Snow, Sun and Something Entirely Different

Good day all,

This weekend was something entirely different. In exchange for the routine Chinese and beer of home, and rock-walls and mountain tracks of Wanaka, I signed up to volunteer for ‘Adaptive’, which essentially has been two full-on days of learning how to assist people with physical, sensory and cognitive disabilities to get the most out of skiing and snowboarding.

And it has been a weekend full of fun, laughs and new experiences, all tied together with an overwhelming feeling that I was well and truly out of my depth.

I heard about the programme all of a day and a half beforehand, while on a coffee date in town, and thought it sounded incredible. And the company really is. They run the Adaptive programme internationally, and thousands of kids and adults with varying disabilities have enjoyed its benefits.  The weekend involved two days of learning how the company works, familiarisation with the technical equipment, education on specific physical & mental impairments and the practical how and what to do’s on the slopes. But with a storm that lasted 30 hours, we were confined to a Saturday indoors and with the ski-fields closed – and my clothes entirely soaked from a pre-dawn cycle into town – we had a day where I was overloaded with information, left in awe of the instructors and had a lump the size of an apple in my throat from hearing such phrases as ‘when leading a blind person down a slope…’, ‘Yep, so that’s why we tether you on, so if for any reason you get knocked unconscious, you’ll still act as a human anchor’ and a number of similar heart-pumping sort of things.

With the storm finally passed, we met in town the following day, clad in ski-gear for a day of snow, sun and something entirely different. After a 45 minute drive up to the Cardrona ski field, we reached the slopes with the sun popping its head over the horizon for its morning photo. And the views, quite simply, were spectacular.

We started the day with a few runs to get our snow-legs warmed up and to get to know the pistes. And given I hadn’t been boarding for some 18 months, I was ecstatically pleased to find I took to it like a duck to water and found myself carving down the slopes with the rest of our merry group. After several slopes, we got stuck into the practical work and the how to’s of assisting a person into a mono-ski (essentially a wheelchair on skis), loading it onto a chairlift and guiding clients down the mountain.

By lunchtime we had more or less covered all of what we needed and after a cheeky one or two more runs – and a rather embarrassing fall – I was entirely certain of two things. Firstly, that I would love to be involved in this line of work, of that I was certain and secondly, of which I was even more certain, I was going to need a whole lot more snow experience before I was to be responsible for the wellbeing of a separate individual.

The day ended with a fifth and final session, ‘Visual Impairment Guiding’. We were paired with one of us blindfolded and headed up the mountain for half an hour each of blind skiing… If you want an afternoon full of adrenaline and falls, swaying between terror and cheek-hurting laughter, I insist you try your hand at skiing blind next time you head up the mountain. Surprisingly the snowboarding wasn’t as challenging as you might expect, but for an experience that will raise your balls to your throat, try getting on a chairlift – even if it’s the baby one – with only the voice and trust of another to guide you.

So that was my weekend and it really has been an overwhelming one. Naively, I didn’t foresee the extent of how challenging and demanding volunteering would be and suffice to say, I left the slopes late on Sunday afternoon, my mind and body worked to fatigue and assured beyond all doubt that this was something I would need to come back with quite a few seasons more of experience. We descended the mountain, with the sun setting behind the snow-capped peaks and all too tired to cycle home, I pushed my bike the six kilometres back to my house, had a warming shower and fell into a deep and content sleep. And although the weekend hadn’t worked out just how I’d imagined and I doubt my involvement with the programme this season, I’m glad to have tired something that utterly petrified me, overwhelmed me and pushed me limits entirely.

'til the next terrifying experience, I'll love and leave you,

xx

Wanaka Life

Hello All,

So it’s probably about time, or more likely well overdue, that I posted a blog entry and touched base with all of you. So where to start?!

How about with Wanaka? Wanaka is a rather magical place and I wish each and every one of you – perhaps not all at once – could visit and experience its majesty. But where magic is elusive, I’ll try instead to paint a vivid picture of what Wanaka and its local Wanakleans are like.

Wanaka, if anything, is parochial. With wonderfully quaint shop names such as ‘Big tums, little bums’(a toddler clothing store), local newspaper advertisements such as ‘Stich ‘n Bitch; Craft and conversation night, every Monday from 7p.m.’, a culture of constant greeting and a population where one is on first name terms with local businesses, Wanaka most definitely earns the title of parochial. The local cinema still conducts intervals during each performance – at precisely half way through the movie, regardless of the scene or actors’ sentence - where freshly baked cookies are ready for customers to take back to their leather couches for the second half of the movie and unfinished sentence. And perhaps my favourite parochialism is that the lingerie store ‘Sassy Pants’, had its sign vandalised over a year ago and rather than correct it, the owners seem to share the humour of the vandals… Sassy Pants, is and has been missing the S and A for some time, and reads, in comic genius: ‘ASS PANTS’.

Wanaka is also a lifestyle. The quality of life is second to none and nearly all Wanakleans that I’ve met hold true to the belief that life is to be lived and enjoyed, and that work is their means of providing such a way of life. The town, in my opinion, is filled with lightness, pleasure and joy, and without the past-faced, money-centric attitude of big cities. People work to live, rather than vice versa and smiles are worn more than frowns, which is a welcome improvement to the faces of the London Undergound. 

