Karen innocently and before I know it I’m ‘walking the plank’ at the top of New Zealand’s tallest building that makes the Eiffel Tower look like a bungalow. (Actually it is only 4 metres higher than the famous Parisian landmark, and I am only jumping from 2/3rds of the way up, but it’s still bloody high, believe me.) It’s actually a Base Wire jump as your back is attached to a line. The worst bit is having plucked up the courage to jump headfirst, you drop 2 storeys and are then stopped for a photo, whilst dangling, waiting for the inevitable gut-wrenching dive to earth. I was then offered a second go for free which was actually much more fun. This was possibly because the adrenaline of the first jump overpowered the fantastic sensation of freefall enjoyed second time round.

We couldn’t resist the Hop-on Hop-off city tour and enjoyed the Ecuadorian live music at Victoria Market that gave us a tantalising taste of the next leg of the trip to South America. We also stopped at the Auckland Museum for an authentic Maori music and dance show with much more besides the inevitable Haka finale. We had a chat to one of the performers afterwards who taught Harley to perfect the scary eyes and sticky out tongue. Ruby was only allowed to do scary eyes, as it is disrespectful for ladies to use tongues (Essex girls could learn a lot from the Maoris).

Coincidentally another dancer was from the same family as the Maori friend Karen was trying to track down. After several phone calls she finally got to meet Anthony who she last saw in 1990 on his honeymoon with Karen’s best friend Lucia. It was funny to hear how Karen scared the local Maori women with her craziness (some things never change), but sad to hear that Lucia had gone back to Canada with mental health problems.

I had some catching up to do of my own with 1st cousin Peter. It was good to hear his news and especially fun to hear his anecdotes about my Dad’s mischievous side. Particularly good was the one where he and Peter moved some signposts and then having told the story later that evening had to go and put them back again late at night at my Mum’s insistence. The other one involved my Dad dive-bombing the indigenous tribes whilst training pilots in North Africa during the war, upsetting the water pots delicately balanced on their heads. I think he would have got on well with Karen….

Return to Christchurch

2008-08-20T19:51:00.001-07:00

You guessed it, another long drive. This time we cross the great central mountain range that runs the length of the country. It’s the Gods’ upturned canoe from Maori legend and it sure is a big canoe. The landscape becomes less green and more barren and rocky for a while, before we drop down again into the fertile valleys on our approach back to Christchurch. With memories of sleepless nights next to a nightclub still fresh in our minds, we upgrade to the chichi Crowne Plaza. Here we meet one of Karen’s friends Chay for an evening of tag drinking. Karen does the 8-10 shift whilst I put the kids to bed, then I get tagged for the 10-1am stint. Chay is an ex-copper turned customs official and we enjoy a few beers and a bit of a chat. Luckily we narrowly avoid the nightclub, as he has to go to work the next day. (I just can’t understand these people who feel they have to all troop off miserably to work on a Monday morning!).

Smug bastard that I am, I get a deserved hangover from hell next morning, but have to get up for the planned trip to Hanmer Springs. I don’t know if it’s my head or the weather but this rave review spa town is a bit of a disappointment. We sit in the stinking sulphurous lukewarm pools, full of other people’s skin complaints, waiting for the rain to clear or at least warm up a bit. It doesn’t and to make matters worse our overpriced room is like a sitcom set from the 70’s. Make that the 50’s, as it’s not flares and flower power, but rather old over-friendly couples cordially inviting us to partake of an aperitif in the billiard room.

I’m really trying Karen’s patience with yet another ‘prostitute with tattoos’ aka scenic route, this time round more twisting ‘c’ roads to Kaikoura. Luckily this time the destination surpasses the journey with a great day out dolphin watching. We set off by boat past giant albatrosses and along a stunning coastline of green hills and snow-capped peaks contrasting against the azure sea. After half an hour we spot a gigantic ‘super pod’ of dolphins that all being well are supposed to interact with the divers who are on the ‘proper tour’ while we spectate for a cheaper price. The horn sounds and they all jump in, splashing and shouting to try to ‘connect’ with these graceful mammals. Sadly for the divers and comically for us, as soon as all the flippers touch the water, the dolphins scarper sharpish, the horn sounds again and all the divers have to drag themselves back onto the boat. This farce is repeated a dozen times but Delphinidae Annoyingbastardus won’t play ball and the divers are knackered. Meanwhile we get a bird’s eye view of the dolphin gymnastics and ‘keel riding’ over hot cocoa and biscuits. Later we drive round to a seal colony. We are warned not to go too close and Harley and I take good heed. Karen and Ruby on the other hand can’t resist and whilst slowly approaching a big old male get surprised by a close range bark from the side as another seal pops out from behind a tree. They both nearly jump out of their skins and it is hilarious to watch – from a safe distance of course. We round off the day with fresh hot crayfish and a bottle of red at a recommended roadside shack – this is the best meal in a long time and we’ve had some good ones.
We drive back at dusk to the snazzy Millennium Hotel where we have to sneak the kids in the back door as they charge a rip-off NZ$140 for each extra person in a double room regardless of age. I feel morally justified as this really is taking the piss.

Franz Josep

2008-08-20T19:50:00.000-07:00

Talking of cloudy, it is overly so the next day, hence Karen and Ruby cannot do the hang-gliding they were looking forward to. Instead we go on another long drive that they were not looking forward to. The 5 hours to the Franz Josep Glacier is made even longer by Muggins managing to track down the only police car on the West Coast. I’m clocked at 125kmh in a 100 limit and the policewoman kindly calls it 115 reducing the fine to a reasonable NZ$80 (cf Townsville where it was an extortionate AUS$250). I think it was the fact we were a family rather than my charming smile but anyway it was a fair cop in more ways than one and I feel obliged to keep to the speed
limit for the rest of the journey. The scenery is fantastic again with green hills, deep ravines and rugged coastlines – a bit like the UK but more beautiful and with less people.

We ask about glacier trips on arrival at our motel and are whisked straight onto a helicopter on the promise of a kids go free special deal. It’s still a lot of money but we justify it in the form of an early birthday present for Ruby and it’s well worth it. This is only one of 2 temperate glaciers left in the world and also one of the three that is actually advancing rather than retreating. Harley is unsure about the helicopter as the roar of the engine starts up but as we swing off the ground at take-off he starts to enjoy himself. We fly low over the rutted surface of this slowly moving icy behemoth that is 300m deep in places. We are allowed out at the summit but only for a couple of minutes as it’s minus 12 degrees (a true test for the RM Williams as well as for Karen’s new purple Ugg boots). The panorama of green mountains, white glacier, deep blue sea and pale blue sky is truly memorable and one of the top five sights of the trip (just behind a bronzed Karen in her new skimpy gold bikini).

Queenstown

2008-08-20T19:49:00.002-07:00

We stop off in Arrowtown for some shopping including a pair of RM Williams boots for me at the ‘bargain’ price of NZ$120. We also admire the autumnal shades of brown, red, orange and yellow of the bordering deciduous woods before making our way along treacherously twisty tracks to Queenstown. Our apartment is delightful and wonderfully spacious as we are upgraded from a 2-bed to a 3-bed. We are treated to the luxuries that you would take for granted back home such as washing machine, tumble drier and fully equipped kitchen which makes a pleasant change from poky hotel rooms so we book for 3 nights.

We didn’t come all this way to luxuriate in a posh apartment so we book onto the adrenaline-filled Shotover boat. This speedboat powers at extraordinary speed down the white-water river of the same name and is a very exciting ride especially for Harley. I have to pretend everything is cool and normal, as he can’t decide to begin with whether it’s very exciting or very scary. Luckily he plumps for the former unlike Karen who squeals at every turn where we invariably narrowly miss another huge rock. The only downside is the severe wind chill factor and I hug onto Harley tightly as the driver spins us on another 360-degree turn in the narrow boulder-filled canyon.

The next stop is Coronet Peak where we have a fun snowball fight @1 degree Celsius although it’s a bit one way traffic as the kids enjoy throwing a lot more than being hit. We narrowly avoid fisticuffs with an irate line painting truck (maybe he forgot to bring the roller up before moving out of our way) and a mere 10 minutes later we witness an extraordinary scene when a bus driver refuses to give way on a bridge. So stubborn is this guy that eventually the police have to be called out to cajole him into reversing. Just as we were saying how charming and friendly the Kiwis are as well. I discover that many are descended from the Scots, hence the hard stubborn streak beneath the surface. The only difference being that the Scots don’t tend to bother with the surface, especially when dealing with the English (I think I’m entitled to say that being ¼ Scot myself).

I decide to go in search of the ‘holy grail’: namely a restrained Kiwi Pinot Noir without too much extraction, as in the previous 3 examples we’ve tried. Unfortunately Felton Road is NZ$350 in a restaurant so we go to a wine shop where you can swap your credit card for a kind of vinous hotel room key and ‘enter’ whichever bottle you like for between NZ$5 and NZ$15 a shot. All the wines from the Gibbston Valley are delicious and just as I’m getting into the tasting and racking up a decent sized bill Ruby smashes a glass (no she wasn’t tasting too) and we assuage our consciences by buying a bottle of the Mount Difficulty Pinot Noir and a Cloudy Bay Sauvignon at a reasonable price for a change.

Mount Cook

2008-08-20T19:49:00.001-07:00

One of my abiding memories of New Zealand from 1990 was turning a corner on the road from Christchurch to Queenstown and being gob smacked by the beauty of my first glimpse of Mount Cook. Here I am again looking across the blue-grey glacial lake bordered by evergreen forest and the eye is drawn up towards the snow-capped triangle of New Zealand’s highest mountain. The beauty is undiminished and this time rather than carry straight on to Queenstown we’re going to take a closer look. After a dodgy lunch in a ‘one sheep’ town, a Harley-from-hell to contend with and the temperature dropping by the minute, Karen is understandably less enthused, but she kindly lets me indulge my mountaineering fantasy. We get to the Hermitage hotel in just over an hour, a trip that used to take two days before the era of the paved road. Karen got an excellent deal on the Internet for 175 NZ$ as opposed to the rack rate of 760 NZ$ and just as well because it’s not that luxurious. Still it’s the best hotel in town with the best views of the mountain, if only the inconsiderate clouds would get out of the way. There are only a few wispy ones but Mount Cook seems to drag them all towards itself, rather like a selfish sleeper on a chilly night hogging all the blankets.

Rather than leave in the morning we decide to ‘stay another day’ à la South East Asia and follow in the footsteps of the recently deceased Kiwi King of the Mountains Sir Edmund Hilary. After a substantial breakfast we set off with a packed lunch and a bottle of Veuve Clicquot in a custom made cooler bag (Sir Edmund celebrated his ascent with a bottle of claret so we’re sort of following tradition). We take the 4WD for the first few kilometres which saves a couple of hours and soon after the start of the walk proper we pass the memorial to more than 50 people who have died on this dangerous mountain over the years – a sobering thought. It’s an inauspicious start as the kids’ pace is slow, especially when we have to negotiate a narrow pass where it’s raining small pebbles blown across from a nearby ridge. I consider turning back but the kids soon calm down and seem ready for more punishment so we press on.

The pace soon improves dramatically and the children are excellent walking all the way over ankle-twisting rocky paths, slippery swing bridges and thorny scrub to our destination: a freezing greyish-white glacial lake at the base of the mountain itself. At the far end of the lake is a solid ice wall from which chunks drop from time to time. These icebergs are naturally sculpted by the water that has created strange, animal-shaped statues. Transfixed by these floating beasts, I forget how freezing it has become. Luckily we are prepared with extra layers as well as an excellent lunch of fresh bread, local blue cheese and a delicious apple and rosemary chutney all washed down with the above mentioned bubbly – bloody marvellous. I’m proud to say that the children walk all the way back as well (apart from two 10 minute carries for Harley) and we all arrive back knackered at 5pm. We may not have reached the summit like Sir Edmund but a five-hour hike must be practically the equivalent of climbing Everest for a four-year-old so well done Harley. Granny would be proud of Ruby too who didn’t complain once. I’m proud of Karen too who didn’t whinge either, despite it being far from her idea of a perfect day. Thank you, family.

Before we leave the next morning we just have time to check out the Edmund Hilary Museum including an attached 3D cinema. This shows great bird’s eye views of the mountain (literally) as well as a skier’s view (what a nutter!). The cinema then converts into a mock observatory as a giant screen rises up above our heads and informs us how incredibly small the earth really is in comparison to the universe as a whole. There was I thinking we did something really impressive as a family, but it’s all immaterial in the greater scheme of things…..

Christchurch

2008-08-20T19:48:00.000-07:00

NEW ZEALAND

I’m up even earlier than I have to be for the flight to New Zealand to catch the first half of Chelsea’s first leg Champion’s league semi against Liverpool. I wish I hadn’t bothered with the 5am start as we go 1-0 down but I’m cheered up on arrival in Christchurch to learn that a Riise own goal in the 5th minute of injury time has given us a reprieve which we are to take advantage of in the second leg. Chelsea shortly afterwards beat Man U in the league as well to keep their slim hopes of the double alive, but the football season goes downhill shortly afterwards so the less said the better.

Christchurch is a pretty little town with the narrow winding tree-lined Avon River running through it. We take a little tram ride around the city centre admiring the punting down the river worthy of Cambridge and the colourful New Regent Street built in a very Spanish style. We work up an appetite in the Botanical gardens tree-climbing, duck watching and playground supervising that is sated with super seafood and a rather over-butch Kim Crawford Pinot Noir at the Dux Deluxe. Meanwhile Ruby has been fiddling with tree sap and can’t get the bloody stuff off her hands for ages, which stifles her budding arboreal interest somewhat.

The Oaks Apartments are a little claustrophobic but, worse than that, they are located right next door to a nightclub that bangs out tunes with a serious base beat until 6am. We are tired by morning but it’s Anzac Day and we refuse to be bottled up in the room so decide to head to the Art Gallery for some culture. The very modern building is housing a William Morris exhibition where we even manage to find Granny’s curtain design and send her a postcard. After a coffee in the central Cathedral Square and a look at the Irish dancing, we retire to the Tap Room on Oxford Terrace where I enjoy cooking my own scallops on a mini hotplate and washing them down with 7 different Monteith’s beers on a special tasting wheel. Fan-bloody-tastic. Less good is the 20% premium added to the bill simply because it’s a bank holiday. We were wondering why it was so quiet – what a bloody nonsense.

The next day we decide to take a trip to Akaroa, but poor Harley has twisted his ankle and can’t even get up out of bed. Deciding that this is not an elaborate ploy to avoid the long walk to budget rent-a-car Karen carries him as I’ve done my back in (no, not an elaborate ploy of mine either). Poor Karen arrives sweating like a rapist, despite the mild climate, but we do manage to get a deal on a 4WD Kia. Sadly there are no deals on booster seats, as the bastards are exploiting the new law making them obligatory, so we buy a new one instead which is actually cheaper. We drive over the mountains forcing me to get used to the car PDQ and are rewarded with great views of Lyttleton Bay. After a quick stop at Sumner Beach for lunch and coffee (is my new addiction a function of giving up smoking?) we continue for another 1 ½ hours of stunning scenery: cliff passes, turquoise lakes and steep mountains partially obscured by long white clouds (fittingly the Maori word for New Zealand is Aotearoa or ‘land of the long white cloud’). Akoroa is pretty if deserted and there’s not much to do but sit down for a drink overlooking the lake. Strangely the tables and chairs are all chained together and just as we’re remarking how this doesn’t seem like a crime hotspot and how dangerous it is to have all these chains lying around Ruby trips over one – typical. The views on our twisting and turning return journey at sunset are even more spectacular, with the mountain backdrop framed by every imaginable shade of pink, red and blue. Travelling in New Zealand seems to be more about the actual journey than the destination and I’m impressed – Karen less so which is fair enough, as whilst I’m engrossed in the wonders of nature, she is constantly catering to the whims of two extraordinarily demanding kids.

The Blue Mountains Long Weekend

2008-08-20T19:47:00.000-07:00

On Friday I am gutted to miss out on High School Musical on Ice but I do the honourable thing and go on an advanced party to the Blue Mountains with Andy in the form of a driving lesson. I’m hoping that after an hour or so the party will become literal, but sadly halfway up the mountain a tyre blows. It takes about an hour to change due to a very short spanner and mechanically tightened wheel nuts. Still we get it sorted before a downpour and still have time for a quick beer and some shopping before the troops arrive.

Our rented cottage is a real beauty in the middle of the secluded hamlet of Wentworth Falls. The whole house is painted white and boasts three bedrooms and a roaring log fire. Little extras such as a bar of scrummy chilli chocolate really put the icing on the cake and turn it into something special. I fix the fire whilst the girls make bangers and mash and we retire to our splendid attic room with a great view.

On Saturday we drive up to Katoomba to watch the rainclouds literally rolling down the street like tumbleweed. After lunch it clears up a bit and we head to Scenic World to experience the thrill of the steepest incline train in the world. It’s great fun, although I was expecting some sort of seatbelt, especially for the kids. We descend into the heart of the Blue Mountains and enjoy a scenic woodland walk past the old coal mines. We take the cable car back past the famous ‘three sisters’ and ‘orphan’ rocks.

Once back at the cottage we stoke up the fire again and enjoy Karen’s amazing risotto. We also enjoy plenty of booze forcing Nicky into a powernap. After Karen has reminded Andy several times that her risotto is ‘much better than one you would get in a pub’ she too succumbs to the land of Nod. It is left to me to drink up the bottle of 2004 Penfolds Bin 389, sadly not as good as the 2005 but could improve with age – it doesn’t get the chance.

It’s Sunday again and time for Harley’s special treat – the Thomas Train. The temperature plummets to 10 degrees but this doesn’t dim Harley’s enthusiasm for the Zig Zag railway. The steam actually comes through the open windows in one of the tunnels as we wend our way to the activity shed for a mini-locomotive ride, a merry-go-round and face painting. Even the confusing presence of a second Fat Controller cannot tarnish the day’s enjoyment and we zig-zag our way back up the hill over pretty stone bridges and past beautiful mountain scenery.

There’s just time for a final driving lesson as Andy drives me back to Sydney. Poor Andy has a major traffic jam to negotiate, but the constant stopping and starting is actually very good practice. We arrive back at the house less than 10 minutes after the others in spite of a 30 kms per hour lower maximum speed limit for most of the way. Andy has put in a faultless display and is now ready for his test. Let’s hope he keeps up the good work and gets it out of the way soon.

We spend the next day sorting out the luggage and sending any excess back to the UK. Tuesday is much more fun with a morning trip to Balmain for presents for Andy and Nicky. They’ve put up with us brilliantly for 2 weeks and get a teapot and some golf balls for their troubles. They did get a great meal at Marque too so we don’t feel bad.
It’s our last evening in Sydney and in fact Australia so we get a babysitter in and celebrate with a meal at the fancy Rockpool restaurant. Aperitifs are taken at an impressive bar that looks like a prison from the outside but is very modern inside. There is even a mixed loo with enclosed cubicles for number 2’s and half-enclosed urinals with one way glass so you can pick out your paramour (male or female) from the safety of your own closet. Rockpool itself is top-notch and I enjoy a breathtaking John Dory sashimi with its own roe and a superb seafood stew that is a meal in itself.
It’s a fitting end to a fabulous time in what for me is the country’s true capital in terms of culture and entertainment.

Return to Sydney

2008-08-20T19:46:00.002-07:00

For a change the kids behave beautifully the whole day despite the journey taking 11 hours. We make pit stops @ halfway Holbrook for lunch, including a bottle of Bobbie Burns Shiraz and at McDonalds where the waiter is astonished to learn that we don’t want to eat but simply want to purchase a fairy and a wizard for a dollar a piece. The next couple of days in Dulwich Hill are spent trying to sort out the car.

Poor old Percy has to go and nobody seems to want him. Not even the most understanding of second –hand car dealers on the Parramatta Road will offer more than $2000 so we switch to our back-up plan of selling back to Traveller’s Autobahn for 40% of the original selling price of $5500 ie $2200. When I finally track down the Sydney office, I come up against a real pr*ck whose ‘raison d’être’ is to stitch people up for a living. The offer price goes down $150 for an obligatory service after 10,000K, which we were prepared for. It then goes down another $200 for bringing the car back to a different office (fair enough – it’s in the smallprint). Things start to get nasty when he wants to knock off another $350 for fixing the brakes. True the brakes are sh*t, but they weren’t great when we bought the car and anyway it’s under warranty. After an hour of this guy saying he’s trying to get hold of his manager and the Cairn’s office who are on holiday/lunch respectively I decide to call them myself and miraculously I’m grudgingly given a revised offer of $1850. I manage to inadvertently run off with the key too which tickles my sense of humour imagining the panic of the guy with no spare set even in Cairns. I eventually decide to hand it in to Traveller’s Autobahn’s bank whilst I’m cashing their cheque but I was tempted not to.

Return to Melbourne

2008-08-20T19:46:00.001-07:00

Having picked up the family from a motel near the airport we head to St Kilda where we experience the famous Melbourne 4 seasons in one day. A spring morning heats up to a summery midday but by the time we are ready for the beach it’s turning very autumnal and we rush to the warm salty baths before it gets too wintry. I go for a haircut on trendy Acland Street that is decorated with models on the roofs (not the human kind). The place has a very Camden feel about it and the family go for a wander while I try to get some of the damage of my wonky Cairns haircut repaired. Come evening we drive to Dave and Sharon’s at 60 Canterbury Road. I am pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a Lara Bingle look-alike in her PJ’s. Was Sharon really this hot or has Dave been carefully selecting his nannies? It turns out to be neither, rather there are several 60 Canterbury Roads, a different one in each suburb. Sadly this means that Dave and Sharon’s house is still a good half an hour’s drive away through the hectic dusk rushhour. To make matters worse I spend most of the time in the fast lane looking for the elusive right turn to their house.

Eventually we arrive and meet the kids: Matt (13), Lucy (11) and Ali (7).Dave is in the process of extending the house to include granny flat and Jacuzzi but there’s no time to check it out before I’m whisked off to Dave’s very important dart’s evening.
I insist on drinking pints instead of the customary schooners and get roped into a team. My dismal form from Canberra continues to start with but after an hour or so the pints kick in and by the last game I’m on fire with a 133 and a first time double finish. I’ve always said you have to be half cut to play decent darts. Despite Dave’s promise that we’d be back by 9.30 it’s almost midnight by the time we stagger home. There’s no hard feelings as Sharon is probably used to it so we all don our swimmers and hop straight into the Jacuzzi for the ‘name game’ with port shot penalties (only a couple of litres left now!). Just as we’re getting into the swing of things a couple of strippergrams arrive – wow Dave sure knows how to throw a party. Just as I’m about to ask the cute blonde why she’s taking so long to get her kit off I’m told to shut up and stop hassling the local constabulary. Luckily they see the funny side and leave, cheerfully asking us to keep the noise down a bit as they’ve received complaints from the neighbours.

Dave generously insists on us having the master bedroom, but despite this I wake up with a hangover from hell. That’s all I need just as we’re off on a trip to the Yarra Valley. 3 panadol ease the pain and by the time we’ve quaffed a couple of sparkling aperitifs @ Domaine Chandon and sat down to lunch @ Rochdale winery I’m quite cheerful again. We go to the fancy restaurant rather than the café as we’re thanking Dave and Sharon for their very generous hospitality. The food is great as is the company and we wile away a couple of hours reminiscing on our sordid pasts to fill in the gaps for Karen.

A few friends come round for a BBQ dinner but sadly Nick doesn’t make it (he always had a problem getting off his arse that one). Never mind as his house is our next stop. It’s an early start and the ever generous Sharon and Dave are up at 6am to make breakfast and say goodbye. I’m taking Karen and Harley to the airport for a last minute flight to Adelaide to spend a couple more days with Simone and the kids. We lose our way a little and Karen is convinced we are going to miss the flight but after a minor panic we manage to get back on track and end up with time to spare in the departure lounge for a bit of brekky.

