Russell, Don, Petra, John, Snoopy and Thomas

By Neil Matthews

Russell the Wombat

Russell was not expecting us.  This might have explained why nobody was around when Helen and I turned up in the grey-blue of a cool Southern hemisphere winter morning. People passed by, parakeets squawked in the trees and a loud public address system went into action to welcome all visitors, but still there was no sign of who we had travelled thousands of miles to see.

We occupied ourselves for an hour or two, drinking tea and observing the penchant of Australians of all ages for pies and chips. The sun tried to break through the veil of clouds as we returned to the meeting place, more in hope than expectation. But our luck was in. Shuffling forward on his stocky low-slung frame, sleep and irritation in his eyes in equal measure, was Russell.

My effusive cry of greeting received no response. This was for two main reasons. Firstly, Russell had never met us. Secondly, he couldn't speak, being a wombat.  You might ask: ‘If you'd never met the wombat, how did you know its name? Is Russell a common name among wombats?’ Well… Helen had been in touch via the internet with a fellow travel enthusiast calling himself Russell the Wombat. Also, the small toy wombats in the superstore near our hotel were, according to their labels, called Russell. So it seems fair enough to me to call a wombat Russell.

In among the Tasmanian devils scurrying up and down tree stumps, the echidnas shuffling through undergrowth like hedgehog impersonators, the tree kangaroo lounging in the branches and the black cockatoo taking umbrage as we photographed other birds (and eventually being included in a self-portrait aka 'selfie'), Russell was not conspicuous. His fur was an unremarkable mixture of browns, his ears pronounced but not prominent and he had no tail to speak of - a useful defence against predators who might try to drag him from his burrow, but not likely to win attention when ring-tailed lemurs were around the corner. To the surrounding soundtrack of squawks and screeches - from small children as well as parrots - he added nothing.  Russell just sat near the front of his pit.

He was never going to be the star of the show.  Most human visitors were too busy realising that the toilets were built directly adjacent to large parrot cages, and trying to deal with the matter in hand while a macaw or hyacinth blue screeched at them.  Or they were listening, rapt, as a keeper told them about the moodiness of the zoo’s two resident giant pandas, who had either just had a row or were wondering for the umpteenth time how to stop humans from thinking that pandas are cuddly, or men in costumes.  Or, in the case of one small child pointing at a wallaby and telling his parent that ‘It’s a kangaroo, Mummy!’, they were confused.

Perversely, all this noise and fuss endeared Russell to me all the more. With so many of his fellow inmates using their bright colours, unusual shapes or motions or loud calling cards to get an audience - yes, Mr Kookaburra, you and your laugh - Russell seemed to be saying: ‘This is me. Take me as I am.’  He was the solid citizen, an unshowy quiet team member who would do what you required of him (as long as it involved digging, or sitting around blinking into the light).  Perhaps, though, Russell's laid-back demeanour reflected the city in which we met him.

Even the Adelaideans’ greatest religious devotions don’t appear to get them too excited.  Adelaide is nicknamed the ‘city of churches’ and its greatest example, St Peter’s Cathedral, sits neatly near the River Torrens.  We ducked inside to admire the eclectic styles of the stained glass windows. It might have been delayed jetlag, but I swear Mickey Mouse stared out at me from one of the modern examples. 

The wooden pews proclaim the names of worthies past, but the building is not so solid in every other respect.  The last major restoration work took place in the 1990s and, according to the ‘Cathedral 150’ literature I found, that left much more to do.  A ‘scoping document’ had led to various steps being agreed, involving a steering committee and a ‘realistic time-line’.  As the close proximity of words and phrases such as ‘steering committee’, ‘scope of the project’ and ‘realistic time-line’ tends to put my mood somewhere between irritated and homicidal, I decided it was time to leave.  We headed down the road towards Adelaide’s other cathedral. 

Adelaide Oval

This one is almost as old, having been built in 1871.  Its recent redevelopment cost AUS$75 million, which put St Peter’s in its place.  This is the Adelaide Oval, a Holy of Holies for those Australians who follow the country’s true religion: sport.  Cricket matches have taken place here for well over a century, with other sports following, making the stadium an equivalent of Lord’s, Wimbledon and Wembley Stadium combined: a strange notion for us English, who tend to prefer our sports stadia not to mix things up in that fashion. 