So what have I been doing? With snow-covered peaks and mornings of fog which freeze to your jacket while cycling – no exaggeration - Winter has officially arrived in Wanaka and marks the end of my climbing season. I’ve hung up my harness in exchange for some warm gloves and a helmet, and have begun to explore the mountain biking trails which wind their way through the forests and craggy peaks. Having recovered from a bike accident 4 weeks ago, my ribs have now returned to their regular pain-free self and I’ve learned to make friends – and mostly avoid – large white vans who’d rather break suddenly and forget to indicate than look for bicycles in their mirrors. But as the saying goes ‘Don’t let the fear of being hit by a two-tonne vehicle stop you from what you enjoy’… And I proposed not to. So far I’ve cycled nearly 1500km while in Wanaka and with the beauty of the mountain tracks, I plan to do a fair few kilometres more.

And with a river at the foot of my garden – where police are currently investigating some deer hunters who decided to up their hunting experience with the addition of a high-powered speed boat -  I’ve also taken to fishing with the company and experience of a Czech comrade. And just for the fun of it, I’ve started to learn the language in return for my English lessons. With hospitality Japanese mastered and please’s, excuse me’s, your welcome’s and the customary bows and hai’s refined to perfection, Czech seemed the obvious next step in my pursuit for world domination, and my being the world’s politest dictator. So life has been rather good recently. My pace of life has slowed to that of Wanaka, as has my way of life similarly.

And with June being the quietest of Tourism months, work has slowed down from a 60-hour week – hence my recent silence - to a 15-hour week and I have plenty more time to go hiking, read a few books, make a few fires, sample a few drinking establishments, cycle a few kilometres  and more importantly, make several lengthy and much desired skype calls.

So with this brief update – it’s always so hard to write lengthy passages about lengthy passages of time, I much prefer writing about the small details of a situation – I hope you’ll forgive my recent silence and you’ll decide to write me a brief message by whatever technology we’re linked by and arrange a time for us to catch up or better yet, just call me!!

Missing you huge amounts,

Yours always,

xx

Some additional photos:

Cycling track and Clutha River behind my house.

A man's walk in wardrobe.

Wanaka's bustling High St.



A Winters morning.







The Sojourned Slavin

As many people once asked of Wally – or Waldo for my few American readers – so too, have I found a number of people wondering, quite literally in fact, where on Earth is Matthew Slavin? Well, with renewed connectivity and a number of emails received all in the same vain, I will reveal all and explain all that has to be explained.

So let me start by saying a long overdue hello and the warmest of greetings to all of you who find yourself reading this latest update. I have been out of communication for far too long and am glad to announce that the time of silence has passed and the time for continued communication has returned.

And after that conciliatory salutation, I believe my first obligation is to answer the many unanswered questions – the first being my whereabouts. Well, I can announce with large-scale contentedness that after five months of travelling, I have unpacked my backpack, found permanent lodgings and have sojourned in Aotearoa’s long white cloud, in New Zealand’s Southern Alps, in the picturesque, quaint, lakeside town of Wanaka.  

And for those of you who want more than that one line answer, more than the simple where but the what’s, how’s and why’s of my being here, do read on. I feel it my duty to disclose all, and as we all know, it’s not completely a selfless task as I always enjoy telling a story or two. So if you’ll permit me, please let me indulge in recounting the past month’s obscurity and lead you all into the light of the up-‘til-now opaque. Cue the quivering translucent haze, xylophonic music and heavily grained, low-pixelated film and let me take you back one month ago, to where my decisions have brought me now… quiver, quiver quiver.

I left you all a little more than one month ago today, spending some much-wanted quality time with Tania, in the heart of Sydney, Australia. It marked the end of my travels in Australia, with immigration counting down the days remaining on my visa, and marked a greater transition on my journeying; from that of care-free, footloose travelling, to a new chapter, of more concrete permanency, of settlement and much-needed earning. Having secured a work visa for New Zealand, I started upon job-hunting, leaving my future up to the fates of chance and my next port of call to be governed by whomsoever replied to my job application. After a false-start – an offer for a tree-top adventure leader in Tauranga, requiring an earlier start-date than I could meet – I received an offer from the town of my first choice, for a position in hospitality, in the rock-climbing, ski-season and slow-paced haven of Wanaka, Otago.

And that was about as far as my forethought went. I had passed through Wanaka several months before and had quickly fallen in love with its outdoor adventure and relaxed way of life. So that was it. I knew, or hoped, I would have a job upon arrival and I listened to the winds which drew me there, believing – although for reasons left unknown – that I had purpose and reason to make a life in this small mountain town. And it was terrifying. Exciting, but nonetheless terrifying. I think Bill Bryson said it perfectly on one of his many travels wherein one finds themselves on the brinks of new beginnings “in that strangely exhilarating state, in which wonderment, confusion and trepidation all fight for primacy”. So I jumped into the proverbial deep, said my farewells to the comforts and security of loving companionship and embarked upon this chapter of residence, permanency and independence.

And it all happened so easily. Like all events I’ve experienced which fit the bill of Bill’s musings, initiation seems to be strategically flawless in providing the necessary disposition, outlook and corporeal make-up. As I stepped onto the plane, to cross the Tasman once again, all emotions of fear, loathing and negativity seemed to remain at my port of origin, and I was left with a body full of adrenaline, positivity and an altogether anything-is-possible attitude. And as I said, it all happened so easily. I arrived in Wanaka on the Sunday, and by the following Saturday, six days later, had a steady income working at a four ½ star hotel in housekeeping and waiting (more of that later), a bike for means of transport (meaning I cycle a minimum 15km a day) and a beautiful house, set in a valley overlooking towering mountainous peaks, surrounded by 50ft  Autumnal shaded trees, with a flowing river at the bottom of my garden and double bedroom, which designed with all that in mind, is situated to remind the occupier every morning of his/her surrounding beauty.