Ruby and I head to the Rod Laver Arena to find out about Real Tennis as the phone book at the airport is no help. The place is practically deserted but we do admire some statues of tennis greats including Roy Emmerson who won a record 13 grand slams (one more than Sampras but will Federer catch him?) and Rod Laver himself who was the only person to achieve the Grand Slam of tennis by winning all 4 majors in the same year. We find the pro shop open and I discover that the Real Tennis club is down the road in Richmond. I ring up and book a game for the following Monday.

The next stop is St Kilda’s again, this time to Nick and Lisa’s house. We meet the kids: Henry (8) and Charlotte (5) and although I’ve been warned by Nick that Henry doesn’t like girls, Ruby and Henry hit it off straight away. I think it helped that I told Ruby to take an interest in his rock collection. Anyway they are soon getting on so well that they have to be reminded to include Charlotte in their games as she’s getting a bit left out.

Nick and I head off for some shopping and get serendipitiously distracted by an excellent Pinot Noir tasting in Dan Murphy’s (the Australian equivalent of Majestic). Armed with a few bottles and some lamb from nearby Safeway we head back for Nick to work his new found culinary magic (it certainly wasn’t there in university days). Dave comes round just in time to enjoy the slow-roasted lamb kebabs and the dregs of the Pinot Noir and we chat about the old days so much that Lisa asks us why we can’t live in the present a bit. Good point but there’s nothing wrong with a bit of escapism every now and again.

I’m getting to enjoy my stay here as I get a Sunday lie in whilst the kids play well together followed by a lovely little fry up and no hangover. Maybe it’s true what they say about decent quality wine. We take a bus and tram into town for a Wagamama’s lunch followed by a great little dramatisation of Aesop’s fables by the Umbrella Revolution Theatre Group as part of the Melbourne Comedy Festioval. Ruby rather disturbingly says that her favourite bit was the killing of the goose that lays the golden eggs. I certainly learn something from the fable of the shepherd, the wind and the sun where the moral ‘gentle persuasion is often the best’ is particularly poignant to current childcare. Maybe a good smack on the bum is even better but sadly not very PC these days. It didn’t do me any harm or did it?

Our relaxing ice-cream/beer is cut short by a call from the police as Nick and Lisa’s alarm has been set off. We rush back but luckily it’s only Nick’s parents back from a trip to Maria Island Tasmania. I apologise for making the house a bit of a squeeze but they kindly tell me it’s no problem as they come over most years. We go for yet more food/booze shopping and this time Nick’s culinary delight is frittata that we wash down with my thank-you-for-having-me present namely a really stupendous bottle of 2005 Penfolds Bin 389.

On Monday Lisa kindly takes Ruby and the kids to the cinema having called in to school for a kiddie ‘sicky’ to their obvious delight. I play my third and final leg of the Real Tennis challenge and notch up an impressive 6-4, 6-2 win against a Fund Manager. Afterwards I rather childishly sneak onto the club’s second court for a couple of serves so that I can say I’ve now played on every court in Australia. I enjoy a couple of beers with my opponent and we are joined by a couple of his Real Tennis playing friends. One of them tells me about a court about to open in Dublin and of his own ambitious plans to build a court in Italy. You heard it here first.

There’s just time to dash to the airport to pick up Karen and Harley (in fact we cross on the escalators between arrivals and departures and luckily spot each other). After a quick hello to Nick and the extended family we take a taxi to Albert Park to catch up on my ex-work colleague Sarah, husband Nick and baby Matilda. It’s great to catch up and particularly to find out that Nick, who was unwell in the UK with a mysterious virus, is now much better. We enjoy an excellent Yarra Yarra Shiraz from Sarah’s family vineyard to cap a wonderful last day in Melbourne. So has my impression of Melbourne changed since the last visit? It certainly has, the main differences being better weather, better food and most importantly better company (and not just because Karen was away for a couple of days!).

Tasmania

2008-08-20T19:45:00.000-07:00

I can’t work out if I’ve drawn the short straw or not as I drop the family off at the airport. They’re taking a one hour flight whilst I go with the car on the much more expensive 11 hr ferry. Although the trip across the Bass Strait is notoriously chunderworthy I do have the chance for some good ‘cave time’. As it happens the waves are only 2M max. This is a relief on the top bunk where I still feel to be sliding off and struggle to sleep for a while.

It’s a beautiful dawn drive to join the family at the plush Tasmania Country Club in Launceston where we decide to stay another night. We drive along the Tamar River scenic wine route that involves abundant forests, roadhogging logging trucks and constant drizzle from the imminent hurricane (lucky I crossed the Bass Strait when I did). We also enjoy some good wines at Piper’s Brook and Jansz that helps us to sleep soundly through the passing of the tail of the hurricane. Next day we sign up at the Flying Fox for some zip-wiring between some very tall trees. It’s great fun with the kids in harnesses on top of us whizzing through the trees like a family of monkeys.

That afternoon we drive 3 hours to the capital Hobart and check into what turns out to be a very old fashioned Rydges apartment. The whole place is very 1950’s and not at all pleasant apart from the squeeze your own juices for breakfast (I go for the unusually healthy apple, carrot, beetroot and ginger). We decide to stay for 4 days at a working winery instead and make tracks to the Riverdale Vineyard in the picturesque Coal River region. We have a quaint little cottage all to ourselves with fantastic views across the vineyards down to the river.

We decide to explore the nearby town of Richmond that is quite charming. We cross a beautiful sandstone bridge built by convicts in 1823 making it the oldest bridge in Australia. Armed with rolls from our bakery lunch we feed a plethora of ducks that get quite excitable and Harley has to be plucked out in tears from of a sea of frantic feathers and biting beaks. There’s time to stop at 2 churches including one with a ‘Garden of Gethsemane’ graveyard with headstones dating back to the 1840’s.

It’s Saturday and time to explore the renowned Salamanca market in central Hobart. The stalls are nothing special but there is a live band and good coffee. We decide to check out Battery Point with apparently excellent examples of very old Australian cottages. This translates to turn of the century concrete eyesores a bit like OAP council houses back home.

Time to explore the old convict colony of Port Arthur. It’s 100km away which is a good 2 hour scenic drive through forests and past lakes. We get a bit of a shock on arrival to discover that there is no actual town there at all just a bunch of ruins.(A little bit like going shopping to St Albans only to find Verulamium). Having doubled back to find some lunch, Port Arthur turns out to be a great day out, if a little chilly. A boat tour is included in the price and takes us past two islands. One is the cemetery known as the Isle of the Dead whilst the other used to be the Boys prison. One boy was sent there all the way from England for stealing a hanky. We remind Ruby how easy she has it these days and she quietly ponders this but sadly only for a moment. We also pop in on the commander’s house, the prison itself and the asylum where the innovative commander was actually trying to cure people with mental problems rather than just lock them up. Sadly it didn’t work as his methods were worthy of some of the inmates, still it was the first ever ‘loony bin’ so hats off to the guy for effort. It’s almost dusk so I have to step on it to try to beat the marsupial curfew (a speed limit of 30 kms after dark). We actually see the most wildlife yet: echidnas, wombats and probably a tassie devil or two. I say probably as it’s sadly all roadkill. Still been there done that…..

On Monday we don our fluorescent ‘workers’ jackets and head down through the vineyards to the Coal River for some oyster harvesting. Amazingly you can just pick them out of the rocky river (none in the sandy bits as they need something to cling to). To be more precise it is Karen who wades in even though she can’t stand oysters as I don’t want to get my shoes wet (who says chivalry is dead?). Once back at the cottage it takes me ages to open the buggers without a schucker. I eventually manage to prise open half a dozen massive molluscs with the texture and colour of a severe head cold. By the fifth dark greeny-brown bogey I start to gag, still it’s fun living off the land.

In the afternoon we decide to drive up to the top of Mount Wellington which at 2000 metres is Tasmania’s highest peak. The temperature drops from 19 to a chilly 9 degrees and disappointingly the summit is covered in cloud. It’s quite an eerie place with low clouds scudding in over the summit past an odd spaceship shaped pole to mark the highest point. We still manage to get some good views halfway down.

I get dropped off at the Hobart Real Tennis Club for part two of my Australian sports challenge. This time it’s doubles and my partner and I get trounced which is a bit depressing. It later transpires that the opponents are playing off 15 and 21 whereas my partner is 27 and I’m off 37. Despite thinking the guy off 15, who knew everyone’s handicap, was a bit of a plonker for not playing with me to make it close, I am cheered up and put the whole experience down to good practice for the third and final leg in Melbourne.

We are sad to leave Hobart and especially the beautiful scenery and comfy cottages at Riverdale. We head up to Launceston via the East coast past the pretty Maria Island and Freycinet National Park. Apart from a hell of a lot of forest, very expensive petrol and a half decent Bay of Fires Pinot Gris for lunch we don’t have much to show for our rather extravagant detour. Still it only took two hours longer than going back the way we came which is nothing for the seasoned travellers that we have become. After a strange night in a motel on a huge slope, we decide to spend our last day in Tassie at the Cataract Gorge. This attraction is apparently the home of the longest single span chairlift in the world over a ‘stunning gorge’. It turns out to be not that amazing but maybe we’re getting a bit blasé after so much stunning scenery. We take the kids on a trip to the ‘Eagles Nest’which is about 20 minutes walk according to the chairlift attendant. Forty minutes later I realise that maybe the Eagle’s nest wasn’t the summit after all but rather the lookout point we passed 20 minutes previously. Still we press on to a very uninteresting summit with a few trees and no view. Oh well at least the kids showed some backbone getting to the top even if we did have to bribe them with extra long stories.

After a scrummy lunch I drop the rest of the family off at the airport and drive on the remaining 100 kms to Devonport for the return ferry to Melbourne. In the queue for the Spirit of Tasmania I overhear a bloke bragging about his old car with 3 million kms on the clock and still with the original clutch. This makes me feel much better about old Percy who’s now only clocked up a mere 310,000 kms. After a couple of movies and a half decent sleep, I rouse myself at 6am and head up to the top deck to witness a beautiful, and for me rare, dawn arrival at Melbourne. The CBD looks fantastic as the sun rises slowly behind the horizon highlighting the early morning balloonists in a full spectrum of pinks, reds and purples before finally the orange orb emerges sheepishly above Red Hill in the middle of the Mornington peninsular.

Ballarat

2008-08-20T19:44:00.002-07:00

Time to take Nick up on his recommendation of a few months ago for the best family day out in Victoria – Sovereign Hill. This is the site of the Victorian gold rush back in the 1850’s, but although we rush there a lot quicker than they could, by the time we’ve packed, cleaned up the mansion and driven 100kms it’s 3.30pm, which doesn’t give us time to do the place justice. We therefore check into a nearby 4 star motel and amazingly spot a sign for a Royal Tennis court. Surely this can’t be Real Tennis, my new passion, it’s probably just a Victorian name for squash or racquetball or something. No, sure enough we follow the signs and there, in all its splendour, is one of only 3 active Real Tennis clubs in Australia. The only others are in Hobart and Melbourne (2 courts) since the one at Sydney’s Macquairie University was scandalously turned into a basketball court. We are greeted by an 88-year-old amateur as the professional is out. He tells us that he started playing when the court was built by his son-in-law in 1987 aged 67 and is still going strong. The Pro returns and I can’t resist booking a court for 8pm – I know, another night out at Karen’s expense, but really what an amazing coincidence to literally stumble across one of only 4 courts in the country in the middle of Ballarat.

After a brisk walk to the monument to the first gold discovery and a stunning room-service dinner of blue-eyed cod, mash and asparagus, I return to the Real Tennis court to catch the last few games of a Pennant doubles before my match with a 30-handicapper anaesthetist. Despite being given a point a game and leading 6-3 4-1, I manage to draw due to a combined lack of fitness and concentration. Amazingly the Pro can still input the score onto the international database which will apparently slightly reduce my handicap in the UK due to my away from home disadvantage! Despite a couple of beers I lose 5lbs according to the motel’s scales and feel much better. I realise that I’ve been missing sport a lot and decide to try to play at all 3 clubs in Australia as, conveniently, our next stop is Tasmania followed by Melbourne. Karen very sweetly supports my plan despite it involving more babysitting for her.

The motel continues to over-perform with an excellent breakfast. I’m still not sure if cereal, yoghurt and fruit followed by a fry-up is more or less healthy than just the fry-up? We enjoy a great day at Sovereign Hill with the kids. First is the museum for a bit of an intro. followed by panning for real gold in the stream. We cheat and buy a small sack of sand that is guaranteed to contain some gold and possibly a decent sized nugget. We don’t get a nugget but do manage to find a few flakes that we keep in a small jar for posterity. We then watch a real 3Kg gold bar worth $110,000 being forged, followed by a trip into the mineshafts with the brave family (esp. Karen who is a bit claustrophobic). Just wandering around this reconstructed 1850’s town is fun as all the staff are in period costume including soldiers and even waitresses. We get a good view of the whole town from the top of the ‘Mulloch Heap’ and even visit the Chinese quarter on the way out (many Chinese came here in the 1870’s in search of their fortune but most were disappointed as most of the gold had gone by then and the taxes for panning had become punitive). It is interesting that because of gold Ballarat is still the largest non-coastal town in Australia. Also due to gold Melbourne became the largest city and financial centre for 100 years. The reality for the prospector however was backbreaking work, unwholesome food and primitive accommodation. No wonder many turned to hard liquor, which is why one smart Irishman made a killing at the goldfields by cornering the market for booze.

Lorne

2008-08-20T19:44:00.001-07:00

The beauty of the Great Ocean Road! Actually it is singularly unattractive until just before Lorne, but that doesn’t dampen the spirits as we’re en route to a spacious pad to hook up with some good friends. We pass Geelong and unbelievably miss out on the world famous National Wool Museum, which Karen is particularly put out by. However we’re on a schedule and must press on. The last 20 kms are very pretty, almost Cornish, with the rugged coastline, but sandy rather than rocky. The house is a stunning 4 bedroom beauty on the hill overlooking the bay and with a spacious balcony for feeding the colourful local fauna – namely cockatoos and parakeets. We’ve already met up with Andy, Nicky and Cooper and done a big food/booze shop, so the girls cook up a delicious prawn, chilli and ginger lunch just in time for the late arrivals from Adelaide: Rob, Simone, Jack, Harry and Emily. Blimey that’s 12 of us in total – maybe the shop wasn’t that big after all.

It’s very relaxing here. Lorne is the most fashionable and developed town on the Great Ocean Road, but still only has 1,200 permanent residents, so it’s very peaceful. The first night we stay in for a BBQ and boozing (especially Nicky!). Late on the girls gravitate to bed and the boys to the poker table, where I sting Andy and Rob for a huge $5 each making me even for the trip!

Saturday lie in HURRAY! Miss Karen’s fry-up BOO HOO! The girls go for a massage whilst the boys walk the kids to town for some excellent trampolining (a great double whammy for the stir crazy nippers). We meet the girls for lunch (marlin, yummy) and then we walk back up the hill with an ice-cream incentive at halfway. The cunning ruse of exhausting the kids works well and the adults are soon left in peace to play the hilarious Name Game. Everyone is in stitches at some stage including yours truly at the fourth H when I go for Henry 5th having already used Henry 8th, 7th and 6th (OK so you had to be there). It’s another late night but I get up early despite the sore port head (yes, the 10 litre flagon is still going strong) so as not to miss out on another fry-up. I end up cooking (for a long overdue change) and someone snags my snags for the kids – Gutted. We walk to the trampolines again and back up the hill via the ice-cream shop again. Are we stuck in some weird kind of Groundhog Day from which we will never escape? I hope so as long as it doesn’t involve more port. We say our goodbyes to Andy, Nicky and Cooper in town and to Rob, Simone, Jack, Harry and Emily at dusk with a few tears as we wont be seeing them again for a while (actually Karen and Harley do). Whilst everyone is standing around crying I manage to sneak a couple of litres of port into Rob’s car to ease my later suffering and to increase his. Cheers mate! We are left with a mixture of sadness that everyone has gone and happiness at the peace and quiet, the beautiful big house to ourselves and the fact that Karen surprises me with some saucy new lingerie WOW!

Melbourne the First

2008-08-20T19:43:00.000-07:00

It’s my second time ever in Melbourne and there’s no change in the weather – gloomy and wet. It’s also dusk when we finally get there and we have no booking. Luckily we stumble across the pleasant Oaks 2-bed Apartments with underground parking to boot. Once the kids are safely in bed I pop out for some gin, tonic and lime. A simple task you might think. I return an hour later soaked and chilly with only 2 out of 3 ingredients. In desperation I ‘borrow’ half a lime from the bar downstairs from the absentee barman.

‘Oh look it’s raining again’ I exclaim as I draw the curtains next morning. I suppose we’ve been spoilt with sunshine for the last few months (even Sydney which had had the worst summer for 20 years saved a week of sunshine just for us). Undaunted I plan a city centre tour starting with the best latte in town on Desgraves Street. Harley gets a long overdue haircut and a pair of green Converse whilst Ruby sports a yellow pair. Now I feel left out as the only member of the family without the trendy Converse/hoodie combo. We pass the pristine yellow and red of Flinders Street Station and the quaint Royal Arcade (1869) en route to a risotto and glass of red in Block Place. After lunch we browse through Block Arcade crammed with designer names and on towards the Yarra river via the ultra-modern and unique architecture of Federation Square (cf Aesop’s Fables). We cross over to Southbank for a glass or two of Jansz Rosé and enjoy watching the busy Melbournites rush past as the kids expend some energy nearby. We leave next morning for Lorne and as we span the massive Westgate Bridge with great views back across to the city and urban sprawl, I reflect on how unattractive Melbourne really is. Maybe, rather like London, it’s the weather that doesn’t help; maybe we’re just unlucky – anyway we’ll be back after Tasmania to give it another chance….

Over the Mountains to Melbourne

2008-08-20T19:42:00.001-07:00

“It’s half the distance and much more beautiful” I say to Karen justifying our mountain route over the Snowies and through Mount Kosciuzko National Park to the Murray River. I neglect to mention that it will probably take twice as long in a clapped out Ford Fairlane, as Matt has assured me both ways take about 7 hours. The views are spectacular from the Alpine Way despite being misty, spooky and wet, with the temperature dropping from a balmy 25 to a chilly 12 degrees. We pass forests of spindly trees shrouded in gloom and other solitary behemoths scarred by the fires of 2002/2003. Past the highest habitation in Australia we creep and over massive dams to the Murray River Highway, where dead trees lie drowned in an eerie lake (no pun intended). Here we look to hire a houseboat but end up in a cheap motel in Wadonga. Definitely not so glamorous - we can’t even find a fish and chip shop in this hellhole. (Sorry Sharon, I know you were born here but really…) The only attraction is the paddle steamer in neighbouring Albury, which is closed for the low season (probably at least 11 months of the year if tourists have any sense).

All is not lost as we are only a scenic riverside drive away from the viticultural zenith of the Muscat grape – Rutherglen. Once away from the river the land becomes very brown and burnt and even the vines have scorched leaves. This is strange as it’s only 19 degrees, but apparently it has been well over 30 degrees until very recently. Our first ‘nectar’ stop is at All Saints with a mature tree-lined avenue leading up to a pretty ‘chateau’ style winery. Muscats and Tokays (actually Muscadelle) are classified as ordinary, classic, grand and rare and I try a ‘rare’ brace. The Muscat outclasses the Tokay with well-integrated spirit and grape juice and some impressive tertiary flavours of molasses and Christmas pudding. As I chat to the winemaker, Karen is less impressed with the children’s antics outside. We move swiftly on to Campbells. I’ve had the ordinary Muscat before (a case in fact!!) and it is as good as ever with clean fruit combined with a deliciously luscious texture. We purloin a couple of half bottles before heading back to Wadonga for Ruby’s mislaid fleece. Luckily it’s much quicker on the freeway and we only waste about an hour. We have probably spent more in petrol than the cost of a new fleece but that’s not really the point...

Over the Mountains to Melbourne

2008-08-20T19:42:00.000-07:00

Canberra

2008-08-20T19:39:00.000-07:00

We’ve all been sick at least once on this trip and now it’s Percy’s turn. (Not my pecker but rather my pet name for the car and before you ask I haven’t started looking for hairs on my palms yet). Poor old Percy overheats on the dual carriageway but luckily we have water in the boot. We eventually get to the garage and Muggins tops up the water too quickly narrowly avoiding a very hot shower. Eventually we get going and arrive in Canberra 3hrs later (5 hours total).

It’s great to catch up with Matt and Donna after nearly a year, as well as godchildren Max and Sam and Mary. Max is very tall, very conscientious and very grown up and gets on well with Ruby straight away. Sam is smaller, cheekier and sharp as a knife constantly inventing ingenious ways to keep his parents on their toes. Their pet Great Dane Betty is massive. Harley is terrified at first, due partly to having been bitten in Vietnam and partly due to the vast size differential as well as Betty’s Tigger-like bounces. By the second morning Harley realises that Betty is just a big pussycat who wouldn’t hurt a flea and we can let the kids roam the huge house and garden. The playroom alone is the size of a small bungalow and is sensibly rarely tidied, so we let them get on with it while the girls catch up on gossip and the boys catch up on drinking time.

It’s Friday and Matt has sorted out a treat for the boys. Andy has just arrived and spent the last few hours shepherding the tearful Cooper away from the interested Betty. A trip to see the Rugby Super 14 is just the ticket and we have 3 in the corporate box. The Brumbies (ACT) are playing the Cheetahs (Orange Free State) and despite both teams languishing in the bottom half, the action is good aided by the copious free beers, sandwiches and seafood. The ‘wild horses’ or Brumbies notch up a rare victory and we celebrate with a couple in the club bar followed by a trip to the ‘English bar’ in town for some darts. Just as well we took a taxi as the police are incredibly ‘hot’ around here and even the taxi gets stopped twice. The Squires is good but not so the Bulmers and English bitter which both end up as penalties in drinking games. The darts is so bad that a random who can’t throw for toffee ends up getting to 15 in ‘round the clock’.

After a 1am finish the hangover casts a cloud over our trip to Questacon where the most animated I get is throwing a tennis ball @ 98 kmh on my first attempt and enjoying watching Matt take 10 attempts to achieve the same feat. Boys will be boys.

My God it’s Easter already and the girls organise an egg hunt in the front garden. The boys take the kids to the War Museum whist the girls shop and cook. The museum is excellent with good scale models of WWI and WWII battles as well as actual fighter planes, bombers and submarines. The kiddie section even includes a simulated helicopter flight from which it is difficult to drag them away (especially Andy and Matt). Easter Lunch is fantastic and filling. Luckily the kids are off to the playroom allowing us adults to embark on an evening of boozing and poker.

The next morning Nicky, Andy and Cooper are off back to Sydney. The tearful farewells are put on hold, as we will see them next weekend in Lorne as well as in Sydney. After a quick trip to the park where the children all enjoy the tunnels (not quite Chu Chi but impressive nonetheless), we settle down to the dregs of the festive drinks (apart from the 10 litre port which is still over half full) and a nail biting game of scategories that I clinch by a solitary point. (Not that I’m competitive or anything but I am pleased that my brain hasn’t completely died after 6 months of inertia). My abiding last memory of Canberra is of Matt preparing for his early start to Cambodia by ironing tea towels whilst balancing a champagne flute on the board.