My interest in the stadium derived from its cricketing heritage.  The sight of sweaty blokes in green vests and white shorts, trying to kick a rugby ball between tall posts while shouting, seemed like sacrilege to me.  This, though, was the season for Aussie Rules football.  If William Webb Ellis had been an Australian, rugby union might have evolved into something like Aussie Rules: a sporting jazz where, if you’re not sure whether to pick the ball up or to kick it, you just make things up as you go along and everyone else lets you.

Every religion has its doubters.  ‘They could have spent the money on the infrastructure,’ said one man we met, with a grimace.  But a good piece of road-building can’t give the type of primal satisfaction that a sporting spectacle can.  Even sceptics like Petra Starke, a local journalist, recognise this.  She tells those who wish to take a pilgrimage to the Oval to ‘Get an advanced planning degree so you can find your seat… it’ll be worth it when you get to the Oval and are faced with 75 different stands with 32 tiers and 61 subsections each…’  If you don’t want to plan but just to turn up, this is Petra’s advice:

1.       Ask someone in an official looking polo shirt where you’re supposed to be.

2.       Find out it’s the opposite side of the stadium from where you actually are. Sigh loudly.

3.       Ignore polo shirt and sit down in a nearby empty row.

4.       Enjoy six seconds of footy before a big hairy bloke asks if you’re friends with Rob, because these are his seats. You are not friends with Rob.

5.       Get told to rack off.

6.       Rack off and head for the Hill.

The Hill does not have seats, but enables you to ‘join forces with 46,000 others in a primal scream that shakes the very heavens… I may not get football, but I definitely get Adelaide Oval’.  The spectacle infects the rest of the city, temporarily overthrowing its default setting of muted respectability.

We weren’t there for a live game of anything or even for one of the concerts the stadium holds from time to time.  We had come to pay homage – or, to be exact, I had come to pay homage and Helen had humoured me by not going off shopping – to a legend, the closest you could get to a sporting god: Don Bradman. 

I knew that the Oval boasted, somewhere on its premises, a selection of items from the Bradman Collection, a mass of Bradmanobilia which the great man had given to the local museum authorities before his death in 2001.  But finding it is a challenge.  Ticket office staff and other visitors were unfailingly polite in their attempts to help us, but none of them seemed to know for sure. The signage gave no clues either, so we wandered around, marvelling at the small size of the ground.  Chattering schoolchildren crocodiled past us.  Nobody stopped or challenged us.  I’m used to the Olympic standard of jobsworthiness of one or two gate staff at Lord’s, who have been known to refuse admission to the captains of national cricket teams, let alone mere spectators.  Here, nobody could care less.

We located the Collection in the end: in a smallish blacked-out space near the main entrance, unremarkable and unremarked.  A traditional exhibition – most of it behind glass – included a replica of Mr and Mrs Bradman’s living room, one of his blazers, one of his bats and some film footage of the Don (as he was known) in action. 

His cricket career is too well known to need lengthy repetition of the details here: the boy who practised by hitting a golf ball with a cricket stump against a wall; his move to Sydney in order to improve his chances of selection for Australia’s Test team; the tours of England in the 1930s when he redefined the art of run-scoring; the invention by an England team of Bodyline, the most controversial tactic in cricket history, to stop him; and the triumphant 1948 tour, ended anti-climactically with a duck in his last Test. His final batting average was an anorak’s delight: 99.94, almost forty runs an innings better than anyone else in history.  Bradman’s very talent isolated him from his teammates, bringing fame with which he barely coped and a knighthood which he later said he regretted accepting.  His move to Adelaide in 1934 had twin motives: to take up the captaincy of South Australia and a job in a stockbroking firm.

What struck me was the small scale, understated nature of it all.  One elderly man, whose son was asking if he could remember watching Bradman in person, sat agog at the film footage.  A few other families with small children wandered in a desultory way around the exhibition.  This was, after all, the original Australian sporting hero who slew the colonial masters’ teams for twenty years.  Until recently, to criticize the Don was a little like criticising the Queen: it just wasn’t done. 

A few days later, passing a photo of Bradman in South Australia’s state library, also in Adelaide, a middle-aged woman told her son: ‘That’s Don Bradman, he was one of our best cricketers.’  One of?  It seems Australia has grown beyond those interwar years when it boasted of ‘our [Sydney Harbour] Bridge and our Bradman’.  To adapt Clive James’s comment on Sydney, when Bradman was all they had to see, they couldn’t see him straight; but now they can.  Or perhaps this was what Australians call Tall Poppy Syndrome.  Don’t grow too tall or someone will cut you down to size.  You’ll end up as a suburban stockbroker.  Better to keep your head down. Be a wombat, not a parrot.

