I thought after a bit of soul-searching and poetry, I'd give you all a fair share of travel writing. So as I dust down my writing desk and don my reading glasses, I'll attempt to transport you all to Melbourne, Phillip Island and the Great Ocean Road, in all their wonderment.
After what were arguably the most blissfully happy two weeks I've experienced, I hopped over the ditch on a late Monday flight to Melbourne and took a good night's rest in preparation for the trip ahead. After a long breakfast, discussing the intricacies of the Chipwrecked storyline - that's the third Chipmunk blockbuster film released in as many years for those of you who haven't yet had the wondrous opportunity to chat to a rather enthusiastic little girl about it - and taking full heed of all the advice and photographic description of where to travel in W.A. (Western Australia) when Sophie shortly arrives, we packed up the car, said our goodbyes and headed down toward the beaches and quaint towns of Phillip Island.
Phillip Island, first inhabited by the Aboriginal Bunurong tribe was joined (perhaps not in idyllic harmony) by George Bass on the 5th January 1798, the first European visitor. Shortly after his arrival, the numbers of migrants rapidly increased in the form of sealers. In a move to fully appropriate all the island's resources, the McHaffie brothers took out a lease of the entire land in 1842 to graze sheep and cultivate farmland. However, despite the success of Chicory, most harvests failed and the severe droughts and harsh conditions led most inhabitants to migrate back further north and seek richer winnings. By 1870, Phillip Island began its new life as a tourist centre and hotspot. With the first hotel opened and a paddle steamer linking the island to the mainland, the tourist industry blossomed and with the addition of motor racing in 1928, now the home of Motor GP, the island has become a regular destination for tourists and Victorians alike.
With all that history in mind, Sally and I quickly decided - along with the vast majority of tourists that day - to hit the beach, well a fair few beaches, starting with Cape Woolamai. Armed each with a boogie board and towel, we chose our spot carefully amongst the many red-backed 'regulars' and charged the nearby surf with the aim of riding the waves and feeling the exhilaration of harnessing the power of the ocean... Suffice to say, there was no such harnessing, just two moronic individuals repeatedly crushed by the incoming surf, spending most of their time chasing their boards and blowing water out of their noses. After a half hour of feigning an "isn't it great" attitude, we returned to our towels, our tails between our legs and happily enjoyed the tranquillity of solid land beneath our feet and water-free noses. A short beach-walk later, we decided that this site wasn't perhaps as idyllic as we had hoped for and returned to the car to head instead for Smiths Beach - with a surprising intermission meeting Scooby and the Gang.
Smiths Beach was entirely perfect. A sandy beach backed by low sandstone cliffs, a faint swell and crystal blue waters, marked it as the place we most definitely should have come to a few hours before. Now, slightly disillusioned by beach attractions and the lateness of the day, we enjoyed the placid waters for an hour or so and both agreed upon a trip to Cowes and its fish 'n' chips. We ate heartedly, to say the least and with full stomachs, returned to the car to find our campsite for the evening and assemble the borrowed tent, which we hoped would be suitable and reasonably simple to erect.
In what again was a pleasurable surprise, we found that we had been given a giant of a four-man tent and I happily assembled it in giddy delight, walking the four corners without the need to bend my spine or duck my head. With the tent much to my liking and my sleeping bag laid out in expectancy of a good night's sleep, I gave a quiet nod of approval at my good fortune and zipped the tent shut for a night of commercial conservationism...
The sun slowly setting, a golden-red glow colouring the passing plains, we made our way to the intriguingly named Penguin Parade. In what we estimated was perhaps the most ingenious money making scheme ever conceived under the name of conservation, we arrived at the Disney-Land of wildlife protection and paid our $20 slightly unsure to how much 'good' it was to be used. We entered hesitantly, whereupon we were immediately offered a green-screen photo with us and the penguins (for a small price of course, sir) and then walked through the forecourt of gift shops - of which there were three - cafes and food stalls. Avoiding the many cuddly penguins adorned in Christmas and explorer outfits, from palm-sized, to the dimensions of a six year-old, we headed to the board-walks outside, declined an offer of popcorn for the show and headed toward the beachfront for the parade. Given that I've told you all the information we held at that moment in time, we also found ourselves in a similar situation to what you find yourself now, bewildered and unsure just what the parade would involve. I personally was hoping for a spotlit show of penguins dressed in bow-ties, top hats and canes, performing a complicated acrobatic routine to a dramatic show tune and with tiered seating, spotlights and speakers set toward the beach, my heart began to race in anticipation. A park ranger came out on the beachfront, took up a microphone and began to introduce the performance.... It was, however, not to be how I imagined. We were told, as the sun sets and night falls upon the beach, a penguin colony whom live in the hills behind us would slowly emerge from their watery work-place and waddle their way in tight packs to their abodes. The spotlights were to light the beaches 'in a manner to which will not disturb the penguins, hmm...' and the speakers, solely for the use of this introduction. "Oh bugger!" I thought to myself.
