Christchurch to Te Anau - April 30th to May 8th

New Zealand seems to have more weather than anywhere else in the world. It deftly manages to fit lashing rain, bitter wind, mist, fog, blazing sunshine and hail all into the same day in varying quantities. One cannot rise in the morning and dress sensibly as it's entyirely possible to be in need of shorts, t-shirt, rain mac, scarf, and sun hat all in the space of about two hours. I arrive in Christchurch, principle city of the South island, to a tempurature of five degrees and clouds that promise rain. Australia this is not.

I had spent just a couple of days back in Sydney, staying at Asylum hostel, to celebrate Eli's 22nd birthday (or, due to the fact that her 21st was a non-event, her 2nd 21st. I have never seen a more touching display of affection for someone than this day. All the Swede's mates, myself included, have known her for not more than a month, and yet she is treated like the oldest of friends by everyone. I buy her lunch at Vaucluse House, a very English tea room set in lush gardens that Nick has landed a job at, accompanied by Natalie, another Swede and a very sweet girl. Later Nick and I reserve a table at an Indian restuarant and eight of us head out to take Eli for a meal, party poppers exploding every five minutes. A cake and candles brings tears to our friend's eyes, not a first as she has already cried over the group card from all at Asylum. We head out to Darling Harbour but realise, after much tramping around, that we would have been better off in King's Cross, away from the snotty bouncers, strict dress codes and outrageous drink prices of Sydney's trendiest nightlife area. We end up, just Nick, Eli and myself now, in an Irish pub near the hostel, drinking -joy of joys!- cider. Later we fall asleep all wound up together on a little sofa at Asylum and I feel safe and happy. The next night I dine out Jess, Justine, and the 501/801 crew. I haven't seen some of them in a while so it's lovely to hang with them again, but sadly I cannot spend the night as I realise, suddenly, that I booked my flight for 7.50am. In what world I though that was a good idea, I don't know.

12 hours later and I am in New Zealand. The hostel I find for myself in Christchurch is an all women one and extremely cosy. There's gorgeous gardens full of herbs, a resident cat, blazing fires, soft sofas, a great kitchen, clean bathrooms and more chick flicks on DVD than you can shake a stick at. Girls: we know how to live. The rain continues to fall and so I watch movies and catch up on some seriously missed sleep.

The next day I spend with two fellow hostelers, Kerry, a 26 year old Liverpudlian, and Jodie, a 33 year old Kiwi. They are both great, if completely different- Kerry is sarcastic, funny, and strong, Jodie is more reserved but thoughtful, sweet, and wise. We eat both lunch and dinner out -an unheard of extravagance for a traveller- the latter with a Kiwi friend of theirs named Steve, before heading out to an Irish pub for Guinness and folk music. Back at home we watch 'Best Of Britain' on video and laugh at its desperately bias, out-dated, and incomplete representation of our country while Jodie coos over the quaint cottages and magnificent castles.

Wednesday dawns as miserable and wet as its predecessor but I venture out to meet the originally Canadian but now local Frederique, a couchsurfer. We have tea and quite possibly the best muffin I have ever had and chat about our wildly different lives for a couple of hours. Fred is intelligent and candid. We decided to walk down and peruse the city's excellent art gallery together. A giant inflatable bunny takes up most of the huge entrance hall and we wanter about for an hour, puzzling over the strange and sometimes scary pieces in the modern art exhibition. This evening, a tiny, unbelievably curvy, short-haired American with a cheerful smile makes conversation with me over ravioli in the kitchen. We watch two chick flicks together and end up chatting until late. This is Anne, 30 years old from Vermont but now living in Washington DC, an interior designer taking a seven mont break from her hectic life. She has a car, Sammy, whose enitre bonnet is covered with a painting of a sunflower, and it is this funky vehicle Anne offers me a lift in to Dunedin, the next city down the coast. I jump at the offer. We set a leaving date for Friday and part to go to sleep.

Christchurch is a very quaint city, built in a pseudo-English style and centered around Cathedral Square. It is here I start my Thursday, with a free half-hour tour of the beautiful gothic cathedral. I am the tour's only participant and so my guide leads me around this magnificent building giving me plenty of interesting tid bits. It seems the early British settlers were promised a fully established town but upon arriving found little more than marshland. But they sucked it up, stuck it out and built the cathedral, turning Christchurch into a piece of home. Afterwards I stroll into the Botanical Gardens. These are the best I've seen so far, the falling golden and brown leaves smell of England, there's a winding river and numerous ponds being wept over by willows and boredered by mossy rocks. An English rose garden finishes my cold but miraculously sunny walk. It's like a crisp autumn day in Dorset. Next I take another free tour, this time of the excellent Canterbury museum, and feel suitable cultured for the day.