Hand-feeding a Kangaroo

One place you definitely can’t be a wombat is Kangaroo Island, just a few hours’ drive south from the city.  Wombats dig a lot, which makes them a nuisance the island has chosen to do without, just as it excludes foxes and dingoes, who eat carrion, which makes it harder for young eagles to find food.  Birdlife is one of the attractions of Kangaroo Island.  At the Wildlife Sanctuary, you can feed kangaroos by hand (for several hours on end if they had their way).  Raptor Domain offers demonstrations of the flight of barn and sooty owls, kestrel, wedge tailed eagles, kookaburras and even a buzzard.

Meanwhile, on the island’s northern coast at Kingscote, John feeds the pelicans.  Some years ago, after fishermen stopped throwing away the waste from their daily catch, John felt sorry that the pelicans were missing out on their feed down at the wharf.  So now he spends around AUS$40,000 a year buying fish, feeding them to the pelicans and recouping the cost through donations from an audience. John’s opinions are trenchant.  He told us that little penguins have been eaten by New Zealand fur seals because ‘The government is too stupid and hopeless to do anything about it – like most governments.’  One pelican had eaten a chihuahua, ‘which should earn it a place in history and our gratitude.  Chihuahuas are shocking, terrible things.’  According to John, ‘all a man needs is a boat and a wife.’  We knew he had the first; we weren’t so sure about the second.

If this all sounds terribly ecologically earnest, the island has a quirky side too.  There are six commercial farms devoted to beekeeping.  Clifford Farm, which we visited, breeds Ligurian bees – the only pure-bred Italian bees left, as bees elsewhere have cross-bred.  The farm exports queen bees by post.  In Penneshaw - your first stop once you get off the ferry from the mainland - Penny’s Restaurant tells diners that ‘All unattended children will receive a free espresso and a kitten to take home.’  At the eucalyptus oil farm on Emu Ridge, the shop will sell you a book of roadkill recipes including Skippy the Bush Vindaloo.

Back in Adelaide, there are plenty of other little touches which will draw a wry smile, a gasp or a giggle. In the South Australian Museum, a giant squid squats across several floors in a stairwell, boggling small boys’ imaginations.  The Ayers House Museum, which marks the life of Sir Henry Ayers from his early days as a legal clerk in England to his days as Premier of South Australia, invites you to look round what became a 44-room mansion with exquisite painted ceilings… and to look out for the replica rat in the kitchen.  In Port Adelaide, a World War II aircraft hangar houses the Aviation Museum, with an 80% size replica of the Red Baron’s plane.  When we visited, the pilot’s seat was occupied by Snoopy. 

Aviation Museum, Port Adelaide

Our trip to the nearby Railway Museum must have coincided with the winter school holidays, as the displays of old locomotives and rolling stock became a backdrop for people dressed as tigers and zebras being chased by a policeman with a large net, while a woman did a version of the Indian rope trick on a platform.  The model railway representing the local area incorporated Thomas the Tank Engine chugging round its track and the Batmobile was parked quietly at a station.  If you have a sweet tooth, a visit to the cheesecake shop in Port Adelaide is a must; and chocoholics won’t want to miss a tour of Haigh’s Factory in Greenside Road, with free samples available.

Adelaide may not have Melbourne’s profile or the glamour of Sydney.  But underneath the air of quiet middle-class respectability, there’s plenty going on. Sometimes it’s not what you expected, like the sunny afternoon that our boat ride on the Torrens took a turn for the dramatic when the captain stopped beneath a bridge to help two young lads rescue a drowning man.  But for the most part the atmosphere is laid back, allowing you to take time over your raisin toast in one of the local cafes, to watch the parakeets in the trees or to linger in the Botanical Gardens, as you get to know this very English Australian city.

First published in VISA 120 (April 2015)

Down Under Revisited

by Lynn Hurton

I was based in four cities at different times, though I did venture out. They made excellent bases for exploration. All long distance travel around Australia was carried out by train. Fun! You never know who you might meet.

Perth is the fabulous capital of Western Australia, with the famous port of Fremantle a mere 19 km. down the coast. It is sunny for a mere 9 months of the year and the winter temperatures average a balmy 18 degrees Celsius. Perfect! As for Fremantle...it is one definite alternative place. I love it! Try Prescos or The Hubble, both in East Freo, for a delicious and very cheap breakfast too.

