Wet and Windy in Freycinet

The day started full of promise and enthusiasm, and then we looked out the windows... The overcast and drizzle interspersed with showers had returned. Our cabin in Coles Bay has a great outlook over the roofs of the campervans and tents to the tree lined water beyond. Unfortunately most of it was yet again obscured by the inclement weather. As it turns out we have just happened to be in Tassie for the wettest week in 50 years. That’s one in 2600 weeks. We are so lucky.....
Unperturbed we wandered down to the bakery to empty them of pastries (breakfast in our abode) and then headed off to the National Park to explore the wilderness and take in the sights. At least the resulting photos are not the same old boring postcard ones that everyone else takes.

We drove through the hilly, narrow, tree lined winding roads towards Cape Tourville lighthouse hoping that the weather would break so we could do the hour long walk to view Wineglass bay. The Lighthouse and walk around the top of the cliffs was exhilarating, mostly because of the exposure to the extreme elements, partially due to the glimpses of majestic coastline occasionally revealed through the waves of showers drifting in from the Tasman sea.

Our stroll through the dripping forest to Sleepy Bay would be fascinating in any weather. When we got the bottom of the gully the gravel beach with the creek trickling its way into the sea all surrounded by wind carved rocks made the trek worthwhile. A brief stay inside a cave whilst another shower past provided a brief insight into what the (unfortunately now removed) indigenous inhabitants of the area would have experienced for thousands of years- except we had gortex raincoats.
Giving the area a final chance to prove its majesty we went to the Freycinet Lodge for a cuppa and taste of how the rich people live whilst giving rain a chance to ease. The facilities are amazing, the beverages the same as everywhere else and the weather not changing. Refreshed but somewhat disappointed that we missed on the chance to see Wineglass Bay we left to drive north.
Typically, the weather cleared to occasional showers as we drove through Bicheno (where the blow hole was blowing really well in the offshore gales) and along an amazing coastal road to St. Helens. All of the rivers in the area are overflowing and there are many signs of roads being blocked in the last dew days. Luckily we got through with no hiccups.
Our cabin on top of the hill has a great outlook over the bay and is quite spacious and well appointed. Happy with our cheapest accommodation to date, we spent the afternoon deciding on where to have dinner.
A part of this exploration was a trip up to Binalong bay which has the whitest sand and reddest painted rocks (lichen) ever seen (by us). This combination creates a photogenic opportunity of which we took full advantage. As one of the aims of the trip was to experience Cray we eventually went back to the locale for dinner. At the Cafe here we watched the day fade away over the Bay of Fires as we munched on a feast of seafood, local wines and other delights.
Curiously (!) we ended up back in our cabin by 7:30 and thinking about yet another early night. Knowing full well that the morrow will be delivering a day full of high wire antics....

Tenacity triumphs!

It just goes to show that the anti goodtime forces can be overcome if you persist long and hard enough. Early morning phone calls (ruininng holiday sleep ins...) resulted in Budget coming through with the goods.
At around 9:30 a truck arrived with a different version of the same model on the back, we headed back up the road to the pub, swapped them over and we were on our way. The difference in versions is twofold. 1. It is a nicer colour. 2. The windscreen wipers work.( 2.5 when they do – they don’t squeal at us). So even in the driving rain (yep it’s still commin’ down) we can hear each other and the radio. Unfortunately we can’t hear Ro’s birthday CD because it was left in the other car. The pluses just keep adding up...

We arrived at Port Arthur in the continuing downpour, purchased our tickets and headed down to the Marina in the depressing gloom and went on a 20 minute cruise of the harbour. This was great (even in the rain) where we did a loop of the Isle of the dead (curiously leaving people there but not picking any up) and saw various other fog/rain shrouded watery sights. We then went on a walking tour where the akubra topped; dry-as-a-bone wearing guide explained some of the history and layout of the site. The sea of umbrellas and ponchos following in her wake was a sight to behold. Like bedraggled rats we eventually wandered through various museums and asylums to emerge to the glorious sight of no rain.
Showers (on and off) for the rest of the day but we felt like we had beaten those humidity based oppressors and had come out the other side of the battle with ... well... a different colour car - and no hours lost. Apparently they have not had rain like that in the region for 10 years. Just how lucky can we be heh?
And so we headed north, crossing multitudes of frothing creeks and riverlets, it was a thoroughly enjoyable drive through the picturesque landscape. Like most of the state (apart from Hobart) the roads are really quiet and as such a pleasure to be on. When we hit the coast again the wind had stopped and the waters had turned mirror like. The smell in the air was of fresh oysters and Coles Bay awaited us.

When we got there we were greeted by the sight of the Hazards glowing in the setting sun (as the mountains in Tassie tend to do when not obscured by rain) and the burnt out remains of the petrol station. The fire had disabled the chef of the restaurant next door and as such we thought that dinner was going to be spaghetti out of can (not that we had one). Luckily the other establishment in town was still working. The Pub had great meals and local beverages which are great quality. This was a 2 minute walk from our luxurious cabin and as such we feel invigorated and ready to hit the walking tracks of the National Park tomorrow.

Thwarted by the Rain Gods

They have it in for us – no doubt about it. Either that or the spirits of Port Arthur really don’t want us visiting them.