Anne and I leave early this Friday morning. The sun is shining and the day feels like a good one for adventuring, a thought I impart to Anne. Sammy cruises down the coast and we are given alternating views of the Pacific Ocean on one side and the mountains on the other. I insist we make and very windy detour to the Moeraki Boulders, huge spherical rocks that have mysteriously formed on one of the East Coast's beaches. Anne and I strike poses standing on them before running back to the warmth of the car. Another, more disappointing stop off is made at Shag Point. Anne is inconsolable when we discover that there is no sign saying 'Shag Point' that we can take photos standing next to but we are both cheered by the sight of wild penguins. The rest of the way to Dunedin we make childish jokes about how we've only known each other for a day but we're already at the shag point.

Dunedin is a peaceful little student city that sits picturesquely on the water, a few miles in from the open sea at Otago Peninsula. Our hostel is pretty much anyone's granny's house on a larger scale but it's comfy and kitsch so all is well. After an evening spent chatting, we while away Saturday with some very fortuitous second hand clothes shopping and a gorgeous drive out to the peninsula for a picnic of fresh farmer's market food. On Sunday Anne departs for the wineries -she is a conniseur and obsessive- and I board the Taeiri Gorge train, a 1920s relic that takes the rider deep into the gorge over old bridges, viaducts, and through the most beautiful high hills carved in two by a sparkling and meandering river. The sun is out again and, despite the most chronic hacking couch, the day is extrermely pleasant and relaxed.

It seems Anne is not sick of me yet so we depart together for Te Anau and stay in Rosie's Backpacker's, a homestay hostel in this little lakeside town- the closest you can get to the Fiordland National Park which consumes most of the Southland's South West coast. On Tuesday we take a tour of Milford Sounds. The National Park has many fiords, incorrectly named 'sounds' by the hapless Captain Cook, and Milford is one. Not that Cook knew that, as he didn't spot the entrance. Similarly, he thought that the immense Franz Josef glacier up the coast was a low lying cloud, despite visting it twice. A fiord is a velley cut by a glacier and flooded by the sea and Milford is regarded as being one of the world's most spectacular examples of this natural process. The minivan trip to our cruise lasts a couple of hours and includes some textbook photo opportunities. We stop at Mirror Lakes, oxbox lakes that relect exactly the mountains that towere over them. Low early morning mist lingers over the once glacier covered plains, and the river cuts extraordinary shapes into the rock. Primordial forest, thick with moss and impossibly green, borders the road until we travel through a mountain tunnet cut more that fifty years before. And to top it all off, there is not a cloud in the sky. It is, to say the least, spectacular. We arrive at Milford and board our ship which takes us leaisurely out to the Tasman Sea. The commentary is excellent and against all odds (they average nearly 300 days of rain here, around 8 metres a year) the sun keeps shining. The highlight of the day comes when the dolphins play next to the boat, showing off their skills to the tourists and seals, who watch lazily from their sun-drenched rocks. It is a supremely relaxing and fulfilling day I will not soon forget.

Anne and I spend th evening chatting and arguing. She is very much like the sister I never had in that we spend 60% of our time together playfully bickering and insulting each other (I am forever calling her short of old and sometimes both), 30% having in-depth discussions on life, and 10% laughing, mainly at immature jokes. My cough has been with me a week now and I am kept awake every night by it so when I climb into bed tonight I am exhausted. I hackingly couch the night away before daylight dawns on Ash and Anne's Adventures: Part Two.

Indian Pacific Pics

The sun set on my first night aboard:



Lil Kim pie-munching, and Lara snoozing:



In Cook. God knows what was going on here:



Don't piss the people of Cook off or you could end up here:



Three Amigos:



The lounge car:



My bedroom:



Where we munched:



Lil Kim, Big Kim, and Diane:



Home for three days:

The Indian Pacific, Perth to Sydney: April 25th to 28th

Seats on the Indian Pacific are large and comfy with plenty of leg room. I am sat next to an older gentleman, perhaps seventy, with sharp eyes and a few tales to tell. He is a Bush supporter and one of those men who it's not worth arguing with. After suburban Perth the train passes through gorge-like bush land and I spot some kangaroos lazing in the sun. I pass the nine or so hours to first stop, Kalgoorlie, with with writing, peanut butter sandwich eating, and listening to my Bill Bryson audio book. For some unknown reason, the train stays in in Kalgoorlie for four hours and
so we are let off the train to roam around this mining town. It is 10pm and I stop at a hotel(Aussie for bar or pub) and have a very chilled and delicious pint of Little Creatures ale. Alisdair (from Melbourne) passes an hour with me on the phone. I chat to two drunken miners out on the street who inform me that in fifteen years, Kalgoorlie will be mined dry and everyone will leave the town. This is a strange thought. I decide to make my way back to the train, and
the roads of the town, outside of the main street, are completely deserted so I put some loud music in my ears and quite literally dance and sing my way back to the station.