Sydney

2008-06-30T20:14:00.001-07:00

We’re going to stay with our good friends Nicky and Andy + 2 year old son Cooper for a week in Dulwich Hill. The journey from the Hunter Valley is uneventful and unscenic save for Hawkshead about an hour north of Sydney. Here a gap in the endless trees allows views down sheer cliffs to the waters below. The road suddenly turns into an arcade driving game with roads cut straight through the rocks. This leaves not only vertical stone on either side but also strangely in the middle of the road too. I sweeten Andy up with some excellent takeaway pizza, ply him with some of the aforementioned port and convince him to sign up to Setanta sports who are showing the 6 nations live. I shouldn’t have bothered on the basis of England’s dismal display against Scotland but I get his money’s worth for him by watching all 3 matches until 5am. I hope he remembers to cancel his subscription but maybe he doesn’t want to.

2 hours later it’s Sunday morning and what better way to fine tune your hangover than a lounge on beautiful Bronte Beach. After a paddle in the rock pool and a decent lunch I’m just beginning to feel a bit better when I spot Andy creating intricate architecturally sound sandcastles for the kids. I just know this is going to stitch me up for future beach trips.

On Monday Nicky and Andy are up at the crack. We appreciate the beauty of being able to choose from Nicky’s plethora of kid’s videos and go back to bed. We eventually summon the strength for a trip to the North Shore. We drive past the plush marina-laden suburbs of Seaforth and Clontarf to the pretty district of Manly. We stroll along the attractive open mall complete with water jets that the kids love and get completely soaked. Time to change into swimmers and enjoy a picnic and a swim at the beach. Sadly there’s a plague of bluebottle jellyfish that doesn’t prevent a quick cooling bodysurf, but it’s no good for the kids. I’m forced into some intricate sandcastling (thanks Andy), while Karen is being spatially invaded by Eastern European sunbathers in spite of empty beach all around. We leave early, as Karen is getting cold with the temperature dropping to a chilly 80 degrees…

Next day we head to the city centre admiring the stunning views from the park across beautifully manicured green lawns to the white sailboat shaped opera house in the shadow of the colossal black Sydney Harbour Bridge. Bridge climbers look like vertical ants high above the azure bay. No wonder people rave about the beauty of Sydney – this is its visual centrepiece.

We take a closer look at the Opera House strolling around for a while and soaking the
atmosphere as well as a few rays.

Hunter Valley

2008-06-30T20:08:00.001-07:00

It’s a 2-hour drive from Port Stephens to the Hunter Valley, which seems like a cakewalk having clocked up almost 10,000 kms in the last few weeks. We enjoy a delicious lunch at Roberts Restaurant where the kids can run around the beautifully kept gardens whilst we polish off the coffee and cakes. The estate also houses the Pepper Tree Winery with some decent wines particularly the 1998 Merlot. On to Tyrell’s where there’s a handy breathalyser test on site that I pass but Karen doesn’t. I knew she’d been sneaking extra samples at the tasting whilst I was boring the winemaker with questions about microclimate and vintage variations in the Hunter. Despite some good aged Semillons we plump for quantity rather than quality with a ten litre vat of Tyrell’s tawny port. Not a bad option as we plan to do a bit of partying in Sydney/Canberra/Melbourne. Also it’s half the price of the bottled port although exactly the same liquid in different packaging. Once the VISA has safely cleared we are warned not to leave the giant plastic container in the car too long in the heat of the day, as they have been known to explode…

After a quick break at the cheese and chocolate shops we nip into the local Blue Tongue microbrewery for a mixed ‘tasting’ case of stout, lager, Pilsner and Ginger beer. We travel to our apartment through scorched vineyards where ironically many of the grapes have been left on the vine due to excessive rain at harvest time. We also pass our biggest road kill so far in the form of a giant wombat – at least we’ve now seen one in the wild ?! The apartment is split into two with connecting doors so we can put the kids to sleep one side then enjoy Mr and Mrs Smith on the other (the movie!!). A huge thunderstorm keeps us up but fails to wake the kids.

We see wallabies and horses grazing side by side on the way to breakfast and then it’s off to Wyndhams. The wines are good and reasonable so we buy a mixed case and sign up to the free year’s Wine club membership to get a cheaper deal. We also try a delicious 1998 Show Reserve Cabernet but resist the temptation to buy as quite pricey. We have to keep to some sort of budget on this trip that is turning into one long jolly….

Port Stephens

2008-06-30T20:02:00.001-07:00

I’ve been looking forward to coming here for a while as it came strongly recommended by a couple of friends. It doesn’t disappoint with stunning scenery including a bay 2 ½ times the size of Sydney harbour, the incredible Stockton Bight, the largest moving sand dunes in the Southern Hemisphere and the surfside village of Anna Bay where the eucalypts are apparently dripping with koala’s.

We go green and stay in an Ecolodge complete with swarms of virulent mossies and a hole in the ground otherwise known as a Rotorloo. At least Harley has fun listening for the splats as the stools approach terminal velocity before hitting the ground several metres below. Karen is understandably more concerned that a snake might sneak up the hole (no not that one!!) during her ‘business’ time of the day. We only last a couple of days but in that time I manage to spot a koala in the wild with the kids whilst Karen is still shaking off the effects of her Mickey Finn. We try going back to the same spot to show Karen our wildlife discovery but the closest she gets to a hairy bum is at Samurai beach the next day. It’s clothing optional and as you might expect Karen gets her kit straight off whereas I’m a little cagier. Once concealed by a few rocks I feel a bit braver. Having checked no-one’s around, I pop into my birthday suit and then make a wild dash for the relative safety of the sea trying to look nonchalant at the same time as trying not to let my bits flap around too much in the breeze. Tricky but quite liberating…..OK too much information so moving swiftly on….

It turns out to be a rather dangerous walk around some rocks from Samurai to One Mile Beach as the tide is rising fast. At one particular point the sand dips dramatically. We are stranded waist deep in water. We desperately try to carry kids and bags past relentless crashing rollers. We make it with the kids unscathed although Karen has a cut foot and I’ve forgotten my shoes so have to do all again. As if to prove how dangerous it was I actually get knocked off my feet and rolled against the rocks by a particularly large wave and thankfully avoid major injury. Thank God the kids didn’t get hit by that one. After a bit of seagull chasing up the beach I leave the rest of the family and go for a little jog to fetch the car – Jesus I need a couple of games of squash and quick.

We decide to go on a 4WD tour of Stockton Bight. It’s quite a fun ride in our jeep up to the top of one of the steeper sand dunes. Out come the boards and it’s time for some sand surfing. Unfortunately the ride down is only 5 seconds but the climb back up is a couple of minutes of pure pain. Now I know what it felt like for Sean Connery’s character in ‘The Hill’. Having sledged down with the kids a couple of times I decide to have a go standing up ‘snowboard’ style which is bloody knackering even for 5 seconds. Karen and I are both puffing like Thomas by the time we get back up the top and we take a breather before the kids insist on another run. It’s Ok for them; they don’t have to lug 110 KG up the dune afterwards. At least our new pad has a lovely swimming pool + Jacuzzi to relax in afterwards and no fu**ing Rotorloo!!!!!

I decide on a bit more exercise but the girls aren’t biting so Harley and I go up Nelson’s Head on our own. We manage to scale the sizeable peak and enjoy the fantastic 360-degree bird’s eye views of Port Stephens from the summit. WOW – so good that I insist the others come up the next day. Harley completes the 2-hour trip both days without a single carry. Not bad for a three year old. We manage to squeeze in kookaburra feeding in the wild and a fish feast from the local co-op before heading off for some wine tasting in the Hunter Valley.

Port Macquarie

2008-06-30T19:57:00.000-07:00

It’s only about 150kms drive but I decide to take the scenic route again with a detour to Southwest Rocks. The view from the lighthouse is known as Captain Cook lookout and it is spectacular both northwards all the way back towards Coffs Harbour and along the rugged coastline southwards too. We pop into the Trial Bay gaol from where convicts escaped in 1816 on a boat that, with cruel irony, promptly sank drowning all on board. Prisoners fared better here in WWI when the gaol was renowned for fair treatment and comparatively excellent food including fresh fish and vegetables caught/grown by the less troublesome inmates. We then meander our way down the Macleay river valley past houses on stilts to Kempsey. The town is famous for being the home of the Akubra hat but sadly not for its lunches….

By the time we reach Port Macquarie it’s raining heavily and we check in to our budget 1 room 3 star motel. You may think 3 star is not too bad but it’s the lowest rating there is hence the shoebox size and musty sheets. We brave the elements for an equally musty pizza and head back to our padded cell despondently – still what do you expect for 80$ including breakfast. Maybe it’s just the weather but there doesn’t seem to be a huge amount to do in this town. In desperation we check out the oldest seaworthy wooden-masted schooner the ‘Alma Doepel’ constructed in 1903. We also have a look at the breakwall where each rock is covered in graffiti from the last 20 years. Mostly pretty crap efforts but the overall effect is impressive. Suitably charged with a triple shot latte from the local Starbucks I decide to follow the 4WD’s down the gravel tracks of Diamond Head on an interesting ‘shortcut’. Although 30kms instead of 50kms the journey back to the main road is a full hour of pot-holed misery for the three passengers whilst I have great fun swerving from one side of the road to the other trying to avoid the worst of the chasms with dodgy brakes and an iffy suspension. We eventually make it to Newcastle battered and bruised - including my ego as we have been overtaken several times by nonchalant drivers cruising at 60 kms/hr whist I struggle to get past 30.

Coff's Harbour

2008-06-30T19:51:00.000-07:00

It may not be the Utopia of Thomas More’s book but the restaurant of the same name provides the best breakfast of the trip in the charming little town of Bangalow. The fish ‘n chips for lunch are not so good in the Scottish-themed town of Maclean, but I do manage to find my own tartan even if only on a lamppost and spelled wrong. It’s Saturday lunchtime and all the shops are closed in this ‘tourist’ town that makes Radiator Springs seem like a thriving metropolis. Apparently the shops are open from 9 to 5 all week long when the place is like a ghost town and then as soon as the tourists arrive in their droves on Saturday everyone buggers off for the weekend.

We continue our long drive towards Coffs Harbour and make a short detour to the fascinating aboriginal settlement of Red Rock. Sadly the place didn’t get its name from the natural rock pigment but rather the blood stains during particularly frenetic tribal fighting. We decide to go on a little wetlands walk ‘en famille’. I then take the rather foolhardy decision to return via the river with Harley on my back, whilst Karen and Ruby return the way they came along the boardwalk. Despite being nipped on the toe by a mud crab it is a pleasant wallow followed by a fairly brisk float downstream. Harley has his first taste of dangerous adventure, clinging onto my shoulders as we speed past the girls and just manage to get to shore before the water gets too rocky and hurtles on towards the sea.

We’ve nothing booked at Coffs Harbour but end up in a very smart 4 ½ star 3-bed apartment. All well and good but we only have 1 night there before moving into our more affordable motel with Basil’s restaurant and Manuel’s conference centre. It would be amusing if we weren’t stuck there for 4 nights…
All’s well in the end as we’re not staying in the scabby rooms we first saw, but the much better 2-bed apartments round the back with tennis court and swimming pool. The huge TV encourages us to waste a couple of hours on the very watchable ‘Blood Diamond’ followed by the less watchable Carling Cup final defeat of the beloved Blues by the Spurs – the shame of it.

It’s Monday and what better way to start the new week than visit the premier attraction in town – THE BIG BANANA !! The banana itself is a bit of an anticlimax as although yellow and curved it’s not actually that big. Luckily there are real bananas here too and we get to walk up to the top of the plantation for a great view of the coastline. The kids enjoy an old 1960’s playground from the attraction’s inauguration that is still going strong along with its sharp metal edges only slightly blunted by time. We move swiftly on with the distraction of a distant toboggan as incentive. This turns out to be only slightly less scary as we ride with the kids down a twisting metal tray on a slightly smaller plastic tray. On the last run I let Ruby take control and have to grab it back at one stage, as she seems to have built up a bit too much courage. We pop in on a sweet factory on the way back where the candy making demonstration is fascinating, particularly the ‘pole dancing’ of the sugary ‘dough’ as it is stretched and the intricacy of the patterns on the tiny boiled sweets. Doesn’t stop them rotting your teeth though….

The next day we head to Pet Porpoise World that, despite the total lack of porpoises, is worthy of its award for best tourist attraction in New South Wales. After the enjoyable seal and dolphin shows we are all kissed by the cast - a first for everyone although the seal kiss did remind me of a rather hirsute ex girlfriend. The kids then feed the turtles and the cute little penguins. I hesitate over Ruby’s question of whether penguins are birds or fish proving that my brainpower is at an all time low due to lack of exercise.

Time for some exercise so, fuelled by some excellent fish ‘n chips at the local Fisherman’s co-op, I lead the troops up to the top of mutton bird island.12000 of these birds live here in little burrows on the cliffs but they’re all out fishing so we see 3. We do get very close to a hawk though as he is distracted by his rodent lunch and we also enjoy excellent views down the coast all the way to Southwest Rocks 50 kms away. Karen’s still not convinced….

For our final day in Coffs Harbour we take Ruby horse riding. Talk about the middle of nowhere. Even when we get to the signs we have to drive down a further half an hour of treacherous gravel tracks. The dense forest is periodically plunged into semi-darkness from the smoke of controlled forest fires that diffuse the midday sun in a beautiful but dangerous way as we narrowly avoid several massive logging trucks speeding to the mill with scant regard for smaller vehicles. On arrival we manage to score some free hotdogs left over from a school trip - lucky, as there seems to be no food for sale within a 20 km radius. Karen and Ruby go off for a 1hr trot and unexpectedly Harley gets offered a 30-minute ride too. I lead Harley’s horse Banjo whilst the teacher leads out her 4-year-old son. Harley says nothing at all for a full 20 minutes before deciding it’s actually great fun. We finish up doing mini jumps and ducking under trees. (Harley bends his neck rather than his waist at this point so I have to subtly push the branches away for him). Although Banjo seems to be leading me rather than vice versa we have fun and get back in time to see Karen and Ruby walk back in. They had a rather stubborn horse along with an abrupt German teacher and never even got to the trotting stage but it was still a good start.

New South Wales - Byron Bay

2008-06-30T19:46:00.001-07:00

Food has replaced sex in my life – now I can’t even get into my own pants.

No not my new mantra having arrived in a new state and decided to turn over a new leaf (although it does contain a grain of truth as I slip into my first ever pair of size 38” shorts), but rather the slogan on the back of a Byron Bay campervan which sums up the fun, youthful atmosphere of the place.

On the very first I’m out on the razzle again (once the kids are in bed of course) checking out the excellent Beach Hotel that I vaguely remember from my previous trip. There’s no football but there’s a great blues band playing and the place is humming. The average age of the crowd must be about 22 and the fact that I’m there along with a couple of grannies and grandpas must make most of the rest of them around 18. I love the lack of ageism here and I feel quite comfortable. In fact a granny is dancing a cross between a jig and a rave and nobody gives two hoots. Eight beers and a kebab later (I always was a cheap date) I stagger back around 1am and Karen doesn’t give a monkey’s either bless her.

It’s Sunday and we drive to the beachfront where a car park has replaced the campsite of 18 years ago. Karen seems to be spending an inordinate amount of time checking the water temperature and why did she take the camera? I later wonder if it is mere coincidence that there are 63 pictures of buff young paddle boarders on the camera…

Byron Bay has a bad reputation for drugs but it’s lightweight compared to Nimbin. They allegedly used this town in the NSW hinterland as a secret dumping ground for drug addicts before the 2000 Sydney Olympics in an attempt to clean up the city centre before the eyes of the world fell upon it. They were provided with a one-way ticket, a small bungalow on arrival and a ‘stash’ large enough for them to forget where they came from. I thought this may have been a bit of a tall story, but the woman in the local café seemed to add weight to it. She took 45 minutes to grill us a couple of toasties and popped to the greengrocers for 4 oranges every single time someone ordered freshly squeezed juice. I reckon she must have been taking something pretty mind-bending for quite a few years. Not much else happened in Nimbin, apart from the car boot closing unexpectedly onto Karen’s head - ouch, but I suppose that’s Nimbin for you. To make the trip worthwhile we did stock up at an excellent butcher’s and a good fruiterer’s (although he was a little low on oranges).

We enjoyed a couple of quiet days at the beach where the kids played together really well allowing the parents time for some good reading and bodysurfing. As a treat we went to Rae’s restaurant on Watego beach that was recently rated as one of the top 10 in Australia. It didn’t disappoint with top-notch service (including entertaining the kids with the local fauna - the green tree frog) and excellent food. I chose a weird and wonderful scallop/pork belly combo, followed by a delicious whole snapper, with a beautifully crisp skin and plum sauce, all washed down with some decent bubbles. Despite the late hour the kids were still buzzing, so we took them down to the beach for some moonlit sand racing. Harley still had the energy to carve over 100 metres of ‘sand railway’ with his two index fingers.
The next day we visit the lighthouse from where it is a mere stone’s throw to the most easterly point on mainland Australia (exciting eh). Sadly Humpback whales are not migrating at this time of year and we are about to trudge disappointedly back to the car when Ruby has an unusual burst of enthusiasm for more walking. I point out that the cliff path in question is fairly vertiginous and that what goes down has to come back up but she is not to be deterred (maybe she just doubts my understanding of the laws of gravity). We leave a protesting Harley and impressed Karen to wait in the car and return knackered but strangely elated an hour and half a vertical kilometre later.

Having already sampled the delights of the railway tavern (monster steaks, a multi-tasking musician - guitar and didgeridoo simultaneously - and a 65 year old grandpa ‘trance jogging’), we get a babysitter and head for one last visit to the Beach Hotel. We’ve just time for rabbit pie/fish and chips before a sinister looking band come on for and endless warm-up/testing session. They look like a heavy metal band but actually take us on a ‘poptastic’ highlights tour of the last 40 year’s chart toppers. It turns out to be great fun and I even make a rare foray to the dance floor. All ‘good’ tings come to an end and several minutes later I’m pushing a slightly worse-for-wear Karen back home in a shopping trolley. (Just as well the chiropractor had fixed her back that morning). Slightly later that Saturday morning I’m hung over and watching Karen pack up by herself for about the sixtieth time so far this trip and counting – what a bloody star.

Surfer's Paradise

2008-06-30T19:40:00.001-07:00

The surf’s up but it’s no paradise due to the windy, wet weather. Karen does sort out a good 7th floor apartment in Broadbeach though, with great views of Surfer’s impressively towering above the flat land around. There’s a swimming pool with Jacuzzi as well as a tennis court where Harley turns out to a bit of a natural. At the first attempt he knocks 50% of the balls back over the net with interest – not bad for aged 3 1/2.

It’s Monday and the weather’s still too cloudy for the beach so we head out to the hinterland for the day. The attractions seem to come in pairs in the tiny town of Cedar Creek. After visiting the local cheese/ice cream shop we head down to the more curiously partnered winery/glow-worm farm. Queensland is probably Australia’s second worst state for growing grapes (just ahead of the desolate Northern Territories) and has never been famed for it’s wine. This tasting did little to change that impression with the exception of a great late-harvest Semillon/Chardonnay/Verdelho.

The glow-worm cave was a huge man-made structure where hundreds of the little blighters are relocated from the wild and fed two thousand freshly caught insects per day (snared personally by our guide in large butterfly nets). The interesting part was the practical uses of the glow-worms bright green bottoms (otherwise known as bioluminescence) in relation to low energy lighting and potential cancer cures.

After a quick bite to eat we go on a long scenic drive through dense woodland, along winding mountain roads and past wallabies in the wild. Harley falls asleep and Karen kindly stays in the car with him while Ruby and I go on a treetop walk. We climb up to 30 metres above the forest floor at one point and pop our heads our above the canopy for a great view despite the somewhat unnerving wind and rain. It’s a long way back to Broadbeach but for once we find a decent radio station to make the driving easier.

Karen and I agree to stay in on Valentine’s Day to avoid the overcrowded restaurants. Instead we get a babysitter for the day before and the day after to sample a bit of the nightlife. We start off the first night at the Versace hotel for cocktails then hit a few bars in Surfers. God knows why this place is so popular, it seems rather tacky and sleezy at the same time – a naff version of Soho perhaps. I do like the hot ‘Meter Maids’ though who dress like college girls and top up any parking meters before a penalty becomes due. Did we forget to eat ? Sadly Broadbeach has shut down for the night by 11 pm so we get back to the babysitter early and find out that she has very sweetly serenaded Ruby and Harley to sleep with her dulcet tones and the guitar she brought along.

Sadly The same girl is not available for our second night out as she’s already booked in to look after 7 kids ! This time Karen has a good head start having met a friend at midday for drinks. The friend goes back home at about 6pm and Karen and I head off to the casino for a bit of a flutter. We play blackjack for about an hour and are both about even and heading for the exit when I nip to the loo and come back to find Karen starting to win by playing ‘behind’ some guy who’s doing well (basically he plays the hand and she wins if he wins). I foolishly decide to play some more and recklessly lose $50 in 10 minutes (all the Cambodia winnings and more that took two nights to accumulate !) - still it’s only about £20. Again we fail to find any food after 11pm – we must be losing some weight by now surely ?!

Still the weather stays sh*tty so we head to the massive local shopping centre to stock up on food as well as toys for the kids. Sadly the giant cuddly bears that Harley takes a shine to have to stay in the shop, but compensation is swift in the form of an electric car grand prix with Ruby and a few other kids. In the evening we take the kids to the Icebar where we get kitted out in Antarctic gear for drinks at 11 degrees below zero. The whole place is made of ice including the furniture and glasses and we shiver our way through a couple of cocktails/cranberry juices before our maximum permitted 30 minutes is up. Certainly a novel experience we all agree as we emerge into the 40 degree warmer evening.

It’s time to leave Surfer’s and indeed Queensland. As we enjoy the fantastic views back from Coolangatta across the water to a mirage of skyscrapers I reflect on a myriad of different landscapes, climates and people we’ve experienced over the last 2 months in just one state. Suddenly the scenery changes again to rolling verdant hills as we enter New South Wales and at the same time as realising how the state got its name I hope life will be just as fun and varied for the next 60 days.

Brisbane City Centre

2008-05-26T16:44:00.001-07:00

Brisbane itself was a different kettle of kelp starting with an excellent dinner at Louie’s brother Tom’s house. We enjoy succulent steak, a delicious Leconfield 2002 Cabernet and some interesting anecdotes about life as a GP in Wadonga miles away from a heavily pregnant wife.

We stay in a beautiful period property from the 1880’s recently restored including a charming pool, original furnishings and snooker room complete with lifelike pool playing mannequin to keep you company. The place is a bargain due to communal living area and kitchen but we basically get the place to ourselves apart from the late returning gay coffee salesman who uses the lounge after midnight. Judging from the recent history on the internet that I spot whilst logging onto BBC Schools for Ruby’s homework, the guy must get very little sleep…

It’s Thursday and time for a bit of culture at the Brisbane Art Centre on the trendy Southbank. They are showing an Andy Warhol exhibition that is thoroughly absorbing particularly given my ignorance on the subject of Popart. I am intrigued by the technique of deliberately imperfect printing to create blurred images as in the famous Marilyn, Jackie Kennedy and Debbie Harry series. Other highlights include the realistic baked beans boxes and Campbell’s soup tins, clips from Warhol’s ‘15 minutes of fame’ TV series and the Kids section. The latter had square silver helium balloons floating around in a room entitled ‘clouds’; the chance to record your own 15 seconds of fame and booths where you can take your own passport photos in the blurred brightly coloured Warhol style. I’m very glad I was cajoled into coming and Mum is bound to be pleased too even if her artistic bent leans more to the classical.

Ten pin bowling the next day entertains the kids especially as they each have their own ‘slides’ to make it easier and more fun. Karen’s has less of a good time putting her back out for weeks.