Sydney never sleeps... the noise in the centre is testimony to that. It is vibrant, yet fascinating, with something for all tastes. I was in my element sitting under shady boughs in the Botanical Gardens, eating my lunch and watching the masses teem out of the nearby offices and Government buildings to capture fleeting moments of winter sunshine, before returning to fulfil their roles as cogs in some well-oiled machine. The city has some of the most amazing free lunchtime concerts.

Melbourne remains my favourite city. I stayed in the centre and was never at a loss for things to do. The Yarra River offers superb tours too, right past the MCG, (Melbourne Cricket Ground).

Adelaide is almost the city that time has forgotten. It feels 30 years behind everywhere (well it is 30 minutes behind Sydney and Melbourne), but that is a huge part of its appeal. It is a shame that the taxi drivers have no desire to come to the train station since they consider the 3 kms into the city to be too short a journey to gain a decent fare. Thank goodness for one very crowded shuttle bus...

Motels and a hostel

The Sydney Central YHA is exactly what it says...opposite Sydney Central rail terminal. It has brilliant laundry facilities, a restaurant on the ground floor, a travel bureau and Internet access. Perfect for me... the down side was that one has to share a dorm and the iron frames of the bunks are so easy to bang one's head on, not once, not twice, but three times.

The City Square Motel on Swanston Street, Melbourne is in the very heart of the city. I had a back room, weirdly the same one as two years ago, and did not notice the noise. It had easy access to everything and everywhere and I stayed out late most evenings, as there were so many people around. One had a feeling of total security. I did not care that the room's hairdryer was unusable, as it could not possibly reach any electrical socket. Apart from that small inconvenience, it was by far the cheapest motel in which I have ever stayed and one of the nicest, in an uncanny kind of way.

The Festival Lodge in Adelaide had clearly not decided whether it was a motel or hotel, but it only had one washing machine and no microwave/cooking facilities in the room, and it was the gloomiest room in which I had ever had the pleasure of staying. The bed was rock hard (and I had nightmares every night), I had to show ID that I was me before even starting to book in and one had to pay bonds for everything. It was pretentious and unnecessarily so. It was close to North Terrace and Rundle Mall, but so are many better places in Adelaide.

City Waters Motel, Perth has a good laundry and dryer. It was green, very dark green and oh so gloomy. The heater did not work and the window did not close...fine until a huge storm descended! It was noisy too. Even worse: its beds were on very loose castors which loved to roam across the floor. The only problem occurred on the night that I tried to read in bed and change position. The bed flew one way and the mattress a second and me a poor third. I banged my head twice on the brick wall and once more on the floor (along with certain other parts of my anatomy) for good measure. I developed concussion, although only realised it a week later when I stopped wanting to sleep all the time and having a feeling of complete unreality. Scary! The walls were hard, but were also thin. I could even hear bags being zipped up in the next room, not to mention conversations and other things...As for taking messages...all too often the retort was "ring back later".

By contrast Bailey's Parkside Motel was undergoing renovations in Perth, but it was still welcoming and very professional. I felt totally at home there. The rooms are a decent size, the bed is mega-comfy, and there is a restaurant on site. It is opposite a lovely park and it is close to the free CAT buses. No problem there. I would definitely recommend it to anyone.

Music

I saw, and heard, so much music: from corny buskers ("How much is that doggy in the window?”) to pan pipers, pianists, guitarists, violinists, accordionists and the downright out of tune. There was even the piano that played itself. Then there was the jazz combo across which I stumbled when I had intended to frequent an Adelaide cinema. All such thoughts flew from my head. I bought a hot chocolate, sat on a comfy sofa and indulged in 3 hours of an excellent 5 piece band. Later, youngsters were playing outside the museum... a worthwhile initiative by Adelaide City Council.

In Sydney my musical delights were beheld in St. Andrew's Anglican Cathedral, the home of many (free) lunchtime concerts. The RAAF band performed on my first lunchtime there. I never knew that Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition could sound so good.

My musical highlight was a performance by the Melbourne Millennium Choir in Hamer Hall: Mare Profundo. The performance consisted of singers, dancers and groups, as well as the 500 voice choir, giving a rendition of songs, shanties, medleys and dances from all parts of the globe and in languages which all had a connection to the sea. The choral music that I had encountered in Melbourne's St. Paul's Cathedral earlier that day was beautiful too...it was a shame that the congregation was so unwelcoming to a visitor. One would have thought that I had six heads!

