KI, Sunday

That night was noisy. Not the animals, which I thought it was, but the teenagers. Pity the couple with the young child. And then whoever was on the bottom bunk was cold so got up to put the heater on at around 5 (which did leave the room warm at 7 when it was time to get up.)

I gave up at 6:30. I could hear Simon clattering in the kitchen (and the music was on) so I got up. I sat for a good half hour before anyone else got up, watching the dawn. The fire was alight so it was warm despite a quite obvious autumnal edge to the air. The stars were dimmed by the full moon, which was setting as the sky turned turquoise behind me.

By the time everyone else got up, I had had breakfast. So I had a shower when the bathroom was free, and washed up while the others ate then did my drug round. We left at 8, packed and fed, as the sun was rising above the golden mist in the fields. The road (everywhere is 20-30 minutes away from the last place) took us to the far western end of the island to Flinders Chase which was the most burnt last December. You could still smell the acrid char on the air and where the sand is pale gold elsewhere, here is grey. But already there are bright, light green new leaves around bases of the black gum skeletons and regrowth is happening.

We reached the coast and the sea sparkled. There was still a light dusting of mist along the headlands and solid in the distance were lumps of the remarkable rocks (still original in the names). After a quick photo stop we got to the rocks, only two cars in the car park and one family was just leaving. The Rocks are lumps of granite, weathered and torn and alien in the sand and limestone scenery, perched on a large dome of granite. They balance and lean drunkenly and in every view you can imagine animals and faces. The dome slides gracefully and ever so inevitably to the rocks below where the sea washes stripes over.Several rocks are hollow and there were lots of photos and general silliness before we all stopped for a group piccie. 21 cameras later, the tour guide was loving it.

After we left there it was a few minutes down the road to Admirals Arch. This is a huge limestone arch across a spectacular bay of base rocks which slope to the sea ( in the same way the balcony of the hotel in Victor Harbour sloped) and to two islands which obviously formed when similar arches fell. The rocks are dark, the sea a sort of sapphire except where the waves are creamy against the dark rocks. And then you look again and you realise that half of the rocks are actually more seals. You can’t walk among the seals here and the air is as pungent as you’d expect. From the roof of the arch hang ancient petrified tree roots and there are massive cracks through the rocks. It is spectacular, absolutely beautiful, and we just stood and watched the seals fighting and playing in the waves.

But all good things come to an end and it was lunch time. So back to the Flinders Chase visitors centre to cook dinner on another barbie. Much round there (including the platypus walk) is closed because the trees are too unstable after the fires. Chicken wraps for dinner, and a chance to sit and read for a few minutes as the magpies come close in a desperate but futile hunt for food. Two kangaroos were watching and one came right down into the shelter as we were clearing up.

We had a half hour in the visitor centre itself. After discussing Mother’s Day while eating, I finally remembered to buy Mum a b’day card. Found one with some local finches on, painted by a local artist. As I was paying, the bloke behind the counter said I must see the other bird cards which were so nice – open them up and they would play birdsong. God, he must have a low opinion of tourists. I bought the local rag instead, I don't think he was impressed.

From there to Stokes Bay (not quite Gosport), with its secret beach. To get to it, you have to walk (crouch) through a narrow tunnel formed by huge fallen rocks (likethe Siq in Jordan, on a tiny scale). It suddenly opens out into a curving bay with the most gorgeous white soft sand, shallow lucent sea that fades through all turquoise imaginable to crystal clear. Intending to sit and read (I really can’t afford to lose my lenses – I need new glasses as it is - so I didn't swim), I completely failed and spent the time standing just where the sea laps the beach, talking to the Americans. The time flew and it was time to get back on the bus for the final sight. Why haven't I been here before?

That was Kingscote, bustling metropolis, capital of KI, with a population of about 50. We stopped by the pub and after a short while wandering along the beach there, picking up shells and sea-glass and skimming stones, had a quick drink. Then we had a quick hunt for the Swedish lads, who had disappeared, and went to see the pelicans.

Simon is obviously a regular fixture there, and led us right to the front. There were about 15-20 pelicans, huge ungainly birds with big blue pigeon-toed feet until they fly when they soar on the thermals. Feeding frenzy. The gulls barely got a look in before being chased away. Then the pelicans had a go. The bills are incredible. They are fleshy and expand with the weight of the fish, which are then flipped around (eventually) so they are gulped down whole head first. Like a snake, you can see the lump of the fish in the neck as it slides down the oesophagus.

Then it was time to drive back to Penneshaw to get the ferry. We were told to bugger off awhile and find food, so three of us (Beth, Naoko and me) went to the take away. Which was pretty much just a screen door in a wall next to the pub. It could have been into someone’s kitchen, had there not been a blackboard outside with “Take Away” scrawled on it. But the fish and chips were cooked to order and were beautifully fresh. They still don’t get the vinegar thing, though.

Anyway, we sat in the park and ate with Karen and Sonya who had pizza. Then we walked along the small reserve at the top of the cliffs. Sadly no penguins. So we thought we’d talk about seeing dolphins instead – and there they were, three of them right at the base of the cliffs. So close you could hear them.

Time to say farewell to Simon and onto the boat. This time I found the van that took luggage so didn’t have to carry my big rucksack. Which wasn’t that big, but just enough to be a pain and prevent moving around. Unfortunately the ferry left just slightly too late to catch the sun going down so we didn’t stay long on deck, but sat talking.

Back in Cape Jervis, the boarding of the coaches was managed with the military precision of the Bolivian Navy. ie non-existent. You just had to crowd around a little man with a clipboard and shout out the name of your hotel until he heard and told you which coach you were allowed to board. It was dark and as we drove up to Adelaide, the moon was bright enough to define the trees and their shadows sharply against the black. Not that I was suggesting it, but it was probably light enough to be able to see the road without lights.

Back in Adelaide and we were dropped off at various hotels, down side streets I never knew existed (and certainly wouldn’t walk down some of them alone in the dark). I heard one man asking to go to the hospital so managed to persuade the driver to drop me off there instead. As it turned out, he had left the bus at a hotel, but I got taken to the corner of North Tce and Frome which suited me fine.