We return to Southbank at the weekend for a picnic amongst the resident curlews and a swim for the kids at the man-made ‘beach’. We just have time for a lazy drive through the impressive botanical gardens and up Mount Coot-tha for far reaching views over the urban sprawl. Dinner is at Louie’s Mum’s where Louie cooks delicious fish ‘en papilotte’, I do some minor DIY and Louie’s Mum chats away pleasantly rather like my own making me feel ever so slightly homesick for the first time…

Redcliffe

2008-05-26T16:43:00.000-07:00

We drive on past the aptly named Glass House Mountains to Brisbane or to be more precise Redcliffe. This is billed as a charming northern suburb – probably true if you’re over 80, enjoy crown green bowling and don’t mind being 30kms from the city centre. It reminds me a bit of Bournemouth or Lymington with an ageing population and nothing much to do. Anyway the accommodation is good and spacious and we manage to catch up on Ruby’s homework (Harley is now starting to ask for some too so we buy some waterproof letters/numbers for the bath). We also catch up on a couple of videos including the rather amusing ‘Darwin Awards’ that includes a great scene of an ambitious mechanic who decides to hook up an aircraft engine to the back of his ‘ute’.

About the most interesting things in Redcliffe were watching an octagenarian ‘trainee’ feed the pelicans (only 3 came) and my sashimi lunch including seaweed, clam and a surprisingly stingy jellyfish. At least there was no blue-ringed octopus on offer as I would have probably gone for it to relieve the boredom of Redcliffe.

Brisbane - Australia Zoo

2008-05-26T16:42:00.000-07:00

On the way we stop off at the much acclaimed Australia zoo – brainchild of the late Steve ‘crikey look at that stingray’ Irwin. It’s a bit of a disappointment after all the hype, but the enclosures are very spacious with well looked after animals.(cf Vietnam). The tiger’s were very impressive, especially when playing with their young. Intrepid keepers are on hand to ensure the kittens don’t annoy the parents too much, at which point they can get a bit violent. (Why don’t they have keepers for humans too?!). The Crocoseum was a bit ‘happy clappy’ but eventually we were treated to an acrobatic crocodile feeding show and interesting bird display where half the exhibits flew off. We got up close and personal with cassowaries, wombats (giant guinea pigs) and most intriguingly up to 180 year old mating giant tortoises from Galapagos. (I hope I’m still at it when I’m half that age – second thoughts maybe not). One tortoise that had recently died was captured on Darwin’s original trip to the Ecuadorian Islands and had come via London Zoo where she was gawped at in Victorian times.

Noosa

2008-05-26T16:41:00.001-07:00

Next stop is the very pretty estuary resort of Noosa where the eponymous river meets the South Pacific and the bronzed, bikinied, backpacking bodies meet the wealthy Brisbane style cats complete with large boat and wallet. We equip ourselves with boogie board, ‘noodle’, baseball + bat and head for the beach. One side of the peninsular is packed with ‘stingers’ but the other is ok and we spend a fun day teaching the kids baseball + bodysurfing interspersed with a delicious picnic and the drama of an injured surfer being stretchered away – it was his birthday as well poor bugger. That evening the seafood platter @ Le Monde is fantastic complete with the local delicacy the Moreton Bay Bug as well as lobster, oysters and crab (the latter with plenty of easily accessible meat cf Cambodia).

Next day we have an emotional reunion with our favourite nanny Louie who we stylishly meet on our hired motor boat (bargain at only 75$ for 3 hours). I manage to run the bloody thing aground but luckily full throttle reverse does the trick in the end and the inspection upon return doesn’t reveal anything untoward. (The last time I ran aground was on a barge in Burgundy which was probably the last time I took the controls on a boat – maybe just a coincidence). We retreat to the pool for wine fuelled Jacuzzi followed by swimming races where I lose to Louie after a rematch ( I don’t feel too bad as she’s currently training for a triathalon whilst my training seems only appropriate for sumo). We stagger to Bistro C for a great seafront view and some good fish. I then take the kids back whilst the girls go on for a few more and a catch up.

A lazy Saturday ensues vegetating in front of Travel and Living which gives us a foretaste of Machu Picchu. We eventually head out to see the National Park at Noosa Heads but can’t find parking + weather turns so we retreat back to a bottle of Maclaren Vale Cab.sauv. + pack up for next days trip to the sunny capital of Queensland.

Yepoon and Hervey Bay

2008-05-26T16:40:00.000-07:00

After 500 kms of sugar cane and savannah and 5 kms of palm tree lined driveway, we arrive at the Rydges Capricorn Resort near the tiny town of Yepoon. It turns out to be not that fancy after all – a bit of a glorified Butlins. We do enjoy a monster swimming pool complete with ferocious manmade waterfall, as well as a gargantuan breakfast, before heading off to Hervey Bay. Unfortunately WG temporarily takes over as chief packer and leaves the camera behind. Thanks to the stork-filled driveway we realise soon enough. Hervey Bay is still another 450kms away and I decide to put my foot down a bit.10 minutes later I get flashed by a police car coming the other way. Sh*t, not again – before I have time to think I’ve turned off at breakneck speed down a pot-holed unmade road desperate to avoid another hefty fine. Soon sanity returns and I realise the Ford Fairlane 1996 is no Landrover. I head back to the main road with mercifully no attendant sirens blazing.

We soon pass Fig Tree Creek with literally millions of hanging fruit bats crammed into the trees. After sampling the screeching and noxious smells for a while we continue to Hervey Bay. Here the main tourist attraction is the sandy offshore 4WD heaven off Fraser Island. Everyone wants to go and tours are expensive so not having a 4WD anyway we decide to give it a miss. HB itself is quite pretty and we enjoy the beach and low water level where even Harley can wade out for ages. We also land on our feet again with a great deal on an excellent apartment on the beachfront with two-sided balcony, pool, sauna, two double bedrooms and spacious living area all tastefully furnished. Too good to be true so we stay for an extra day. We hire two tandem bikes and enjoy a bit of exercise for a change. Interestingly Harley cycles like the clappers on the back of Karen’s bike whilst Ruby sits there like Cleopatra pedalling only when I look back to check. We have a great day cycling up the pier to get a good look at Fraser Island + back for a well-earned sauna. I reckon I must have lost a few pounds with the sweaty cycling + sauna @ 93 degrees.

Airlie Beach

2008-05-10T20:32:00.001-07:00

The brakes are getting worse as the ‘power assist’ is broken. Rather like giving birth you now have to push pretty hard before anything happens. Also air-con is on the blink and takes 5 seconds or so to fire up – fingers crossed as its still over 30-degrees and fairly humid. The garage assistant tells us to watch out for theft and Mickey Finns - sounds like a lovely place….

On arrival our apartment has a wonderful view of a building site but at least we can admire it at our leisure from the outdoor Jacuzzi. We go to a great man-made lagoon with imported sand, palm trees and rocks where the kids have hours of fun.

The next stop is Vic Hislop’s shark show where the entrance is shaped like a huge shark’s mouth. The guy is a bit of a nutter who goes out after suspected man-eaters on a tiny boat. Once caught he inspects the stomachs of the shark to check for human remains then freezes them and carts the carcasses round the country in refrigerated trucks for his shows. He believes that sharks are the scum of the seas (only the dangerous species such as tiger sharks) and is convinced that government figures for shark deaths (about 1 per year in Australia) are grossly understated. Whatever your views you have to hand it to the guy he has large ‘cahonas’.

The main reason for coming to the Whitsundays is for sailing but the wind is too strong and kids aren’t allowed in many of the proper racing boats anyway so we settle for booking a large catamaran instead. Although tourists and not proper sailing we enjoy our day to three of the Whitsunday Islands. Tiny Daydream Island is first measuring only 1km by 500m but there is plenty to do with sharks and Manta rays on display and we struggle to get back in time. Next is Hamilton Island famous for its jetset. We the hoi polloi have to make do with the local bus as without my driver’s license I can’t even hire a golf buggy to take us round the island. Disappointment is short-lived as the views are great particularly from the Cat’s Eyes. The final stop is at Whitehaven beach rated as one of the top 10 in the world in a recent survey. It is an amazingly pure white (98% silica we are told) and several miles long. Karen and the kids don their fluorescent yellow full body stinger suits and look like the ‘incredibles’.
Actually incredible sensible I realize as I swim past a few jellyfish with less protection than a devout Catholic. We head back to Shute harbour at sunset reflecting on another successful family outing.

It’s Australia Day and we need to celebrate the country’s 120th birthday in style so we head to Magnums. We start with the traditional Cane toad racing where I sponsor number six ‘dash’ who makes a promising start but fades badly. Next up is the surf board bucking bronco which we wisely leave to the youngsters and it’s all interspersed with great music from the Rock Wallabies. Their version of a track from Pink Floyd’s ‘Wish you were here’ album was quite surreal with the addition of a didgeridoo ‘Just another brick in the waaoooaaaoooall’. Although it wasn’t a Sunday we had a good ‘session’ to mark the end of our visit to the Whitsundays.

Townsville and Magnetic Island

2008-05-10T20:27:00.000-07:00

B*gger, I’ve just been done for speeding and Karen has quite rightly berated me for my lame excuse: “I was trying to get to Townsville before dark, officer”. As she quire rightly pointed out, what I should have said is: “are you sure you have the right car officer? This is a 1996 Ford with over 300,000 on the clock, 140 kph seems unlikely.” Anyway I am actually clocked @ only 125 kph so $250 seems a bit bloody steep and I’m quite hacked off. We now decide to keep to the speed limit which over 10,000 kms which means about an extra 24hrs driving – oh well the scenery’s good.

We check out The Strand or beachfront as well as Flinders Mall and we even get the kids to stay up happily eating Tapas until 10pm before taking the ½ hour ferry ride to Magnetic Island. This is a very small island that we nip round in an hour and we’re booked in for 3 nights. There are plenty of interesting bays and we enjoy a beautiful sunset @ Horseshoe Bay made particularly relaxing by the children’s excellent behaviour playing quietly by the beach. We also enjoy a day by the hotel’s pool as the kids chase me during an extended game of swimming ‘tag’ using their superhero alter egos ‘Purple Lightening and ‘Blue Thunder’.

The next day we unsuccessfully go koala spotting in the wild at Radical Bay. Not a single bloody eucalyptus chewer in sight and the road is more cratered than the moon so we head for the easy option at the Koala Park. Not only do the kids get to cuddle koalas again, we also all get to hold a croc. (mouth strapped shut of coarse), use a python as a makeshift scarf and feed the parakeets (scariest of the lot as they really do dig their claws in whilst pecking the muesli-like stodge off your hands). Tony the guide is also full of amusing anecdotes such as the fact that crocs only go for tourists and mosquitoes much prefer hot-bloodied women with smelly feet to frigid men with sweetly perfumed toes (quite frankly I’m surprised they bother me so much).

Next morning there’s just time to pop down to Picnic Bay and reminisce with an old codger about how the place has changed over the last 20 years (or 44 years in his case) before heading back to Townsville to pick up our passports left at the Rydges Hotel (oops schoolboy error). We upgrade to a luxury apartment for 1 night only which is fantastic and in the morning we head south out of Townsville for Airlie Beach. Where are the signs of these ‘worst floods in 120 years’ I keep wondering until I realise we are travelling in a northerly loop. We get back to 100m from where we started ½ hour later. Still not many signs of damage or high water levels and we arrive at the gateway to the Whitsundays unscathed several snail-paced hours later.

Mission Beach

2008-05-10T20:23:00.000-07:00

There’s a bit of a storm blowing and we’ve got no brakes to speak of - luckily Karen is driving. We wend our weary way over the last 20 kms of windy windy (blowing and bendy) wet road past several signs warning us to be CASSO-WARY. Most tourists have probably never heard of these large endangered flightless birds hence their high mortality rate from the most dangerous predator of all – the speeding 4WD. Luckily we had read our guidebook and knew there were only 1500 left in the world (enough to fill about 2.5% of Old Trafford presuming these birds had small bottoms and were stupid enough to be interested in watching Man Utd – there haven’t and they aren’t). So large in fact are their bums (and throats) that it enables them to swallow and excrete intact some of the largest seeds in the world. These include many of the arboreal inhabitants of the rainforest making them conservationists ‘par excellence’.

I am very excited about meeting this three-toed man-sized monster-bird, but we are out of luck on our morning trip to Garners Beach, despite passing through a Cassowary ‘hotspot’. At least there are no flies either and plenty of shells to keep the kids amused. Plenty of warnings about marine stingers too, with bottles of vinegar provided by the council to ease the pain – a clear warning that swimming is a no-no in Queensland at this time of year.

On the way to lunch and a swim @ the well-positioned Horizons hotel we strike gold. Along struts a magnificent bird with a blue and purple head and red wattles (neck-lobes). This is clearly a cassowary and it’s right in front of us. What an awesome sight - very different to seeing one in captivity (cf Australia Zoo).

We try to book a reef trip but it’s still a bit stormy so we head to Tully. This is the wettest town in Australia and home of the giant 7.9m tall gumboot, testament to the annual rainfall in 1950 when the town received its award. Ironically it’s a sunny day (despite the high swells out to see and the fact that Townsville a few hours south is having its worst floods in 120 years). We stock up for a picnic and drive towards the Tully Gorge that is surprisingly easy to miss. We end up at a dead end at the hydro-electrical plant notable for the fact that if it opens its floodgate the Tully river turns instantaneously from stream to raging torrent. It is therefore with some unease that on eventual arrival I tow Ruby across the river. The current is pretty fierce and having got across one way by starting way upstream and managing to grab onto a rock I make it back pretty knackered having told Ruby to hang on to my waist while I sprint at full speed angled acutely upstream. The March flies are bastards (apparently if you squash one, others can smell their splattered colleague and attack ‘en masse’). While Karen, Ruby and I rush to get clothed, Harley is clearly immune and has great fun lobbing ever-larger stones into the river narrowly missing a handful of other tourists. This tires him eventually and he sleeps through the banana plantation filled drive back to our boutique B&B. He then scoffs a large kebab and wont sleep ‘till after midnight - so much for a relaxing Jim Carey DVD….

It’s Thursday and we’re booked on the morning catamaran to the reef. We stop off at Dunk Island where I revisit the site of a dangerous waist deep island-to-island walk in 1990 with stingrays and stonefish. I was stung by something and had a nervous ½ hour wait while the locals deliberated on whether it was fatal or not. No such drama this time as we pick up a few passengers and head out to the Great Barrier Reef proper. We plump for the guided tour and are quite a sight in our snorkelling gear and life-vests with the kids in stinger suits for added jellyfish protection and Harley in a ring. We watch parrotfish, blue and yellow fusiliers and a huge black estuary cod feed and then we are taken to the clown fish that live symbiotically with sea anemones. We get to handle starfish and slimy sea cucumbers and are told about the fragile ecosystem before grabbing some lunch onboard. After lunch the jellyfish are getting a bit too numerous for comfort so Karen takes the kids on the glass-bottomed boat where they spot a turtle. I stay in the water where the sights are amazing including huge (less dangerous) jellyfish that are very beautiful after the initial fear subsides and, the highlight of the trip, a white-tipped reef shark that powers past me and into the distance before I have time to work out if I’m awestruck or petrified. The coral itself is plentiful and varied though not as impressively vibrant as in the photos. I make it to a sandy cay about 100m long and 10m wide topped with birds eggs and incredible white sand and it feels like I’m standing in the middle of the ocean. We head back to shore reflecting on a fantastic experience that will stick in the memory for a very long time.

QUEENSLAND

2008-05-10T20:17:00.000-07:00

Cairns and Far North Queensland

Between Adelaide and Cairns we have a 5 hr stopover in Sydney that is made much more pleasant by taking a short cab ride to Nicky and Andy’s house in Dulwich Hill. Foxtel at last! Luckily Andy is watching the infamous ‘Monkey Business’ test between Australia and India. It looks like a dull draw so we catch England winning the beach cricket. Amazingly on arrival at the airport I find out that Michael Clarke of all people gets 3 wickets in five balls in the last over of the test to seal a remarkable victory for the Ozzies. Typical – at least the Indians go on to win the One Day series - even Australians are starting to get bored of their test side winning cricket matches.

We’ve been warned about the rain and humidity during the wet season in North Queensland and sure enough it’s stuffy and wet on arrival with a spectacular thunderstorm the first night. We get a good deal at the Rydges Hotel and prepare to hole up for a while, as there is a tropical cyclone 100 kms away heading in our direction. Luckily the storm blows itself out and we can start our search for a car to get us out of this rather uninteresting town. Cairns reminds me a bit of Hertford in the 80’s with drunken ‘Blackbirds’ locals replaced by Aboriginals who don’t restrict their drunkenness to ‘kicking out’ time – poor bastards were fine for 40,000 years and along came Captain Cook and his rum to expose a genetic weakness.

We buy a Ford Fairlane 1996 Ghia 3.6L sedan for a bargain $5500 and the good news is that there are only 309,000 kms on the clock! After a wonky haircut (8 times the price of a good cut in Laos) and the Golden Compass at the cinema we head north to the remote tropical rainforests of the Daintree National Park.
No wonder plenty of people own 4WD’s up here. We just make it to the Beach House at Cape Tribulation (so named as Captain Cook ran aground close-by on the Great Barrier Reef) but the last few kms are a bit pot-holed for our old banger. A few kms further north there’s a steep slope and a sign saying 4WD’s only so I decide on caution particularly as we don’t want to wreck the car after such a short time. I remember Cape Trib. from 1990 when I stayed in the Jungle lodge nearby and this place is similar. Dense rainforest grows right up to the beach and a chorus of mating frogs compliments the Spartan yet expensive accommodation.
We cross the Daintree River, on nothing much more than a glorified raft, over croc- infested waters. Unfortunately we don’t spot any of these prehistoric reptiles (much more visible in the dry season with lower water levels). After a brief stop at ‘mosquitoes from hell’ beach we leave the rainforest and head towards the Atherton Tablelands. There are still pockets of rainforest such as at the Mareeba gorge where we all walk across a swing-bridge to get a good view and get soaked to the skin. As I explain philosophically to Ruby you can’t experience a rainforest fully with no rain.
We continue the Spartan mosquito-ridden rainforest accommodation theme at Kuranda. We shun the scenic railway/gondola and head into the outback with a still varied landscape: endless kilometres with nothing but scrub and giant termite mounds; picturesque vistas of rolling plains and mountainous peaks from the McHugh lookout; orderly rows of dark-green leaved coffee and mango plantations; pockets of forest including the massive curtain ‘strangler’ fig (it begins life using the host tree as support, then gradually suffocates the older tree when strong enough to support itself); ‘Alpine’ villages such as Yungaburra complete with Swiss-themed restaurant and incongruous platypus viewing platforms nearby (the notice informs us that the two important qualities of a first time Duckbill spotter are silence and patience – hardly surprising then that with Harley and Ruby in tow we didn’t spot any).

The plethora of varied panoramas is extraordinary including the stunning Baron’s Falls with the biggest drop of all through dense rainforest. Next stop is the shorter Milaa Milaa waterfall where Ruby and I take the freezing plunge in the rain whilst Karen guards sleeping Harley. We then negotiate Ravenshoe’s rolling green hills (home of the biggest wind farm in Oz with a rather paltry 21 turbines) en route to the world famous thermal pools of Innot – well famous in Innot anyway. Here, rather than digging ourselves a natural mud bath, we opt for the man-made variety at the hot ‘springs’ which is a selection of spas at different temperatures. We get to the seriously hot inner sanctum where a scaly octogenarian seems to have malted into the 43-degree pool so Karen opts for the 41 degree Madras and I roast my chestnuts in the 45-degree Vindaloo. A detour to Mount Garner is a waste of time with dusty roads, more termite mounds and no mining museum to show for our troubles. The next section of the journey is more interesting on a single-track road through the aptly named Misty Mountains. Not a hobbit in sight but plenty of sheep, cows and greenery reminiscent of the UK or NZ. Eventually we arrive in darkness at Innisfail with none of the promised Art Deco in sight but plenty of ugly buildings including our accommodation of choice the Great Barrier Reef Motel. At least they are showing the Chelsea v Everton League Cup Semi 1st Leg.

We have to go 70 kms or so back to Cairns to pick up the car insurance documents and spend the day in the rather snazzy lagoon (giant swimming pool with spurting sculptures and actual sand).Haley does a length with no armbands for the first time. The cloud cover is deceptive and we all get mild sunburn for the first time on the trip. More importantly we miss out on Miss Bikini World in our eagerness to head south for Mission Beach and a visit to the Great Barrier Reef proper (fish and coral this time rather than ‘prison block’ motel).

Barossa Valley

2008-05-10T20:08:00.000-07:00

Andy appears to have overlooked hangover precautions and arrives sporting a new shade of white with a hint of green around the gills. He looks so bad that he elicits sympathy rather than the usual barracking, especially as he’s been banned from his car for excessive whingeing. He travels up with me whilst Karen joins Nicky in the fun wagon. Plied with water, sweets and erudite conversation Andy perks up a bit, but the greenness returns slightly on arrival at the wineries. The scenery was stunning and a bit reminiscent of Margaret River with giant trees and scorched brown grasses, vibrant green vines and bright blue sky. The wines are less amazing although at Rockford’s we tasted an excellent Sparkling Shiraz and Tawny Port. If Andy thought his stomach was in for a bit of respite he could think again as we got a babysitter in and headed off to the fancy Pepper’s Louise restaurant. Six rich courses (including quail, beef, cheese and 'amuse bouches') and four bottles of wine later we stagger under a clear and brightly starlit sky back to the waiting taxi and home to a rather amused babysitter (Ruby had told her that her last one in Laos was rubbish and she had had to practically look after Harley herself).

Next day it was golf again, this time in a far more suitable climate. Although we didn’t exactly bring the course to its knees I did manage to get a couple of pars in the end to make it exciting and take it to the 18th. After a good wallow in the pool we nipped down the road to Charlie Melton’s. Having negotiated our way past a shameless dog sunning his bollocks, we bought a few bottles of the excellent rosé and the wonderful Angel’s Tears Shiraz to go with some delicious pâtés and cheeses at our luxurious 2-bedroom apartment. On the final day in the Barossa the boys purged their guilt a bit with some babysitting around the pool whilst the girls enjoyed a pampering spa morning. Then it was back to Adelaide via the disappointing Bethany winery and Wolf Blass, where the reds were much better than the whites. It was a fantastic trip with a good balance of wineries, sport, friendship and fine food.

No rest for the wicked as we went into town early for the market. We were celebrating our farewell from Adelaide and procured a huge kingfish, which weighed about the same as Emily. This was washed down with a very good Centenary Shiraz from an unexpected source - Jacob’s Creek. Karen’s wonderful pavlova was similarly despatched with the help of Dowie Doole’s beautifully balanced Botrytis Semillon.
I felt slightly sad to be leaving, as we said our farewells at the airport the next day, as this experience of Adelaide had been so much better than the first. At the same time it was exciting to be heading to Cairns in the Tropical North of Queensland to try to find an old banger that would take us the 10,000 kms down the East Coast as far south as Tasmania.

Christmas and New Year

2008-05-10T20:04:00.000-07:00

Again Ozzie Christmas did feel very different but fun for a change. Although very hot the turkey was still there with all the trimmings + was delicious despite the sore head. At least I was sober on Xmas day itself that is more than can be said for one nameless friend who became uncharacteristically sozzled and frisky (strictly in the verbal sense of course).

It all became pleasantly busy on the social front being the festive season: drinks at the park; a pool party at a friends house (where everyone’s kids took it in turns to injure themselves at half hourly intervals) and a great New Years Eve party – definitely the first time I’ve brought in the New Year in the pool with a glass of bubbles eyeing up my girlfriend in her sexy new Sea Folly bikini. In between parties we managed to squeeze in some good days out. We spent a wonderful day at Sellicks beach where you can drive your car right onto the sand - the kids had their first taste of driving on Daddy’s lap before we found out that normal road rules apply. We enjoyed a couple of wineries in the Maclaren Vale (d'Arenberg was excellent) before being treated to a delicious lunch at a winemaker friend’s house. His daughter Cordelia is the same age as Ruby which was great for both of them as well as Harley who seemed to enjoy trying to keep up with the big girls in the pool. Two outings to the Adelaide Hills were fun as well, including a brief tasting at Penfolds, lunch at a fantastic microbrewery in Loebethal, a koala cuddling at the local wildlife park and least impressively a visit to the world’s largest Rocking Horse. (Harley concurrently attempted the world’s longest whinge and received his first bottom smack of the trip).