I decide to sit, for the first time, in the lounge car and do a crossword. A blonde girl about my age and a good looking young guy both sit on nearby seats but before I decide on a good conversation starter, the boy offers both me and the girl a rice cracker. This is all the encouragement any of us needs and before you know it we're chatting and laughing freely, making missions down the train to spy in first class, and poking fun at one another. The girl is
named Lara and is a twenty year old solo traveller from Germany, the guy is from Brisbane, and it a nineteen year old flight attendant working for Qantas. Lara and I immediately decided that his name, Shane, is far too masculine for a flight attendant, even a supposedly straight one, and so we re-Christen him with the suitably androgynous 'Kim'. At 3.30am it's bed time and so Kim, the lucky bastard, goes back to his cabin while Lara and I get a few hours upright kip back at our seats.

I am woken by the sun rising over the Nullabor Plain, a desert areas of considerable size with just a few ghost towns scattered along the railway line. It is around 6am and so I make myself another peanut butter sandwich and listen to a little Bill Bryson. Lara is stealing some shut eye in the lounge car and so I go out and chat to Tamara, a twenty three year old mother of two who grew up on the Nullabor. The train slowly awakes and I meet a family who boarded in
Kalgoorlie and are sitting behind me, mother Jo and daughters Hannah (5) and Hayley (2), travelling to their new home in Adelaide. These kids are absolute diamonds and Lara and I spend most of the day playing with them, watching movies, cooing over drawings, and giving piggy packs. All it took to cement our friendship was to accept a Bratz sticker in return for some biscuits. Kids, they're awesome.

The Nullabor flashes by out the window, endless flat orange covered in low browning shrubs. 'Nullabor' is an Aboriginal word meaning 'no trees' and the plain certainly lives up to its name. Mid-afternoon we reach the town of Cook, population: 4. It is nicknamed 'The Ghost City Of The Nullabor' and is little more than an assortment of houses, some abandoned, an old school building, a disused mini golf course and two wooden gaol cells set next to a shop selling assorted paraphernalia that only opens when the train comes through, which is twice a week from both
directions. Kim, Lara and I mess around, taking photos, swatting at flies, and sitting in broken down vehicles before we depart again for Port Augusta, a town five hours outside of Adelaide and the next stop.

The two men in charge of our class during the day, Ben and Simon, have clearly warmed up to our constant jesting as they save us a hot dinner and apple strudel each for free this evening, a meal that would have cost us A$15. It is heaven to eat hot food after two days of peanut butter. Tonight, Dean, the night manager, lets me, Lara, Jacob and Laura sleep in the lounge car, though it's usually forbidden. Jacob and Laura are two friendly gap year-ers from Wales who help pass our evening with chatter and card tricks. I fall asleep around midnight on a four foot cushioned bench (the only available space) before Dean wakes us up at 6am a couple of hours outside of Adelaide. On arrival, we bid farewell to Jo, Hayley, Hannah, and the Welsh couple then get a taxi into town. Our driver is clearly several sandwiches short of a picnic and rants on for a good twenty minutes about how Adelaide was built for defense (against what? Penguin attacks from the Antartic?) and how we should get a cab everywhere or the concrete will hurt our soft
feet. Weird in the extreme. Two hours later, after checking Lara into her YHA (she is staying in the city) and making a few purchases, Kim and I are back on the train.

Last night Kim introduced me to a middle-aged New South Wales couple also travelling to Sydney and it is these two we pass our day with. He, coincidentally, is called Kim, prompting an immediate change in Shane's nickname to 'lil Kim'. His wife is named Diane. They are truly good-hearted and interesting people. The scenery today is the best so far, tiny towns, rolling hills, immense plains and a bright sun to splash it all with colour. We stop that evening in Broken Hill, a gold rush town, and all go for a cold beer together that wasn't drunk a moment too soon. The night that follows in uncomfortable and long. The staff changed in Adelaide and so there is no lounge snoozing tonight. To make matters worse, a strange little male passenger has gotten very drunk and spews in the ladies' toilets, yells through the movie, abuses passengers and is eventually removed in the dead of night by the police.