So into the car and home by 11pm. Just in time to phone home for Easter Sunday.

PS. I've (obviously) got my photos back. Just how many photos of seals is it possible to take?

KI, day one.

But let’s fast forward to something more interesting. I decided that as it was Easter, I’d go away. So I booked a trip to Kangaroo Island (with the same tour company as I went to Uluru with). Pick-up was only from the centre of town, so I would have to drive as there’s not a lot of public transport at that time of the morning. No pick-ups near the RAH where I’d have to park, so I was told that I’d have to walk down North Terrace (just over 1/2 mile) to the Stamford Plaza at 0620. Which meant getting up at 5 to give myself enough time. Grrr.

I left OK (having hardly slept as I knew I'd be getting up at silly o'clock), parked, walked to the hotel and got there in time. You wouldn’t believe how rank North Terrace smells at that time of the morning. It had obviously been a good night, the night before. A bus drew up, the driver got out, went into the hotel, straight out onto the bus and left. As he drove off, I had a horrible feeling, even though it the bus belonged to another company. Anyway, it got to 6:40 (good job it was a warm morning), and I’d watched the traffic increasing, flight crew being taken to Adelaide airport and the morning cakes being delivered, so I decided I’d better do something. Given there was a ferry to catch. So I phoned the tour company office who suggested I phone the ferry company who were doing the pick-ups (would have been nice to know that in the first place). So I phoned them who said yes that had been the bus, but I’d been down for a pick-up near the hospital so I wasn’t on the list. Aaarrggh.

So into a taxi, two roads down to the bus station (the only cautious taxi driver in Adelaide!) and I was almost last in the queue, except for an American family who’d also had a similar problem. I made the last bus, anyway

We drove down to the Fleurieu Peninsula. The most beautiful moon-set as we left Adelaide, the parchment yellow moon hanging large in a lilac and blue sky, the sun coming up as we drove down Main South Road over O’Halloran Hill. Out of Adelaide so parched and yellowed, so different from when I drove up in August. The sea, a dark velvety blue until you looked closer and saw the white horses. Oh good, a Force 4 probably.


We arrived just before the ferry left. It turns out that the Ferries, the pick-up / shuttle coaches and the tour company are all owned by the same company. Given the wind, it was straight up onto the top deck, out of the fumes. The wind was cold, and it was lovely.

The ferry was fairly full. On deck lots of I got talking to a couple of retired American ladies who’d been just in front of me in the queue at the bus station (I haven’t seen so many travelling Americans for years, actually it was quite nice), one of whom had done a PhD working in a SCBU in the US looking at mothers of babies with developmental delay after medical intervention. Why is the instant reaction when I say I’m a Doctor (as opposed to a nurse) “Oh, Good for you”? Anyway they were quite interesting.

I tend to spend that sort of thing trying to spot who else looks as though they are on the same tour as me. Not many so far, maybe a couple of single back-packery-type travellers from the bus. The American family and another girl and two tall lads from the bus were on my tour. There were 21 in all, and many were like me – on working holidays in Aus, just on an Easter break. Of the tourists there were the lanky lads who were Danish, and a couple of Swedish brothers – all quite young. Then there was a Swiss couple whose names I never knew but were friendly, and a blonde girl who was quiet. A Dutch couple in their fifties (she was a Haematology specialist nurse, he was something engineery) were good value – got to love the Dutch sense of humour. So sarcastic. Sorry, ironic. Then the Americans. Dennis is a student over here, and his parents were visiting. Finally of the tourists was a guy from Hong Kong called Raymond.

Of the rest of us there were two girls from Sydney – Karen, a Canadian accountant and Naoko, a petite girl originally from Japan but now an Aus permanent resident. Then there was Beth a Canadian who was studying teaching in Wollongong (which I think is pretty much Sydney, too) and Sonya who was Brazilian and has been here 3 years, but I’m not sure of her job. Of the blokes there was Ian (great accent, and a good laugh) an Irish guy who was in IT and very disillusioned with working in Canberra. Then there were two I'd seen on the ferry who were from Sydney. Russell was from New York, an easy going bloke who has shaven hair in an effort to persuade people that he isn’t really blond. And his house-mate Jason. From London, and bizarrely went to Southampton while I was there. Actually, thinking about it, it's more surprising that I haven't bumped into anyone I know (until last Thursday when I met the vascular Reg, who looked familiar, who'd worked at Addie's).

The tour guide was a guy called Simon. Originally from Brighton, although you wouldn’t know it. Slightly older than most guides, (probably early forties, although fairly weathered so difficult to tell). But an interesting, knowledgeable bloke.

The first stop on the tour was Pennington Beach which is at the neck of the island (it’s vaguely animal shaped). Actually I’m lying. The first stop was the supermarket and the loos behind the Post Office in Penneshaw. This was more of a tour of toilets of the island (or “Holes in the Ground I have Known and Loved).”for the ladies”. We were at the beach for only a couple of minutes; which had a very bizarre rock formation that looked more like bone.

After that was lunch, which was at the Eucalyptus distillery – one of only 3 in Aus, basically in a tin shack with a gift shop. I’m not good with corporate videos (too cynical), so instead of watching that I volunteered for doing dinner. So did Jason and Russell, so I got a chance to talk to them. The distillery were doing wine tasting, so I tried some of the rose. Or orange maybe. Actually it was good and locally grown.

After the eucalyptus factory we went to the Sea Lion sanctuary where you get a chance to actually walk on the beach; although there is a limit of 10m distance, we got to stand much closer. Not as fragrant as I expected, probably because of the wind. So although the sun was out, the temperature was pleasant. And you just get to sit on the powdery sand and watch as they sleep, roll down the beach (to damn lazy to walk, I guess) and the young play in the waves.

After that was Little Sahara to go sand boarding. (I might give the snow boarding another go after that - this was marginally more successful sans hangover.) The most beautiful dunes, white and tall, and it was a laugh. Even if I am slightly bruised after. That’d be worth another go at sometime.