2008 already and my resolution in to make no resolutions but try to keep things as they are with my beautiful girlfriend and wonderful kids. Luckily they are forgiving too as I spend January 1st on a boy’s day out. Despite New Year’s Eve excesses we manage to get to the golf club by 10am. The temperature soon climbs to a toasty 42 degrees in the shade, so we are quite glad we hired a couple of buggies. Just in case we are not yet dehydrated enough, we retire to the bar for a late lunch. More beers at a 20:20 cricket match at the Adelaide Oval and a few games of pool to take us through to closing time at the oldest pub in Adelaide follow this.
Cunningly I take a pint of water and the wonderful Ozzie invention Barocca before bed, as it’s another early start in the morning heading for the Barossa Valley.

ADELAIDE

2008-05-10T20:02:00.001-07:00

Glenelg

I was a bit worried about coming back to Adelaide, having spent a couple of days in the city centre before and likening it to Milton Keynes (not sure why as it bears no resemblance). This time would be different as we were staying with friends in the suburbs. Rob and Simone’s third child was due any day so we decided to rent an apartment in the fashionable beachside district of Glenelg until she went into hospital.
Jesus what a dump! This was the worst accommodation on the trip so far and we had stayed in some cheap places (eg $7 a night in Rach Gia). I am ashamed to admit that on the second evening I left Karen in this sh*thole to drown my sorrows with local ale, football and fantastic spicy giros (kebabs).

We lasted only 2 nights and then Karen found a great deal on Wotif (local accommodation website). She managed to secure a plush 2- bed penthouse for $200 instead of $400 a night. It was still over budget but we were to be staying with friends for a few weeks so we went for it. The views were spectacular overlooking the sea on one side and the marina on the other. We showed off our newfound pad with a dinner party for Rob, Simone (going in for a Caesar next day), Andy, Nicky + 3 kids (one of whom pressed the alarm in the lift + got stuck with Dad for 30 minutes waiting for an engineer to get them out). All went well in the end and we even had surprise visitors – Nicky’s Dad Jim and brother Dave who were LILO (Last In Last Out – or more accurately ‘Life ’n soul In Legless Out’.

Linden Park

2008-05-10T20:01:00.000-07:00

Christmas had sort of sneaked up on us this year and it was weird having taken a tram ride to the city to find a giant inflated Father Christmas and decorations festooned everywhere whilst we were still in shorts and ‘Birkies’ in 40 degrees heat. It was also strange in a pleasant way, once we had moved into R&M’s house in Linden Park, living a normal life and doing normal things like washing up - the novelty soon wore off. The third odd thing was that a case of 24 beers seems to cost less than buying 18 - even if I’m wrong it was a good excuse.

The kids were enjoying a more normal life too. Not only did they have friends to play up. Also Ruby had a homework amnesty for 2 weeks for the Christmas Holidays allowing for full-time playtime. Dad was doing normal things too like reading books, playing squash (sh*t I’m unfit + feel old) and playing ‘footy’ in the park (only difference being that Aussie footy has nothing to do with soccer but is more like rugby on a huge oval pitch, with forward passes allowed and four goal posts).

Baby Emily was born on 21st December - the same day as my sister Emma - weighing in at around 6lbs (about the size of my hand). It was an amazing feeling carrying something so tiny, only a few hours old and something I hadn’t experienced since Harley was born. Emily came back to the house on Xmas Eve blissfully unaware of the pursuant mayhem. Rob, a friend Scottie (a very bad influence as he used to manage a pub) and I celebrated her birth with a game of 100 shots (beer not vodka) in 100 minutes. Luckily we only got up to about 35 (memory’s a bit hazy) but combined with some wine and port this gave me a stinking hangover all through Xmas day. Thanks Scottie.

Perth and Freemantle

2008-05-10T19:54:00.000-07:00

On the way back to Perth we visited Busselton Jetty the longest pier in the Southern Hemisphere at 1.8kms. The kids impressed by walking there and back in the hot sun enjoying the Underwater Observatory in between. This was the opposite of an aquarium as we were ‘trapped’ in a glass tank while dense shoals of fish and octopi ‘observed’ us curiously. We stayed the night in Freemantle in a classic Irish pub Rosie ‘o Grady’s with live music which sent Harley stir crazy. He was allowed free reign on the dance floor by the generous Ozzie audience until the 9pm kiddie curfew. I put the kids to bed to give Karen a chance for a bit of gig (not much payback for the endless RWC matches but a start at least). We never experienced the famous Freemantle Doctor (refreshing afternoon breeze) having arrived late + left at midday but we did enjoy one of ‘Freo’s’ other highlights – breakfast on the ‘Cappuccino Strip’ with oodles of strong coffee, fresh juice and fatty fry up (just as well I brought 6 months worth of cholesterol busting drugs with me). On to Perth itself for our last day in WA. First stop the impressive King’s Park set in 4 Sq km of natural bush where we all enjoy a beautiful treetop walk. Next is lunch on Barrack Street Jetty overlooking the attractive Swan River in the amusingly named ‘Lucky Shag’ bar. After a quick stop-off in Cottesloe to say ‘hi’ to some family friends we checked into the aptly named Northbridge Hotel in the eponymous suburb. Having settled the kids I was on my way to find a corkscrew from reception when I spotted some drunken female lurking in the corridor. I thought she was waiting for the lift but when it came she didn’t get in – was it because I wasn’t wearing my Lynx?? The answer came a minute later when the fire alarm went off which had been smashed on the third floor metres from where she had been swaying. I was stuck on the ground floor with the rest of the family on the third and the lifts out of action. I explained to reception what had probably happened and the alarm was stopped pretty quickly without the kids even waking up. Phew, it was our only bottle of the delectable Vasse Felix Shiraz 2006. Next morning it’s ‘au revoir’ Western Australia as we take the plane to Adelaide.

Margaret River

2008-05-10T19:52:00.001-07:00

Blimey it’s Monday already and time to move on. We hire a car and head down south towards the Margaret River. After an hour we stop at the rather grandly titled Mandurah Ocean Marina for some delicious fish and ‘lost block’ Semillon. As we travel on, the attractively spaced out urban landscape with plenty of parkland and sailing boat speckled water gives way to a more barren rural stretch of parched brown earth and finally changes once again to the towering Karri forest interspersed with verdant vineyards and blue sky that we were promised. We manage to secure a last minute deal on an apartment that looks ugly from the outside but turns out to be attractive once we get inside. The kids are very excited to be staying somewhere with a staircase for the first time on the trip. It also has 2 bedrooms which pleases the parents too so we extend our stay to 3 nights. The next morning we ‘hit’ the wineries that are excellent if somewhat pricey for both wines and food. Cape Mentelle, owned by Veuve Clicquot, had suitably restrained, well-made wines; Leeuwin was in a beautiful setting with sculptures in the gardens and well-crafted wines too notably the ‘Art Series’ Chardonnay and Riesling; At Xanadu we enjoyed a delicious but expensive lunch yet the wines were commercial and uninteresting; ditto Wise although this was more than compensated for by the excellent views down over the forest to the ocean as well as the delectable local venison (dear deer!?); Vasse Felix laid claim to being the oldest winery in the region with the first vintage back in my birth year of 1967. Sadly that first crop was decimated by birds so the following year they trained falcons to protect the grapes. Unfortunately the falcons flew off but they remain on the label and the wines are now excellent particularly the Shiraz. The last winery of note was Cullen with the only impressive Pinot Noir we tasted in WA.

Time for a beach break @ Hamelin Bay that was beautiful apart from a festering of flies that could only be escaped from with a long underwater swim out to sea. I later learned that this was far more dangerous as Hamelin Bay is one of the best places to watch shoals of stingrays FROM THE SHORE!! (Steve Irwin RIP). We travelled as far as Cape Leeuwin notable for being the point at which the Indian and Southern Oceans meet. The Southern Ocean looked colder and more savage but we didn’t risk the flies/stingrays again to test out the theory. We headed back via a long unmarked forest road to check out the Karri forest up close. Almost grounded the car that we were specifically told not to take off the tarmac and I seemed to be the only one enjoying the splendour of these deciduous monsters – tant pis.

Scarborough Beach

2008-05-10T19:50:00.000-07:00

Eventually we arrive at Scarborough Beach @ 1am and just manage to negotiate our luggage around a maze of stairs and corridors before all collapsing in a heap: adults, kids and baggage too. The next morning we check out Scarborough, attractively known as ‘Scabs’ by the locals. There’s not a great deal to see apart from a few shops, restaurants and a beach. Our first shock is the price of fish and chips @ $22; the second is when looking in Coles for an alternative lunch where fruit and veg. seems double the price of the UK (this could be partly due to subconscious comparison with Cambodia and partly because of transport costs as Perth is about 4000kms from ‘civilisation’ if you can call Adelaide civilised ??!!). The third shock was the kids screaming for no apparent reason on arrival at the beach. This turned out to be the exaggerated pain of a mini- sandstorm around the legs of the nippers caused by the brisk sea breeze - you would have thought somebody was actually sandpapering their legs such was the Banshee wailing – so much for our first idyllic beach trip in Australia. The next day I fail to find anyone showing the Hatton v Mayweather fight (probably just as well given the result) so we retire to the apartment and its rather chilly pool. After a while I team up with Harley to practically kick a rabble of teenagers out of the Jacuzzi taking advantage of the sign stating that adults take precedence over children at all times. Harsh but fair.

Western Australia

2008-05-10T19:47:00.000-07:00

G’day from WA

We’re on the plane from HK to Perth and there’s time to reflect that a quarter of the trip is gone already. It seems only a few weeks ago that we were saying our goodbyes in London, yet when I think in detail about the places we’ve been to and the new experiences we’ve had, time appears to slow down and stretch out behind me until it feels as though we’ve been gone for 6 months. Australia is certainly a new leg of our travels and it will be interesting for me to compare the experience with my 3 previous visits – once as a backpacker in 1990 and twice more recently on family holidays to Adelaide and Sydney. This will be the first time to Western Australia and I am looking forward to it having heard good things. WA is a significant part of the country certainly in terms of surface area representing about 1/3. Put another way it is bigger than Texas and New Zealand combined. We will be concentrating on the South Western tip including the state capital Perth and the Margaret River where according to our guidebook ‘wineries and great restaurants nestle in lush, tall forests’. Sounds good to me if only we could get into the flaming country in the first place…..

Bloody Ozzie customs again – We arrive with copious luggage and understandably knackered children @ around 11pm and in spite of going through the ‘something to declare’ channel we’re still there an hour later trying to explain why we didn’t mention the children’s wooden bamboo flutes and croaking frogs. We are given a warning and told to go through at which point Ruby rouses herself from her reverie: “ how about Cooper’s toy bike? That’s made of wood too…” Luckily customs have turned their attention to another unsuspecting tourist and his half eaten apple, which could cost him 6 months in high security prison. At least we were allowed to keep everything including the unnoticed Lao Lao whisky complete with pickled venomous green tree snake for later consumption in Adelaide. Strangely my mates Andy and Rob were retrospectively disgruntled that I’d managed to sneak this through as it had a kick like a wounded zebra and the aftertaste of a reptilian cesspit. The miraculous safe passage of the bamboo flutes didn’t excite them as much as planned either – particularly after the third day of monotonous single note piping.

Hong Kong

2008-02-27T02:50:00.000-08:00

Thank God we didn’t have to stay at Ho Chi Minh airport overnight - 5 hours there was quite enough. At least Harley loves watching planes and we were able to sneak our Duty Free gin into the frighteningly expensive tonic at the airport restaurant. 3 months in SE Asia really had made the transition back to ‘civilisation’ rather painful at least financially.

Talking about entering a different world as we took our HK taxi through a maze of skyscrapers, rather than a muddle of bamboo huts, towards the Disney owned Hollywood hotel. No we haven’t gone prematurely senile – this was a planned Christmas present to Ruby and Harley for being such good travellers. Ruby was so excited that she was still up as we arrived after midnight only to be greeted by Mickey Mouse windows and shower curtains. Oh my God what have we done….

The next morning the suspense was killing the kids as we took the free shuttle emblazoned with cartoon characters to Hong Kong Disney itself. I was close to killing myself having regretted the ‘2 days for the price of 1’ deal. I doubted I would make it to teatime of the first day. As it happened I was kept amused by the hoards of Asian unaccompanied adults queuing up to meet and greet Goofy and Cinderella amongst others ‘in person’. They were trying to queue barge the ‘Adventures of Pooh’ bumpy cart ride (somewhat psychedelic in the ‘woozle dream’ section) and were very excited by the Tarzan river raft that floated past several fearsome plastic beasts. In the UK I’m sure there would have been accusations of paedophilia but these adults were simply enthralled by the magic of Disney. I suppose if you had been fully exposed as a kid to the Pol Pot regime rather than the Disney channel you deserved to enjoy a bit of childish fantasy later in life. To be fair adults were catered to a bit with a pitch black top speed roller coaster called Space Mountain, a Disney version of the Oscars during which an incredibly well honed Tarzan almost lost his loincloth by pouncing rather too close to Karen and a half decent firework display. The kids were so excited they talked about it for weeks (Disneyland not Tarzan’s loincloth) but 2 days of being offered Mickey Mouse shaped toast for breakfast was enough for us and we headed off to Kowloon the remaining 2 days in Hong Kong.
I went straight out to meet a client at a hotel they were using to house the rowing competitors for the Beijing 2008 Olympics and we sculled a delicious bottle of wine made all the more pleasant due to the relative drought of Fine Wine in Indochina. We agreed to meet up ‘en famille’ the following evening at a spectacular top floor Japanese restaurant called Aqua. We made our way there indirectly by metro to Central, Shanks’ pony through the beautiful botanical gardens, peak tram up 45 degree slopes to the highest point in Hong Kong (just about level with the tallest 100 storey + skyscraper), bus through town and finally ferry at sunset back across to Kowloon. The food was truly delicious and after we had the added bonus of a laser show. From the 26th floor the famous backdrop of Hong Kong Island lit up and flashing with multicoloured fluorescence was spectacular as was the flooding of the bathroom complete with sewage on our return. Anyway we got free transport to the airport on the back of it the following afternoon and left in good spirits for Perth and the vastness of Australia….

The Temples of Angkor

2008-02-26T00:46:00.000-08:00

Angkor Wat is truly imposing and the main reason why many come to Cambodia. It is widely believed to be the largest religious structure in the world and was built in the 12th Century as a funerary temple for Suryavarman ІІ. To give an idea of scale, the surrounding moat is 1.3km wide and 1.5 km long! Seven headed Nagas or serpents line the approach over the moat symbolising a bridge to the land of the gods. The temple was built in honour of the Hindu god Vishnu who can be found near the entrance with all 8 arms still intact. Around the central structure of 9 domed towers (including the central one that rises to a giddy 55m) is an 800m rectangular wall completely covered with intricate well-preserved bas-reliefs. These stone carvings describe bloody earthly battles as well as heavenly events. One section describes Heaven and Hell. Yama the judge of the dead sits on his bull showing the lucky ones the road up to the 37 heavens where they dwell in luxury. The less fortunate are pushed through a trapdoor by Yama’s assistants to the 32 hells which are depicted in wonderfully gruesome detail. Another wall depicts the fabulous story of the churning of the milk where 88 grim faced asura or devils have a tug of war with 92 gods both pulling on a giant serpent causing the sea to churn up and create the elixir of immortality. Apsaras or heavenly nymphs float above some say putting off the hot- blooded devils leading to victory for the gods. (We later check out the free Apsara dancing to see these beauties in the flesh as it were…).

Our next stop is the Bayon inside the fortified city of Angkor Thom. The south gate of the city has beautifully restored massive stone heads of gods and demons lining the road. This is a taste of things to come at Bayon itself with its 216 gigantic smiling faces each carved from 20 or so huge stone blocks. Some say this was all a bit of an ego trip for the famous Jayarvarman V ІІ as all the faces bear an uncanny resemblance to this legendary king. Others say it was a clever demonstration of his power with the faces looking in different directions symbolising Jayarvarman keeping an eye or all his subjects. Whatever the truth this temple is much less intricate than Angkor Wat but has its own personality and grandeur as well as interesting and rare glimpses of contemporary Cambodian life on its own extensive bas-reliefs.

After a quick lunch break overlooking the self-explanatory terrace of the elephants we were taken to our final temple Ta Prohm of Tomb Raider fame. In spite of Angelina’s absence the whole place was hauntingly beautiful. Unlike Angkor Wat and Bayon that have both been lovingly restored, Ta Prohm has been left to look pretty much as it was when rediscovered by European explorers ie wild and rugged. So much so that many walls have collapsed and others are actually held together by the root systems of giant trees some of which rise up majestically 100m or more. The whole place is shady and green having been almost reclaimed by the jungle thus epitomising the inevitable collapse of the Ancient Khmer empire following its previously inexorable rise. WOW pretty impressive stuff and all neatly packaged into a four hour chunk which the kids managed wonderfully well.

The next day we headed to the airport bound for Hong Kong via Ho Chi Minh and took the scenic route bidding farewell to Angkor Wat ‘en route’ just as we pulled in I realised I had left our passports in the hotel safe so we took the speedier road back to the hotel and managed to outpace an ambulance on the return leg. We rushed to the check-in just in time only to be advised that in spite of previous assurances we would be unable to leave the airport in Ho Chi Minh to get to our paid hotel room and would have to spend the night on the airport floor. Luckily we were able to change our flights FOC and headed back to ‘Villa Loti’ once again to their great surprise. The slogan of the Cambodian tourist information booklets (as well as those in Laos and Vietnam) was ‘Stay another Day’ and we had taken it literally yet again.

The next day everything went more smoothly and we boarded the plane without a hitch. I was feeling a little sad to be leaving Indochina with its charming friendly people, beautiful sights and wonderfully cheap cost of living but it was time to move on. The sadness was tempered with excitement that we were heading for Hong Kong, our gateway to Australia and New Zealand and some would say back to civilisation. Yet we had discovered over the past 3 months that the whole sub-continent was civilised and brimming with culture: the next 6 months would simply be a more western style of living with its inherent advantages and disadvantages

Siem Reap

2008-02-07T05:06:00.002-08:00

We were lucky to get here at all having been ripped off by our hotel receptionist who booked us onto a ‘luxury’ coach that was more cattle class than first class. I felt we would be fortunate to make it across the bridge over the Mekong out of Phnom Penh let alone the 7 hours to Siem Reap. My fears were if not allayed then certainly side-tracked by some of the most extraordinarily loaded vehicles we passed along the way. Mopeds had up to six people on each but that was nothing compared to some of the cars and trucks. One saloon had sixteen people in including a child who appeared to be suspended above the tarmac until we passed and noticed her daredevil mother clinging on to her with one hand and the open boot with the other. As for small trucks you can squeeze about thirty in including belongings as long as you double stack by making full use of the roof.

It was then that I realised I’d got my dates wrong and that even if we did make it all the way on this piece of scrap metal we would have nowhere to stay during the busiest month of the year. Thankfully the Frenchman I had made the reservation with, although fully booked himself along with every other hotel in town, knew a compatriot restauranteur who had just started renting out a couple of rooms. Not only did we have a place to stay but also 20% off an excellent dinner in one of the top restaurants in town and to cap it all a free breakfast. The words ‘b*stard’ and ‘jammy’ sprang to mind and I made a mental note to leave all future bookings to Karen even if the owners were French.

Our initial impression of Siem Reap was of a disappointing dustbowl but that changed in the morning when we moved from the outskirts to Villa Loti next to the imaginatively named Siem Reap river. The land was more verdant and the whole place more vibrant with a hustle and bustle more befitting a former capital city. So it was in a more positive frame of mind that we made our way to the market for a spot of early Christmas shopping. Several bargains and a broken plastic chair later (clearly not designed for my ample girth) we left the maze of stalls. I remember browsing for a Lonely Planet Australia or New Zealand in a drawer of books hung round a local’s neck and feeling a bit guilty at not finding what I wanted. He had had both arms blown off above the elbows and had a massive scar the whole way across his chest presumably from one of the five million or so landmines left over from the Vietnam war (yes they bombed Cambodia and Laos too). He is one of about 40,000 to have been injured and that figure only includes those who are still alive. So much for the positive frame of mind.

There was nothing for it but a bit of R&R so I abandoned the family and hit the town. My first stop was a bar with a giant football screen where I witnessed Chelsea’s savage thrashing of West Ham (ok it was only 1-0 and yes the solitary strike did come from ex-Hammer Joe Cole but a win is a win). I ended up at a rooftop bar screening a psychedelic version of Jack and the Beanstalk, part of the little known Cambofest film festival and was the unworthy recipient of a souvenir T-shirt. I faithfully assured the festival organiser that the garment would be proudly displayed around the world before coming to rest at some of the more fashionable spots of Kensington and Chelsea. I don’t think he really cared but was merely happy to palm off his last extra large on someone suitable with such a paucity of candidates.

The relaxing lifestyle continued with day visits to two luxury pools at the Sofitel and Meridien hotels. The first one was $20 a head for over 6’s so in the rather grand shower I squelched on oodles of extraneous conditioner and body lotion as well as shampoo to get my money’s worth. The Meridien pool was not as huge but better designed with fountains and stepping stones the only slight annoyance being the bar staff trying to diddle us out of $15 (not again).

The final pampering ‘pièce de résistance’ was a four hands massage for the princely sum of 12000 Riel (3 US$). This hour of pleasurable pain culminated in me lying on my front while two of the hands lifted up both ankles, as if under starters orders for a Group1 wheelbarrow race, whilst the other two pummelled my shoulders. As if this wasn’t bad/good enough, the two northerly hands were joined by their knee counterparts in an agonising crawl up my spine, already at full stretch from hands one and two. Just as I was thinking this was worse than carting heavy luggage about, it all came to an abrupt stop and remarkably I felt no ill affects.

Hang on a minute – four days in Siem Reap without visiting the temples – the single biggest tourist attraction in Cambodia by miles. I had worked out that Anchor beer was far better than it’s confusing local homonym Angkor but hadn’t bothered to check out the famous temple of the same name. We had watched the free ‘apsara’ dancing but not studied their sandstone counterparts. We did a bit of research and booked a guide for the day for a whistlestop tour of 3 of the main temples Angkor Wat, Bayon and Ta Prohm.

Phnom Penh

2008-02-07T05:06:00.001-08:00

Founded in 1372 by a wealthy Khmer Mrs Penh who found 4 buddha images in the river and built a monument to house them at the only hill (Phnom) in the area. The capital moved here from Angkor in the C15th at the fall of the ancient Khmer empire as it was more suited to trade being at the confluence of three rivers: Mekong, Bassac and Tonlé Sap. It was a strange blend of dirty dereliction, busy optimism and depressing history but the longer we stayed the more the place grew on me.

The most impressive building was surely the Royal Palace and Silver Pagoda (although the 5000 solid silver floor tiles had sadly been carpeted over). Still impressive sights remained particularly a plethora of buddhas including a beautiful silver statue and an impressive 90kg golden one with 9548 diamonds – an exact copy of King Noradoms vital statistics.

More buddhas lay in wait at the National Museum of Cambodia in a specially dedicated room with clear instructions to remove shoes and not to touch. A security guard was in place to ensure correct protocol but as we were about to leave he popped out for his sandwiches and in that 2 minute window in marched a local woman who not only kept her shoes on but proceeded to kiss and cuddle all 100 buddhas in an increasingly agitated religious fervour. All rather bizarre.