When the light comes it shows a grey, rainy, misty day over the Blue Mountains. They whip by, turning quickly into suburban Sydney and soon we arrive, tired, smelly, and malnourished at Central. Lil Kim and I bid a fond farewell to Kim and Diane and get a coffee together, sitting and watching the train we just spent three days on being made ready for its return to Perth.
I feel a spectacular sense of contentment and happiness. That was one hell of a ride.

Perth Pictures

Perf, innit:



Leena on Rotto:



A quokka:



Me and Wendz:



We are the bubble tea massive:



Believe it or not folks, that is a koala:



Roos!:



It's a big sky:



Me in crazy pose thanks to Japanese tour guide:



A few of the Pinnacles:



Down I go:

Perth: April 18th to 25th

And so to Perth. I think Virgin must hold auditions for their flight attendants in which the hopefuls must spend hours on end smiling without cracking a sweat. I am sure they have developed some kind of nice-ometer because all the staff on this plane were clearly born to do this job. Bravo, Virgin, it's nice to see a big company getting things right.

Perth City YHA is a modern day monsters of a hostel. It supposedly delivers what every modern traveller wants but, in my albeit humble opinion, I think they have rather missed the mark on this one. Yes, it's pretty clean, cheap, safe, and well lit. But when you're spending considerable amounts of time living in a foreign country, out of a backpack, alone, the most important thing a hostel can be is friendly. Here Perth YHA falls down. The staff at the desk are cold and disinterested. Unwisely the designers have opted for several small common rooms instead of one large one to encourage socialising. The guests busy about, heads down, behaving as though they were in a hotel. I know that the place is full of Elinors, Steves, and Nicks, but finding them was going to be a task. Luckily, in my small four bed dorm I meet a nice thirty year old Finn named Leena. She puts and end to my homesickness swiftly when I ask her is she
misses Finland. "No" she replies, "why would I, I'm in Australia!" I stand stock still blinking, She is, on this one, spot on. I receive some lovely texts from Eli and Nick that put a smile back on my face and climb into bed, vowing to enjoy myself upon waking.

On Friday, after a Thursday spent lounging at the beach, Leena and I make the forty minute bus trip out to Rottnest Island. The Aussies, bless them, like to shorten practically everything by chopping off half the letters and adding an 'o' to the end. 'Bottle Shop' (liquor stores) becomes 'Bottle-o', 'Fremantle' (a Perth suburb) becomes 'Freo', and 'Rottnest', inevitably, becomes 'Rotto'. Rotto is so named because the Dutch, when they discovered it, found it full
of large rat like creatures. These animals are actually called quokkas and are small marsupials found nowhere else in the world. Oh, and they're really, really cute. Rotto is about 11km long and so the best way to get round it is by bicycle. Rain spits lazily from the thin clouds overhead and the mist can't make up its mind whether it's coming or going as we peddle round the first half of the island. The road climbs hills and falls back down them, hugging the wild and impossibly blue Indian Ocean. We make it all the way to the end and stare out at the huge swell crashing and frothing around the craggy rocks, turquoise waves exploding against one another as the conflicting currents meet. The rain has stopped and so our cycle back round the other half of the island is more pleasant and I let go of my handlebars and sail down the hills.

This evening we are booked for a torchlight tour of Freo Prison, originally a convict colony but it served as a maximum security prison until its closure in 1991. Our guide is Jane, a slight middle-aged woman with sufficiently creepy eyebrows for such a job. We are given little torches and led through shower rooms, courtyards, and cells with nothing else for light. This makes things a good deal more scary as all you can see of the rooms is what is illuminated by the shallow beams from the torches. The main cell block is four stories high and looks exactly like that of the movie, The Shawshank Redemption. Everyone jumps when a scream tears the silence and a dummy lands with a thud on the suicide net above our heads. Jane shows us the exercise yard and tells us some gruesome stories. I spot, on the wall, finger marks left in blood. We are made to jump a few times as the evening goes on and it's great fun. And best of all, it's so un-British! If this were the UK there would be lighted walkways, big signs reminding you to watch your step, and handrails. A boy in front of me trips and falls down a couple of steps. And guess what? He doesn't cry, leave the tour, or try to sue. Ah Health and Safety, I do not miss you.