Then another beach, (with another hole in the ground). The water was freezing, but crystal clear. So beautiful. Dennis was swimming, but that’s OK, I know the names of some psychiatrists. It was just about warm enough to stand in the water and say you'd had a paddle. Even the sand was cool as we stood around talking.

It was getting towards sunset and the air was starting to get cooler. We drove towards the campsite via a koala sanctuary for 10 min animal spotting session. Not just koalas (several of them), but wallabies and birds too.

The we finally got to the farm where the accommodation was. There were cabins with dorms, warm showers, the usual type of open air kitchen / dining room with barbecue, and a bonfire. There were a couple of other families there, one had kids of several ages including some teenagers.

We’d bought beer already so while some cooked, several of us got to sit around the fire (thankfully no fire-ban). I can think of worse places to sit as the sun goes down. Dinner was a barbie (the Aussies don't barbecue as we know it, they just cook outside). Loads of food – including fried onions which were wonderful. Then we were taken on a short walk around the farm to watch lots of furry animals – including a group (herd? Pod?) of kangaroos feeding themselves from grain bins. Proper large kangaroos. Plus possums and wallabies. Back for pud, and then we sat around the fire talking again before going to bed.

A Short Week

After that week (of work, obviously) I needed a couple of days off. Monday was hot again, and – like many days off, I spent it cooking, cleaning, washing and shopping. And then, finally, it was all over – the 1 in 3000 yr event (apparently. So I’d expect another one in a couple of years). Cool again. Hooray.

That was about the only event last week. That and the routine housing inspection by the letting agent which led to a conversation that went a little like this.

Fiona: “How did you cope with the heat?”
Me: “Not too bad, just not easy sleeping at night...” blah blah – you’ve heard it already.
Fiona: “You’ve got AC, haven’t you?”
Me: “It’s not enough to cool the room, so I haven’t been using it.”
Fiona: “Should work, I’ll have a quick look... Where’s the remote...Oh, OK. That’s not cold enough. No. Definitely not working. I’ll get someone to have a look at it for you.”

D’Oh.

The other advantage of having to clean the house was that I found the missing part to the bike pump, so I now have fully functional tyres.


Anyway Wednesday I got to work at 9 to find the rota had changed and that I should have been in at 8. Nice to know that they were vaguely concerned that I wasn’t there without phoning, though. Wednesday evening I had the choice of going to see Adelaide Utd play an Asian Cup match, or of going to see a Latin band. Instead I went out for Thai with a group from work. Unable to drink as I was on call, and therefore had to have the car with me (I’ve been called in once previously – see it does happen), but the food was excellent.

Thursday I was working the evening so had a bit of a lie-in, and despite being on call, I got off at 1am. I didn’t have much to do so I went to Semaphore to see the kite festival. It was only the first day and there were no special events on, but there were kites flying and I got to wonder around in the sun. Semaphore counts as alternative for Adelaide – lots of op (charity) shops and bargain shops with a few selling stuff made from recycled stuff. Not much open on Good Friday, just a few cafes. Even many of the pubs were closed – they take Easter much more seriously here. In fact they do Easter, instead of it just being a few days off when you usually see family. And Hot Cross Buns are huge here. Did I ever mention the chocolate ones? What’s the point of that?

Phew, what a...

The Longest Heatwave in Australian History is finally about to come to an end. Tomorrow, the weather-men are saying. That’s 15 days over 35ºC, most of them nearer to 40ºC, the Highest Minimum since records began was last week (30.2 at 0630 one morning). The monthly average this year is a full 10ºC higher than mean.

So I reckon that means that I can quite legitimately complain about how hot it is. After all, everyone else is, so I’ll fit right in. Actually I think it would be bearable if the evenings were cool, but they ain’t. (Maybe that’s a measure of my cold white British blood starting to tolerate it more). So if you fall asleep when it gets slightly less stifling at 4, that’s not a lot of sleep when you start work at 8. I don’t mind warm clothes, a warmed bed even. Just that I like it when the temperature is below freezing outside.

But there are consolations. It’s quick showering in the morning as you don’t have to bother letting the water warm up. Washing dries as soon as you put it on the line. And you just don’t need an excuse to eat ice cream.

Anyway, I’ve spent most of the week cocooned in the relatively air-conditioned ED. Obviously it’s busy – lot’s of little old people just don’t tolerate it. And it’s been the last week of the festival.

I sat down on Monday (which was the Bank Holiday) and booked up things for every night this week. In a variety of venues, some cooler than others. Actually it’s been a good chance to see inside some buildings I wouldn’t have done otherwise.

Tuesday I had an office day so I took the chance to walk down to see if there was any daytime arts stuff at the Festival Centre. Despite the name, there was v little. Just a very bizarre white booth that contained a computer generated kaleidoscope that apparently “responds by producing improvised sounds that have not been composed by the artist”. Wish I’d known that before, I’d have listened out for them! As far as I was concerned, it was just a bit... pink. In fact a lot pink. Fluorescently pink. Anyway, for a bit of culture I walked back via the museum which was displaying a painting done by a group of Aborigines in 1997 to support a land claim. That was worth it – it was a composite of birds eye, brilliant coloured landscape with figurative legends and stories illustrated. Then, in one corner, was a tiny sliver of a painting done with perspective that was almost real.

In the evening, I stuck to my roots and went to see Mark Watson (as seen on Mock the Week and other BBC staples), playing to half a cinema-full of people.

On Wednesday, despite being on call, I went to La Clique, which is a cabaret show. I was intending to go to the last night last night, but as t’Internet crashed as I was booking tickets, this was the only night I could do. Anyway. I saw the man in the bath, which is a source of much jealousy amongst those who went the Sunday before. Oh, and there were some other acts too, notably a Freddie-Mercury-a-like, a woman with hula hoops and a bloke who was double jointed enough to fit his body through a 10” diameter tennis racket. Oh, and a pleasing amount of bod.