After strict instruction to keep noise to a minimum, to avoid using cameras (hence the lack of photos here) and stay seated, we waited alongside the other few hundred people for nightfall and the emergence of the Penguin Parade. An hour later, with the first stars beginning to shine and the sea a wash of blackness, the first few penguins arrived home after a hard day's fishing. Despite the absence of costume dress, I was sufficiently content to sit and quietly watch wave after wave bring the water-birds in and to amuse myself at their comical land-covering techniques. I can tell you now, with assured clarity, that penguins would definitely not be capable of a choreographed dance exposition... In some areas, just a few - and trying to remain positive here - not all wishes can come true. After a hour of penguin immigration, we returned to Penguin World and the gift shops via the walkways alongside their nesting places. We watched hundreds return to their nests in further amusing fashion and wandered the gift shops in a mood to buy all the crap they had on offer. Like I said before, this site was most definitely the creation of some marketing genius. We left, with a certain amount of self-control, empty handed and under strict instruction to check under our cars for sleeping penguins... I couldn't resist the temptation. And please do pay attention to the sign and sketch, whoever drew it has now become one of my personal heroes.
After a night's dreaming of dancing sea-creatures, we awoke for an early start and a long day's driving along the Great Ocean Road. The Great Ocean Road, is just that. It's a 243 kilometre stretch of road along the south-eastern coast of Australia and in all its visual splendour, earns the title of Great and well, Oceanic, in its location. By noon we had arrived in Torquay and after a day spent driving along a portion of its length, we dined at a beach-view restaurant and headed to the impromptu fairground constructed a few hundred metres away. Being the polite Libra that I am, I told Sally she could choose any of the rides and amusements she so wished and upon her decision, I would join her. She choose, in all matters however, unwisely and opted for the ride which spins around violently, while jerking up and down. Given we'd just eaten and the ride looked as reliable as its controller, I was inordinately displeased by her ridiculous choice. But, as I had said, it was hers to make. So, we bought the tickets, passed them over to one of the most un-enthused men I've yet to meet and strapped ourselves in. The next five minutes were possibly some of worst five minutes I've ever experienced. To give you a brief insight into my thoughts, I was battling between two concepts. The first was to keep all that I had just swallowed, remained swallowed and the second was to clear my mind of the many newspaper headlines titling my vision. After managing to keep my food inside...just, and avoiding the "UK backpacker decapitated on condemned fairground ride" headlines from bannering local news, I happily exited the ride and scorned Sally for her reckless decision.
Having lost the feeling of nausea and with the delight of remaining alive and well, I returned to my positive state, bought some beers and headed to our campsite outside of Apollo Bay. The campsite was idyllic, remote and free (always a plus) and after setting up camp, we left for an hour or so's walk to watch the sun set and see the desert-like expanse of beach. The setting was picture perfect and with the waves crashing onto the shore and the sun a brilliant red, the beach was radiating positive energy and I'd challenge any of you to not feel entirely content and without worry.
After a long day, a near death experience and an evening of sea air, I was immensely happy to be back in our palatial tent and with the slight disturbance of a nearby tent using their hairdryer, fell into a deep and peaceful sleep. With a 7 o'clock start the following morning and a fair few hours driving, I returned to Melbourne for a week of city life and bid a fond farewell to my co-pilot...
And now, I am in Melbourne dividing my time between job applications, bikram yoga and bouldering... shortly to be joined by very good company. Until then, I wish you all the very best & will do my best to show you around the rest of Australia as we depart early next week.
Keep on keeping on,
Lots of love.
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