For those of you who have read Paul Coehlo, it would seem, in his words, that all my ‘luck’ is not so inexplicable but rather my happening upon the path I’m meant to tread. Haven’t you found that before? That when you try something and it doesn’t feel right, everything seems to go wrong and you find yourself, pardon the idiom, paddling up shit creek without a paddle? But when you find your vocation, your calling, whatever it is that feels right to your very core, everything, even the impossible, seems regularly feasible, possibly and so happens with dumbfounding simplicity. Well, that’s what I believe I’ve found here. I had heard a calling to Wanaka from the first time I passed through and in acknowledging it, I have happened upon the path I’m meant to walk and the universe is conspiring to make possible all that is before me.

So the job. Needless to say five months of travelling did not do wonders for my bank balance and concerns by mid-March were definitely occupied with financial preoccupations. Thus, my next destination was largely governed by the security of a job, calculating I had less than a month’s expenses left in my totalled accounts. But where figures steadily declined, they now are slowly rising and through hard-graft – and I say that without exaggeration – my concerns, financial and all other, seem to be lessening to the point of non-existence. I am now, a Chameleon, working at a luxury resort here in Wanaka. By morning, I am a grunting cleaner, realising the immense hard-work, speed and efficiency, it takes to maintain a luxury hotel in the manner to which it is advertised and by night, I am an elegant waiter, clean-shaven and clad in sombre attire, talking in quiet tones and saying such things as “but of course, Maddam’ and ‘Right away, Sir’. So for all intensive purposes, I am a Chameleon, or as I like to imagine, as I often do through the many hours of origami-ing towels, I am the star of a new much-loved superman TV spin-off, where by day I fight grime and by night, change with mystifying speed into my counter-self, don my glasses and suit and assume my role as a charming server, leaving all wondering ‘who is this suave and attractive fellow’? Regardless of your thoughts, I enjoy such imaginings hugely and although I’m sure the series would be extremely short run and more than likely prematurely cut, I think there’s room for a winning spin-off somehow.

The work, by day, in reality is extremely hard-work. I’ve never had to work so physically hard and, adding that to my 15km mountain-bike commute each day, I’m growing increasingly fit and by most nights, extremely tired. But the evening shifts are wonderful, and so are too, the 6 a.m. breakfast shifts, the crowning glory of it all being the location and views the hotel provides and the colours of the sunrise and sunset, which working on the lakefront permits. Given my commute in London was a near two-hour journey walking through suburban aspects and riding the tube, I feel I have hit the jackpot, cycling each morning and evening along the most beautiful commute the world has to offer. Here’s but a glimpse of the colours I see each and every day, cycling on my way to work.

And the house. The house is just beautiful. It has a log-cabin feel, with modern utilities, set in the most picturesque location I could wish for. The vistas, as I described, are second to none and my housemates are equally so. I live with a couple and their two-year old Alsatian-mix, in a homely atmosphere of positivity and stress-free relaxation. It’s the kind of place I have always dreamed of living – perhaps with the added bonus of living with my nearest and dearest – and I too, also have some photos for you to enjoy.

So that is my life at the moment. I am living here in Wanaka, in the most beautiful location I have ever resided, spending all my free time out rock-climbing with the close-knit community of climbers, and enjoying the simple pleasures of living in this wonderful little town.

I now have enough money and time to be able to use the internet, perhaps with the addition of a NZ sim-card for my iPhone – will keep you posted there – and want to fill the huge void left by having to sacrifice not speaking to you over the past few weeks. But as I said above, the time for connectivity has returned and I want nothing more than to catch up with all that I’ve missed with all of you, and start planning our colossal get-togethers.

So, kia ora all and know that’s the longest period of silence from me you’ll experience. From now on, you’ll have to endure my incessant writing, factor me back into your life and work out times where we can Skype, call and catch up on all that needs to be caught up on.

Sending a whole lot of love,

Your contented friend.

Four lessons learned from Australia

Today, a most surprising and curious thing happened. I woke myself up by farting in my sleep. Now, if any of you have shared in this experience, perhaps you can sympathise that it’s rather a confusing way in which to wake. I have to admit, this was the first time I’ve been woken by my own bodily alarm clock and I significantly preferred it to the much-heard jingles that fill my every day. So, this time, awoken in such a surprising manner, I smiled as a naughty schoolboy, gave a small laugh and awoke in a curiously good mood, feeling rather impressed by the volume with which I could rapture and the comic genius I could muster in the early seconds of my awakening. Now, although this can be a much amusing and fun way in which to wake – and it really was – I should share a word of caution. If you wish to enjoy the lasting gaiety with which such a wake up provides, my advice would be to ensure it’s withheld for nights alone, in the comfort of your own bed and not on a public train, in the quiet carriage, surrounded by a number of others with whom you’re sharing a twelve hour journey from Melbourne to Sydney. I can promise you, they will not be impressed.