Thursday I thought I’d be all adult and go to some of the Festival (as opposed to fringe). I went to play written by the guy who wrote Lantana (which is a film I’m recommend – I’m sure Channel 4 must be playing it again sometime soon). It was just over 2 hours, with no interval but that was because all the scenes merged and characters flowed into other people’s scenes, listening. There was a minimal set, so your imagination did a lot of the work (not all), and many motifs and recurrent sentences that repeated themselves throughout the scenes and the generations. It was heavy, but just enough black humour to leaven it. Actually it was a beautiful piece, although I’m not sure how well it would translate out of Australia (or SA even). The fact it was called When the Rain Stops Falling was ultimately just co-incidental, and extremely ironic.

I was working in between all this, by the way. On Friday I decided that I should see some local music. I managed to find the closest thing that Adelaide has to a folk club in a very warm church hall. (that’s because they don’t have folk as we know it, but call it “Roots”, and there is a v heavy Country influence. Hmm). The fans were on, but all they do is move the hot air around and exchange it with more hot air. Anyway, it was interesting. It was a singer who’d lived her life mostly in the outback, much with Aboriginal communities, who had an incredible voice that worked what ever style she was singing. A couple of songs grabbed me, many weren’t great, but worth the experience.

Saturday I was on call, so didn’t book anything. Sunday (yesterday) I ended up leaving work saying that if they needed someone, they’d better call, even though I was going out. (Actually does that mean I can claim an on-call on my time sheet? Reckon it does.) Work was busy, with a Dr down (there’s a suspicious lot of sickness at the weekends) although you wouldn’t have believed it by the time I handed over.

I thought the Brits were bad for sitting in car parks. When I got home, there were 3 neighbours (nos 2, 4 and 8) sitting on chairs in the car park, drinking beer. I thought that being at no6 I had to join them really. So we sat for about an hour talking, watching 2 of the kids having water fights with atomiser bottles and getting caught in the crossfire (obviously that was very unpleasant, given that it was still about 38º).

The venue for the play was pretty cool. Built in around 1842, it was Australia’s earliest mainland theatre. In any other city, it would be a cowshed. Whitewashed and peeling walls, concrete floor and corrugated iron roof held together by thin rusting girders. I reckon when it was built the stage was where we sat, as we faced the main doors. In front of them was another, internal façade that looked as though it was the original entrance with a large doorway and window holes, jagged holes in the glass with the cicadas in the roof sawing away.

Why am I bothering to describe it? Because it fitted the play perfectly, The play (or more of a storytelling, actually) was an adaptation of a short story by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. A girl’s car breaks down in the desert, and the only help she can get is a ride on a bus to a very strange convent... And after all, she only came to use the phone. It was one of those where the impact hits you as you walk out. Scary.

It was played by a company of 6, despite there being dozens of characters; each player taking up the narrative and acting it out as they told the story. And by the time it was over, everyone peeled themselves from the plastic chairs, soaked through with sweat.

So the festivals are all over and Adelaide settles down into being a sleepy little town, where you have to search for entertainment. Actually probably not that bad, just there aren’t any bands coming that I want to see, no opera until the day I leave, and very little on at the theatre.

One Big Party Town

Although I missed the Friday party, I did manage to go out on Saturday. Ross Noble was playing as part of the Fringe. He’s really popular over here – just stands up for a show and ad-libs a fair part of it. So bizarre, it’s great.

I eventually had a day off. Ina and I spent it walking. Although it had started to cool down, summer was not actually over. In a completely typical way, the big charts at Onkaparinga Gorge showing the paths were completely out of date. So we probably walked further than we intended, seeing real Kangaroos and finches.

On the way back we stopped at a shopping centre in the middle of nowhere but by the side of the main road and managed to find a fruit stall selling fresh apples. IN the evening I went back to the Salsa classes. I was so rusty, but it was good to be doing it again.

And Tuesday was a day off too. I went to see Interpol in the evening. Not the best gig I’ve ever been to, but they were very good. And because I went on my own, it meant I could dance and no-one cared. Nearly the only person dancing, in fact. I got talking to a group who had seen them in Sydney too, and Adelaide is definitely not the place to go for lively crowds. I’d happily see them again.

Back to work the next day, although I’ve had a couple of easier weeks. Last week I did nothing. After working until 2 again on Friday night (and missing the opening party of the Festival – which apparently was rubbish. One of my colleagues took his kids, and left when they asked him to “make that man stop talking” That man was the state President. Apparently his speech was pretty much all that happened), I was 2 hours behind all Saturday. I made it to the market and that was about it for the weekend. It did give me a bit of a chance to catch up the blog. And try to fix the bike. Obviously I spent a month eating out and it’s been too hot to cycle, really. So the bike’s been sitting there for a month and the back tyre is almost completely flat. I tried to pump it up and realised that that little black rubber piece that has been floating around the lounge is a really important bit of the pump. It’s the part that turns it into a machine for inflating tyres, not deflating. Obviously I could put my hands straight on it when I needed.

I bought a new pump, then. After spending a long time in the shop explaining that the tyres have the old fashioned valves and being assured it would work. So now I’m putting off trying to sort it out for fear of the complaints about the language from the next door neighbours.

Since then it’s been getting hotter. I think with each hot spell, I find it slightly easier. But with the festival on, I seem to just have been going out in the evenings instead. By the time I go to bed at one, I’m just too tired to care.

On Thursday Ina & I went to the Fringe theatre – which is an old Pie Factory about to be demolished that has been taken over for a while. All the shows start at the same time. When you finally negotiate (or give up on) where to pick up your ticket and you sit with your drink in a foyer that has been set up to look like a number of lounges in a student house. (That’s UK ‘lounges’ as in ‘living room’, not Aussie ‘lounges’ which would just be a lot of very big chairs) Then everyone gets called through to their show just before it starts. We saw an Irish man who played the fiddle and talked bollocks. It was probably a 2 hour show for a performer not on speed. It lasted just over an hour. And finally got given our tickets as we walked out.
After that we went to the “Garden of Unearthly Delights” which is the main fringe outdoor area, with lots of shows. We didn’t make it to any of the shows, by the time we’d eaten then Sonia joined us and we just sat drinking in the warm evening. Thankfully I was on an office day yesterday, so I could go in late and leave in time to go out last night.