Beaches

I loved them and had some interesting encounters on them too. The Great Ocean Road is so atmospheric, as is Mordialloc Creek in a gale. I sat on rocks in Glenelg and contemplated the roaring ocean and as for the West Coast...Cervantes, Peron Point and Shoalwater were just three of the highlights! There were interesting rivers too...the Yarra for its sporting venues tours, the Murray for riverboat cruises where wildlife abounds and the Swan which has excellent luncheon (wine) cruises.

Tours

I underwent far less official tours this time, but I made a welcome return to the Yarra Wineries and to Puffing Billy. The Great Ocean Road is one of Australia's top tourist experiences, different every time it is encountered. The Benedictine Town of New Norcia fascinated me (especially the former boys' school outdoor showers) as did the wildflowers in season and in abundance. The Pinnacles guided desert tour was both awe inspiring and eerie. I was glad to get back to the coach. One could have been lost out on the sand among those identical, and yet diverse, monoliths for ever. Wave Rock was worth a second visit too as was the delicious 5$ afternoon tea, served and prepared by the Country Women's Association members of the five house village of Babakin in the heart of the W A wheat belt. The dog cemetery visit earlier that day could have been omitted though. Some things are better unseen...

Planes

I encountered four; two to Australia and two back. Singapore Airlines were their usual efficient and professional selves. I love their Krisworld choice. One no longer feels in Economy class. Other airlines could learn a lot...one feels a valued passenger rather than one of the herd/bum on seats. I had aisle seats on three of the 4 flights. I check in early, as soon as it opens, which gives me more choice and which allows me to relax without the encumbrance of heavy luggage before the flight, even with the new security measures in place. I only had to queue and queue at Singapore Airport on my return journey, but better inconvenienced than dead! By contrast, I cleared Heathrow's passport control and customs a mere 15 minutes after stepping off the plane.

Trains

I tried the Indian Pacific across the country again (twice) between Perth and Sydney. I enjoyed the food and the company and the novelty of my own tiny single cabin/cell, but the staff ranged from good to functional. The Overland train from Melbourne to Adelaide was much more fun and had much more character. I had my own compartment, containing pull down bed, pull down toilet and pull down washbasin. I realised that the walls were reasonably thin, so people would be able to hear me doing anything personal. Good job there was no one in either adjacent compartment and that one can play one of the three channels of piped music at whatever volume one desires. Why a bed in the daytime? Well, the trip is a mere 11 hours, give or take, so one might want a siesta or two. In fact we were given morning scones, a superb luncheon and afternoon cheese and biscuits and one could make endless cups of tea or coffee too. I was in seventh heaven. The lounge had plenty of daily papers & comfy seats... and one's fellow passengers. I spent a pleasant time there too, chilling out, holding some incredible conversations and forgetting about life for a while, in between. The Sydney to Melbourne train, by contrast, happened! I gained a double seat courtesy of the fact that a passenger got muddled. I did not complain. By the time the mistake was realised we had been travelling for 6 hours and she refused to move! Can't say I blame her and I did not object.

Of course I must mention Puffing Billy, the lovely old steam train that ventures through the Dandenong Ranges close to Melbourne. I have been on that train three times now and would do it many more times if I could. It is special and spectacular.

Boats

I went on a few of them too...the Swan River luncheon cruise (twice), the Yarra River and three hours of pure pleasure down the mighty Murray in the M.V. Jester with only six other passengers, one coach driver (Prime mini tours, Adelaide) and the husband and wife crew. The lunch was delicious and the commentary incredibly informative. I took the ferry to South Perth a few times too: just seven minutes for the crossing.

Trams

Melbourne has them in abundance and I love them. Hopping on and off is easy with a day pass. The pressure is off and one can explore with gusto. Adelaide has a single tram.. .to Glenelg. It's fascinating, but I wanted more! The Perth Explorer Tram seemed expensive at 24$ but it has unlimited use, so I was able to use it on consecutive days and then over a month later. It does give an excellent tour of King's Park too (wildflowers, wow!). I loved the Fremantle tram tour with its chocolate factory tasting session! Then there was the Melbourne free tourist tram...

Flora and fauna

I saw so many animals, birds, flowers and trees etc. in the wild, (as well as more animals in Perth zoo on my final full day in the country) Kangaroos at dusk on a golf course, seeing whole families waking up and doing all the things kangaroos do, was rather special and has to rate as the top sight. However, there were wombats, dingoes, emus, wallabies, eagles, koalas and so much more. The W A wildflowers in spring are legendary and they didn't disappoint me. Botanical Gardens in each state came in very useful as far as really seeing an abundance of trees and flowers was concerned. The slow growing ferns fascinated me too, especially seeing how much, or little, one planted in Adelaide by Princess May of Teck (later to become Queen Mary, wife of King George V), had grown in 105 years.