The next evening I meet Wendy. Wendy and I have chatted on and off on an online poetry workshop we've both been members of for years, and upon hearing I was in Western Australia, she invited me out with her friends for dinner at the wonderful establishment that is Fast Eddy's. Wendz and mates kindly buy me a burger and write messages for me all over a menu, which we steal. After dinner they take me for bubble tea in an attempt to, and I quote, "Asian-ize" me. Bubble tea is a strange cold drink that comes in hundreds of flavours with names like 'Winter Love' and houses these -I don't know how else to put this- boingy little balls that are apparently part of some plant or something but are definitely a lot of fun to ingest. Wendy is sarcastic, quick-witted, and a good listener and I am overwhelmed by her and her friends' hospitality. After a Sunday with Leena in the park I meet couchsurfer Annie for drinks in the Freo brewery, Little Creatures. There is a great bar and restaurant set inside the brewery itself, all twinkling lights and chinking pint glasses. Annie is a beautiful Asian chick who is smart and insightful. She introduces me to the incredibly friendly Ken, and fellow CSers Kait, Sarah, and Jay. The evening passes swiftly, and I enjoy myself. Annie has me round the next night for
dinner, after an exhausting day of necessary shopping during which I purchased the world's ugliest shoes. After noodles we spend a few hours in Annie's room, reading separate books and talking to one another only when something interesting presented itself to say. This kind of easy company is rare and I am thankful for it, especially here in the world's most isolated city.

Tuesday is day trip day. I am tired of the city and so, at the yawnfully early hour of 7am, I am picked up by Western Exposure tour bus 4x4. Driver Brian, a kindly all-Aussie man with lugubrious eyes, informs me that the rest of the tourists are Japanese and invites me to sit up front with him for some "English conversation". We drive North out of the city and into no-man's land. The road in places is little more than a dusty orange track stretching endlessly out
under a sky so huge I cannot find the words to describe it. Brian points out interesting flora and fauna as we make out way to our first stop, a national park where we are afforded a glimpse of several koalas. These are by far my favourite native Australian animals, not only because they
are so very cute, but because they are so, so lazy. Koalas sleep for an average of twenty two hours a day because they get very little energy from their diet of eucalyptus leaves. But will they eat anything else? Will they heck. We also get to see lots of kangaroos bounding around and nibbling at the grass, my first sighting this trip of these iconic animals. Later, on the road, I spot several emus. After a buffet lunch we reach the Pinnacle Desert. This is a huge
area of land, close to the wild coastline, where mysterious sandstone monoliths rise from the desert floor. It's a pretty impressive sight. The Japanese tour guide is an animated and slightly bonkers woman who insists on the strange pose you see me adopting in the above picture. Next Brian takes us for a 4wd jaunt over the Lancelin sand dunes before
we all get out and slide down them on sand boards- tame but fun. The rain comes down hard as I snooze away the journey home. That night I meet up with an English couchsurfer who just arrived in Perth named Christian. This boy can really talk, and I listen to some tales of his travels over a beer before returning home to pack. Hopefully Christian and I will be able to meet again on the East Coast.

I awake in the morning feeling excited. It's Indian Pacific day. I bid farewell to my roommates and meet Wendy and Lucky outside the hostel. Lucky is Wendy's muse and an absolute sweetheart, he buys me a Maccers breakfast and they wave me off as I board the train that sits, long and shining, at East Perth rail station. Next stop: Sydney.

Melbourne Pics

Melbourne:



Look! I found a jellyfish:



Clare and I attempt to look 'nautical':



St. Kilda beach. It's no Weymouth:



Footie at the MCG:



Melbourne by night, and the ferris wheel:



The couchsurfers of Melbourne:



The Unwins:

Melbourne: March 11th to 16th

The Unwins, mum and dad Mary and Ian and kids Nick (20) and Clare (19), are old family friends of ours, though it might have been a decade since I saw them last. Mary incredibly kindly offers to pick me up at the ungodly hour of seven in the morning from Melbourne's bus station but before I get to meet her, something lovely happens. Alex is waiting on the platform outside my bus. We stare disbelievingly at each other for a second before running into a hug. It's like seeing an old friend and as soon as we open our mouths, the words can't come out fast enough. He is on his was back to Sydney after an adventure in the outback. But alas, twenty minutes later and it is seven am and time to meet Mary. We embrace again and I feel a hit of sadness as I leave him to board his coach.

I find Mary outside and she drives me back to her family's beautiful house in the suburb of Hawethorne. We go out for what is probably one of the best breakfasts I have ever had at a cafe before I take the tram into the city -Melbourne is set apart amongst Australian cities for its efficient and extensive tram network- and potter around the CBD for a while. The city has, at first look, a more European flavour. The buildings seem older, in some street leaning towards
one another like those of Paris or Amsterdam. I spend the afternoon with Nicole, an amiable and helpful travel agent for Student Flights. She books my upcoming epic train journey- the three day Indian Pacific from Perth to Sydney.