Last night was a Latin American party – a couple of us from work went, plus some of the dance class. It’s fine if you know some basic steps as long as you dance with someone who knows what they’re doing, and it must be even easier being a bird as all you have to do is follow the man and hope you don’t stand on his feet too often. Obviously a small amount of alcohol helps you stop thinking too much about what your feet are doing, although by the end I was probably too sober. The barman just didn’t get the “vodka, lime and lemonade” thing, so I spent the evening on the lemonade!

The dance floor was full of couples who obviously knew what they were doing, but there were a couple of blokes who were willing to show off to a novice so I got a couple of dances. The do was at the Arkaba, aka “Grab-a-Granny”. Ina didn’t. She grabbed a Grandad. He was as short as Ina and Sonia christened him the “Tiny Man”. At least when he tried to chat me up he was obvious about it saying “you have to try”. But Ina just didn’t realise and as a consequence, just couldn’t shake the Tiny Man off. I guess we were lucky that there weren’t more like him.

Today is even hotter and I’m not at work, so I don’t even have that respite. I had to go and get the car from where I left it last night (I really must sort the bike out tomorrow), and unfortunately the bus only goes half way. So I ended up walking across Victoria Park (almost open again after Clipsal) in ridiculous heat.

I got a great book last week. It’s a compendium of all the herbs and spices you can think of, and quite a lot that you’ve never heard of. Including Aussie ones. What’s even better is that the bloke who write the book has a company exporting spices all over the world. And there have been a few that I’ve been looking for in Peterborough and irritatingly not found. (And that I can’t grow either). I spent some of this weekend looking for more spices and found an Indian Spice shop on this side of town, an amazing dingy cavern full of sacks and racking with Indian food (although I’m not sure how genuine Sharwood’s are – food technologist(s), feel free to contradict). As a bonus it’s right next door to an Asian Supermarket. So the pantry smells interesting now.

And I’ll need to finish up now as we’re going to the Persian Garden...

... back into town this morning to go and get the car again (third time). It’s handy having buses, but not if they only go once an hour, and it’s getting too dark to walk to the other bus stop. There’s a paucity of streetlamps (have I said before?). The car was left at work again (that’s so handy), and four of us went for a Chinese meal. Then we walked along North Terrace, the buildings of which are illuminated by the most amazing lights. One of them had Celtic knotwork projected on, and it was so accurate (even down to smudging that looked like worn stone) that it could have been carved. Absolutely incredible.

The Persian Garden is a concrete amphitheatre just between the Festival Centre and the river where bands play – last night was a bit of jazz / funk. There was also a carpeted area with bean bags so we just sat and talked. Until about half one when we went to dance for a bit.

WOMAD is on at the moment, but it’s just too hot to stand outside. So I decided not to try and get a ticket which gave me today free. After getting the car, I tried to find the Farmer’s Market. I knew it was at the Showground, so I tried the front. There I was given directions to the back entrance, which I could drive through – and pay $5 for the privilege or go round. The directions I was given were definitely to follow the roads round to the left, and I knew it would be wring, but thought maybe there was a cut through I didn’t know about. Once I had driven over the railway I knew it was wrong, but of course I then had to turn round and it’s all right by a junction of 3 major dual carriageways. Aarrgghh.

When I eventually found it, I had about 10 minutes before it shut. Great for peppers (of the capsical sort), stone fruit, and 12 punnets of strawberries for £10. Some great cheese too (goat’s milk camembert) and a stall selling rabbit ready to cook. And the ice cream stall again, the one which uses the native fruit. That’s the real reason I went. Mountain Pepperberry this time. And when I got back I still had to go to the greengrocers for everything else.

That’s the end of the partying for a day or two. The festival ends next w/end. Tomorrow the Chemical Brothers are playing next to work, which is very frustrating because I’ll be dealing with all the dehydrated drunks instead, and as it’s a Bank Holiday (Adelaide cup – but that will affect Flinders Medical Centre more), there’ll be no beds.

Que sera sera.

Wellington and on and on

When I woke on Friday morning, the sun was out over the bay, away towards the mountains. I had also managed to completely miss breakfast despite the fact that breakfast was served until late. The hotel had several stars which meant that breakfast was fresh every day with a pretty full choice, the bed was big enough to sleep a family in, and you had to use the lift as there were no stairs. But then the lifts were much better than the wind-up lift in the hotel the night before in Hobart that creaked, clanked and swung alarmingly. It was a complete business man’s hotel.

What that meant, once we got out, was that our first job was to find breakfast. After money, of course. We ended up having coffee in a little art / craft gallery. I could have bought pretty much everything in their, and it was immediately noticeable how much more genuine the people serving were. (Either that or well-trained). In fact as soon as I walked out into the street, Wellington felt comfortable. And I’d only been there for 12 hours previously.

After coffee, we went back towards town and the tourist info so the parents could book a room for the night before they flew out. Check in at 4:30 am. Then we rode up the funicular railway to the Botanic gardens. By this time it was hot, pleasantly, copeably hot. The Botanic Gardens in Wellington flow over the side of one of the hills that surround the bay, from an observatory (closed to the public), through various gardens of natives and (unusually given how strict the quarantine is) non-natives. The herbs were interesting, with several plants that I completely failed to grow in the wet last summer. And I could have lingered in the scented garden.

There was a stunning rose garden and we sat there and had a late lunch with lots of fresh fruit while being flocked by sparrows, before climbing back up to the hill to have a drink while Dad predictably looked around the railway museum.

Back in the hotel we had a bit a chance for a kip before going out for dinner. Of course the restaurant was that little bit further to walk than we planned, but it gave us a chance to see the beach and another road we wouldn’t have otherwise. There’s little to say about the restaurant. The view was stunning, the fish was OK (in US sized portions) and there was a (believe-it-or-not) very nice apricoty Villa Maria Gewurtztraminer to drink before meandering back to the hotel.