We woke to a grey view of the street showing a light drizzle, the rain radar showing nothing much and a forecast predicting well...rain. Suitably armed with the hotels umbrellas we headed over to Salamanca place for breakfast. Whist we were there the rain persisted, so we decided we need to get our own armoury and after checking out and extracting the car we headed up to Target’ for shoes, coats and umbrellas. Finding the queues in the car park most cordial we eventually got our goods and headed off to the Museum of Modern and Ancient Art. All the whilst listening to the squealing sound of the wiper motors mentioned in previous posts.
The MONA is an amazing place – Art to the extremes – designed to delight and intimidate. It succeeds on all levels. (“Seen one – seen them all”.... indeed not Madam, a closer inspection reveals they are all indeed remarkably unique). The building itself is a masterpiece - They recognise that not having windows in not ecologically friendly. It does help with the ambience of the place though.
In our case it also blocked out the fact that the rain was continuing in earnest outside.
After being thoroughly entertained for a couple of hours we came back out and headed off to Port Arthur for an education in the worst of our ancient and modern history of our great land. Hobart can be resplendent with its extensive waterways and high mountains framing the city and surrounds. Mt Wellington was spectacular in its ability to hide itself today. The picturesque waterways of the drive down the Tasman Peninsular were hidden behind the fog of the ever increasing downpours. A brief lightening of the sky was simply a precursor to a particularly heavy dump.
A brief stop at a roadside market saw us secure some famous Apple Isle apples (when in Rome...). We arrived at our wonderfully located beach side huts mid afternoon. Not only does this contain the first working ½ flush toilet we have encountered in Tasmania, the position is absolutely amazing – being right on the beach we could enjoy the fresh air, calm waters and views across the bay to pristine forested hills. That is if the driving rain wasn’t obscuring the view and keeping us indoors. So we decided to drive down and have a look at the Port anyway, even though it’s mostly outdoors. 30 minutes later and 5k’s from our destination we discovered why the wipers were being so noisy. In that they stopped working altogether.

So there we were – literally and the end of the earth, no wipers, constant pouring rain, no phone signal and darkness due in an hour or so. Decision time....
The drive back was an interesting experience. Constant searching for phone signals, careful navigation by vague white lines and the tail lights of the bus in front leading the way. It didn’t take too long for the crew to realise this was not the time for cheap point scoring. We eventually made it safely back to Dunalley Pub where we could use their phone, call the appropriate services and partake their wares (the pubs that is). The RACT guy couldn’t resolve the problem (can they ever these days?) and so here we are – Back in our remote beach side hut (got a lift back from the barmaid) with no transport and a vague plan for getting some tomorrow.
The rain continues to bucket down and the forecast indicates that it will continue to do so. Someone up there really does not want us to get to Port Arthur.....

Headin’ East in topsy turvy land

The norm for Tassie is the weather comes from the west, the mountains catch the rain, the east stays dry. We can see the effects of this as the grass on the west is green, it’s brown in the east. By some quirk of fate we happen to be here as a cold front comes in from the east. This means it was bright and sunny in Strahan when we awoke and it got darker and wetter as we journeyed over the mountains to Hobart.
Not letting the forecast getting us down, we had a thoroughly delightful time traversing the endless winding roads and the ever changing vistas of the wild mountainous country. The climb up to Queenstown incorporates 199 bends in the road. Not missing any of then we arrived to a cry from the back seat –“look there are people” (it had been a tad quiet over the last couple of days). Nevertheless the illusion was nicely broken by a distinct lack of any hustle and bustle anywhere else in or around the town. For a central locale, full of history, buildings and apparently still operating mines the place seemed distinctly deserted.
We did manage to get a coffee before heading up the winding road and into the vividly painted, desolate hills that the town is renowned for. Note to self – don’t eat the soil here – there’s got to be very good reason why nothing grows on it.
Popping over the ridge we soon found ourselves on the other end of the ecological spectrum as we dove into the world heritage park which was founded by a bunch of tree hugging hippies in the 1980’s.
The Franklin –Gordon Wild Rivers National park has some absolutely fantastic sights to see. The Nelson falls, the Franklin River, Lake St. Clarie and at Derwent bridge there is a piece of developing artwork - which depicts the struggle, pain, suffering and hard endeavours of the early pioneers in a huge relief carved out of Huon pine. We did extremely well to miss all of these.
On the other hand we did stop to take an hour long return walk up to Donaghy’s Hill. The panoramic views were(are) incredible. This shows the wilderness at its best and it’s easy to see what the chlorophyll aligned folks have been on about all this time.
On the way down the escarpment we drove around various lakes and lagoons amongst the grasslands of the high country and corpses of stunted gums. The water system (as it turns out) is the top of huge system of lakes/locks/canals and aqueducts (no rats) which feed into huge pipes ploughing down the sides of mountains and end up in power stations. Fascinating stuff - this thing called human ingenuity.
As we headed into the Derwent valley we were bedazzled by the (seemingly) popular poplars in full autumn bloom. The quiet hamlet of Hamilton seems destined to ever remain so...
The river drew us into Hobart where we were greeted with rain and traffic jams (just like home). It was an interesting comparison to what we had experienced over the last few days in the wilderness. Our accommodation is right on the harbour and as such has that redeeming feature. The car park underneath took us ½ hour of manoeuvring to get it in. Getting out in the morning may require a can opener ....
We spent the late afternoon and evening wandering around the waterfront, soaking up the seafaring sights, hangin’ in trendy cafe’s and taking delight in the local delicacies (seafood mostly). And then back to our sardine can for the night. No complaints though - the position is amazing.