When I return home I meet Clare for the first time. If ever there was a more smiley, welcoming person, I should like to meet them. Ian take Clare, Nick and I out for dinner before we ariive at Melbourne Town Hall where we are to see comedian Ross Noble as part of the city's annual Comedy Festival. A British comedian was a good choice as it means I do not have to sit and look bewildered through two hours of jibes at politicians I have never heard of. Needless to
say, it is very funny and lying in my huge bed later that night I reflect on how nice it is to be absorbed into a family for a while.

The next day I receive an e-mail first thing from a young Melbournite named Sam. Sam, like me, is a member of the traveller's website couchsurfing.com, a network of over 40,000 travellers from countries all over the world. Seeing that I am in Melbourne, Sam messaged me offering to show me around his home town. I meet him in the CBD, he sits reading Bronte on a bench, and after a quick whiz around a supermarket for chips and juice we head out to the Botanic Gardens. We climb up a warm memorial for a panoramic view of the city. Melbourne's heart is an organised, well thought out hub of business and entertainment, but like every other city it sits, muted by a haze that is an unavoidable reminder of pollution and population. Though the vista is a fine one, I think wistfully for a moment of the view from Glastonbury Tor, where the only thing that stops you from seeing the entire world in crystal clear is the curvature of
the Earth.

We stroll to the Gardens. These are not as striking as their Sydney counterparts, most likely due to a lack of water, but Sam takes me to a quiet shady spot and we lie on our stomachs like teenage girls and talk the afternoon away. We share lists of music, discuss our mutual admiration of Regina Spektor and Nietzche. and muse on the subjects of poetry, adolescence, and whether my admiration for Shakespeare is simply a patriotic bias. Sam is vastly intelligent,
soft-spoke, and funny. He has the pleasing air of one who has acquired self-assurance through years of life's trials and errors. Too soon the afternoon is disappearing, but before he must return to study he takes me to a hidden bookshop I would never have found any other way and selects a favourite volume of poems and reads one aloud to me. Never in my life have I heard a poem read in such a way, and for a moment my breath catches in my throat. I tell Sam
never to read me poetry again or I would have to marry him. He laughs and we embrace goodbye.

After he is gone I buy the book and walk down to the river side to read. I sit on the grass banks of the Yarra near the big twinkling ferriswheel that turns slowly to the soundtrack of childish screams and a city winding down after work. A guy and a girl, both dressed punki-ishly, are sitting in front of me by the water. He walks teeteringly along the edge, kicking stones and squinting at the setting sun. Every time he turns his head away, his female companion
pulls out a camera and swiftly photographs him before hurridly thrusting the camera back in her bag before he sees. I do not know whether he is camera shy or whether perhaps she harbours feelings for him he knows nothing of, but whatever the reason for this secret display of affection, I am oddly touched by it. Back at home, Clare and I watch amusing Internet cartoons together before I fall asleep quickly in Melbourne's most comfortable bed.

The next day is Saturday. Footie day. This afternoon the teams of Carlton and Essendon (carn Bombers!) will play Aussie rules football together and we are lucky enough to be going. First though, the two of us take a road trip to Saint Kilda, a slightly bohemian seaside suburb. The main street here reminds me somewhat of Newtown back in Sydney but with far more cake shops and palm trees. We have some delicious eggs and then wander up and down, browsing the stores before making out way to the beach; a long, skinny strip of dirty sand lapped at half-heartedly by a calm, distinctly Isle-Of-Wight-ish sea. Perhaps better viewed from a distance, Saint Kilda beach is not the world's most beautiful, and removal of shoes is at the risk of being stuck by a syringe in the sand. Clare and I pass an amusing half-hour poking at the numerous dead jelly fish before it is time to get home and get ready for the game. Sitting on a train packed with eager footie fans on the way to Melbourne's famous stadium, the MCG, and hour later, it
is impossible to not feel a sense of anticipation. The MCG is huge and today around 65,000 people are sitting in it. Ian, Clare and I take our seats and I realise I have absolutely no idea what the rules are. Clare gives me an outline- there are four posts at each end, get the ball between the outer ones for one point, and between the inner ones for six points. Kicking the ball is the only way to score, though the players can punt it to one another if they wish. By
the time it starts the rules hardly matter, this game is fast and fun. Watching fifteen guys in tight short shorts running around is not a bad way to pass an afternoon. We have beer and snacks and cheer and boo loudly, clapping on Essendon. Sadly, as Ian puts it, they manage to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory and Carlton are the winners. We return home long-faced to another lovely meal by Mary, before the Unwin family depart for another night of comedy and I catch up on my e-mails.