After what translated to be a rather embarrassing episode and several more hours of snide looks toward me, I have arrived in Sydney for my last two weeks in Australia, to share in the wonderful companionship of Tania. And with conclusions and new beginnings, I thought it the perfect time to reflect on my time here, the places I’ve been, people I’ve met and the country as a whole, perhaps with one or two further embarrassing stories thrown into the bargain.

So, I arrived in Sydney, Australia three months ago, on the 19^th December, which looking back seems a lifetime ago. I’ve spent the past months in Sydney with family, rural Victoria with good friends and many new, Melbourne with many hours to myself and a library full of books, Western Australia and Tasmania with Sophie, two wonderful kids and a fantastic mother and in all that have had a whole series of wide, varied and unforgettable adventures.

And with a heart full of adventure, joy and experience, I think it only appropriate now I pass on some of what I’ve learned here in Australia:

1)      People are the same all the world round. Accents may change and words may seem foreign, but we’re all the same. Wherever I Travel, whatever the fear and trepidation that builds before arrival, I’ve never found it long to find a worldly commonality that unites us all and felt the warmth and comfort in finding the familiar in the otherwise strange. And Australia has been no exception. I’ll leave it all somewhat vague here, since it’s hard to give specifics of individual contentedness, but for me, it’s been the casual conversations with strangers and the want of people to learn of others, the show of friendship and hospitality that sharing a beer provides, the love for the outdoors and shared pleasure that sweat-filled days of hardened walking in beautiful scenery gives, the universal wanton need for a coffee around 11 o’clock in the morning and more than anything, what’s given me so much joy is seeing that the world is still filled with good, thoroughly good people and that humour, love, compassion, music and empathy pervade wherever you go. And although you may not know the song or the words with which you are being affirmed or understand the levels to which an Australian will push the limits of sarcasm in order to see you smile, once you realise it all, you’ll see with resolute clarity that the world is a magnificent place and that Australia is one of its shining jewels.

2)      Beards have contested merit. Yes, they provide a source of satisfaction and enjoyment in the many hours of chin-stroking and cheek scratching and yes, they give the wearer an outward appearance of power, wisdom and character, and yes they provide many an hour of curious and interested conversation but they also have a darker side. As I sit here and play with my own beard between my thumb and forefinger, I feel wrong to criticise what gives me so much joy, yet feel it necessary to give you all of the facts and a few personal anecdotes as to their demerits. Firstly, they’re not the most cooperative of companions. They may seem more steadfastly fixed in their manner than most friends, yet nothing could be further from the truth. They have a wild side, a life of their own, often in opposition to the wants of the body they hold bearing on. So, let me tell you that beards, given the chance, will jump at any opportunity to return to their wild and primitive self. On the several weeks Sophie and I travelled along W.A. and Tasmania and during the many days that we had little enough water to wash ourselves, my beard took to achieve such a goal and revelled in growing cm by cm, thickening to the point of bushiness and painting itself all manners of blonde, grey, ginger, brown and black. On a midsummer night, huddled in my sleeping bag, in the Southern Forests of Shannon National Park, he made his most clear attempt to regress so. Cuddled in the warmth of our tent, filled with immense peace and contented fatigue, I was made to scream in ardent ejaculation – no, not what you’re thinking - and break the silence, which filled the acres of woodland, sit bold upright and throw my fingers voraciously through my beard. In an attempt to leap and near its transformation into untamed wildness, my beard took a step too far and that evening, decided to allow a sizeable beetle to find dwelling in its cosy and nestled abode, to which I fiercely protested. After a hastened eviction and a few fervent execrations we have resolved our differences and I have tamed him with the aid of Wilkinson and his mighty sword.

 For those of you who haven’t yet tried your hand at growing a faithful face companion, I don’t hesitate in suggesting you give it a go but please heed my warnings and be sure not to fall into the abysses of allowing your beard to take over alpha standings and to sub-lease lodgings to insects and appropriately sized residents.

3)      Tasmania is one of the world’s best kept secrets and no more so than to Australians. This has been one of my most delightful yet simultaneously perplexing realisations. Tasmania in every aspect is outstanding, with some of the world’s best beaches, scenery that will make your jaw ache from its continual dropping, towns and cities that superbly balance excitement with warmth and a friendly population that epitomize the very best of their country. It is all that and so much more, yet it seems that hardly anyone has noticed. The world seems to carry on and Australia too, without a look its way and I feel I need to wrong such an injustice. If you come to Australia, please don’t ignore Australia’s 6^th state, the ‘Natural State’, the ‘Island of Inspiration’ and stick to the touristic lure of solely visiting Sydney for its harbour and Queensland for its ample supplies of vodka and beaches. There is so much to be discovered in the off-the-beaten-track exploration and Tasmania provides a second to none location with which to derail yourselves. Go there, just go. Walk the Overland Trail, see the waves crash on the steep 1000ft sides of its peninsula cliffs, try its culinary delights and organic home-produce and experience all that is has to offer. And for all those Australians who live in the mainland five states, I implore you to buy a ticket for $59 and go see the crown of your nation, hidden away and tucked under the carpet of Victoria.

4)      And fourthly – and I’ll leave you with this – travel light, carefree and spontaneous, talk to strangers and take every opportunity that comes your way, try new things and especially things that scare you, live in the moment and take note of all the minute happenings upon your travels and most importantly, never, I repeat never, plan your travels by the aid of a Lonely Planet. Travelling is and should be a personal experience, tailored to your wants and desires, which effects and allows you to reflect upon whom you are and through experience, see with refined clarity all that you wish to be. And so, never follow the path of someone before you, dot-to-dotting a journey planned by someone else, focussing on a tick list of sights to see. Live, experience and see, genuinely see all that you travel, and you won’t regret refusing the tempting ease and simplicity of buying a one-size-fits-all guide to wherever it is you wish to explore.