Food and wine

I tried wines in every state I entered, with the Western Australian ones being my favourite, especially a Rockingham verdelho. I spat a fair few out too in tastings, but that is all part of the fun. My favourite food remains things with pumpkins, unusual breads, a decent steak, fresh fruit and vegetables, pavlovas and Lamingtons! Vanilla milk shakes in Perth seemed to taste rather good too! Then there are the legendary breakfasts, particularly in Sundays, at Good Reasons, in Mordialloc, a fascinating Melbourne suburb.

Activities

I visited museums, Art Galleries, Old Melbourne Gaol (Ned Kelly was so tiny, as his armour and death mask demonstrate), churches and so many other fascinating buildings. Shame about the overpriced Picasso Exhibition in Melbourne! I saw films, exhibitions and concerts, visited friends, had meals out and in, walked along empty beaches, traversed the land twice (and the Nullarbor Plain), met an abundance of friendly souls, had vignettes of incredible conversations which all add to life's rich tapestry, saw markets and inns and, yes, even went shopping! The weather was brilliant, an ambient 18 degrees, and I shone. I even featured on Channel 7’s pre-advertisement shot one evening before the weather forecast, when I'd been sitting in a T shirt in a South Perth park overlooking the jetty one winter's afternoon. The locals had been muffled up in coats and scarves, but for me, 18 degrees signals hot and I was! Shame no one else knew of me or saw my moment of fame (2 seconds!) Weird how I had to travel 12,500 miles to appear in TV!

Of course, not everything ran smoothly on the trip. The fall from the City Waters motel bed had to be the low point in all senses. Then there was the time I booked a tour with APT and awaited a courtesy pick up from my motel for 35 minutes near the busiest and most polluted intersection in Adelaide. It never arrived and the retort was "Well, you can do the same tour on Friday, can't you!" No I couldn't! I was crossing the Nullarbor by train by then. I did not even get an apology. As for a refund... I'm not holding my breath! Then there was the morning that I was awoken at 7 am in my Melbourne motel room by a very loud radio. Painters and decorators had descended on the room next door. My old fleece coat met its end too, over the Nullarbor, when its zip got caught in the train carriage door & was irreparable. I had to find a rapid replacement once I had arrived in Sydney, but a poxy blue fleece sporting an "Australia Outback logo" and a debatable Uluru picture is not quite the same thing. Still, it was cheap and it did serve its purpose.

As to my head, I bumped it too many times to mention! Then there was the day the wheely chair decided to slide across the tiled floor rather too fast whilst I was trying to sit down in an internet cafe...it was only my pride that was hurt on that occasion! One Saturday morning I fancied a film in Perth's Cinema Paradiso. The receptionist/usher failed to turn up for work. A popular preview was no more!

Still, as Ned Kelly said at the moment of his execution: "Such is life!"

First published in VISA issue 75 (Oct 2007)

Land of Miracles

by Lynn Hurton

What exactly can I say about a country that I have just visited for the fourth time in my life? It is a magical land; so much has been untouched by the majority of humans. One finds so many species that one can experience nowhere else. The beauty and yet desolation of the place is immense and one leaves uplifted, but also with a sense of awe at its vastness and its majesty.

I travelled by train and plane for the most part. A rail pass can be a good idea as long as one does not mind sleeping upright and one chances one's arm about just who will share one's carriage or even sit next to one. There is no such luxury of a double seat to oneself, on the whole, apart from when there has been an administrative error, or when one moves for one's safety/peace of mind. One can meet many fascinating characters and have some amazing conversations. Many vignettes of conversation are long remembered for a myriad of reasons, as are the times when one has bitten one's tongue rather than have a strong political argument with very determined characters. Discussions are one thing, but sometimes it is easier to agree or simply to nod one's head sagely. Keeping the peace at all, or almost all, costs can be vital when one is to spend 30+ hours seated next to someone.

Victoria was in the throes of quite a bad winter, but still with minimal rain, so their severe drought continued. Having the reservoirs just over 30% full in the middle of winter is not a good sign. However, I still enjoyed the time I spent in that State and the activities I undertook.

I saw the magnificent Healesville Animal Sanctuary, even visiting its hospital and meeting a koala who was afraid of heights and therefore wouldn't climb trees. It took a whole day to see everything there and I loved the experience in spite of the torrential rain. Despite the drought I still saw some incredible waterfalls, including my favourite at a remote spot called Snob's Creek! I tasted some fascinating wines in the Yarra Valley (all the better for me not being the car driver) and even brought a bottle of one type home to the UK in my suitcase.