Next morning was grey, and we had a few hours to kill before the cricket. We spent them in Te Papa, the state museum. Definitely worth a visit – particularly the indigenous gallery. Each two years the display changes, being managed by a different tribe (for want of a better word). So among the artefacts were a 100yr old canoe and a meeting hall, as well as explanations of how the language and culture are being revived. There’s also a modern Marais (meeting hall), designed and sculpted a few years ago, and we had a chance to talk to one of the guides. You could tell she was a school teacher – half of the kids would have loved her for teaching them something and half would have hated her for exactly the same reason. After that we split up, Mum and I went to an exhibition on how NZ has been changed by settlers. Which included the Maoris (who, latest theory is, came from Taiwan area) as well as Europeans. When the Europeans arrived they made a deliberate attempt to replace native wildlife with European – which explains why we were mobbed by sparrows (and why they are so strict now).

And time ran out, and it was time to go to the cricket. In the locally-named “biscuit tin”. A completely apt name – round and drum-like, metallic, atmosphere-less and England were squashed flies on the windscreen of the Kiwi bowling machine. Least said, perhaps (although it looks like we are currently doing a job on the Kiwis in their current innings - first test. Here’s hoping – but not optimistic).

As we walked out, Mum chatted up a couple of drunk lads and we went to find her coffee and chocolate cake. Actually we failed. We found a café to sit outside with good wine (obviously), superb soup and omelette, and a live band playing jazz / blues. Right in the middle of town.

We decided not to go clubbing, but back to the hotel. Next morning we went out into the rain to find some Chinese New Year celebrations. We arrived at the Chinese “market” early so had to have coffee. The market was more a collection of society and trade stands. Including a besuited business man who tried to persuade Mum to open a franchise selling his clothes, some very nice moon cakes (points for choosing red bean) and a stage. The dragon dancers were good, the Shao-lin monks doing martial arts were worth seeing, but sadly the Chinese Opera just didn’t work. After the wrong music was played, the MC came back on the stage to be kicked off, and then you couldn’t actually hear the singing. We then took a taxi out to the airport. Work tomorrow. After lunch, Mum and Dad went off to hire a car and have a bit more holiday.

We arrived at the Chinese “market” early so had to have coffee first. The market was more a collection of society and trade stands. Including a besuited business man who tried to persuade Mum to open a franchise selling his clothes, some very nice moon cakes (points for choosing red bean) and a stage. The dragon dancers were good, the Shao-lin monks doing martial arts were worth seeing, but sadly the Chinese Opera just didn’t work. After the wrong music was played, the MC came back on the stage to be kicked off, and then you couldn’t actually hear the singing. We then took a taxi out to the airport. Work tomorrow. After lunch, Mum and Dad went off to hire a car and have a bit more holiday.

Of course I had to get my seeds back. So I phoned the number I’d been given to find a woman who knew nothing about them, but said that everything gets given to the police. So to find a police man. Never one when you want, and obviously once I’d been through security, I was stuck airside. “Oh no, they usually hang around here” I was assured by security. I had all but given up at 5 minutes to boarding, except for the principle of the thing. Until a Scottish man (drunk, probably) was escorted to the seat next to me by...a policeman. So I grabbed him.
“Seeds?” he said. “A packet. White and purple? Oh yes, they’re in my office. I’ll just go and get them.”

The flights were uneventful, except for an emergency purchase of a belt at Melbourne when mine broke. So yes, uneventful. And I was back home in time to be in bed by 10.

There’s little to say about the next few days. I was teaching on a course at the weekend, so somewhen I had to find time to write the lectures. I picked the parents up from the airport on Thursday before going in for a late shift. I got home at 2am, the course (the EMST again) was at Flinders which is the other big Adelaide teaching hospital. Not far from home, but it started at 8. So not much sleep, and I was very happy when one of the other instructors offered me a lift on the other days. The lectures were fine – but I don’t actually mind standing up in front of other people and talking bollocks, but I gave the course meal a big miss. I just don’t think I could have stayed awake.

It was hot again, that weekend. Driving home on the Friday night at 6pm, the temp was 32’C, and that was the coolest day. The parents went down to Victor Harbour or Saturday night to find a breeze.

Monday, we went out for meal – it was too hot during the evening to sit outside. At night you just had to sleep with all the windows and curtains open for that little bit of draught. The coolest part of the night was at 6 – about 30 min before getting up. On Tuesday I was on call, so I packed the parents off to Warrawong to see the little brown furry animal. And then it was Wednesday and the best part of a month was over. It seems just so recent that I’d been sitting at the airport trying to make the Advertiser last 40 minutes when the plane was late.

In fact I worked a 14 day stretch, although not according to my time sheet as the teaching is unpaid. The weekend after was the Clipsal 500, which is the festival marking the start of the V8 Supercar season (you’d never know it even existed in the UK). It was started when Adelaide lost the Grand Prix to Melbourne, using the same street circuit. Clipsal has been dubbed “bogan paradise” – petrol heads and bimbos who drink ALL day then either fight over whether Holden or Ford are best; or else believe they are professional racing drivers themselves.

It was also the start of the Fringe – although by that stage I was so knackered that I went to bed and missed the party. I was supposed to be going to see Sonic Youth. The weekend (thankfully I was on day shifts) was as much of a ‘mare as it sounds; added to which for the first time in 10 years, several of the racing drivers came our way too. Two were fine, one might be and the other wasn’t (no secrets, it’s been big news here.)

Tas to NZ

We were still in Richmond, having toast cooked in the lounge of the old stable block. We didn’t bother with looking around any further in the morning, except for the historic bridge – which was actually over some water. I think that was the most remarkable thing.

When we drove off, back through Hobart, we went down to the south to an “airwalk” through the trees at Tahune. Generously, Peter and Elizabeth had given us their free family ticket to use (well actually Andrew’s – he had won it for being good at school. That’s a strange concept for some of us!). We stooped first at Geeveston. Actually I’m lying – we stopped first at a roadside stall to buy some cherries. There were so many fruit stalls, it would have been rude not to.