South to Strahan

Being greeted by another show when we arose made us come to the conclusion that Stanley is the rainbow capital of the world. Coincidence maybe, however the place is so quaint, optimately located and full of unexplored delights we vowed to return (one day). And so full of expectations we headed off into the hinterland of the west coast. The rolling green hills perfectly matched the winding roads as we drifted through many places without postcards (not that we stopped to look for them).
Eventually we headed into Gunns country where every tree is either precisely located or a recent memory. We stopped for a brief walk through the subtropical rainforest in Hellyer Gorge before more winding roads and spectacular scenery on the way to Tullah where we grabbed some take away for lunch. McDonalds and the others don’t get a show in around these here parts.

Ignoring Rosebury and thus deciding to take the long way, we took the road over to Reece dam and got to see some fabulous high plains type country side on the way. Isabel was so excited that she decided to try out for the Toyota ad campaign – right idea but wrong brand. Pity the occasional rain keeps reminding us about the ridiculous noisy wiper motors...
Reece Dam is an engineering marvel and a great example of how we can avoid burning fossil fuels by drowning pristine eco systems instead. It was a little eerie as we were the only people around for miles (it seemed) and yet there was all this construction undertaken to drive a power station which was obviously not in use. Maybe it was because it was Sunday afternoon, perhaps everyone is back in town – so we set off to Zeehan to find out.

After sussing out the museum and deciding that the allure of our destination was too strong to hang around, we left – admiring the architecture of the town as we drove through. One gets the feeling that this is banjo country and to upset the locals would see your up and commance being rendered deliverance style.
Strahan is a quiet peaceful place which was still recovering from the Targa Tasmania swarming through the town the previous night. Swinging beside the picturesque Macquarie Harbour was windswept, chilly whilst it was nicely glowing in the late afternoon yellowing sun. Due to time constraints we won’t get the chance to do what one should do here (Cruise up the rivers, travel on the train or fly over in a sea plane). Instead we went to the pub for a fabulous dinner and back to our cosy apartment for another early night.....can see a pattern forming here.

Torrents at the Nut

Up at 5:00 am to get on our flight at 8:00. It was a nice warm Autumn day in Melbourne and the weather extended all the way across the Straight to reveal a clear crisp day in Launceston. It’s a strange inverse relationship that the smaller the airport- the more efficient it is. We collected our rocket from Budget’ (no French accents anywhere - curiously) and hit the road. The Renault Koleos has everything – start button, GPS and a few surprises. Trying to keep the speed down to the standard 110km was tricky with such a quiet ride. It seems that even though they have higher speed limits here, things are much more relaxed on the roads. I guess any driving experience different from the overly policed Nanny State has to be good.
Completely ignoring the hamlet of Launceston we stopped for brunch at Hobnobs in Westbury . Not a Dave in sight – however it was very pleasant consuming our scones and tea amidst the picturesque surrounds of the quaint town whilst the sky was slowly becoming more threatening.
Experiencing the hilarity of constant roadside outfit changes due to the varying conditions we headed west - noting the ferry at Devonport and the log piles at Burnie on the way. We ended up on top of Table Cape with a huge drop to the ocean, a lighthouse and fields full of dried onions, all lined up drying ready for collection, it took us a while to figure out why they were leaving perfectly good onions lying around on the ground – from now on we’ll appreciate the journey they go through before reaching the supermarket shelves.

Arriving in Stanley the rain was finally looking serious and we made the decision to take the chairlift to the top of the Nut anyway. The view was great, the wind was starting to blow and the rain was looking like.. ..well ....rain, so instead of hopping off and exploring the top we stayed on board and headed back down. Good choice, as it just got heavier and heavier. Cursing the rain gods and their recalcitrant ways we headed over to the Historic Highfield Homestead. This is a fascinating insight into the history of the area – it all seems so grand and heroic until the truth hits home in that it was built on slave labour (convicts) and genocide (local inhabitants). Our race’s ability to create suffering on others for our own personal benefit seems to be endless.

150 years later finds us luxuriously sitting high off the road, cruising back into town in our sleek machine all seemed to be good with world apart from the sound of the windscreen wiper motors which sounds curiously like someone on an oxygen ventilating system. Well timed hands from the back seat grabbing the throat of the front passenger at appropriate intervals helped add to the illusion of the vehicle being haunted. Unless Renault fix this noise – don’t buy one.
By the time we got into our incredibly PPP located cabin the rain had well and truly set in. With the nut looming over us (as it does the whole town), the ocean at our door step and we settled down to fill in the time until dinner. Just on sunset the rain stopped and as we headed out the most incredible display of sunset on one side creating a perfect rainbow over the nut on the other showed us just how amazing the nature of the world can be.


Dinner at the full pub (we squeezed in) was fabulous and a stroll back to our cabin sees everyone exhausted and ready for the next day’s journey south into the wild west.