Never stop exploring.

The Great Battle of the March-fly Attack

We arrived, shall we say, about quarter to four,

At a campsite to affix our tent to the floor,

But how little we knew of the creatures in wait,

And of the battle ahead and our torturous fate.

It was sunny and cool when we chose to arrive,

In that wooded retreat where we stood to survive,

Yet all was to happen from our passing by,

And in thinking, “of course we can swat a one or two fly”.

Oh, how naïve we were of what was to come,

And life found us that eve, the glummest of glum,

So here we must tell of the tragedy that a fell,

Of the battle of the March-fly and that evening of hell.

We arrived, as I said, in the late afternoon,

Where the mid-summer air likened the northern high June,

And arrived at that site in moods merry and gay,

Unaware of the events to occur that same day.

…There came a buzzing from the trees and the ground,

And they began their attack, with their very first round.

In swarms they attacked, their squadrons in view,

Their many thousand against our pitiful few.

One, ‘slap’, two, ‘slap’, three, ‘slap’, four,

In as many swipes we had hoisted the banner of war,

On and on, came the hordes of our foes,

And our moods did lower to lowest of lows.

We fought, on and on, and the hours passed by,

Killing in cold blood each and every buzzing fly,

‘Til the hour was late and the ground bore the remains,

Of the thousand March-flies and their everlasting pains.

But still they came forth and battled without rest,

‘Til our bodies showed the marks of this unending pest.

And like all great leaders, we admitted defeat,

And ran with all might in tactical retreat.

So, in Sammy again, we owe a great debt,

In saving our lives and removing great threat,

And in safe retreat we gave an almighty cry,

Vowing never to meet again, that dreaded March-fly.  

Our view atop the canopy

Indulgence is a wonderful thing

There is little as good as indulgence after a period of rationing. I am talking of mine and Sophie’s experience of eight days with rice, muesli and little else, rather than of any great war-time narrative but the statement nevertheless holds eternal truth.

With nothing but rice filling, or rather bloating our bellies, muesli for breakfast and a nightly luxury of one tinned good, we were rather ravenous and in want of culinary delights by the time we reached Fremantle, W.A. So, we listened to our groaning stomachs, fulfilled our desires with unprecedented over-indulgence and have spent the past week sampling some of the world’s most wondrous flavours.

Our first pleasure was in the form of Gelati’s an organic fruit and veg store, five minute walk from the centre of Fremantle. We walked along the banquet on offer and let our noses dance in glee at the different and enchanting odours, picking items to show the other and gazed in wide-eyed ecstasy at the matching extraordinarily appealing price. We bought all that our budget would afford and spent the afternoon and much of the following few days, with the most wonderful occupation of eating all that we had purchased.

Our second, third, fourth and fifth pleasure lay in the region of Margaret River. Driving south, we entered the cool, forested climate of the Southern Forests and decided, rather than keep on travelling like intended, to remain in the area and enjoy at a leisurely pace the 110 wineries and numerous chocolatiers, olive oil, nougat and cereals producers. They were several days spent in total luxuriance. With mornings spent at wineries, luncheons in the picturesque forests and afternoons tasting the fruits of the local producers’ labours, Sophie and I were to be found, for this week, in a state of perpetual and blissful harmony. Perhaps, pictures this time can paint all the colours and wonders that we were fortunate enough to have come across, tasted and consumed in phenomenal delight.

Western Australia, several beaches and a generous dollop of adventure...

How ya goin? – And before you ask, I must say we’re doing very well thank you!

After a rather too early a flight to Perth, Soph and I were greeted by the most wondrous host-to-be, Iwona and spent the day with her and her kid’s wonderful company. We spent the day earning the respect and friendship of a 3-year old, Lukas and failing, despite the most fervent attempts, with a 1-year old, Lily. They were, however, 24 hours most harmoniously spent, perhaps with the exception of one or two tantrums and I have endless thanks to bestow to Iwona, proving yet again the incomparable hospitality of Australians…well, Polish come British come Australian hostesses.

The following day we awoke with our feet itching for adventure, slightly more enlightened with the super-powers held by mothers of two and headed to the local car rental, to receive our now close companion, transportation and accommodation in one, our brand new Toyota hatchback, subsequently christened Sammy for his/her androgynous, spirited and excitable characteristics.