I stayed at the eerily beautiful Black Spur Inn at Narbethong in the middle of the Black Spur region, awakening to find frost and ice enveloping almost everything. The rooms were spacious and the beds the comfiest I have ever experienced. The only snag was the poor lighting upstairs and the hidden step. For once it was not me who tripped over and went flying, but... Then there was the Eildon Dam which emerged out of the mist, seeming the loneliest place on earth and the very slippery walk at Steavenson's Falls, not to mention the shady occupants of an old white banger at Maroondah Dam.

In Melbourne itself I perused an excellent Art-Deco exhibition, saw the musical Guys and Dolls and the play Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, went to the cinema (an excellent way to cope with jetlag, particularly when viewing the film Mamma Mia), visited museums, art galleries, the State Library and even the Old Melbourne Gaol (one can see parts of Ned Kelly's armour and exhibits in the latter two) and travelled at will up, down and around the CBD on its extensive tram network. Trams run through virtually all the central streets and some inner suburbs, are normally frequent and are relatively inexpensive. They are also very well frequented. Melbournians definitely know when they are on to a good thing!

A walk along a deserted beach is a must and beaches really do abound around the city suburbs and down both the Mornington Peninsula and the Great Ocean Road. To have a beach all to oneself on a bright, clear winter's day is totally exhilarating. One can rarely do that on England's crowded shores!

I hadn't been to an Aussie Rules Football Game for six years and "my" team Richmond's season really was in the doldrums, so a return visit to the MCG (Melbourne Cricket Ground) was a must. I was also able to enjoy a hot chocolate (a necessity on a cold winter's day), a pie at half time, a tour of the MCG museum with its homage to The Don (Sir Donald Bradman, the world's greatest ever batsman) and a tour of the new Museum of Australian Sport. The latter employed a plethora of enthusiastic guides who were only too happy to regale one with stories of Aussie sporting achievements and prowess.

However, my Melbourne highlight just had to be my lunch aboard the Melbourne Colonial Tramcar. Imagine riding the rails in a lovely old heated tram for over two hours and having a delicious three course lunch, accompanied by copious amounts of wine, good company, excellent music and waiters who actually believe they can sing as they give a superb first-class service. Sadly they couldn't (sing!) but that didn't stop them from trying, or adding to the general ambiance of merriment. The Aussies know how to enjoy their food in style.

They call Adelaide the city of culture. They are neither boasting nor joking. It really is! I managed to see four movies in three days in the Art House Nova and Palace Eastend Cinemas. For once only one of those wasn't in English...I'd decided to leave foreign languages behind for a few weeks. I also frequented museums and churches galore, walked at will (particularly around the Botanical Gardens and down the Torrens River), explored the underrated St Peter's Cathedral, paid homage to the Don at the Adelaide Oval and so much more.

 Also, on Adelaide's wettest day of the winter, I and eight other intrepid explorers of various nationalities ventured on a Prime Mini Tours Day Trip to Hahndorf and Victor Harbour. The view of Adelaide from the Mount Lofty Summit was very poor thanks to the rain, but the weather cleared from Hahndorf onwards (in spite of torrential rain in Adelaide all day) and I had a memorable experience. Hahndorf is Australia's oldest original non-English "modern" settlement. It was established in 1839 by a small group of German- speaking Lutherans, fleeing religious persecution in Eastern Europe. The 52 families sailed to South Australia on a tiny ship captained by the Dane Dirk Hahn. He helped the settlers to such an extent that they named their village in his honour.

Hahndorf soon became the food bowl of Adelaide and developed a renowned artistic heritage as both the museum and art galleries will testify. Many of the original settlers' traditional German timber and brick cottages still abound.

I took a brilliant 30 minute steam train ride on the Cockle Train from Goolwa to Victor Harbour, and viewed a picturesque mixture of beach, ocean and hills in very close proximity. Victor Harbour itself did not disappoint either. After a bracing walk to and from Granite Island I really did appreciate the fish and chips on offer. I then visited the Encounter Coast Discovery Centre and receiving a unique insight into that idyllic part of South Australia. No trip into that region would be complete without a wine tasting. Hardy's Tintara Winery in McLaren Vale provided the perfect end to a perfect day.