Geeveston is a town pretty much reliant on the equivalent of the Forestry Commission. The paper/pulp mill burnt down, leaving no jobs. Now all there is is a very paltry forest visitors centre – poorly manned by too few staff, exhibits that don’t work and all saying how great forestry is. There was some local woodwork, but all-in-all it was disappointing. The town centre is small (one parade of shops), even the prize-winning café is closing down. The wooden sculptures of local people which are clever, but it’s all very one trick. Driving out the back to the airwalk takes you through the forest, past areas that are euphemistically called “clear-felled” ie flattened, and areas of forest that are regenerating – but that you know will not be as glorious as they were for another few hundred years. They will not be allowed to have that long.

It’s a complex issue – we need paper, wood is more sustainable than oil, but to see and realise that even that has an environmental impact is an eye-opener. Maybe it shouldn’t be, when you remember that the UK was once covered with forest and is only as open as it is because the trees were cleared. (How else would there be room for the endless industrial estates that seem to be needed?)

Geeveston is a town pretty much reliant on the equivalent of the Forestry Commission. The paper/pulp mill burnt down, leaving no jobs. Now all there is is a very paltry forest visitors centre – poorly manned by too few staff, exhibits that don’t work and all saying how great forestry is. There was some local woodwork, but all-in-all it was disappointing. The town centre is small (one parade of shops), even the prize-winning café is closing down. The wooden sculptures of local people which are clever, but it’s all very one trick. Driving out the back to the airwalk takes you through the forest, past areas that are euphemistically called “clear-felled” ie flattened, and areas of forest that are regenerating – but that you know will not be as glorious as they were for another few hundred years. They will not be allowed to have that long.

It’s a complex issue – we need paper, wood is more sustainable than oil, but to see and realise that even that has an environmental impact is an eye-opener. Maybe it shouldn’t be, when you remember that the UK was once covered with forest and is only as open as it is because the trees were cleared. (How else would there be room for the endless industrial estates that seem to be needed?)

We also walked along the banks of the river and across two swing bridges that were so bouncy you had to keep at least 10m apart. They were great fun. Finally Dad and I walked around the Huon pines, which are very a old, rare species being allowed to regenerate. You couldn’t stop and look for long though – as soon as you did, the flies caught up with you.

We left there to find somewhere to stay. Back at the tourist information in Geeveston and the first place we tried was full. So we ended up at Apple Cottage. It wasn’t called that, but it should have been. In the bustling metropolitan area that is Franklin. They do believe in ribbon development here, it is a village sitting alongside a striking bay. At least it would have been if the clouds hadn’t been rapidly descending. No shops open, so we had to get a take-away. And handily it was next door. So we went across to get the first course (Thai), then back across for pud – and then a final time to return the crockery. Wonderful.

When we left in the morning, the cloud was making a sort of effort to roll back up the hill behind. Back through Geeveston to the caves at Hastings. First time I’ve ever driven an automatic car. How lazy is that? Some of the road to and past the ticket centre was gravel track, then the car park right in the middle of the forest with beautiful old mossy trees and lots of mossies. The cave entrance is a further 5 min walk in and upwards.

The tour took around 50 minutes through the caverns. Quite incredible stalactites and stalagmites (useful tip – stalagMites come up from the ground like Mats. Thanks Mum, you never told me that one before). Sadly the group was slightly too big and not all the caverns were large enough for everyone so we missed some of the commentary. But not all – so we knew when we’d got to the mud slide created a few years ago by the flooding, and why some of the “straws” (tiny stalactites) are bent – wind currents).

The cave was better than the thermal springs, which turned out to be a quick walk past a cool, brown stream and a warm, bluish one. And a swimming pool. The sun was coming out and it was getting humid. Then it was time to drive back (that road through Geeveston again) via the most southerly preserved railway in the world (so Dad could say he’d seen it) up to Hobart where we went back to Peter and Elizabeth’s for more food. They were so hospitable.

Next day we left for the airport to fly to Wellington, after a slightly roundabout route up and down the river. Because if the time we had to get the car back, and being used to being at airports several hours early for security, we had three hours to kill. Of course, this was an internal flight (to Melbourne first), so there was nothing to do. Even to get a coffee, we had to go through security, get a take away and back out again. Got lots of crosswords done, and outside was the first clear sunny day we’d seen.

The flight to Melbourne was uneventful. Hobart airport being so small, the gates are off the food court so you get straight up from a table to board. Melbourne, however, was where we met the international security. First the petty security guards who weigh the hand luggage, who are employed by a company that (in the UK) cleans hospitals. Who just get a rise out of winding people up, because the Qantas rep certainly didn’t care about the weight of the hand luggage. Mine didn’t even get looked at so I had about 10kg on my back by the time we got through. Then the official stuff. Mum and I both got pulled up – they didn’t like her hand cream. And there was something in my bag they couldn’t identify, so out everything came. God only knows what it was.

At the other end it was as bad. My fault. We landed at midnight, because of the time difference. Once they’d cleaned the boots we had used for walking in Tas, I had to get the seeds I’d bought through. That involves someone sitting down in front of a computer checking each type. And one of them was prohibited. So I had to arrange to leave the packet at the airport to pick up on leaving. It was nearly 2 o’clock when we got to the hotel.

Tassy 1

This is where I remind myself out just how rubbish I was at writing a diary while I was away. After a frantic morning doing all the packing stuff to go away – and really, not sure what the weather is going to be like in NZ. Still managed to forget to take the rubbish out before we left (it’s a bad habit of mine). A lovely surprise for when I get back.