Calm in the Eye of the Storm

Matt and Amy had left for school, Paul had headed off to the office, pre-packing had begun when the OMG moment happened. “Helen we have a problem” was the stated twist on that other famous understatement. And so the wheels of panic driven organisation began to turn. Patrick was called, from his reeking smoke filled office he confirmed the offending package was still indeed in his safe. Phones rang hot. Luckily the ANZ network is now quite extensive throughout the country and the Branch in Sihanoukville was opened and the staff helpful enough to pop down and collect the package for the hotel (it helps when it’s their boss asking). The vital documents were then passed to a taxi driver who just happened to be doing the trip anyway. And in true Cambodian style the package was soon hurtling its way through the chaotic traffic as described in earlier blogs. . For a mere cost of $2.50 (plus generous tip of $2) the documents arrived in Phnom Penh 4 hours later. Where else in the world could you get service like that?
In the meantime we all went calmly shopping. First to collect the clothes from the tailors, then after to an incredible cup cake shop, run by an ex-pat who loves cake decorating and spending a huge effort in helping educate the local women in the art. Swanning around the shops and having coffee and cakes of this quality was an interesting insight into what goes on when the kids are at school and the husbands are at work. Tough life but someone has to do it. The practice Helen has had makes her the perfect host and tourist guide/shopping master.
We then headed off the markets, some up market (due to cost and the multiple stories) and some the same same (Cambodians would understand that line). The Russian markets were re-visited to collect the custom made jewellery. And all the while we were taking in the sights of the city in all its busy glory. From barefooted builders working amongst the tangle of power lines, the myriad of tuk tuk’s, the plethora of scooters – some of them interestingly weighted down by salad dodging Policemen.
Lunch was back at French Cafe on the river front and then the inevitable mad rush to pack and get the airport (picking up the passports along the way). A fond farewell to Helen (who was to be back in a couple of hours to collect her next set of visitors) and we were off. A short hop to KL for a 3 hour stopover, 2 of which was waiting in the slowest ever check in line. As it turns out the plane is only half full and being the seasoned travellers we now are we quickly capitalised on it and took over the spare seats.
Not much else to report on this trip apart from arriving in Tullamarine – which was a little better than last time (most likely due to lees concurrent arrivals) and into a hideously cold, wet day. A toasty open fire soon took the cold of the edges though. It took all day to unpack, sort out the plethora of bought stuff, wash clothes, get the goldfish and the post from next door, accept Webster back from Oma and we even got Louisa to netball. Tomorrow is back to reality (work and school for all of us) and thus an end to an amazing adventure.
We really need to thank the following players:
Helen for giving us a whole week of her life and showing us the town, the country and her new lifestyle with such enthusiasm and generosity.
Paul for the same and also for setting the whole scenario up in the first place.
Amy and Matt for spending their holidays with us and generously letting us impose on their space.
All the helpers of their household, they made our travels the easiest and most stress free we’ve ever had.
Charm for looking after Webster (“woof woof” from him).
Brian and Fran for collecting the mail and looking after the goldfish, including the bowel diagnosis of the one who regularly floats upside down (another time for that story perhaps).
The Assauws’ who kept an eye on the guinea pigs.
All the people of Cambodia – you’ve been through hell and are now pulling yourselves out of it with great tenacity, enthusiasm and most of all - friendliness. Please don’t loose those values; they make you unique in the world.

The long way home

Another leisurely brekkie by the pool was almost Faulty Towerish with and overworked waiter (aka Manuel) with no real idea of what we were ordering. Many attempts at ordering a Late’ ended up with either a long black or a glass of cold milk. In the end Helen settled for a cappuccino. Patrick (aka Basil) the hotel owner had a huge hangover and took 30 minutes and a couple of attempts to produce our bills – which were ultimately wrong as well. Sorting it out amongst ourselves we loaded up the van and headed along the coast to the seaside town of Kep. Inadvertently leaving the passports safely locked away in the Hotel safe. Along the way went through a variety of interesting towns, some perched precariously above the waters of rivers. Squalid and picturesque.
Whilst being distracted by one panorama we managed to launch a puddle load of dirty water over group of brightly coloured Buddhist Monks - who were minding their own business until we came hurtling along. Feeling guilty we decided to try and impose more of our evil western culture ways upon them by offering them a couple of dollars (well, everyone else here loves the stuff). We were politely refused. Suspecting something along the lines of enlightenment is not enabled through the all mighty buck we jaunted off on our merry way, whilst they headed back to their temple to prey for forgiveness for our souls and washing powder for their orange robes.
We passed through the town of Kampot – famous for its pepper. The roads got rougher and busier and we eventually ended up in Kep and a series of restaurants (perched half over the waters of the Gulf ) who specialise in crabs caught in their watery front yard and the previously mentioned spices. We had a great lunch, with the sound of the downpours on the tin roof being drowned out by the sounds of the waves crashing ashore underneath the floor boards. The wind and the rain were still doing their best to remind people that this is the off season.
Kep is full of empty shells of 50’s French seaside mansions which were gutted by the Khmer Rouge in the 70’s. They are just now starting to redevelop the areas infrastructure and it’s pretty obvious that in 2 or 3 years this place will also be back as an expensive joint in which to hang out.
We then headed inland amidst more driving rain and bumpy roads. The journey took quite a few hours as we got caught up in a tide of locals all heading into town after a weekend back home in the provinces. Overloaded cars, vans and busses were the mainstay – most of them with accompanying bags of rice. The road works went on for seemingly ever, just another item to slow us down well. We rode the wave of humanity for hours – it was never dull though – way too much to look at.
Taking a quick detour we headed to the local go-cart track for 10 minutes of high speed high jinks. It was getting dark and the place was closed, however the owner appeared on a scooter and a call or two later and people appeared form all over the place. Including one with an AK 47 slung over his shoulder. The carts were great fun and had everyone exhausted and exhilarated by the end of the scream around the bitumen. We then all piled back into the van (along with swarm of mosquitoes) and then rejoined the traffic back into town.
The parents then hopped out at Raffels Hotel for drinks in the Elephant Bar. This place is not cheap in anyone’s currency, but very well appointed and serviced. Jolly good show eh what?....
We all then headed out for our last dinner before heading home at a local favourite restaurant to soak up more Phnom Penh ambience and then walked home in the warm (but not too muggy) evening. Collapsed into bed blissfully unaware of the package laying half a country away and the ensuing chaos that would be the consequence.