With a morning spent finding supplies, we headed north and to our first stop, Guildford in Swan River Valley. Guildford is heralded as a preserved colonial town and I can tell you now, it is exactly that. After a visit to the local information centre, which proudly earned the title of second best in Australia, we felt prepared for the next few days and readily informed to see what a colonial town had to offer. Sophs and I stepped out the door, started upon the ‘River Ramble’ colonial trail and started our treasure hunt of a history lesson, feeling very much that we were the only two to have followed such a route since the annual school Easter project. Turning immediately left, we came across Guildford Gaol and were firstly informed of the reason for most colonial settlements – the forcible relocation of the unruly and those in want of drunken brawls. In the words of Swan’s Resident Magistrate, 1840 “It may be within his Excellency’s knowledge that there are in Guildford three licensed public houses besides others with license to sell by the gallon, and as a natural consequence, notwithstanding all efforts to prevent it, brawls and irregularities will take place”. It would seem that ‘irregularities’ commonly took place and the gaol was somewhat of a mouth-curler and head-nodder in all its intrigue. From the gaol, we followed the blue-pointed arrows and reached the Crown Inn, est. 1841, being the second oldest hotel in Australia – perhaps highlighting more of the juvenility of the country than the longevity of the accommodation. Given that the information plaque highlighted “it is unlikely that any of the original mud-built structure remains” and that we were looking at a ‘swanky bistro’, I’m unsure whether we can still say in all honesty that we were looking at the second oldest hotel in Australia. I think more appropriately, we found ourselves on a Wednesday afternoon, looking at a new and attractive hotel bearing the same name as a mud-brick hotel, which happened to be built on the same patch of land, one hundred and seventy year earlier. Either way, we gave in to their demands to acknowledge the important historical significance of the town and jumped back in Sammy, to head further north and find somewhere to have a spot of afternoon tea.

With a busy morning spent perusing Perth’s shops for food, stove fuel and camping crockery, we were beginning to feel the pangs of hunger and the first signs of fatigue. A coffee was much in order, so we picked a coastal spot for afternoon refreshment and made our way to Quinns Rocks, unaware if we had chosen wisely or not. We parked up and revelled in our choice, plunging our bare feet deep into the warm white sands, watching the summer sea-breeze bring wave after wave to crash down at our feet and we savoured  the most gratifying instant coffee I’ve ever had the fortune of taking from a hostel ‘free food’ shelf. We sipped slowly and feeling renewed, jumped and danced wildly in the breaking surf as the sun painted the beach a glowing redness.

We left with an hour or two of daylight still in the day and picked Two Rocks as a reasonable distance to travel to and find somewhere to sleep. We camped on a 3km stretch of beach, somewhat surreptitiously and set up our cosy Vango Banshee 200 for a night on the sand, with the waves crashing a few metres away from us and the sounds of crickets in the grasses behind. After an evening testing out all our gear, lying under the stars and talking ‘til we fell asleep, we awoke early to watch the sun rise and to watch the sands turn from white to red with the start of day. Awakened by the energy of the ocean, we had our breakfast of Muesli, dried fruit and water – which was to be our staple for the next week – and took a session of yoga on the soft sands under the sandstone Two Rocks formation. With a night that will forever be held with fondness in our hearts and a morning that would refresh and enliven even the darkest of spirits, we left our first night’s camp with a degree of hesitation and headed inland to see what the town of Gingin had to offer.

Touring the entirety of the town, we can confirm with full conclusion that Gingin has nothing to offer – except a local newspaper worth its quaintness in gold, so onwards we travelled.

Our next stop was to Guilderton. We arrived at the picturesque costal town around midday and headed to the beach to indulge in the memorable beauty of the ‘Turquoise Coast’. After lunch we went for a swim in the placid and crystal clear depths, dividing our time between estuarine and ocean waters. Entering from the Moore River Estuary, we crossed over a sandbar into the ocean and into a stillness never before seen to me. With nothing but ocean until the Cape of Good Hope, the vastness that lay before us and calmness of it, bestowed us with a wonderfully powerful and calming energy and we bobbed in the sea as free as our bodies would allow us.

From Guilderton, Sophs and I left to return a few kilometres south to Yanchem National Park, stopping on-route to refuel. On leaving Guilderton, we happened upon a quaint do-it-all convenience and petrol store, which caused much excitement to our relaxed and slow-paced lifestyle. Amazed at the veritable bevy of goods they had on offer, I entertained myself by looking through their many produce as Sophie chatted as one would with their local, to the proprietors. Our already powerfully positive spirits were further brightened to a visual radiance, grinning in contentedness, as we drove back south to Yanchem, its flora and forna and for a less-than-perfect night’s sleep. We arrived early afternoon and in need of refreshment, so set up some afternoon tea – well coffee and bananas – to elevate our bodies to the levels of harmonious delight, which our souls had already found themselves.

Several un-counted hours later, we decided on a walk and went in search of koalas, already having spent tea accompanied by kangaroos and a various assortment of aviary wildlife. Now although Australians will warn you – and quite rightly so I’m told – not to pick a koala out the tree and give it a good squeeze, I think all who happen upon them hugging a tree and basking in the shade, will want nothing more than to do so. Despite our knowledge of their talon-like claws and not-so-passive-demeanour on being approached, Sophs and I, both awed at their cuteness, agreed upon their huggability and hopped on along the trail joyfully spotting the wildlife roaming free around us.

With the sun low in the sky, we moved the car to a quieter side of the park and started to prepare dinner in the fading light. Joined by soft music, we conjured a fine-dining exquisite of rice and curried soup and took some personal time to write and read as the hot-plates slowly cooked through our meal.

On entering the park we were governed with strict instruction not to camp – a matter of much debate – so instead decided upon a night’s sleep in Sammy, our Toyota hatchback. On relocating for dinner, Sophs had an eureka moment and flattened the back seats to measure their value. They flattened to a bed-like form and with ample matting from towels, rugs and sleeping bags, we seemed to have converted our city-hatch into a wilderness campervan – and we couldn’t be prouder of our penknife of a car, our old faithful and spritely Sammy. With Sammy ‘turned down’ for the night, we crawled in, lay with our knees forcibly bent – a position which increases in annoyance with the many hours of night – yet spent a surprisingly peaceful night’s sleep, all things considered.