The taxi was early (despite a very solemn warning from control that there was no guarantee that they could get us there in time for the plane), so we had plenty of time to kill in the Airport, get food, books etc. Adelaide airport is new, shiny, white and has some shops – but obviously they are the same every time you go. Hobart airport, at the other end, was completely chaotic. It’s so small that the baggage carousel is pretty much at the gate, as is the door out, so those meeting people were tripping over all the passengers and their trolleys. I’ve always wanted to be met by someone carrying a placard with my name on (don’t ask why – it’s probably in reaction to all the times I’ve got off a plane and had to run to catch the last train). So I was so disappointed by the time I’d looked up to find that the card with “Thompson” on it had been folded away out of sight while I’d been getting the bags.

We were met by Peter, who is Dad’s cousin (the quickest way of describing it). We didn’t know he existed until about 3 months ago, until Dad had a call from his Canadian aunt. Peter and Elizabeth are Canadians, been in Aus for 13 or so years – he works for the Aus Environmental Agency (CSIRO). We just had a lift to the hotel, with an offer of dinner the next day.

The hotel was a strange one. We had to let ourselves in with the key that was left out as there was no receptionist, and the room keys were left on the front desk for us. My room wasn’t large (thank goodness I paid the $10 extra to not be in a small room), adequate with a nice bed but other furniture that reminded me a little of hospital accommodation. The parents were upgraded to the suite – which was OK but no wardrobe. So Mum wasn’t happy. But it was easily walkable into town.

The weather was chilly and we wondered down to Salamanca Quay. I hope it isn’t a major Hobart hang out cos there was hardly anyone there. Not for a Saturday night. In fact it was about as lively as Wallingford. So we found a decent wine bar / bottle shop to have a drink, then a restaurant called Mr Wooby’s (I never did get the story why). The food and wine were superb, the owner had obviously retired from the cooking and spent his whole time walking round the tables talking to the guests. There weren’t that many of those, so we had a lot of attention.

Next day, it was threatening to rain. Until we stepped outside when it did rain. Breakfast was, erm, meagre. All of it except milk had been put out the night before. Thankfully the milk was fresh. We tried to check in, only for the girl on reception to look at us blankly and ask what we meant. Never mind.

The helpful signposts said it was 15 min walk to the centre of town, Franklin Square. At 10 min we stopped to look at the map, to find that we were well past it and it was the small patch of what we thought was garden. Hobart’s not a large place. Two main shopping streets and a fairly nice waterfront. And lots of public sculpture. The rain and wind were getting cold as we walked around the harbour so we stopped at a fish restaurant and had coffee. There was an amazing array of fish on display, all the cleaning and filleting was done as you watched. After that we went into the museum. It was the best laid out that I had seen. There was the traditional aboriginal gallery (culture = stories and crafts. Hmm), and the obligatory stuffed animal gallery. I guess it must have been a cuckoo we heard last night. There was also a special display which was part museum, part art on animals which was very interesting, but sadly we ran out of time.

Running being the operative word. We bought some sandwiches in town and realised it was only about 20min until being picked up by Peter. And we hadn’t bought them anything. So I ran back to the bottle shop at Salamanca Quay, then to the hotel, arriving with 5 min to spare. So I had half of the sandwich, and put the rest in the fridge for later, got changed and we got picked up. That sandwich is probably still there.

The house was in amazing place. Right on the bay, only separated from the beach by the road and two trees. I’m glad the sky was grey – I really don’t want to know how nice it could be. The door lead straight to the stairs and to a living room which was really just a balcony with glass all round. What a view.

So we sat and talked about family and things, drank tea (I haven’t had tea in a cup for years, but it made Elizabeth happy), and then wine, and ate dinner. And suddenly it was nearly 11pm and we probably ought to be going. Peter & Elizabeth have 3 children – Michael is a Medical Student, Andrew wants to be. How strange. Katharine had just started her first holiday job, flipping burgers at Hungry Jacks. It’s not a career thing.

Next morning we still hadn’t sorted out a hire car. So back into town, round the rental places to try and find one not too dear, without a queue that stretched out of the door. The car would be ready at 11, so we went back to the hotel via a coffee shop. Bad idea – it was right opposite a clothes shop. But I maintain that I can’t keep wearing the same top to work when I have an office day.

We drove back to pick up the bags, and could finally go and have a look at some of Tasmania. After a lot of debate we decided to stay local to Hobart. A good idea – you probably need a week in each part of the island to see it. And that’s not including any walking. The weather was pretty foul on the way down, with clouds over most of the hills and there was no point stopping to look at the coast. You just wouldn’t have been able to see it. So after stopping for a toasty or two we drove down to Port Arthur which is the penal colony set up by the British for those who were deported but too dangerous to go free. Much of it burned down around 1895 in bush fires, but as it was a whole village, there’s enough to see. A short ferry trip took us out into the harbour (which is very like the mouth of the Fal in Cornwall – in fact a lot of Tas reminded me of Cornwall, including the weather). The ferry goes round the burial island, and past the prison for boys. The sun was coming out by this time and it got warm.

Many of the houses are open to tourists, the main penitentiary is open to the elements. But the cells are marked. However, somehow, although there are quite a few boards describing, or with pictures of, real inmates, it’s a sterile place and seems to miss something. Interesting though. Unfortunately we didn’t have anywhere to stay and the place we phoned had a curfew of 8pm so we had to leave with a lot still to see. The Governor’s Cottage still had a garden of British flowers, strange to see them all together after this time. The herb garden was pretty impressive too. Then we left.
On the away back we did stop at the coast – the blow hole and a limestone arch that were very close to the road.

The pub we were staying at was in Richmond which was a very small, rural Henley-on-Thames. Antiques shops and a bridge and everything.. The reason for the curfew was that on a Monday, the pub closes at 9, last food order at 8. The flatlet was in the stables – all you need except a kitchen so the fridge, kettle and toaster were in the lounge. But for a cheap rent it was more than fine. And the food at the pub (well my salad) was actually very good.

We went for a brief walk before retiring. Not the ghost walk which sounded... well, a “night of mystery” was promised but you had to phone a mobile number to get it. Hmm.

And the lack of pictures of Hobart is because I had a bit of a blond moment with a camera film. Or no camera film, to be precise. And the digital took that moment to stop working.