A day on the beach

Breakfast beside the hotel pool and we all jumped in the van and headed to Otres beach. To get there we drove down a flooded, corrugated dirt track, lined by some very fragile looking houses.
The beach is defined by shacks of grass roofs; some are for accommodation and others for sheltering tourists or locals waiting to hassle them. We arrived in the middle of a downpour and quickly established ourselves in a shelter. Immediately we were surrounded by offers of massages, hair removal (using cotton) hand woven bracelets and freshly cooked lobsters. The only way to get rid of them was to say “later” to which they would say “you use me later”. The problem with this that when you use someone else later they get all grumpy.
Our area was controlled by a 15 year old girl running the show and getting everyone else upset, but at least she kept the hounds at bay, we later worked out her power base in that she was the owners daughter. Eventually some sort of balance ensued where they left us alone for a while so we could acclimatise. Needless to say however, over the course of the day our wallets and purses progressively got lighter and lighter as the dollars flowed out of them.
The waters of the Gulf were quite angry in the strong wind, although warmer than the rain coming down so we all braved the strong currents and small but powerful waves. The water has the same colour as the other side (Phuket) but not quite as a deep shade of yellow.
The menus are extensive and the resulting food was extremely fresh and fabulous, it was hard to see how such good quality could be produced in seemingly destitute surrounds – so it was a fabulously relaxing day being pampered by the locals. As this beach is so remote it was not crowed with tourists (and the fact that it is the wet season) – it’s a real gem and a shame that the wheels of progress are rapidly rolling towards it. The prediction is in two years it’ll all be bulldozed for expensive resorts. No idea how Paul and Helen discovered the place but we were extremely glad we experienced it before it disappeared.
Back to hotel, swim for kids , kip for some adults, blog for others. Afterwards we went to a five star resort at Sokha for dinner, which was very salubrious and fulfilling, no idea how many locals had been displaced in order to build the place.
Late night drinks at a party street up the road from the hotel was an interesting Insight into the seedy world of the of the tourist night life.

Off to the beach

Friday morning started lazily (compared to yesterday) – out of bed at 8:30 and hitting the shops by 10:00. First stops were to ensure the tailors were on track and then it was to market to market. No fat pigs but heaps more cheap stuff, and a bag to put it all in. We made sure it matched Mums new shoulder bag – just so she could continue to tell everyone about it.
This time we hit Central and Olympic markets. Olympic puts Spotlight to shame. More material of stunning patterns and colours than could be imagined. And this was one small area of the multi-storied, thriving with activity place.
All of this bouncing around town was courtesy of our driver of course, this type of service almost makes shopping fun. After a relaxing lunch in a small courtyard restaurant we rushed back to pack for our sojourn to the beach for a couple of days. The trip to Sihanoukville was another 4 hours on the roads, no games of chicken this time as our driver seemed to be happy to take things easily and keep his hands off the horn.
The roads were chaotic as ever though, this time exasperated by the never ending stream of trucks with containers (as we were heading towards the country’s ports). This is the wet season and we discovered a fascinating countryside with bright green fields in front of dark ominous skies and more ramshackle, poverty stricken abodes. And yet the people seemingly appear to be happy.
Torrential rain greeted us by the time we got to our hotel and continued for pretty much all of the night. Our hotel is run a French couple who refurbished it from ruins of the war era and is on the hill overlooking the Bay of Thailand. The lights of the harbour beyond silhouetted the trees on the ridge in an eerie glow as the rain lashed down all around us.
Driving though town on the way to dinner through the downpours in the dark was somewhat of a change for Cambodia as no one was moving about - it seemed everyone had ducked for cover somewhere or another. The Italian restaurant was full of "interesting" patrons and fabulous food. The Garlic bread alone is worth a mention simply for the amount of the stuff piled onto each slice. So whilst not much interesting to write about, the day’s activities had everyone exhausted and we collapsed into our comfortable beds and freezing air cons for an interrupted night’s sleep. Pity we didn’t notice the ceiling fan until the morning (note to self – look around room before going to sleep).