The following afternoon, after market browsing in the morning with Clare, I meet Sam again at a decent little bar called The European which, to my delight, sells pints instead of schooners. We are the first to arrive of a gang of Melbourne couchsurfers who are meeting today for the first time. We chat for over an hour before Jess, a smart, friendly and inquisitive young local arrives, followed by the serious but passionate Joao from Portugal, warm and funny local Alisdair, cool cat and meet organiser Stu, fun twosome Naomi and Yuku, and jovial Scott, and English motor
biker. The party is vocal and friendly and welcoming banter flips back and forth as we all explore each other's personalities. Sam asks if I would like to join him to eat and so, four hours after we first meet and with several offers of free accommodation in Melbourne, we go out for noodles. I am incredibly sorry to part with my newest friend this evening, rarely is talking so easy with new people, but that's travelling; you meet people, you get to know them, then just as you become good friends you leave and start the process all over again.

The next morning Mary drives me to the airport for my flight back to Sydney. When I arrive I meet Nicky, Steve, and Eli at the excellent Hyde Park swimming pool. It is truly good to see them. The following day is Tuesday and so karaoke. I finally get to introduce Justine and Eli, and the three of us plus the wonderful Anabelle -also from UTS- burst ear drums with a tuneless rendition of Avril Lavigne's 'Complicated'. It is strange how, 10,000 miles from
Bridport, I can still feel like I am home.

Plenty of Pics (sorry they're massive)

Jess really puts in the effort at beach rugby:



Glenn shows her how it's done:



Steve at Bondi:



Cool eh?



Even cooler:



This did not end well:



Nick, lazing around at Victoria Park swimming pool:



Oscar is good with the birds:



Nick - The Bird Man:



Eli makes a friend:



Steve plays Matrix:

Easter etc: April 6th to 11th

This weekend it is Easter. This is much more of a big deal in Australia because it is the last sunny break before 'winter' (read: 'I might wear long sleeves today'). As soon as it is April here, no matter how beautiful the weather may still be, practically every Australian busts out their winter threads. Heave jackets, jeans, ug boots, they really are a load of wimps.

Most of my weekend in to be consumed by another camping trip with Meryl and Graeme, this time with Jessamie and Glenn in tow. Glenn drives Jess and I up to Yagon camp, near out last site, and reveals on the way that he is truly rubbish at car games. After completely failing at 'Granny Went To Market' he redeems himself somewhat by bringing us safely to out destination where Meryl and Graeme, having arrived the day before, have set up camp, complete with portable shower. The day is grey, chilly, and it rains for thirty seconds every quarter of an hour. What the bloody hell is going on? Isn't this supposed to be Australia? Being English, we know how to deal with a bit of wet and so the day is filled with talking, reading, and eating before we tuck ourselves in atop blow up mattresses, wearing fleeces to chase away the cold.

Saturday dawns brighter and we set out for a windy but rewarding stroll to one of only two lighthouses in Australia with an exterior staircase. Exciting eh? The panoramic view of the dramatic coastline is really something, but doesn't live up to its British counterpart from the top of Golden Cap ;) Down on the beach I see my first bluebottle jelly fish, an evil looking translucent bubble smaller than my palm, washed up on the shore. Glenn and I chase Jess around and generally terrorise one another before we are called like children to the path home. Tonight we chat by the low light of the paraffin lamp, me slowly but continuously turning the handle of the wind up lamp-come-speaker that plays songs from my MP4. It is no match for the pimped-out car stereos of our neighbours, but is still a pleasant accompaniment to the conversation.

The next day, following an early morning drive home and a 7am Maxibon Cookie ice cream, I meet Eli, Steve, and newcomer from Asylum hostel Nick, at Bondi. The sun holds out long enough for us to lie on the beach and I discover quickly how easily Nick is going to fit in. He's from Middlesbrough so we have a country in common, not that we need it because Nick makes easy and intimate conversation. Suddenly the sky opens up into a downpour and I get to practise the old English art of packing up beach stuff in 3.4 seconds. We shelter for a while before eating in a beach side cafe, then spend a pleasurable half hour or so watching the skaters, who are particularly daring today.

A shower and dinner later and it is time to World Bar again. Tonight is a night of tipsy chatting on sofas and mad dancing to decidedly indie tunes. The evening flies by until Steve is thrown out for no reason at all and we all vacate and relocate to a scummy bar up the road. Smiling with what we hope are sober eyes, we are re-IDd by the police, before returning to our default expressions of intoxicated joy. We dance the rest of the night away in Empire, a large and characterless club that nevertheless serves its purpose. Before I know it, it is 4am and time to go home. A pizza slice later and Eli and I are sitting on the sofas in the basement lounge of Asylum. Steve is snoring softly on another couch. We talk for a while but my eyelids get heavier and heavier. Mid-sentence the Swede stops talking and my eyes close. When they open again it is past 6am and we've been sleeping, totally upright, for an hour. Steve is still snoring as I hug Eli goodbye and leave to walk the ten minutes to my Cogee bus on Oxford Street. When I get there, the pubs are still open and beers being drunks but that little nap has turned tonight into last night and so I climb wearily aboard a bus full of those going off to work and try not to fall asleep against the window.