With another breakfast of our usual, we started the day lazily, talking and watching the surrounding wildlife, in a manner which we intended for the rest of the day. After having eaten and made tea, we started upon a trail to find several limestone caves hidden away in the bush. The day was notably warmer than the past two and by 11.00 a.m. on our morning’s perambulation, the temperature had reached a slightly sweaty 37 degrees Celsius and we felt its effect with full force. An hour and four litres of water consumed later, we came to a fallen tree blocking the way in front of us. The situation felt less than comfortable, with the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention, and both of us felt ill at ease. I turned to Sophie and told her to be wary, this looking like snake country, when at the same moment, I heard a shout from behind  and upon turning to see her, saw Sophie’s face a pale white. With her finger pointed to a few feet beyond me, she asked “did you see it?”, “see what?” I replied, “the snake…there, the snake!.” I turned my gaze to where her finger pointed and saw lying two steps in front of me, in the line of our walking, a golden-brown snake coiled in wait, utterly impassable. After quick debate we both agreed to retrace our steps and retraced two kilometres back to a different cave system and far away from imminent threat. Now this all may seem a little hyperbolic to you, but our grave fears were not without reason, as our later research proved. We had come across a ‘Bardick Snake’ and although I haven’t a picture to show you – I wasn’t inclined to get up close for a picture-perfect moment – their venom has been known to kill children and a bite would most definitely lead to a seriously unpleasant day spent hastening to a hospital, of which none were near, battling the terminal effects of an encounter with Australia’s most deadly and most likely ending the day one limb less than the start.

Given the heat, our closer than wanted encounter and slight sunburn from the beach the day before, we opted for a national park as our next destination and headed toward ‘The Pinncales’ a few hundred kilometres north. Happy to be in the cool comfort of our air conditioned car, we rejoined the highway once again, put on a murder mystery and headed onwards.

Deciding to return south to The Pinnacles the following morning, we chose to continue to our night’s stop at Cervantes, pulling in shortly before arriving into Hansen Bay for a superb vista of the town and turquoise beaches.

With a signpost to Lake Thetis and the Stromatolites, our curiosity took the better of us and we went in search or whatever they might be. We arrived at the lake shortly and commenced on a boardwalk circumnavigation, careful not to damage the surround stromatolites. Yet in all their wonder, we were resolutely unable to identify what a stromatolites was, all was until a helpful sign. I can tell you now, that although they aren’t much to look at, their wonder, like many things, shines with a little understanding.

Stromatolites are a cyno-bacterial formation, looking much like an air bubble of rock. They form in watery conditions significantly more saline than seawater and are some of Earth’s oldest and earliest lifeforms. These were some of the first organisms to blossom on Earth’s surface and to look at them, almost was to stare back in time, to what Earth would look like some 4.5 billion years earlier. I suppose with many such a things, a large portion of imagination is required but given our lazy few days on beaches and in parks, a little history and natural science went a long way with us umming and awing at their understated beauty.

Having spent the best night’s sleep so far of the trip, we awoke bright and early to have our breakfast overlooking the ocean a few metres from our tent. Refreshed and refuelled, we took to the beach for another early morning yoga session and swim. With a perfectly refreshing morning and our first shower of the trip so far, we jumped in the car feeling great, smelling great and full of beans for the day ahead. So, onwards we rolled, for another day of adventure, firstly to The Pinnacles.

The Pinnacles lying some 30km south of Cervantes are a network of exposed limestone, poking 1-2 metres out the sands, looking as out of place as, well a whole series of out-of-the-place sort of things. The information centre is one of the best I’ve come across and was filled with information as to their formation, their protection and the current research on all things of the area. Their origin, despite much research, still lies contested and is something to do with a fossilised forest, marine life for limestone and differential erosion, all dating back from the Quaternary period, some 500,000 years ago. But all that seems wholly uninteresting with the added display of the local aboriginal tribe and their belief as to The Pinnacles’ origins. According to the Yued people, they knew The Pinnacles as Werintij Devil Place due to its sinking sands. The story goes that the youngest men of the tribe were told by their elders not to visit such a place in fear that they would not return. Yet some ignored the advice and thinking their fortune beyond consequence, ventured into the sinking sands. The Pinnacles are subsequently said to be their fingertips trying to desperately grasp hold of something as they were dragged to their sandy graves. To me, in all its awe and darkness, that seems to be wholly more of interest and it left me ready and in a state of excitation to venture into the sinking sands and see the remains of our ancient ancestors and they were simply staggering.

With an idyllic afternoon stop at Green Head, we spent the rest of the day walking the sandstone cliffs, reading on the beach and dining on our bread and fresh tomatoes with the grandest of views before us. Taking advantage of the beauty and tranquillity of the spot, we rested there for several hours in a state of personal self-reflection and to soak up the energy of the lapping waves.

Finding a tourist park in Jurien Bay, we made our way to the beachside town, bought a six-pack of beer and crisps, and indulged in their cool sweetness. We spent by far our worst night’s sleep of the trip on a patch of grass that would make hard-set concrete seem pleasant and woke up a little sore, a little tired and in need of another restful day… but of course, that was to be expected and was our plans regardless.