Sunrise over antiquity

It was recommended that we save Ankor Wat for an early morning event. This would enable us to get a unique postcard picture and avoid the crowds which frequent the place during the day. And so we dutifully employed our driver Mike to meets us at 4:30 am with a Tuk Tuk to take us there. On the way through the warm dark morning we slowly came to realise we were not the only people to come up with this clever notion. We were particularly concerned that everyone on the road was passing us, whilst being assured that our machine was working O.K., it sure did not sound and behave like it was. The ticket complex was open and a plethora of staff was around to make sure the revenue was flowing even in the wee small hours.
Ankor Wat is the largest temple in the world – this means that it can contain millions of tourists annually to watch the sunrise. Most of them were here today - swarming across the causeway like a marauding horde of glow worms. The gates and the walls of the complex completely failed in their design of keeping intruders out. As we all elbowed each other for the best vantage point the sky slowly changed from late crescent moon to tropical sunrise. Wasn’t overly spectacular (as far as sunrises go) but was still worth getting there for. Once we realised the scale of the place, we left the milling throng at the entrance and wandered towards the temple, snapping happily as we went.
By the time we left, we had completed a pretty thorough inspection of the complex (another fascinating look into ancient wonders) in relative piece – it appeared the hordes were only there to watch the silhouette of the complex become defined in the brightening sky – to actually come and look closely afterwards was too much, or maybe they just wanted breakfast instead.
Mike then took us to Akor Thom which contains the Bayon Temple. This was another fascinating example of Mankind’s creativity. The smiling faces beaming out in all directions was uplifting. Being all templed out, we then tuk tuked back to the hotel for brekkie and a lie down to make up for the early start.
A final dip in the pool preceded our noon checkout. To fill 3 hours before we hopped on the bus we used Mike to the fullest by visiting 2 markets and Pub Street for lunch. All very interesting and still cheap. Once on the bus we wondered how we could possibly last 4 hours cramped into the small seats. And so we headed off - 12 souls hurtling down the road with the sole aim of scaring as many people as possible. The road was safely wide enough for cows, motor bikes and passing cars, trucks and busses – if they were all heading in the same direction. Unfortunately it’s both way traffic which means the middle of the road (whilst defined by meaningless lines) is no-mans territory – heading out there takes a combination of timing, finesse, guts and the appropriate ammunition. Our driver’s key weapon was the horn. Mostly used for warning, sometimes for no reason at all, occasionally reaching a high level of creativity as an instrument
The ensuing game of chicken was an experience to behold. These roads are crowded, lined with ramshackle houses the whole way, people are always moving around them, on foot, pushbike, scooters (some carrying ridiculous loads), cattle driven carts, cars, buses, trucks – pretty much the whole gamut, also a plethora of skinny dogs wandering around as if they own the middle piece of bitumen as well. The game was going quite well – we won some showdowns, lost others and generally kept on track.
Just make the game a bit more interesting, the door to the bus jammed at our halfway stop (making a quick escape impossible) and it got dark and the roads deteriorated. This meant that the obstacles were still there, we just couldn’t see them very well. Our driver was up to the challenge though and the game went on..
We eventually arrived to the bright lights of Phnom Pehn. A short Tuk Tuk trip through town and we were back in the safety of the Clements compound to be warmly greeted and treated to a fabulous dinner. Needless to say we slept very well.

Off to Temple Town

Using the adrenaline of travelling to another town to ward off any self indulgent notion of hangovers from the previous nights exploits - we launched ourselves into the days activities. After another scrumptious brecky we were kindly chauffeured to the airport. As we were the only domestic flight leaving, we relaxed in the docile, yet luxurious surroundings of the Phnom Penn departure lounge, before hopping onto a propeller driven craft. Couriuosly, the seats were more comfortable, the ride nicer and the view better than those jet driven beasts. 40 minutes later and we came to Siem Reap (apparently the translation of which is the equivalent of giving the bird to their neighbouring countries).
Our driver Nick (suspect this is not his real name) drove us to the hotel where we threw our bags at the room and headed out post haste – apparently we need to be frantic in order to squeeze everything in. And squeeze them in we did. Our temple tour was fascinating and it easy to see why this place is generally the tourist focus of Cambodia. One thing no one mentioned was the exorbitant cost associated with seeing the ruins – however it appears the money is being ploughed back into the effort with well maintained roads, facilities and jobs for many locals.
First up was Banteay Srei Temple which was small (as it turns out) in comparison to the others. Very ornate and almost eerie (as they all are) when considering the amount of effort that went into building these structures over 1200 years ago. They still look great, possibly the eeriness is built up somewhat by the oppressive heat and humidity and the occasional waft of strange music drifting over the occasional breeze. The locals peddling their wares breaks the mood quite nicely though.
The countryside is very green and picturesque, rice fields, shanty towns and a plethora of rickety houses on stilts. Happy cows are prolific (apparently they must be happy because they are waving their tails).
Next we stopped at the Land Mine Museum and were thus duly reminded once again of the insidious nature of war and the stupidity of the human race in its ability to inflict pain on itself. Built in a tin shed by a dude with a chequered history we saw many remnants of armaments from all countries – it seems everyone has had a go here at one stage or another.
We then stopped off at Banteay Samre which was almost deserted, the only indication that someone was there was a faint hint of incense. Isabel and Dad were trying to find a way into the main chamber when we stumbled across a withered man sitting cross legged on a mat. He invited us to join him and took us through a ritual paying homage to Budda. Well – we assume that’s what was going on. After the mandatory lighting of the stick, waving it around and generally dripping in the heat he then told our fortunes by having us poke a stick in pile of inscribed cards. The accuracy of his predictions will never be verified as we have no idea what he was saying. After we dropped him a couple of dollars for his efforts he then lent us a torch so we could see what was inside the chamber. Total blackness surrounding a pile of rubble. We figured though the rubble was a broken statue of Budda – so we left with our question answered and possibly heading towards a bright future, or not.....
The next temple was the famous one in which Angelena strutted her stuff. It’s a hard fought battle, but the trees appear to be winning – given the forest seems to have had time on its side one would think it will reclaim its own eventually. The locals seem to be trying to capitalise on making the status quo last as long as they can though and subsequently are installing cranes and scaffolding to add to the ambiance.
On the way back we enjoyed the experience of some locals boys making a quick buck by singing for cash and then watching them scamper off into the bush when one of their seniors came along to see what they were doing.
When we got back to the hotel Dad made use of the internet and the girls hit the markets. Afterwards we headed off to dinner in the precinct of Pub Street. Full of tourists, great food (cheap) and not being hassled by the locals - a wonderful experience. It’s a pity it’ll be ruined in time by the ever increasing pressure of the buck.