We couldn’t put it off for ever so the next day we went for the double dose of death and depression with a visit to the Killing Fields (Choeung Ek) followed by the Museum of Genocide (Tuol Sleng). After a 30 minute tuk tuk out of town Choeung Ek could almost have been a peaceful country walk if it hadn’t been for the transparent memorial containing the remains of over 8000 victims of the Pol Pot regime. Sadly this was only the tip of the iceberg as over 2 million Cambodians were murdered or died between the Khmer Rouge takeover in 1975 and their final expulsion by Vietnamese troops in 1979. In other words the population of 7 million dropped by over a quarter in just 4 years. Our guide further added to the gloom by pointing out various human bones within the ground at our feet as well as bits of clothing from the victims. He showed us the tree against which women and children literally had their brains smashed out. They used pick axes for the men as they were heavier and more unwieldy and finished them off with chemicals poured into the mass graves.

Our day didn’t get any better at our next stop Tuol Sleng which was a converted High school that became S21 – the Khmer Rouge’s main torture and interrogation centre. Over 20000 were transported from here to Cheoung Ek but those that didn’t survive the torture were buried in the school grounds. The place was in the main less graphic than the War Remnants museum and the overwhelming sensation was eeriness rather than horror with room after room of a rundown school with the odd bed, bloodstain or artists impression of torture on the walls. A lot was left to the imagination until the last room where there were actual photos of the piles of bones during the human excavations at the Killing Fields. This put everything into grim perspective and I wondered how man could be so cruel to fellow man – particularly ones own countrymen. Compared to the thousands of murders only 7 people were found alive at Tuol Sleng in 1979 and these were mainly sculptors who were kept alive to create endless busts of Pol Pot. In addition 1 person out of 20000+ escaped. A comment in the visitors’ book by a young French girl seemed very apt: It is a lot easier to do something very bad than something very good. All very depressing but in a strange and selfish way heartening that our personal seemingly large problems in life are comparatively very trivial. We should stop whingeing about them and get on with enjoying our life – something that many never had the chance to.

On a more cheerful note we spent the last couple of days enjoying the Boat Racing Festival on Sisowath Quay from our bird’s eye views in the FCC (Foreign Correspondents Club) with delicious cocktails during happy hour for around £1.10 and in the upmarket tapas restaurant overlooking the finishing line. Even here death was never far away with several drowning in one boat due to a lack of safety boats and one of our fellow diners explaining how he was lucky to have been sent away to study in Australia in 1973 just before the Pol Pot era. On his return his father and all six brothers were dead or missing and only his mother remained who is still alive today hence his twice yearly visits from Oz.

Sihanoukville

2008-02-07T05:05:00.003-08:00

This town was hacked out from the jungle in the 50’s to create the Las Vegas of Cambodia. It was named after the then Prince Sihanouk and frequented by the rich and famous (very few and far between hence its small size). Apparently 2 ½ hours from Kampot but we made it in 1 ¾ hours, despite the clapped out taxi, as the driver was on a mission. My brainwave was to stay at one of the casinos as the rooms are practically given away on the basis that they will recoup the money and more at the gaming tables. We stayed in a massive suite for less than £30 and I ended up in credit on both trips to the Black Jack table although it took me hours to make the princely sum of £20 on consecutive nights. The other bonus was a free shuttle bus that we took full advantage of to head to the various beaches: Serendipity was promising until we spotted the intermittent sewage channels; Independence was rugged but spoilt by construction work in progress, including the recently re-opened hotel of the same name where we took advantage of the excellent pool; Sokha was the best of all owned by the Sokha hotel group (Cambodia’s 8th largest company that interestingly gets 25% of all income from Cambodia’s largest tourist attraction of all by miles Angkor Wat). The beach was a beautiful crescent of pure white sand with excellent sheltered swimming and a fantastic lunch although at appropriate 5 star prices. The second time we took our own picnic but still managed to sneak in a bottle of delicious rosé which matched the views from the restaurant balcony. After a final dinner in the strangely themed restaurant ‘The Snake House’, where snakes live in the tables you eat from and you can pass ‘crocs’ in a pit on the way to the Gents, we left for the capital Phnom Penh.

Kampot

2008-02-07T05:05:00.001-08:00

The guidebook précis was ‘charming riverside town’ and true enough Kampot did just enough to justify ‘town’ status with a population of 30,000 and it is true the poor b*stards were languishing at the side of the Kampong river. ‘Charming’ is stretching the point though with nothing to do but munch on the bloody good local pepper that is keenly sought out by the top French chefs. Apart from that it was dirty, smelly and hot with a sh*thole of a ‘top restaurant in town’ (the WC certainly was as well as being infested with mosquitoes so badly that I had to take Harley to the ladies which was just as bad but more interesting). After traipsing around in the heat with an increasingly disgruntled couple of kids we got back to our ‘charming’ hotel next to a building site and run by a scouser with a penchant for bloody sheets. Things improved slightly in the evening at the Kipling inspired Rikki Tikki Tavi restaurant with a good view of the sunset at a more scenic part of the river. Even here we were kept waiting for over an hour for average ‘tucker’ and were glad to be leaving in the morning.

Kep

2008-02-07T05:04:00.001-08:00

This is a charming spa town established in 1908 as a retreat for the ruling French officers. Much was destroyed during the civil war leaving eerie colonial ruins with scattered durian trees (the fruit of which are unfeasibly large, testicular shaped and so stinky they are one of three banned items in many hotels along with firearms and explosives). Kep is also ‘chilli crab central’ which allowed me to indulge in several hours of crustacean cracking with scant but delicious reward for my labours. We spent two days in the ‘Beach House Hotel’ in what EM Forster may have described as ‘a room without a view’. Still there was a pool complete with jacuzzi, waterboatmen and large snake. We also met Moira and Joost who had just been to the Sihanoukville casino (our next stop but one) and scooped the $10,000 jackpot (30 years salary for the average Cambodian). They then spent the next week fearing for their safety desperately trying to get the money transferred back to native Holland. They were now celebrating the completion of the transfer and generously offered to lend us some cash that we could refund to their Dutch account at our leisure. All because the hotel didn’t accept visa and it was a 2 hour roundtrip to the nearest cashpoint. We politely declined and walked up to the plush La Veranda Resort that offered cashback on Visa and ended up staying there for the remaining two nights. This beautiful hotel was on the borders of a national park with raised wooden walkways and stunning views over the Gulf of Thailand. The rooms were basic but comfortable in harmony with the surroundings and even included a semi-open air shower and balcony for sunset. A wedding party had taken over the place the day before and we only got a room as one of the party had fallen ill and been airlifted to Bangkok for blood transfusions. It would be a bit harsh to call that serendipitous but we did enjoy our stay. The next day we went for a long coastal walk followed by 3 random Cambodian children aged no more than 5 or 6 who must have been at least 3 miles from home at some point. This was an example of the ‘laisser faire’ attitude of many Cambodian families that may have something to do with the chilling increase in child abuse in the country.

Cambodia

2007-12-20T20:10:00.001-08:00

I was determined to beat the fastest recorded internet time from Phu Quoc to Kep of 8 hours and thought we were in with a good chance as although people had used the newly opened border to avoid the circuitous route via Saigon and Phnom Penh they hadn’t apparently used the Ham Tinh – Ha Tien ferry which was much more direct. It was much slower and more decrepit too but luckily the sea was as calm as a Laoatian after a Happy Pizza and despite a couple of fish ‘pit stops’ mid-ocean we arrived safely 3 1/2 hours later. Unfortunately, unaccustomed as they were in Ha Tien to tourists, there was not a single taxi in the entire town. We struggled by foot to the Ha Tien hotel, refusing the kind but rather ambitious offers of transportation by single motorbike for 4 people and 80kg luggage ( piece of cake for Cambodians as we would later discover). Within the hour we had commandeered a local businessman’s van for the last 10km or so to the border. Paperwork on the Vietnamese side was swift and easy but where was Cambodian immigration ? We were pointed in the direction of some stunning scenery on both sides of a tarmac road with a just distinguishable Cambodian flag in the distance about 600m away. It felt like we had been released on a long march to freedom with the most beautiful countryside since Van Vieng surrounding us in this strange almost surreal ‘no man’s land’. Having been stung by customs for an extra $20 but thinking we had got away with a bargain (Adults are $20 each and children free but we thought everybody was $20) and by the department of health for a less ambitious $1 we were then told by the Police department we would have to go back and reclaim our overcharged $20. So much for Cambodian police corruption – this guy must have been from internal affairs. By the time we had recouped the cash and had our visas made up and stamped 16 times each, we were 6 hours into the trip and poor old Mr How, our prearranged taxi driver, had been expecting us 2 hours previously. Still he remained cheerful if somewhat ruddy faced from the midday sun and we embarked on the final 30 km leg to Kep. The first 2km were more moon-cratered than pot-holed but the views more than compensated for the bumpy ride with lush green paddies, wallowing buffalo bollock deep in mud (must be fun when it dries) and pretty thatch and bamboo huts. Giant ceramic pots with fires underneath dotted the landscape in an archaic hot rainwater system and vast numbers of paddy fields were being manually constructed using simple hoes. Massey Ferguson would make a killing here if anyone had any money but the catch 22 is that if they did they wouldn’t be living on mainly rice on an annual salary of around $300 (still three times better of than many in Laos). The rest of the journey was swift once we hit the main road and we got to Kep after 6 hours 45 mins wiping over an hour off the record. Top Travelling.

Phu Quoc

2007-12-20T20:09:00.000-08:00

After two months of travelling we finally find our beach paradise. Not only is the sand blissfully clear of rubbish and people but the sea is turquoise and clean disturbed only by the distant chug of the fishing trawlers and flashlight bedecked squid boats. To heighten our already considerable excitement the sun has got its hat on for a change and our chosen ‘res’ is very ‘des’ complete with it’s own pool and palm tree at the photographically perfect 45% angle. Even the NZ Pinot Noir is at a reasonable price…

Even the discovery of a hornet’s nest above our bathroom fails to dampen our spirits despite 3 or 4 permanent waspish incumbents during defenceless ablutions. I decide to seal off the offending suite and report the infestation to our amiable Kiwi manager Jim. He does nothing about it but in a very caring avuncular way so we don’t mind.

Poor old Jim is a bit like a space shuttle with a blaze of activity on arrival and departure but a lot of floating around in between. He did recommend a useful route via the beach to the market on our first morning but for anything else we would have to speak to Tony….
It was fun splashing down the shoreline with the kids and selfishly pleasing to cut through the Vietnam owned Saigon Phu Quoc Resort. This pricey ****hotel was complete with its very own tacky plastic elephant slide and bustling reception crammed with suitcases. Herds of tourists were flocking in and out or simply grazing. We loved our Cassia Cottages with its immaculate adjoining rooms, even if it was named after a non-indigenous type of Cinnamon native mainly to Southern China.
We hopped on ‘motos’ for the last part of the journey to the capital Duang Dong and scooted over the river of the same name to the fruit/fish market – a blaze of colourful stalls with precariously stacked purple dragonfruit, spiky red rambutans and green oranges. Moving on to the fish market we thought we had delved a bit far on coming across a grim faced man with a large saw next to the eel buckets. Happily it turns out he is just the iceman who gives us a quick demonstration of his art. The meat stalls were potentially scarier still as, having just finished Charlotte’s web, Ruby came face to face with Wilbur. Sadly the rest of his body was missing but she wasn’t too fazed and still tucked into her pork chops for dinner.
In our continuing quest to ensure all Harley’s shirts have irremovable chocolate stains we stopped off at Buddy’s ice cream parlour where out of a possible 26 flavours you can guess which one Harley plumped for. The Ozzie owner mentioned that a couple of weeks before a German had managed to get a visa on arrival in Cambodia via the recently opened border near Ha Tine. If true this would save the considerable mileage
and expense of travelling to our next stop Kep via Saigon and Phnom Penh (80km and £8 instead of 800km and £400). I decided we had better check with Tony.

The guidebook said Tony was easy to find and likely that he would find us, so when someone came over to our table that evening during a feast of freshly barbequed squid and prawn, I thought we might be in luck.

“Tony?” I politely enquired thinking the odds were pretty favourable, as there are only 80 thousand people on the whole island. He introduced himself as An Thu, whose parents owned the fabulous shack we were dining in, and he knew Tony as he was in the same line of work – tourist tours. We were duly charmed and 12 hrs + 45$ later we found ourselves crammed into a minibus with 16 other naïve fun seekers on a snorkelling/fishing trip. It was impossible to see more than a few feet even if you could find a mask and flippers to fit your massive head/feet but Ruby did catch her first ever fish and we did visit a couple of beautiful white sandy beaches.

The final day in paradise we trekked up to a jungle waterfall for a cooling dip under the cascade. We then went on to The Mango Bay Resort, which was beautiful in its own remote and rocky way. Lunch was great too particularly if you like mango for starter, main course and desert. In the evening we bumped into another tour guide.

“Tony?” I enquired hopefully. Close but no cigar as it was actually Tony’s son who confirmed it would be possible to get a visa at the border and agreed to take us as far as Ham Tinh port where our guidebook comfortingly informed us that there were “on-again off-again rickety boats to Ha Tien” which were considered to be “dangerous and not worth the risk”. Ho hum in for a penny….

We said our goodbyes to the affable Jim who was in turbo-charged departure mode, assuring us that the hornet’s nest was next on his list of things to do and insisting we take his card in the seemingly quite likely event that we were to encounter some terrible peril on our daring trip through practically unchartered territory. He handed us over to Tony’s son and an older man, surely his father the elusive Tony himself. I presumed this was the case and called him Tony all the way to the longest jetty in Vietnam where we joined a hundred or so Cambodians (definitely no foreigners at all), several tons of fish and a few motorbikes on our characterful vessel bound for Ha Tien and the Cambodian border. Karen is still convinced our driver was far too young to be Tony who must therefore remain at large yet never seen rather like a modern day version of the Scarlet Pimpernel.

Rach Gia

2007-12-20T20:02:00.000-08:00

We had booked 4 seats in a minibus for the 7hr trip but the driver insisted on trying to squeeze us into 3. We compromised and adults took turns in the front seat between ‘drives’ and his ticket collector buddy. The ride was worthy of Alton Towers but without the safety measures. We reached speeds of 130 kmh on less than perfect roads and both carriageways were fair game including verges. We stopped for a decent seafood noodle soup lunch for £2 including drinks for the whole family and soon after caught the ferry across the Mekong. At this point our wannabe Michael Schumacher, with added potbelly and stubble, seemed to chill out a bit and cruise the last 60km in as many minutes. Incidentally this was the longest uninterrupted straight road/village I’ve ever seen – the Romans were amateurs.

We were kindly dropped off at our Kim Co hotel, the best in town, at £6 a double room. We splashed out and booked two. Typically Karen and Ruby’s room had rats – shit happens and it had done all over the lovely lino. The other ‘boy’s’ room was fine so we settled down to a double header of Man U v Arsenal + Chelsea v Man City (6-0 you beauty) and re-enacted the day’s rallying with Harley’s ever-growing car collection during the breaks – job done. Call me a 'flashpacker' if you will but if Rach Gia is unspoilt I prefer spoilt. A tourist around here is about as common as mating Jabiru as the plane from Saigon to Phu Quoc is only 40 minutes and about $40 but it was booked up so ‘tant pis’. After wandering for an hour with no sign of restaurant or bar we ended up back near the hotel @ Valentine’s restaurant. Our fellow diners looked exceedingly well travelled as did the chicken but the pork was ok for the kids and the seafood soup fine, although I’m glad I didn’t have a list of ingredients.

Next morning we keenly boarded the first boat out to Phu Quoc island @ 8am. Karen had cunningly topped up our Absolut vodka with lemon juice 1:1 and chilled it overnight so it seemed a shame to let it warm up. We polished off the whole bottle by 8.30am by which time our chosen boat with the porn star name ‘Super Dong’ was ploughing a furrow through the 6ft waves undaunted and unslowed. This caused semi-seismic shock waves to the stomach and turned our recently consumed beverage into a vodka martini. 3 bumpy hours later we arrived at An Thoi at the southern tip of Phu Quoc shaken but not stirred…

Ho Chi Minh City

2007-11-23T09:21:00.000-08:00

The foreboding was increased by a one hour delay at the airport due to “technical difficulties”, more specifically, a low pressure tyre, to which I saw the ground crew trying to attach various pumps that looked better suited to a bicycle. No chance of a new tyre of course, being Vietnam. Saigon was named by the French when they captured it from the Nguyen dynasty in 1859 (cf Hue). Once the French were ousted in the 50’s, it became Vietnam’s capital city until 1975 when the victorious North Vietnamese bestowed this honour on Hanoi (the heartland of the communist north). They renamed Saigon HCMC after the recently deceased founder of the Vietnamese communist party.

The symbol for many of this final victory of the north Vietnamese communists over the republican south (in spite of the best efforts of the US) was a tank crashing through the gates of the Presidential Palace, now called the Reunification Hall and this was our first stop.

The building was definitely more important historically than architecturally, resembling a student hall of residence with furnishings from Heals rather than Ikea. The fourth floor was where a north Vietnamese soldier first raised the communist flag over the city in 1975 and was also the site of the bombing of the then Presidential Palace by President Diem’s own air force in a failed assassination attempt in 1962. Large red circles mark the spot of the actual impact of the bombs dropped by helicopter and a replica helicopter is still there today. Diem ordered a bomb shelter to be built in the basement but didn’t survive its completion as his own troops murdered him the following year (second time lucky). This network of bombproof tunnels was later used as a communication centre and war room with interesting maps and room after room of communications hardware that you could replace these days with one laptop and coordinate attacks from the safety of your island paradise.

Talking of attacks, the War Remnants museum was pretty horrific, so much so that Karen only made it half way around. Even though there was an obvious communist bias (no details of the atrocities committed by the north Vietnamese to the south Vietnamese and the US) the displays were chillingly instructive. US army soldiers holding up dismembered bodies as trophies; mal-formed foetuses from Agent Orange victims m(the chemical used to defoliate large areas to spot the enemy more clearly); the Son Mai massacre – the killing of a whole village including woman and children, suspected of harbouring communist soldiers to “teach them a lesson”. The guillotine used by the French even in the 60’s was also on display along with some of the tortures in the notorious “Tiger cages” of high security prisons. I know I’d have preferred the former. You get the picture – pretty grim stuff. In the end, around 3 million north Vietnamese were killed, many civilians, and a further 1 million injured, compared to just 58,000 US troops and several hundred thousand south Vietnamese.

The picture gallery was slightly less horrific and showed a more balanced view of the battle. All photos were from photographers who died pursuing their career as a tribute to their bravery, including the famous Robert Kapa’s last roll of film before he trod on a landmine in 1954. I returned to Karen and the kids guilty that I felt no emotion at all, just stunned by the depths of inhumanity brought out by war.

There was no respite at the Chu Chi tunnels either with displays of the Viet Con traps mostly involving sharp bamboo spikes; trap doors concealed beneath leaves on the ground and presumably slow, painful deaths. The US were no angels either and there were displays of the various bombs used in their more hands-off approach to killing. The huge cluster bomb was particularly gruesome, each one containing hundreds of tiny bomblets inside tubes of the mother bomb, designed to disperse over a large area and injure rather than kill. This was considered a more effective weapon, using up more of the enemies man hours in medical care as opposed to grave digging

The tunnels themselves were an extraordinary tribute to the inventiveness of man in extreme circumstances. They were begun in the late 40s during the Veit Mings battle with the French that reopened and extended to over 200km in the 60s to combat the US. Claims in a famous guidebook that the tunnels stretched from HCMC to the Cambodian border are apparently bogus but the tunnels around the Chu Chi area are extraordinarily extensive, in many places on 3 or 4 levels and including kitchens, weapons factories, field hospitals and command centres. There were even babies born in the tunnels, including one of the ladies still working there today.

The entrances to the tunnels were originally tiny (22cm by 30cm) and I worried after forcing my hips through and getting stuck under the armpits, that I would be left rather like Pooh bear in rabbit’s hole to fast for a week until slimmed down sufficiently to get out again. Most of the tunnels have been enlarged both in width and height (from 80cm to 1.2m). Basically, Harley can run down them, Ruby has to stoop slightly and I have to crawl painfully in the dark hoping Harley and Ruby don’t fall down the various drops, trip up the stairs or get spooked by the resident bats. After two lots of 20m, I’m knackered, filthy and sweating like a Scandinavian sauna attendant, happy to see Karen’s smiling face (she wisely remained above ground). In spite of, or maybe because of a gammy knee and severe back pain, it did bring home to me how terrible life above ground must have been to endure such hardship below (ie 50,000 tonnes of bombs over 420 km2, in other words over 100tonnes per km2 excluding the various chemical weapons such a napalm). No matter what your political beliefs, you have to hand it to the stubborn VC. Enduring those terrible conditions probably won them the war as it was from these tunnels that the infamous Tet Offensive of 1968 was planned, launched and coordinated and not long after, the US were on their way back home.

The rest of HCMC sort of pales into insignificance. The breakfast views from the 11th storey of our hotel were great, as were the 26th floor sunset ones from the Sheraton cocktail bar. The zoo was fully of mangy, cramped and generally ill-treated animals but you could argue that with so many people below the poverty line, what chance have the animals got. Anyway, the kids didn’t seem to notice and enjoyed the train ride, although Ruby did wonder what a hobbling, barely alive rabbit was doing on the Rock Python enclosure. At least the latter was well nourished.

The French quarter was, as you might expect, pretty from the outside but without real substance e.g. a beautiful Notre Dame replica that, once through the doors, looked like an ordinary church hall. Also a picture postcard 18C post office with tacky souvenir shops inside, although to give it credit, it was still functioning. Emblazoned on the outside were plaques of distinguished French men of letters and science, although you might have thought why not write them inside on one of the stamps.

In spite of some of the less pleasant parts of Vietnamese history being suddenly bought into sharp focus, we did enjoy HCMC. We enjoyed good food, wine and shopping during our stay which is more than could be said for our next, mercifully brief stop at the fishing port of Rach Gia.

Nha Trang

2007-11-23T09:19:00.000-08:00

After a short flight from Danang, we arrived by taxi on a beautiful coastal road fairly hairy due to a combination of steep cliffs, heavy recent rain and a poor road surface. We were heading for Veitnam’s only real seaside town with along golden beach and had checked into the appropriately named Golden Hotel. Sadly the weather was less than golden and we stepped out of the taxi into a foot of water….here we go again. Luckily the sun came out in time for pre-prandials on the beach at the Sailing Club, where we watched the kids play in quite big waves until one caught Harley by surprise and he went from David Hasselhoff to a piece of tumbleweed in the blink of an eye. Ruby instinctively hauled him up with no regard to her personal safety before we could even get there and won a gold star for bravery.

Dinner was amazing at Truc Linh 3 (4 is being built) but the service was a bit slow as all 10 waitresses were busy cooing over Harley and ignored our order (I know, I’m just jealous). It’s great picking ut live monster prawns to eat but I had to leave poor old Larry the Lobster in his tank as he had taken on pet status with the kids.

More delicious fresh seafood ensued on our boat trip the next day on Tam Island including 3 crabs for £1.50. The others had a nibble between them and I was there for over an hour dissecting the poor beasts leg-by-leg, dipping in pepper and lime and washing it down with Tiger beer. You may say what a glutton but Ruby managed two adult portions of tuna sashimi the day before so I didn’t feel so bad.

The other stops were on Hon Mieu where there is an aquarium housed in a ghastly looking concrete ship, literally the size of the Cutty Shark and more of an eyesore even after the fire. The sharks did look menacing although they were only reef sharks, too many Jaws movies as an impressionable youngster I suppose.