I jolt awake feeling slightly confused at midday, have a delicious shower, pull on some clothes, and ride the bus back to Oxford Street. I recognise a man in a bar window, he was there this morning, and he sits now in the same place, finishing another schooner. If ever you are under the illusion that you are hardcore, one visit to this street at any time of day or night will prove you wrong. Eli, Nick, Steve and I go down to the Botanic Gardens for frappes and sunbathing. Steve is quite the acrobat and he tries to teach Nick a few moves while Elle and I chat and doze on a stolen airline blanket. The gardens are huge and immaculate. Bats hang in their hundreds from the trees and their are cockatoos and parrots on the lush grass everywhere. The harbour water sparkles in the warm sun and I wish I wasn't nursing a headache. Later we are joined by a couple named Oscar and Ashley, Scottish and Mexican respectively, and we all go and feed the birds- prohibited but fun. At the sight of Oscar's peanuts they descend from the trees and land on our arms, heads, backs and hands and peck away at our humble offerings. Several ear and ankle pecks later and I bid farewell to the gang and get myself a much needed early night.

Tuesday dawns bright and hot, as usual, and so the boys and I go for a swim in the outdoor pool at Victoria Park. This has been one of my favourite places in the city since Jess took me here for a very enjoyable afternoon a few weeks back. Four just A$4 you get to swim as much as you please in a very clean, long and deep pool in the surrounds of one of the smaller but more aesthetically pleasing parks in the city. Eli is at her first day of work, and so it is just me and the boys. We splash around for a while before Steve goes off to sunbathe on the grass and Nick and I, after the mandatory slow motion martial arts water fight, get to talking. Nick is, like Shrek, an onion. He has a great many layers. Just when you think you've got to the centre of him, he reveals something new. I imagine back home that he is a lot of people's shoulder to cry on. I marvel at the good fortune I have had in being introduced by circumstance to two of the male race's finest representatives in just one week.

I take the boys up to Newtown for curry and hat shopping for Nick who has a perhaps fleeting desire to look more bohemian. Returning to Cogee on mt favourite bus, the meandering #373, Jess and I dine together and she and I prepare for karaoke at, where else, World Bar. On the ride to Oxford Street we laugh silently at a quintessentially Aussie male heart to heart being had behind us.
"You've always been Tom-o mate, ever since I've know you you've been Tom-o. I just don't want you changing for a girl"
To which Tom-o eloquently replies,
"Yeah but I'm just sick of being a dick mate".

Getting into World Bar before 10pm on a Tuesday is well worth it: cheap drinks wristband, free entry, one free drink, free champagne for girls or guys dressed as girls until it runs out, free pizza, and a free drink whenever you sing. Which we do, of course, the Swede insisting that 'I Will Survive' is our song and that we must sing it. Jess introduces me to Chloe, also over from Dorset, who is hilarious and fun loving and we dance unreservedly all night. Hearing a great rendition of 'Hound Dog' we go check out who's singing and are delighted to discover that it is Steve, who evidently has a secret talent. He and Chloe to an amazing duet of 'Don't Go Breaking My Heart' and he ends up winning the grand prize of three night's accommodation on Fraser Island. After being verbally assaulted by a group of kids at the bus stop, Jess and I make it home safely and fall thankfully into bed.

Wednesday. Tonight I will be getting the bus to Melbourne, but not before Tristan and I indulge in 'all you can eat' pizza, pasta, salad, and dessert at Pizza Hut. We are served by the frankly hilarious Shirley, a tiny little Asian woman who makes a very disappointed noise and face when I say I don't want a drink. Tristan is always a pleasure to spend time with, not least because he can quote the entire of Mean Girls.

This afternoon I meet the boys and we go for a beer, joined eventually by Elinor who has just finished her second day of work. It feels strange now to leave these three, who have become such a large part of my life in such a short time. Living with Jess and Justine has been wonderful, and I will miss the comfort of a place I know and love. I will be back on Monday for two days, but I realise that this is the end of the vacation we've all been on. Lots of hugs later and I am on my overnight coach, chatting to an amiable Dutch chick named Jelle. Twelve hours of upright sleeping and dingy service stations stretches uncomfortably ahead of me and so I put Ani DiFranco in my ears and will the night away.