Around Phnom Penh

Breakfast at Clements house was delightful and great start to a fascinating day. Seeing the town with Helen as the tour guide and Amy as her sidekick we headed off to try and get through the long list developed by napkin the night before.
After being measured for various garments and raiding a DVD shop we then headed to the Russian Market – named so for the type of tourists who originally started going there. This was a great place – a tad hot under the tin roof, full of interesting items and colourful people. We are starting to come to grips with the fact that the locals here are not so “in your face” as other countries – a very pleasant change.
Shops, shops and more shops and then lunch to restaurant with an Italian theme food and French décor (including the patrons). We then trundled aboard our chauffeured van and headed off for our history lesson. The Museum of Genocide was a stark reminder of the terror and violence bestowed on the masses through the Pol Pot era. The barbed wire is still there, the instruments of torture, the blood stains on the floor, the photos and pictures describing the horror made it all so clear, as did the tour guide who showed us her scares from the torture she suffered in the fields as 15 year old.
Being humbled and shocked at what humanity can do to itself we then headed off to the killing fields to see where the masses were taken to be disposed of. The Cambodians have gone/going to a fair effort to ensure this piece of history is not forgotten. And it should not be. 3 Million people killed, a society destroyed - all for the sake of a misguided political ideal.
Afterwards Dad headed off to drinks with the boys from work and a very interesting evening being shown around the various establishments. The town is very friendly and it was quite pleasant not to hassled every step by hawkers as per Thailand. The ladies went shopping at Pencil and purchased an Emelda load of shoes and had a massage after dinner. How very splendid.

A Long Haul to Cambodia

23 Hours Door to Door. Via Malaysia (just to tick off another country) and here we are – firmly ensconced in the Clements compound in Phnom Penh we get to sit back and reflect on our hectic day.
One benefit of flying out at 12:45 am means the traffic to the airport was non-existent, the car drop off easy, the wait to board ridiculous, the delayed take off understandable - considering the hurricane that was whipping through Melbourne at time. An extremely cramped sleep in the plane was bordering on unbearable. Similar to childbirth apparently – you tend to forget the pain so you keep going back.
Having 7 hours to kill in Kuala Lumpa, we decided to ignore the local’s advice and left the airport by catching a taxi and seeing at least some of the place. Malaysia seems to be a combination of palm plantations, buildings and preparations for more buildings. Without a doubt the economy is booming over there. We headed to a province called Putrajaya. We were hoping to get a sniff of the local culture – that we did – it just hasn’t been cultivating for too long in this area. It was, however, impressive. This is the seat of power in the country, a perfect balance of Government extravagance and Religious vigour all expressed in impressive buildings amidst picturesque waterways. They even went to the effort of putting a gondola on the water. Apart from the chipboard bowsprit we almost thought we were back in Venice........not really.
We did spend considerable time in the surrounds of the impressive mosque, The girls had to cover themselves up (fair enough too – just for the laugh of seeing then in their silly pink coveralls) and we had to take our shoes off in certain areas (after that long haul flight – they deserve the stench of smelly socks if they insist on us undressing). The religious education was immeasurable – we had no idea that Adam and Eve were Allah’s first prophets’ (he had thousands apparently) with Mohamed being the last. And they even have Jesus on the same genetic tree. So it all makes sense and finally we can put the whole argumentative divide to rest.
Enlightened, we went underneath the complex and had Nandos Chicken for lunch. Obviously the commercialisation of Peri Peri is endorsed by the Muslim faith. We caught the same taxi back to the airport. Ahmed the driver was adept at ignoring speed limits and taking up 3 lanes with one car. He also pointed out relevant tourists sites such as the home of the F1. The interconnectedness of all things is readily apparent on Malaysian roads.
A short hop to Phnom Penh, to be met by the warm hospitality of Helen and Amy was delightful. A notch downwards (societal wise) from KL with tight busy roads, poverty and general chaos was apparent on the way to the house (aka compound). Melbourne drivers could learn a lot from these people – it maybe chaotic, but it is friendly, people are patient, let everyone in and it all flows.
The Clements have a fabulous 3 level house in the better part of town. Hot and muggy after the Melbourne winter is a bit of a shock, however as we sat in the cooling evening air being watched over by gecko’s on the ceiling of the impressive front porch, we looked forward to a night on the town – possibly heading off to the Foreign Correspondence Club for dinner.
The dinner was great, the drinks cold and the company welcoming and very enlightening – there is so much to see and do here. The itinerary for the next day’s schedule was inscribed on a napkin and we eventually tumbled into our comfortable beds and collapsed in an exhausted slumber.