By contrast, my two and a half days in Brisbane were not exactly the highlight of the holiday, to put it mildly. Brisbane is normally dry and warm. It was very wet, very windy and very cold. I had to splurge on a taxi in order to reach my motel in a reasonable state. That was after I had finally located my luggage at Brisbane airport. There really was a dearth of signs at that place.

The lady at the motel reception reminded me of a fierce, bad-tempered old school ma'am. She barked out endless rules and regulations, most of which went in one ear and out of the other almost as fast as the speed of light (or so it seemed). The motel turned out to be noisy both inside and out. A fellow guest decided to put on his TV full blast at 5.30am daily and leave it on and on and on. It did go off by 10pm, but I could not watch a different channel as it was ear-shattering.

The room itself was squat and had huge, dark brown furniture in abundance. One could have suffered from very severe claustrophobia in that place, not to mention insomnia, deafness, high blood pressure...I had horrendous nightmares when I finally did sleep, including those of collapsing wardrobes and of being chased by one-eyed teddy bears!

When I did venture out to explore Brisbane, the heavens opened once more. I will only return when hell freezes over. I would not have wished my experience upon anyone (especially the teenage illegal rave in a disused city centre building). I did enjoy the Botanical Gardens until I became completely lost and came across a dead end covered by barbed wire. The river was a putrid brown colour and the Brisbane South Bank, its supposed cultural Mecca, was a concrete jungle, modelled on its London namesake. It had a few points of interest, including a very extensive Sidney Nolan exhibition, but I would not have felt that I had missed anything had I never been there.

Cairns was a complete contrast and a truly memorable four days. It provided the base for forays into the Daintree Rain Forest (the world's oldest rain forest) where I could see a completely different way of life and unique flora and fauna: bathing in an isolated creek, seeing crocodiles at close quarters, sighting the elusive southern cassowary, spotting a frog that even our guide had never seen before and then hand feeding rescue kangaroos and wallabies.

 Kuranda, by contrast, was a tourist trap where even the Sky Rail and the Scenic Railway could not entirely wipe out my disappointment. It was a town at the edge of the rainforest...too close to civilisation for its own good, and it was principally full of second rate art, for the most part, and of tourist tat. Prices were unnaturally high and the town's only saving grace had to be St Saviour's Church. That was a beautiful oasis of calm amongst a main street heaving with day trippers intent on experiencing their notion of what construed the "rainforest".

Retirees love Cairns and many over-50s head north from Sydney, Adelaide and Melbourne to escape what they consider to be the "cold" winter further south. All I can say is that everything is relative! It was an experience and I loved its airport (smaller and more personal that its larger brothers) but, having been there, I would never return, no matter how pleasant the experience.

Sydney was its usual busy, uncaring self. For me it is always on the way to somewhere else, but I loved my four days there, especially a return cinema visit to reacquaint myself with Mamma Mia. I did the entire tourist route too, including the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge. One Sydney highlight was the musical Billy Elliot, a long way from Geordie land or the West End, but fascinating nevertheless. Another was a lunchtime cathedral concert of the combined Australian Army and NSW Police Bands, conducted by a Scot (we British get everywhere). Sydney is cosmopolitan, big and brash.

I travelled on a train that I thought would never arrive, I had a 4.30am fire alarm about which the hotel staff appeared clueless, I met real Aussie "bushies" as well as a woman-hating ex-jailbird who had been released that morning. I experienced such a variety of life in all its senses, travelled the length of Australia's east coast (and quite a bit of its inland too), I sweltered, I shivered, I laughed, I cried, I gasped in awe and I swore in frustration. Australia is a rich land of marvels and also, at times, of frustrations. There is so much in that unique land that still remains undiscovered. One has the sense that almost anything can happen and, sometimes, it does. One feels privileged to witness this modern miracle. Even so...

 One wonders how much better things would have been had man not interfered in far too many ways. So many species would not have become extinct, or be in danger of becoming so, had non-native species not been introduced. Were rabbits, foxes, camels and cats really needed and, for that matter, did the Aboriginals ever need the white man to wreck their traditional homelands and ways of life? There is no magical solution in that area to right centuries of wrongs.

Saying "sorry" now is all very well, but the past can never be undone and the repercussions will continue into the very long term. Living in Western style cities on beautiful coasts, and closing one's mind to problems, is all very well, but it solves very little. Maybe some things can never be resolved? One can watch the film Ten Canoes and ponder how things were and how they might have been. One can reflect, but does man ever learn and, in any case, can one individual really make a difference?

 First published in VISA 83 (Feb 2009)