Lastly and most memorable, was the fishing village which would have been by-passed altogether if we hadn’t insisted on going. The captain looked to have pulled two birds on Tam beach and was in a hurry to get back to shore. We stopped for a drink overlooking 100 or so boats bobbing about meticulously painted in blues and reds with small bamboo coracles whizzing in between. We witnessed one of these little circular boats being crushed by the machete-wielding coconut harvester as it lay upturned beneath the palm tree mercifully unmanned.

The weather wasn’t bad either as we headed on an impromptu visit to Vietnam’s version of Disneyland, Vinpearl. The approach was impressive on a 9 minute cable car and the kids were kept in the dark about where we were going adding to their excitement. The park itself was unfinished and less than spectacular. The indoor area was completed and included a bucking bronco where I nearly broke my wrist and a boxing game where I nearly broke my fist. But I was happy to get the high score even though I weigh 3 times more than the average Vietnamese.

On our last day in Nha Trang, we visited the eponymous Long Than photo gallery. Some of the black and white images of Vietnamese life were very emotive including one of a young man sprinting across the backs of water buffalo that seemed to capture the spirit of rural Vietnam. Mr THan was there in person and provided pomegranate for the kids whilst we browsed and chatted wondering how he could look so young for 55. Must be the short haircut.

The last evening Karen managed to find a bar with a Halloween party and 2-4-1 drinks. So whilst I decorated black bin liners with paper moons and stars, Karen did the make-up and tracked down the hotel’s broom. Low and behold Ruby and Harley were transformed into the witch and her cat and stole the show. All in all a good few days in a relaxing town so there was a slight sense of foreboding as we took the early taxi to the airport, destination Ho Chi Minh City, population 9m and growing fast, which could well make the hustle and bustle of Hanoi look like a country town.

Hoi An

2007-11-23T09:15:00.000-08:00

Hue to Danang - one of the most spectacular train journeys in the world, we are reliably informed by our Footprint guide book. I suppose it was pretty impresive as we snaked our way up the Hai Van Pass, teetering on the edge of a 500 meter cliff. 90% of the carriage agreed and moved over to our side for a better view causing a camber that was scarier then the precipice itself. Lomg tunnels followed and having been forwarned about potential bag-snatchers we clutched our backpacks tightly.

Simultaneously, Ruby got a whiff of my hastily purchased platform side "rice" wrapped in banana leaf which turned out to be pig brain pate and she clutched her stomach producing a huge technicolour yawn (as it transpired, upon exiting the tunnel).

The taxi ride was scenic too, running parallel to China Beach where American service men got a brief respite from their hellish battles with the VC. After passing the Marble Mountains, the final approach to Hoi An was through a 4 km2 paddy field filled with storks, ducks and water buffalo. Pretty inspiring, even if we were getting a bit blasé about the beautiful landscapes as we have been lucky enough to see so many.

So here we are in Hoi An, the morning of the most anticipated rugby match in 4 years and what are we doing? Clothes shopping. Every other shop is a tailor. Karen gets fitted for a dress and I can’t stop myself blurting out to the assistant “Rugby? World Cup?”. Swinging my arms from side to side in a less than perfect charade of the David Duckham dummy pass. Completely lost on the lot of them so I morosely trudge to the next fitting. So slowly in fact, that I completely lose track of the entire family but serendipitously, whilst scanning 360 degrees, I catch sight of a blackboard outside a bar with the cheering message World Cup Final Tonight! 2am, open til 4am! Some cheeky French scoundrel running a bar here has decided to stay open late in spite of some sour semi-final grapes, quel gentilhomme! My spirits are lifted further by the unusual find of a bottle of Villa Maria sauvignon for lunch (which reminds me of NZ sad demise in the 1/4s). I enjoy the boat trip through town and out to the coast in spite of running aground and narrowly avoiding a water snake.

Having put the kids to bed, I track down a bottle of bubbly for Karen and leave at 8pm for the usual 6-hour build up to the game. Guilt-free, I might add, thanks to my eternally patient Pie who has put up with this 4 times now including the inevitable 12 hour hangover i.e. sole charge of the kids. OK, so we lost and they deserved to win in spite of the dubious Lewsey “try” decision so I go for a bit of shopping theraopy to the tune of 5 shirts and 5 pairs of trousers made to measure for £100 plus £20 p&p by sea to the UK. Roll on 2011.

So apart from shopping and rugby, what else was memorable about Hoi An? The weather, whilst not deluge ridden like Hue was mainly rainy or cloudy so we did a spot of sightseeing. Nothing amazing, but it was all divided up into rather convenient bite-sized chunks of 15-30 minutes, which was perfect for the kids. The Japanese covered bridge was impressive, originally constructed in 1590 to link the Japanese and Chinese quarters with a brace of monkeys at one end and a couple of dogs at the other, signifying the Chinese years of commencement and completion. The Tran family chapel was another interesting house, 200 years old and built exclusively to house Mr Tran’s ancestors, spooky.

The handicraft village was intriguing for the kids including one form of tribal weaving that took about a minute a stitch. I think Mr Singer pissed on that particular commercial bonfire. Also the house of the Tan Ky family was noteworthy if only because the same family has been living there for hundreds of years but they have no successors and being octogenarians, are unlikely to have any now. They also keep a record of the flood level which was pretty high (armchair level) only two weeks before, but nothing compared to 1964 when it reached the roof beams.

We went to the Marble Mountains that had important religious significance when part of the Champa Kingdom (incorporated into Vietnam in C18th). The peaks are named after the 5 elements – water, wood, fire, metal and earth and were a VC guerrilla-ridden thorn in the US army’s side due to the commanding view over the strategic Danang airbase.

Sunshine at least so it was off to Cau Dai by exhilarating motorbike taxi. A beautiful unspoilt beach, 5km east of Hoi An. The wonderful white sand is just starting to be dotted with new hotels so get there quick if you can. Maybe this beach was what Jeremy Clarkson’s book of excerpts from his Sunday Times column was referring to when he said that Vietnam’s beaches are the best in the world, far eclipsing Malibu and Mauritius. The Catch 22 is that after half an hour on a deserted idyll, you start wondering where your next g&t is coming from. Fair enough, but if you come prepared with your chilled vodka in a free Green Discovery thermos, you get the best of both worlds. The waves were 4ft or so, about a foot higher than Harley, who wisely pottered around the shoreline. Ruby however, impressed us with her bravery, charging into the waves and trying out bodysurfing for the first time, in preparation for Bondi perhaps. After a 2 km stroll up the beach we’d succumbed to the Clarkson phenomenon and dived into the only 5 star hotel in Hoi An, the Golden Sands. I’m not sure if it really deserves this accolade as the wine list was poor, the food average and the service grossly inattentive, thus allowing us to wander around free of charge including an hour long monopoly of the piping hot Jacuzzi. The staff also busily ignored an aged Swiss tourist choking on a fish bone but luckily Karen didn’t, bless her cotton socks. The pool was immense, a full 150m incorporating 2 bridges and 2 bars. Muggins decides to asks Ruby to time a couple of lengths, 6 minutes and 300m later, a dazed, drowning daddy returns and miraculously Ruby is sill counting 335, 336…a great end to our visit to Hoi An. Ok it was touristy, but in a quaint and friendly way, unlike Danang, a large fishing port with very little character from where we took the plane to our next stop in SW Vietnam, Nha Trang.

HUÉ

2007-11-02T07:41:00.000-07:00

One of the wettest places on earth PAH – I bet it’s only a gentle drizzle to remind us of good old blighty. ER NO…On arrival it was belting it down all night and by the next morning the road outside was under 2 feet of water – literally. We waded across the 30 metres or so to the neighbouring restaurant carrying our babies in our arms like flood victims which I suppose we were. Le Carambole managed to serve up some decent scoff in spite of only remaining open by the skin of a meniscus on the top step (broken periodically by the waves from passing coaches that led to frantic sponging). The poor lady opposite was continually trying sweep out the water from Café 36 with a small sponge seemingly unaware that her whole premises was under at least a foot of water. Full marks for effort I suppose although, mean buggers that we are, Karen and I couldn’t help chuckling. Karen was less amused by one of the consequences of the rising water - namely rising rats. Although on the 6th floor of the fairly swanky Asia Hotel we were not immune. Pondering the inclement weather as I waited to 'drop the kids off at the pool' one evening, I couldn't help notice a small brown 'friend of Mole' scuttle hurriedly in from the bedroom to a little gap under the shower. Not wanting to worry by beloved I kept schtum and thought no more about it until awoken @ 3am by blood curdling screams interspersed with more scuttling noises. To be fair to Karen she was pretty brave as the timourous wee beastie had actually jumped off the bedhead onto her arm thinking it was a large piece off fruit (it had already had a go at the banana on the side nibbling off a chunk so just as well Karen took the hit rather than it landing between my plums). This was the final straw after 2 days of room service and feeling stranded like Piglet in a flood,and the next morning we resolved to explore this waterlogged hellhole. On further inspection the flood turned out to be nothing more than a very large puddle and 25 metres in the other direction was pristine tarmac. Also the rain had stopped so we booked a car for the day.

Rather a decent Mercedes minibus as it turned out complete with driver for £20. We decided to visit a couple of tombs of the Emperors of the Nguyen Dynasty (1802-1945 for those of you who are a bit sketchy on your Vietnamese history). We went to see Tu Duc's first who had the longest reign from 1848-1883. It was a pretty spot with frangipani trees,lotus pond and pine groves but I felt a bit short changed from my 55000 Dong when I found out he wasn't actually buried here at all. Tu Duc had the most wives,(104 not including concubines), but saucy devil that he was, his sauce must have lacked a bit of spice as he didn't manage a single child. This really p*ssed him off and rather like 'English Bob' in 'Unforgiven', he turned into the 'Duc of Death'. He left strict instructions to be buried with his treasures in a secret location by his 200 most faithful servants who were to be beheaded upon finishing the job. Pretty harsh I reckon but it worked as the location remains unknown to this day.

On a more cheerful note Khai Dinh (1916-1925) seems like a much more likeable chap although his tomb artist only narrowly escaped execution due to 'stylistic differences'. Probably because rather like the new Wembley it took 11 years to build and went way over budget. However, the decor was very ornate and colourful with detailed porcelain murals of the four seasons. Also the 100+ step climb to the top was rewarded by stunning views of verdant valleys, the meandering Perfume River and pine covered mountains.

Next stop Hoi An where Karen's battles with pests are far from over but shopping 'til you're dropping eases the pain.

HANOI

2007-10-29T21:45:00.000-07:00

HANOI
(Days 23 to 34 Wednesday 3rd October to Sunday 14th October)

RWC SEMI-FINAL
You bloody beauty – I’ve always said that boy Wilkinson was a good player. What a fantastic evening thanks to my ever gorgeous and patient beloved who not only looked after the kids during my 8 hour drinking binge but also helped undress me at 5am, slightly handicapped as I was after several gin and tonic pint flyers (don’t ask) against the Aussies, who not only lost the fliers but sadly didn’t make it to the semi-final stage this year either. My darling also became guardian angel @ 8am by grabbing me when, a trifle disorientated, I was attempting to open the 3rd floor bedroom window under the misapprehension it was the bathroom door. At least the evening was cheap – 475,000 Dong (£16) including dinner, 10 pints Tiger beer + the unfeasibly large G+T’s. As it happened an onlooking Septic was so impressed with this boat racing novelty that he paid for the lot including the taxi – God bless America.

BIKERS AND B-52’s
So, I hear you cry, the semi-final of the RWC was on the 13th October so what happened to the last 10 days. Well it all went by in the flash of a motorbike headlamp or more accurately the cacophony of their 2.5 million horns that always seem to be beeping simultaneously. Cars as well for that matter – our taxi driver to the airport felt the need for 4 loud blasts every time anything came within a car length (basically all the time) and then had the cheek to demand a tip. “I’ll give you a tip” say I “ease up on the old horn and you might end up with some headache free customers prepared to part with some of their hard-earned dong.”

You have to hand it to these Hanoians though they sure can ride a bike. Traffic lights and zebra crossings are largely ignored as is any junction – cars and bikes simply flow continuously from all directions at once often on the wrong side of the road – but incredibly it works. In spite of more close shaves than Victor Khyam, the bikes manage to narrowly avoid each other as well as cars, pedestrians and the ubiquitous cyclos (pushbike taxis rather like tricycles in reverse with an added passenger seat and rider with inbuilt ‘circuitous route’ and ‘double original agreed price’ programming).

This riding expertise was an unknown on the first day and it took ages to get anywhere but by day 3 we were striding purposefully child in hand across the sea of traffic, knowing/praying it would part magically before our very eyes provided we continued in the same direction and at the same speed. Soon we became so acclimatised that we were travelling ‘en famille’ on a couple of ‘xe ôm’ motorbike taxis. Harley was in between an assured Mum and good rider whereas relaxed Ruby was in the middle of a petrified Dad and a lackadaisical driver with mobile phone to one ear. Foolhardy parenting you may say, especially with no helmets, but that’s just the way it is over here so you either join in or miss out.
One particular driver was so good that he could crawl at 0.1mph balancing 3 people without touching the ground. He soon doubled up as tour guide of the B-52 ‘museum’. No not a shrine to the wonderful trio of Baileys, Kahlua and Grand Marnier but rather a field full of plane debris. The bonus was that we could all clamber about on the bits of bomber whilst the guide insisted on family shots at various key spots. The poignant symbolism of the site only became apparent on climbing some steps at which point we could appreciate that the B-52 wreckage was all arranged in its correct place creating the image of a defeated prostrate behemoth beneath a small but shiny Mig fighter raised up above it in victory. The made in Russia label had been removed.

UNCLE HO
Oh dear Mum thinks I’m turning into a communist as I said that Ho Chi Minh, founder of the Indochina Communist Party in 1930 and creator of the Viet Minh in 1940 (later referred to by the US as the Viet Cong) seemed like a good man. Well how would I know but he’s certainly treated like a God over here even now almost 40 years after his death. Not only did they change the name of their capital city to honour him but they also pickled him for posterity (in spite of his express wishes to be cremated) so that people could continue to pop in and see him.

We were intrigued and decided to pay a visit ourselves but sadly the Russian embalmers had taken him away for his annual ‘top up’ holiday and the Mausoleum was closed (impressive from the outside nonetheless). So well respected is he that no-one can drive/ride within about a square mile of his final resting place so it was a great relief to be able to let Ruby and Harley run free for once without the constant fear of a cyclo/taxi/motorbike/child sandwich.

Just round the corner was the ornate presidential palace that Uncle Ho had declined to live in choosing instead the electricians shack. You have to give the guy respect for sticking to his socialist principles even if you do feel a bit sorry for poor old ‘sparky’. Even when in semi-retirement he allowed himself the relative luxury of a brand new house by a beautiful lake brimming with carp, it was still pretty much a glorified wooden hut on stilts. From these peaceful surroundings he formulated his messages of wisdom to the masses: ‘thou shalt not allow the insidious invasion of evil capitalism’; ‘thou shalt cremate me and spread my ashes north, centre and south’; ‘thou shalt rise at sparrow fart and exercise around the nearest lake even if you’re 90’. So what if Capitalist has crept in a bit and there’s now a KFC in Hanoi and who cares if HCM is still stuck in a mausoleum like a pickled onion after nearly four decades, at least the old codgers still get up @ 5am every morning to do Tai Kwon Slow around the lake. 1 out of 3 ain’t bad unless you’re Meatloaf.

SAPA
Bright and breezy would not be a good description of how I felt as we were rushed off the train at Lai Cai @ 6am on the way to Sapa. In fact I’ve had better Monday mornings as a trainee Chartered Accountant and that’s saying something. Not only was I still recovering from the RWC excesses of 2 days previously (actually finished only 24 hours previously) but I had also had practically no sleep on the train as, although the bed was pretty much long enough, the width was barely sufficient for my ample girth. Added to this Harley had been awake for hours with infected mosquito bites as despite having carried a medicine chest fit for a small army halfway round the world (including its magical treasure of Calpol) it had been left in Hanoi. Even when he did finally succumb to slumber @ 3am I was constantly alert fearing he would fall out off the top bunk where he had insisted on sleeping.

On the minibus from Lai Cai to the Topas Ecolodge my tiredness gradually gave way to sheer amazement at the beauty of the magical landscape (nothing to do with mushrooms I promise). Topas Lodge itself was perched on a limestone outcrop at the top of a mountain with sheer drops on three sides and fabulous views over two valleys. On one side was a verdant valley of terraced paddy fields sometimes up to 100 in a continuous descent to the valley floor like the moss-covered steps to some gargantuan temple in the clouds. The other side dropped away almost vertically to a meandering rocky stream and then steeply up the far side to mountainous peaks shrouded in mist of which the highest of all was Mount Fan Si Pan itself at 3143 metres (Vietnam’s highest mountain).

We befriended the Danish couple managing the resort (not because she was foxy but rather due to her two young children and dog who were good company for Ruby and Harley). Having been told horse riding wasn’t possible due to a recent bad accident (and from the look on her face we’re talking death or at the least severe injury) we were recommended a short trek through the rice paddies, which was muddy but enjoyable. We were invited down onto the paddy itself by a group of Red Dao to see the rice being cut, thrashed and de-husked. Ruby and Karen took an inadvertent mudslide shortcut and almost got too close for comfort to a water buffalo they use for ploughing. All was fine in the end and we left in good spirits feeling that we had got close to the real Vietnam that many spend days trekking to see.

The next day I’m really in the doghouse as I’ve booked the most expensive hotel in Sapa and it doesn’t even have a great view (well it might but it’s cloudy so we can’t tell). At least it has a huge family room, excellent breakfast and a pool but I’m still down on brownie points so the next day I suggest another trek this time up Ham Rong (Dragon’s Jaw Hill) to get the excellent views promised in our guidebook. You guessed it still cloudy but we had a good steady climb through ‘Stone Forest’ to ‘Cloud Mountain’ and ‘Heaven’s Gate’. On the way down, most interesting of all, we went to an ethnic minority performance where we saw ten of the local tribal dances including the Red Dao, Flower Hmong, Tay, and Black Hmong. Harley wasn’t as impressed as I was and fell asleep after one dance giving me a dead leg followed by a stiff back from carrying him down the mountain still blissfully in the land of Nod from which he could only be roused by the smell of fresh pizza. Meanwhile a fifteen-year old Black Hmong called Ha became great friends with Ruby and after exchanging gifts promised to keep in touch by email. A great trip rounded off by a farewell drink at the bar opposite the train station where I thought 50000 Dong (£1.70) was a bit steep for a vodka and was hoping it was a large one and it was – the whole bottle in fact.

HALONG BAY
If I was in the doghouse for blowing the budget in Sapa I’m now in the rabbit hutch. I couldn’t spend the night of the RWC semis on a boat so I changed the booking from the luxury Dragon Pearl (36 berth) to the super-luxury Lagoon Explorer (8 berth). £300 a night compared to £300 for 4 nights in Sapa (2 0n the train). OUCH that’s a small fortune out here if you consider that a 3 star family room costs around £25 a night.

I needn’t have worried as it turned out to be money well spent. The boat was immaculate with en suite loo and shower in every cabin (one for the boys and one for the girls). A polite staff of 4 were on hand to tender to our every whim which basically meant 12 course meals every 3 hours including fresh squid, crayfish and crab washed down with some half decent Pouilly Fumé for a change. The scenery was stunning too sailing through a deep turquoise sea as calm as a millpond studded with hundreds of tiny rugged tree-topped islands. In mythology the bay is said to have been created by an enormous beast careering into the sea cutting the bay from the rocks as it thrashed its way to the depths (Halong means ‘descending dragon). In actual fact the ‘tower-karst’ scenery is the by-product of millions of years of river erosion on the fragile limestone to create a pitted and very beautiful landscape (now a World Heritage site).

We also visited: Hang Hanh (amazing or surprising cave) and it lived up to its name stretching a full 2 km; a peaceful lagoon accessible only by small boat through a tiny archway in the rocks, where the stillness was only disturbed by a group of grunting gibbons and finally our first beach of the trip. We all returned to Hanoi saying it was money well spent + that we would do it again but for longer if we ever came back to Vietnam.

BYE BYE HANOI
I don’t remember much about the last 2 days in Hanoi, apart from the aforementioned 11/2 hours of glorious rugby victory against ‘les bleus’, as this also involved an 8 hour drinking binge and 24 hr hangover. So what did I forget to mention. There was the central Hoan Kiem Lake (lake of the restored sword) so called as legend has it that in the C15th a tortoise took back the magical sword from Emperor Le Loi that had been sent from heaven to drive the Chinese away. There is still a stuffed tortoise on a little island accessible only by the pretty red ‘sunbeam’ bridge as well as a tortoise tower in the middle of the lake to commemorate. A lovely tranquil spot if it wasn’t for the thousands of riders seemingly in constant practice for the motorbike version of the Indy 500 round and round the lake. The West Lake (Ho Tay) is much bigger (13km circumference) so it is possible to hire a couple of swan shaped pedalos and find a bit of peace and quiet if it wasn’t for the kids insisting on turning it into a game of swan bumper cars.

Then there was the Temple of Literature (Van Mieu Pagoda) dating from the C11th and founded by Emperor Ly Thahn Tong who dedicated it to Confucius whose statue is still there today. This was Vietnams’s first University and the intellectual and spiritual centre of the kingdom from C15th to C19th. The names of the 1306 graduates were recorded on tablets of stone carried by 112 tortoises and 82 still survive. Apparently this temple barely survived the arrival of communism as the Confucian principles of the hierarchical nature of human society with everyone in their proper place was practically heretical but luckily it was deemed to be of more value aesthetically than detrimental doctrinally.

Also worth a mention is the Hoa Lo prison better known as the Hanoi Hilton. Here during the French occupation patriotic Vietnamese were incarcerated and by 1953 there were 2000 prisoners in a place designed for 500. Despite the appalling conditions with many being tortured and some guillotined as well as spending most of their time cuffed by the ankles about 40 did manage to escape via the sewer on Christmas Eve 1944 by hacking their way through thick metal bars with nothing more than a metal saw the size of a toothpick. The French were probably half cut but even so it was an impressive effort, a sort of speeded up version of the Shawshank Redemption.

The prison was also used to house US POW’s during the American War and the propaganda photos are still there to show how great efforts were made to ensure their stay was as comfortable as possible (yeah right). Still at least they had stopped using the guillotine by then + most captured pilots did make it back to the US in 1973.

Finally I must just mention the Water Puppet Show that was enchanting (especially for the kids). Water Puppetry was invented by rice farmer’s in flooded fields in Northern Vietnam over 1000 years ago but has only relatively recently reached the towns. Skilled puppeteers cleverly manipulate quite large puppets made from water resistant fig wood. This is accompanied by melodious traditional music to give the audience a feel for rural Vietnamese life in a dozen of so scenes. The most memorable were the dragons which actually do breathe fire, the little boy playing the flute on top of a busily ploughing water buffalo and the multicoloured fish constantly flying out of the water to evade the fisherman’s net.

Talking of water it’s raining in our next stop Hué but apparently it’s one of the wettest places on earth so no surprise there. I’ll miss the hustle and bustle of Hanoi but not the bast**d pickpocket who just swiped a cool million dong – oh well only Bill Gates would be less hard hit from losing a million as it’s only about £30.

More...

2007-10-04T20:56:00.000-07:00

Day 12- Saturday 22 September

A relaxing day by the only pool in Vang Vieng. Having sorted a hotel at LP (next stop) plus a VIP mini-bus for the next morning, I visited the local barbers who did as good a job as Jerry from ‘Have It Off’ for 1/10 of the price; 40,000 kip (£2) and a generous 10,000 kip tip (50p).