And so it came to an end

A very long overnight flight seemed to go on forever. Boarding at 10:30 Singapore time (12:30 local) they of course felt obliged to keep the lights on until dinner(?!!) was served. This took 2 hours. And of course they felt obliged to serve breakfast 2 hours before landing. This gave us 3 hours of quiet time. The girls slept toe to toe curled up on the floor and Neil and Ro tried the same on the seats. Needless to say not much sleep was had and after the long day previously we walked off the plane feeling like Zombies.

Melbourne airport has had some improvements over the last 10 years, none of them actually translate into efficient handling of the customer (except the trolleys are now free). And so we queued (2 plane loads) - single file past a sniffer dog, queued at through passport control, fought the crowds to get to our luggage carousel and then promptly fought our way back through the same crowd to get to Customs. Utter confusion and extremely poorly thought out. Makes you wonder why we try to attract international visitors here when we muck them around like that. And of course, there is no train connection ( whereas everyone else has one).

Luckily, once we were through, we were quickly collected by Herb and the quiet roads saw us home smartly and relieved that we’d actually made it with only a couple of hiccups. We spent the day forcing ourselves to stay awake, unpacking, and generally getting used to the extra space, whilst thoroughly appreciated the full fridge, and pre-prepared lunch and dinner (how cool is that!)



The girls put their charm bracelets together and the phone has been running steadily with people welcoming us home.
















And so to some transport stats we collated:-

Planes – 9
Trains (Metro) – 29
Intercity Trains – 6
Eurostar – 1
Cars – 7
Vans – 5
Taxi – 3
4WD – 1
Buses – 26
Ferries – 3
Gondolas – 1
Boats – 4
Cable Cars – 2
Parasail – 1
Ferris Wheels – 3
Quad Cycles – 1
Push Bikes – 3
Km’s walked - countless

So that was over 100 different trips on transport (woo hoo ! – no idea if that actually means anything or not).

As a final wrap up we’d like to say a special thanks to the following people.
Gabby – lift, Paris planning & execution, company and delivering the new drivers license.
Brian and Fran – The best next door neighbors who helped up all the way through and especially in our hour of need.
Polly and Paul for showing us a wonderful part of the world with fabulous hospitality. Midsomer Murders will never be the same.
Sarah, Nick, Nicole, Oliver and Rory for sharing their lives, their rooms and their house in such generous fashion (the quiet day at the cricket was, of course, painful with just the two of us).
Marg for preparing our home coming so nicely.
Herb for getting us home quickly and safely.
Everyone who left a comment on the blog. We reveled in knowing that people were out there watching and the feedback gave us made us feel at home even though we were so far away.
And to everyone who has tracked our adventures – we hoped you enjoyed the trip and thanks for sharing it with us.

Tomorrow, school and work (aka “The real world”) beckons. Until next time…..

Sky high over Singapore

Another early start saw us out of bed at 5:30 am, pack, pay, eat and be on the road by 7 for the start of the long (and somewhat) disjointed trek home. The road back to Phuket Airport seemed to take a lot longer than the trip in – even though that could not have been the case as all was very calm, it was most likely due to the daze that we arrived in 5 days earlier. It was interesting seeing the hordes of locals swarm down the steep entrance road on the plethora of motor scooters and tray trucks. All heading to position themselves to hassle the tourists.

The short flight to Singapore went well, except we were stymied by being dumped in the Budget terminal. Not the rent a car company – this means for the people that can’t afford a real air fare (apparently) As we had 10 hours to kill, this was not too much of an issue except we missed out on the free transit passengers tours that are on offer if you can afford an airline that uses the main terminals.

Deciding this was our fate we dropped our bags in the Left Luggage, jumped on the trains and headed into town. Another day another country and yet another city. Singapore is a very interesting place to visit and lives up to its reputation. Clean, efficient, new and also hot and muggy. We didn’t really have the energy to walk around too much so we decided to stroll over to the new wheel to see if we could afford it.

As it turns out, that cat was out of the bag again because the whole town was abuzz with birthday celebrations. We thought it was very nice of them to put on concerts, military parades, air force flyovers and the like just to recognize Rosemary’s big day. Luckily they didn’t ask for a speech as it was too hot and we were all pretty tired. So we walked around the blocked roads and got to the Eye (they call theirs the Singapore Flyer) to find discounted rates, no queues and we actually got a whole pod to ourselves. This backs up our previous theory that an attraction is only going to be really popular if you charge a lot of money to stand in queues.

It was a very insightful journey and we gained a reasonable appreciation of the place in our 40 minute loop. We also fund out the real reason why the Melbourne one was such dismal failure. Feng shui. Yep – here they got an expert in and he pointed out that it was going the wrong way – apparently they should follow the path of the sun. Our people in Melbourne really should consider these things. The Singaporeese also seem to have their Mykey system working perfectly well on the trains. What are our lot doing?

On the way back to the trains we stopped by some heavy artillery and then paused in an Irish pub to while away the hours. Given the price of drinks this was done in a very controlled manner.

Leaving the locals to continue the party celebrations, we made our apologies (due to the flight times) and we headed back to the airport for a whole lot more tiring hangin’ out, sittin’ around and waitin’ in line in order to get on to our last flight.