We packed up the car slowly, feeling the cricks in our necks, the slight damage to our hips and shoulders and de-pitched all without much talking. An hour and some breakfast later, we felt significantly more awake and comparing our odd spots of pain, we returned to our faithful steed and started our journey south, to Fremantle via one or two ‘wheatbelt’ towns. We passed Moora, of which I have nothing to report and stopped for lunch in New Norcia, a fully-functioning monastic settlement. The place, set in the middle of the bush, would be a perfect set for a murder mystery and I dare say, despite the absence of television, it may well have been so. It is perhaps, the most disconcerting of places I’ve ever encountered and the paradox of the architectural grandeur and desolate surroundings, gives the town a unique measure of out-of-the-ordinary. Once a ‘thriving’ monastery, although I’m not sure just how lively a settlement of monks can be, it is now with only 16 residents and rooms enough for a few hundred, rather deserted and with our Sunday arrival, the noises of the winds and flies that incessantly buzzed around our faces – perhaps the first they’d seen in a very long time – were all that we could hear or experience of life. Somewhat creeped, we turned to each other, agreed on promptly leaving and headed for a few hours drive to Fremantle, accompanied by Sherlock to take aid our travels far away from New Norcia and that god-forsaken place.

So there I will stop. I feel I’ve given you all a fair chunk to bite into and I dare say you are all fully stuffed with the generous helping I’ve served today. But that is, and has been our northerly adventures of Western Australia. We are now enjoying the stimuli of Fremantle and a town with more than flies for companionship and we’ll be sure to tell you all about our trip south from here sometime soon.

‘Til then, I’ll leave you with one last interesting fact…

Did you know…? That the Honey Possom of W.A., measuring just 7cm, is the smallest new-born of any mammal and yet also has the largest sperm of any mammal. I was told, to my significant confusion, that the male’s testes comprise quite a hefty portion of its body weight…hm, go figure. Well now you know and as mine has been, I’m sure your life has been changed forever for knowing so.

x Peace and love all x

Look who I found...

Good morning all,

For a bright and early flight, I have once again returned to Melbourne Airport – the sixth time this trip – and write to you while in the air to Perth and starting a new adventure on the West Coast of Australia.

After a week spent burrowed in the local library and sweating beyond measure with daily Bikram Yoga classes, I took the shuttle to Melbourne Airport and came across a rather familiar face…

For those of you who don’t recognise that girl squeezing me, it is Miss Sophie Wotton and she’ll be joining us for the next month of adventures. From what started as a drunken “come join me in Oz” a few weeks before leaving, albeit with a slight delay to earn the necessary funds, I received a call from Sophs just after New Years to let me know she would in fact be joining me  - and I have been immensely excited ever since. She arrived Sunday evening and it has been lovely to hear all the news of home and hear so much of all that I’ve missed – and you all have been sorely missed.

So, last Sunday evening, after having spent the day finalising visa forms and job applications, I took a shuttle to Melbourne Airport and waited in expectancy for her arrival. Melbourne Airport and I think I’m quite an authority to remark on it, given my many visits, has one or two major faults. One of those is its arrival area. For those of you who haven’t yet visited Australia, let me tell you that you’re yet to experience the rigours of passport control and immigration checks ‘til you do. With landing cards and passport control, you’re then sent through for an interview and asked to unpack your bag explaining each item and to convince the staff on duty that you’re not out to infect, terrorize or abuse the population of Australia, which dwell a few hundred yards beyond a further series of x-ray scanners. The process  I understand has its purpose but with the many layers of immigration and interview stands, the once neat queue of visitors quickly becomes a wide spread of people and things. Once completed and approved, you’re then asked to leave through the nearest door, of which there are many and this is precisely where my major fault with Australia Immigration Authority lies.

Welcoming friends and family at the airport is a wonderful experience. Even without a T-mobile fanfare greeting, one can’t help but be excited by it all and as you look at the many expectant parents, grandparents, siblings, partners and friends, you can see they are all dancing and singing inside, waiting with wide smiles and giddy grins. I was very much one of those in wait and with the added addition of my first coffee in a month, arrived at the arrivals lounge with grin to rival any of my counterparts and my fingers trembling in anticipation. So, given that nearly all of those waiting were in a similar state of excitement, searching among the incoming crowds for one we could wave to madly and coocoo their name in a loudness otherwise unacceptable in other surroundings, I was deeply unimpressed to find that in addition to searching among the incoming hordes for Sophie, I also had to switch my focus between the four doors spread along the 100-metre stretch of immigration. In what played out as a one hour and ten minute tennis match of turning my head back and forth, at a rate of one turn to every two to three seconds, my level of excitement and anticipation grew to a point near eruption….And then, walking through the fourth exit, clad fully in backpacker attire, I spotted Sophie, coocoo’d her name loudly and squeezed her with a smile as wide as I could stretch. Welcome Sophie!

After a night of catching up , we woke early the next morning to start planning out adventure together. We quickly decided that the West Coast was our first port of call and within 3 hours of our first day together in Australia, we had booked flights for the following morning, this morning in fact and returning to how this post started, we are indeed now on the plane on our way to the beautiful coast of Western Australia. Our plans are to hire a car and with a 2-man tent and stove, will spend the next two weeks journeying along the coast, stopping from town to town, beach to beach, wherever our instincts and desires take us.

I’ll be sure to keep in touch and will provide you with as much photographic aid as possible.

So ‘til then, keep on keeping on all… we most definitely will.