Day 13 – Sunday 23 September

It’s a long way to Tipperary, Timbuktoo and Luang Prabang. 7 hours in fact, although it can be done in 5 hours but our driver was no Stirling Moss. Casanova more like, as he managed to pick up two local H’mong women and convince them to travel to LP and back with him (a total of 10 hours out of their way). Hopefully, his sole motive was kindness as he also agreed to take our room key back to Vang Vieng that Harley had smuggled into his rucksack and cost 150,000 kip (£7.50) to replace (about the same price as a decent meal for 4 including drinks).

The road wound round bend after bend and Harley did a similar thing to Karen in the back seat until mercifully, he dropped off (luckily not off the side of the mountain which plunged down precipitously up to 1,000m in places). Ramshackle huts clung precariously to the edge, hanging on in places by the skin of their spindly wooden supports. Big wicker baskets of chillies, ginger and flower petals dried on the roofs along with the odd incongruous satellite dish.

We eventually got to LP at the meeting of the Mekong and Khan rivers and on by tuk tuk to the Senesouk guesthouse after a mini-tour of the driver’s relative’s houses that he insisted would provide more suitable accommodation. Our reserved room was a bit cosy for 4 but at least we managed to get a better one upstairs with an interesting view over the yellow- and red-roofed Wat Sene and the incumbent bright orange clad Buddhist monks (temple of 100,000 so called as it was constructed with a 100,000 kip (£5) donation from someone who discovered treasure in the neighbouring Khan river).

Day 14 – Monday 24 September

Excellent!! A French-style café which had WiFi too! Karen checks emails whilst I tuck into Le Grand Set (OJ, pot of coffee, croissant, toast, French bread, local pineapple jam, egg and bacon plus a bowl of delicious local fresh fruit) all for £3.50. Suitably refreshed/stuffed, we head off to the Royal Palace, which I am looking forward to as we missed the one in Bangkok. Respectfully attired, we make it in, but after 20 minutes, it closes for lunch. Not to worry, as over the road is the imposing hill of Mount Phousi. Karen goes back to the room claiming sickness but I reckon she’s afraid of the dreaded Phousi Pussy (not a local variant of Athlete’s Foot but a particularly vicious kitten which steals your crisps – honest it does).

Harley whinges his way up the first 20 steps claiming he has no legs, but having been told Spiderman can easily get to the top, he completes the remaining 308 in a crazed sprint, so that Ruby and I can genuinely not keep up. Luckily there is some shade from the trees that cover the hill as it’s hard work in black jeans and a long black shirt. It is worth it though for the 360 degree views of the Mekong on one side and the Nam Khan on the other with a Kwaiesque bridge (Srisavavong) and the golden dome in the distance of Wat Tao Hai (fittingly on a hill).

Fortified with orange squash and half a pack of crisps (as I mentioned pussy snaffled the rest) we head down the far side of the mountain past 7 Golden Buddhas in varying poses (one for each day of the week), into a cave with more of the same to a small hole with a large imprint of a Buddha’s foot. We also spot six giant 50 ft long Nagas (mythical sea serpents). Harley casually enquires if they are ‘real’ – if they had been I’d have sent one to terrorise the bloody ref who sent off Mikel for no apparent reason leading to Chelsea’s humiliating defeat 2-0 by Fergie’s boys. S**T.

Day 15 Tuesday 25th September

I’ve been brushing up on a bit of basic Buddhism in keen anticipation of our postponed trip to the former Royal Palace (now National Museum). I hope to spot the Trimurti (3 important Gods) – Brahma the creator with 4 faces,Vishnu the preserver with 4 arms and Siva the destroyer with 4 times the usual sized schlonger. Oh BO***CKS – closed on Tuesdays so we get a tuk tuk to the market for a T-shirt as I’m sweating like a racehorse in my long-sleeved palace-friendly Hackett top. I finally decide on a rather snazzy red number with pink and yellow flowers + brightly clashing buddhist gods (definite potential for the Armit ‘best’ dressed award).

Still culturally unfulfilled we head for Wat Thien Thong* - Temple of the flimsy underwear (* OK actually spelled Xieng Thong but the ‘X’ is pronounced ‘th’ so a valid gag). This is one of the few buildings to have survived successive Chinese raids at the end of the C18th and is strikingly beautiful made from age- blackened wood, with aesthetically pleasing ‘ski-jump’ roofs and wonderfully detailed glass mosaics on the outside depicting rural life in the C16th. Side chapels include a rare reclining bronze Buddha and a gilded wooden funeral chariot. Very impressive.

Day 16 Wednesday 26th September

We’re off on another Green Discovery Tour – the latest in Ecotourism supporting as they do the local community. Sadly Settha the shy student is a bit of a letdown after Ola the outgoing Orphan who was our guide in Vang Vieng. Settha’s English is OK but he is reactive to say the least and seems to know very little about Lao culture (or if he does he doesn’t let on). By the time we get to the Pak Ou caves – the highlight of our tour – Settha has remained steadfastly ‘stumm’ for 2 hours to Karen’s increasing annoyance. By this stage even if the caves had turned out to be the 8th Wonder of the World I doubt if she would have been too impressed. OK so there were 4000 buddhas but most were the size of an eggcup and the entire caves were not much bigger than a couple of squash courts (That reminds me I haven’t had any proper exercise for ages and am resisting the slimming potential of Lao cuisine as even here you can get my staple UK breakfast – the bacon and egg baguette).

The trip seemed destined to improve dramatically as by chance there was the annual boat racing being held at a village 30 minutes by boat up the river Ou. Sadly Settha remained in his shell ignoring dramatically sheer cliffs on one side and grazing water buffalo on the other. Even on arrival he led us up to the village via sewage ditch and appeared rather lost when his chosen restaurant at the smelliest part of the aforementioned poo stream was closed. Not to worry as we took matters into our own hands and headed purposefully for the loud music, Beerlao umbrellas and views of the finish line. Poor old Settha was now completely flummoxed and couldn’t even manage to order a beer but I stepped in and quickly found 3 cold ones and before long it all kicked off – boats were flying past à la Hawaii-5-0, Karen was dancing with the local Posh with video footage from Becks and I was tucking into the local delicacy – Beerlao with a cockroach chaser (not bad apart from the unchewable legs). Settha’s lunchbox was very tasty too (steady ladies) including an appetising Psa fish marinated in delicious marmitey sauce ( actually fish brain extract which is probably why Settha enjoyed eating the entire Psa’s head). Anyway we returned downstream in far better humour for our last night in the cramped Senesouk.

Day 17 Thursday 27th September

Yippee I’m rich to the tune of 3.7 million. Admittedly they are Kip + I did have to change up Ruby’s money for the whole year to get them but I’m feeling strangely guilt free. I’ll pay her back sometime and stitch her up on the exchange rate but probably not as much as the HSBC two pronged rip off - 2% on the exchange rate + £2.50 per transaction – quite a bit as the maximum withdrawal from the ATM is £38. Hence the real reason for raiding Ruby’s stash. Feeling flush we move to more appropriate surroundings – The Villa Santi Resort Hotel (luckily it was my turn to choose and although Karen kicked up a fuss she’s loving it really).

Day 18 Friday 28th September

We must be spending too much with Green Discovery as they present us with long service awards in the form of fluorescent green eco-friendly metal water flasks (very useful for keeping vodka cool + subtle for sneaking a wee dram into the fresh lemon juice at the pool bar). Poor Settha’s been ditched and Nyi is much more friendly although ironic that his name means big in lao and yet he’s nyi to a grasshopper.
We are treated to a full cultural immersion visiting a village of each of the 3 major ethnic groups. First it’s the Lao people who tend to live in th lowlands close to the river. We came across them on the last trip making Lao Lao or rice whisky (this is often bottled with a snake or scorpion in to bestow extra virility on the drinker but it was more like brewer’s droop for me after my Lao Piranha with 3 shots lao lao fresh limes + tabasco). This time they are more interested in pottery that is fired in huge underground kilns and sold to the local guesthouses as lanterns.

Next we visit the Khmu who live in the forests above the rivers with their goats, ducks, dogs and waterbuffalo that we get closer to than the people themselves who are a shy and retiring folk who believe heavily in the spirit world. and also the world of pain if you foolishly subject yourself to one of their massages ( she was only 5ft 2in + practically beat the C**P out of me).

Finally the Hmong who monopolize the high ground and who used to terrorise the tourists minivans and coaches on the road to Van Vieng until they were persuaded to desist in return for more fertile land closer to the river. Originally descended from the Chinese Ming they now spend most of the time sewing + selling bags, embroidery + dolls to the tourists. It seems a shame that these tribes seem to be losing their identity a bit and pandering to the whims of the West but from a selfish point of view it’s good not to have to shield the kids from bandit’s potshots (a problem up to as recently as 5 years ago).

Finally after a superb lunch amidst the beautiful hills and paddy fields we get to the Kuang Si Waterfall Park. The falls themselves are impressive cascading down 500m to more gentle pools where we take a cautious dip. We also see a tiger saved from the poachers who killed it’s mother and some Black bears confiscated from smugglers who sell them on to the Chinese who stick catheters into them + keep them barely alive (no pun intended) for months to farm the bile for medicines and soups. YUK. Maybe they should print up some Bearlao T-shirts (pun intended this time as the Beerlao T-shirt is the most common in LP) to make some money to help stop this disgusting practice.

Day 19 Saturday 29th September

Sod it let’s get a babysitter in and get all sorts of messed up so we do. Our initial concerns about the girl speaking no English are gradually eroded by the aforementioned lemon juice vodkas by the pool. Ruby is 7 for God’s sake and well capable of looking after Harley and the babysitter. 3 bottles of rather fine Chablis and a million Kip later we are not in the slightest bit worried (we can hardly remember their names) instead we are more concerned with truth or dare which involves me jumping of the balcony, running round the pond and hurdling a hedge…twice ..naked.

Day 20 Sunday 30th September

S**T that was a bad idea I realise as my ankle gives way en route to the bathroom the following morning. Luckily my Heath Robinson skills are developing well on this trip and I adapt a stubby cooler into a pretty effective ankle strap (also doubles up at night into an elbow strap for Karen’s dodgy elbow). Eventually we get to the Palace which is both impressive (particularly the Prabang (Golden Buddha) itself given by the King (Luang)) and mercifully short for the by this stage grumpy hobbler.

Day 21 Monday 1st October

Eureka Harley swims without armbands for the first time. 17 seconds and over 5 metres – this must be akin to what the Wright brothers felt and not far off their time + distance either. The thing is they packed up and went home after a couple of attempts whereas Harley keeps on going to the point of near exhaustion the determined little blighter. He clearly takes after his mother whereas Ruby has the paternal lazy gene and just grabs onto whatever happens to be floating nearby rather as Pooh would to a stray honeypot during times of severe flooding. She does however make giant strides with diving and underwater swimming as well as bombing and general loud noises around (luckily we have the pool pretty much to ourselves).

Day 22 Tuesday 2nd October

We realise that we are behind on Ruby’s schoolwork and her brain is turning to mush so it’s a full day of intensive tuition for her whilst Karen goes of on a cookery course.
Her brain starts working again after a couple of hours and we catch up on her diary, spelling and maths. There’s even time for some Geography as well as a bit of an Art/French combo where I draw a beautiful landscape (as does Ruby) which I label with the French words for house, mountain, sky, tree etc. So fine is my artwork that Karen thinks it’s Ruby’s. Oh well they do say talent skips a generation.

Day 23 Wednesday 3rd October

It’s La Kong Laos and Chao Anh Vietnam.

Will's Diary

2007-09-28T07:55:00.001-07:00

Day 1 Tuesday 11th September

An inauspicious start on arrival in Bangkok as having caught Harley’s chunder in
a makeshift plastic bag it floods over my lap during final descent. Our luck had
been bad since the traffic jam on the final approach to Heathrow Terminal 3 when
we should actually have been heading for Terminal 4. I had then decided to be
healthy for my last meal in the UK and plumped for the crayfish salad that must
have been feeling homesick as it spent the whole flight escaping out of both
orifices in a vain attempt at repatriation. At customs we thought our luck had
changed as after a fretful few minutes of visaless angst we found out we didn’t
need one.

Then we not only picked up our luggage in record time but were also showered
with gifts of delicious local rambutan and longkong fruits. Sadly the Gods were
only smiling on us briefly as we soon hit Bangkok rush hour. Not only did it
take a good hour to reach our hotel but we got there to find that our room had
been burned down in a recent fire. Happily the replacement hotel was only 3km
away – unhappily the roads were now grid locked and it took 2 hours to reach
what we thought was the Sheraton Palace but ended up as the Trinity Silom.

Day 2 Wednesday 12th September

In spite of jetlag and the after effects of Nytol the troops were roused @ 9 am
and heartened to find chocolate cornflakes and bacon @ breakfast. We attempted
various modes of transport starting with a taxi to Wat Traimit (Temple of the
Golden Buddha that I affectionately renamed the Peanut Smuggler). Then we took a
Tuk Tuk (immediately Harley’s favourite way to travel) to the Golden Mount. This
is an impressive manmade 80m hill but feels like a mountain by about halfway.
Impressively Ruby and Harley made it up all 372 steps ringing giant bells as
they went along and were rewarded with an excellent bird’s eye view of Bangkok
from the summit.Next we went by boat down the Chao Phraya past Wat Arun (former
Grand Palace) to the Tak Sin bridge. Here we boarded the wonderfully cool
Skytrain back to the hotel.

Day 3 Thursday 13th September

A dreadful night of heinous chundering firstly from Ruby (8 times) then Karen
caught the dreaded lurgy too. The only fringe benefit was that the manager took
pity on our sick family and I got an upgrade to an executive suite in spite of
the hotel being ‘full’. Harley was still full of beans (especially after eating
most of mine for lunch after I had sucked off the spicy sauce) and he happily
wowed his constant crowd of clucking admirers whilst I sorted out visas and
flights to Laos and the girls slept off their sickness. Harley and I enjoyed a
refreshing swim in the 9th story pool where he won his first armband assisted
25m race followed by ‘tuk tuk’ rides on Daddy’s front and back. We then had to
rouse the sick from their beds for a visa photoshoot where Harley stole the show
with his big blue eyes and cheeky grin; I looked not bad for me; Karen looked
so-so and poor Ruby looked totally miserable. I hate to admit we then went to
Starbucks (ostensibly for the free wi-fi but the raspberry frappacino was good
too) and then back for an ‘early night’. Sadly the kids hadn’t read the script.
Harley was bouncier than Tigger and even Ruby had perked up on Calpol so neither
slept until close to midnight. Mum and Dad didn’t sleep ‘til 3am having failed
miserably to find a hotel room in Laos. Fully booked in Vientiane – I DON’T
BELIEVE IT…….

Day 4 Friday 14th September

A good start to the day as I get hold of a suite in Vientiane for £25 in the
best hotel in town…….in the 60’s. Ruby was sick again in the night so I stay in
with her while Karen + Harley go out for medicine and food. After a swim (Harley
learns to lie afloat on his back) we head to the Patpong Night marketwhere Ruby
and Harley buy a croaking frog each (my request for Thai boxing gloves for the
kids is wisely refused) and Karen gets a fake ‘large as a blokes’ Cartier (not
bad for £30 though). It’s now 8pm and Rugby World Cup fever is setting in.
Happily this is 8pm so still 6 hours of drinking time before the match starts @
2am local time. Karen kindly takes the kids back to the hotel while I stride
gleefully down Patpong for a few drinks. In the first bar despite the bouncer
telling me it’s fine for just a drink I get pounced on by 5 women inside a
minute (I’m not even wearing Lynx) and leave beerless (mind you what do you
expect from a bar with ‘pussy’ in the name). Next stop is Noriega’s where I not
only get a beer but also a free ‘gig’ – I am though an audience of 1 and soon
leave for the King’s Castle where I learn that most of the ‘chicks’ have things
that rhyme with bricks. Ridden with guilt from finding most of these ‘blokes’
attractive I beat a hasty retreat to a quieter bar where they are showing
re-runs of earlier RWC matches – perfect warm up. After 3 or 4 here + another
couple round the corner where I lose to the barmaid at connect 4 but manage to
salvage a 1:1 draw against the resident Thai pool shark (OK so he did go in off
the black). I then go on an exhilarating motorbike ride across town to the Wall
Street bar with a couple of expats. They are showing the rugby but we get
absolutely hammered by the Boks as do I by another 3 or 4 beers + I stagger back
into the hotel @ 4.30am to a lovingly sleepless pie…..

Day 5 Saturday 15th September

Talking of ‘Hot Thai Girl’ strangely that means thank you in Laos where we are
heading today.(Having said this to most of the staff in our new hotel it later
transpires that thank you is actually ‘kop chai der’). I cunningly sleep through
the packing and amazingly avoid a hangover through judicious use of Barocca @
5am and the fact that the kids are fantastic all day in spite of extensive
travelling/heat. We get a taxi to Don Muang airport where Harley and Ruby are
impressed at the airport by the amazing origami making stranger (boats,planes
and birds) and fly Nokair to Udon Thani. Our babyoil is confiscated @ customs
(over 100ml + same rules as UK) which is annoying as it apparently traps
mosquitos before they bite and Laos is a Malarial/Dengue Fever area. After a 1hr
flight we take the VIP minibus over the Friendship Bridge into Laos and its
capital Vientiane. We are greeted at the Lane Xang hotel by a deliciously
refreshing watermelon juice and a hoard of staff enchanted by the children
(especially Harley). The place has a dilapidated charm and we like it as do the
kids.

Day 6 Sunday 16th September

After a revitalizing breakfast (especially the coffee which makes the Turks seem
like quiche eaters) we retire to the tile challenged pool.Burgers are good but gamey
(buffalo I think)and Karen enjoys the pleasures of Lao massage (too much leg action
and not enough chest apparently). We finally enforce some homework onto Ruby which is slow and error strewn after the long holidays so I will definitely enforce the 1hr per day.

We visit the Patuxai (Victory Monument) which is Laos's answer to the Arc de Triomphe and is impressive from afar at least (really just a big block of concrete up close) and it's back to the hotel to read up on some Laos history (I never knew that Laos was carpet bombed by the US in the so-called secret war). Anyway I secure my own hard fought Connect 4 victory 2:1.

Day 7 Monday 17th September

Off to the morning market for a mooch. Ruby buys a silver elephant - Harley wants one too but is too naughty and has to sit on the naughty step (some poor stallholders stool) while the locals look on amusedly.Back to the hotel pool
and I go for the Traditional Lao massage (hot stones wrapped in cloths pressed onto strategic parts of the body by a hot chick wrapped in clothes).In the evening we go to allegedly the best restaurant in Laos the Na Dao. Ruby,Harley and I devour copious quantities of lamb and beef lovingly prepared by a Parisian chef while Karen mostly devours Chilean Sauvignon Blanc. A blissfully short stop at the hotel disco ensues where it's all Waltzing and Lao style Macarena.

Apparently the ballroom dancing ban in Laos has only just been revoked.

Day 8 Tuesday 18th September

Last day in Vientiane so it's chore time. Laundry first then to the post office to forward 6kgs on to Australia. This combined with throwing out another 6kgs gets us below 60kg necessary for most Indochinese flights (besides which it's easier to lug around).We spend the rest of the day lounging in the Settha Palace pool where harley makes giant strides with his swimming due to forgetting his armbands. He also learns to jump off rocks at the side of the pool with arms outstretched like a mini version of the Acapulco divers.Ruby is very patient and motherly with Harley which
is very sweet and helpful.After a quick temple stop where Karen gets her first snap of a fully togged Buddhist monk (not in a bunk) we catch a quick glimpse of traditional Lao dancing which appears to be mainly bird imitating (nothing
to do with ladyboys this time).

Day 9 Wednesday 19th September

It's off to Vang Vien on a 3 1/2 hour coach ride with only 3 seats. Karen is very patient with Harley on her knee most of the way and both children are good except that Ruby seems to prefer her Nintendo to the sometimes wonderful views of rice
paddies,coconut palms,mountains and waterfalls.On arrival we not only miss our free shuttle Songthew (tuk tuk with attitude)to the hotel but also leave the case with Harley and Ruby's books in on the bus. Luckily when the shuttle did catch up with
us the driver spoke excellent english. Having tracked down the now empty bus to a disused airstrip and searched it to no avail I eventually found the case in a different guesthouse's reception - PHEW. We`had booked the luxury Lao house and boy
was it worth it.The view is truly spectacular across the fast flowing Nam Xong busy with net-casting fishermen and long Lao motorised canoes.Behind is a plain studded with Lao huts and various deciduous trees in turn dwarfed by 500m tooth shaped
mountains practically sheer yet covered with trees like badly flossed molars.This panorama stretches a full 180 degrees and in the evening flocks of white gulls fly by in beautiful chiarascuro against the dark green mountains. WOW (and I haven't even
touched the local'happy'food yet.We practically lie down to eat on mattresses and cushions but my fish tastes a bit of river water. Ruby's free range pork is delicious(Anthony Worrell-Thompson eat your heart out) as is (surprisingly) Karens local Lao
dish called Lap with tofu,chilli,vegetables, garlic and mint (luckily also available with meat or fish).Early to bed again to read a bit of my new book 'Marching Powder'which whets my appetite for the SA leg of the trip although I hope I don't end up in San Pedro.

Day 10 Thursday 20th September

Tubing today and the kids are very excited.We have an excellent breakfast at the local bakery including the speciality banana coffee shake (Starbucks beware).Not only does it wake you up but bungs you up too (most excellent and necessary in this neck of the woods).Our ecofriendly tour guide from Green Discovery then takes us up the road in the Songthew and we hop onto our tubes (tractor inner tubes)with Harley on top of me and the girls in a second tube all attached to the guides Kayak. It is a very pleasant meander downstream, more relaxing than exhilarating rather like being a giant Poohstick. We avoid the restaurants with 'Friends' looptapes and end up in one showing loop tapes of 'Family Guy'instead. The food is so-so and the drinks order a all comes together in a bucket with 4 straws - 8 vodkas, 1 can of coke and 1 redbull - YUK. Still waste not want not and I stagger home carrying the now sleeping Harley followed by a reluctant Ruby who probably wanted to stay behind to pick up some more swear words OH DEAR.

Day 11 Friday 21st September

BIG ADVENTURE DAY. We are picked up at 9am for a trekking/caving/tubing extravaganza.The guide assures us it's only 2km of trekking but it feels like about 10km in the heat and with Harley on my back most of the way. Still the landscape is
amazing as we wander through paddy fields and local villages to the caves.The first Elephant cave was small and unremarkable apart from a stalagmite which did bear an uncanny resemblance to the aforementioned beast. The second cave was tricky to get
to up slippery bamboo ladders in 'birkies'and flip-flops so we left Harley with Karen so the guide could help Ruby. Just as the slope inside would have been a challenge for Torville and Dean. due to the fresh mud on the smooth wet rock. Well worth the effort as the cave was huge with pretty 'diamond' encrusted stalagmites and Ruby loved it. After our orphaned buddhist monk trained guide Ola had BBQ'd lunch we went to the aptly named Snail cave which was indeed slimy underfoot again.The final cave was mainly underwater and I was quite affronted when Ola said I was too fat to get in. He had a point as I could never have got in on a tube so we left Karen with the kids and swam in. I almost didn't make it too the entrance due to a really strong current. We then had to tread water and edge into the cave in the dark. Not recommended if you are claustrophobic or a weak swimmer but quite an adrenalin rush. I was so exhausted I insisted Harley walk the whole way back to the truck whereupon he promptly fell asleep and had a rude awakening on a tube in the rapids. We did 10km of tubing instead of the 4km the previous day and stopped at a bar on the river for cocktails,pool and trance music as well as a great trapeze-like swing which dropped me off into he middle of the river before you could say triple salko with twist (well almost). A fantastic day was had by all and everyone was too knackered to go out so we had excellent room service and all were in bed by 8pm except yours truly who got a second wind and polished off the book and the Grey Goose.