I rushed back from Fraser Island to catch the largest gay pride march on the planet, the Sydney Mardi Gras. I had obviously been overloaded by all of the macho activities I had been taking part in he previous weeks.
Sarah was no longer in town, so I was staying in a hostel this time in Sydney. Even though I had made a booking on Hostelworld, the hostel refused to honour my booking. “Haha,” the clerk said, “we’ve been fully booked for four days. It’s Mardi Gras you see?” Being well aware that it was Mardi Gras and that it would be impossible to find anything else in town, I refused his offer to refund my deposit, started being terribly British and explained to him the principles of leaving deposits to secure a booking.
After several minutes, he conceded, but only on condition I didn’t tell his boss he was letting me stay. I didn’t enquire as to quite how he had managed to conjure up a spare bed, when five minutes previously he was “fully-booked”.
The three boys from Stoke I was sharing a room with, really didn’t get the hints I was dropping that it wasn’t advisable to make homophobic comments in my company. I really need to practice my camp accent!
I wrapped myself up in my Pink Jack and went to meet up with Sarah’s friend Katie for the parade. Her group did really well securing one of the best spots on the parade route, and we got some marvellous pictures.
No big gossip on the evening I’m afraid. I had a 7:30am start the next morning to get to the Blue Mountains (see below), for my final day in Australia before heading off to New Zealand.
After several exciting days of diving, I couldn’t help but try to dive one of the best dive sites in the world: the SS Yongala.
Unfortunately I discovered they day before I was hoping to dive it, that the trip had been cancelled due to bad weather. Short on time, I converted my 7-hour coach ride into a 12-hour one, and just kept going to my next destination, Airlie Beach. I suppose that means I’ll have to come back to Australia some other day to do the Yongala!
Airlie is the gateway to the Whitsunday Islands, a magnificent group of volcanic peaks separated from the Australian mainland by a narrow passage of a few kilometres. It is also quite a pleasant, compact town with plenty of backpacker accommodation and agencies arranging yachts for charter.
Upon presenting myself at my hostel’s booking desk my first morning to book a sailing trip, I was asked whether I wanted to join a “party boat”, “traditional boat” or “racing boat”. Having had quite enough to drink at The Woolshed in Cairns, I erred away from the “party boat” and went for the racing option even though it was considerably more expensive. “Right, well there’s a boat leaving in 45 minutes,” the agent declared. Keen to make best use of my time, I jumped into action.
One hour later a group of eleven of us, and two crew, are sailing out of the the Abel Point Marina on former America’s Cup contender the Southern Cross. Definitely a “racing boat”! Here she is.
Provided there were enough other volunteers, we could really help out as much or as little as we liked on the Southern Cross. However, with respect to one’s personal property, there are some basic precautions one should we aware of before volunteering. Unfortunately, we were not prepared and within fifteen minutes of leaving the marina, Tobias (Switzerland) and I had lost our sunglasses overboard! (And I had only bought the sunglasses in Sydney two weeks previously.) Andy the skipper, who really should know better, also had his baseball cap blown overboard, but given that this floated we were able to make a detour to pick it up.
Given the fairly tame wind conditions, the boat picked up some good speed, and we were leaning heavily away from the wind. Just a couple of minutes down below to use the loo was enough to make me quite seasick (and I rarely get motion sickness). After some time we arrived at out first destination, Whitehaven Beach, where the sand is supposedly some of the whitest and finest in the world. We all hopped into a rib (called a tender in Australia) to be taken to the shore. It got a little cloudy as we arrived, but we enjoyed the beach (in our stinger suits given the jellyfish issue). From left to right: James (UK), Tobias (Switz), Maud (NL), Jenny and Hans (Sweden), and Rutger (NL)
After a fabulous sunset (see below) and slap-up supper on the boat, the stars came out. The moon set shortly thereafter and we had a perfect view of the stars of the southern hemisphere, including the namesake of the boat, the Southern Cross. Unfortunately the rocking deck meant there was no opportunity for long-exposure photography, but here is the sunset I mentioned earlier.
Feeling all soppy and overwhelmed by the stars, I fell asleep on deck. When I woke in the morning, I saw James and Maud had done the same.
The next morning was quite dramatic: Rutger, who had been seasick since we left dock, started having heart palpitations, and had to get urgent medical assistance. A call was put out over the radio, and we altered course to take us to the nearest hospital on a private resort island. About half-an-hour later, we were met halfway by a high-speed boat that we transferred Rutger to to take him the rest of the way. There wasn’t much anyone could do while we were waiting, and we discussed afterwards whether we thought the response should have been quicker. I thought that given we were so far away from habited land, and yachts don’t react particularly well to helicopters, half-an-hour was as good as anyone could have expected. We heard over the radio later that afternoon that Rutger had been airlifted to the mainland from the resort island hospital.
With two members of our crew down (Maud had accompanied Rutger to the resort to help with translation) and not much else we could do, we carried on with our excursion. This included the opportunity of swimming to our own island and laying on the beach for the rest of the afternoon.
Reunited with Maud later that afternoon, we had another great meal and sunset.
We visited another island the next morning…
… and given we were covered in salt water, the private waterfall was useful.
Unfortunately it was then time to sail back to Airlie Beach, but before we could do that, there was another dramatic development: as we switched back to the motor for our final approach towards the marina, the rope supporting our mainsail got stuck within the mast i.e. we couldn’t bring the mainsail completely down. Andy, the skipper, was going to have to climb up the mast and cut the rope from the other end. N.B. The mast of the Southern Cross is 100 feet (30 metres) high!
Andy was going to need ropes, lots of ropes, to help pull him up to the top of the mast, support his weight, deliver equipment to him, and eventually bring him back down without him falling off. Although Andy was really the only one who knew which ropes were going to do what, he was over 30m away, and was going to need us to do the leg-work. We must have learnt a thing or two about how the ropes work over the three days, as everything seemed to go swimmingly (with the help of the Portuguese deputy on deck level). My role was to translate between native-speaking Andy thirty metres away, and the mainly continental group on deck.
With that drama out of the way, we were able to bring the original drama to a close when we saw Rutger greet us on the marina as we docked.
That night we celebrated with a drink or two (as demonstrated by Sandy below)
My first 10 days travelling were fairly luxurious: I stayed in a hotel in Singapore and on Sarah’s sofa in Sydney. Now I was alone and on a budget; the youth hostel beckoned…
I arrived in Cairns airport at 6pm with nowhere to stay and a five-year-old copy of the Rough Guide to Australia taking up 1kg of my luggage allowance. After picking up the rucksack I am to become fairly attached to, I was relieved to see a huge accommodation board in the corner of the terminal with a free telephone to check availability. Two phone calls later and I am sorted.
There are no taxis and two huge red-necked middle-aged Australians at the taxi rank. To my surprise, when a taxi turns up after a few minutes, they invite me to share a cab with them into town. I probably only spoke to two Australians that I wasn’t buying something off in Sydney, so this was an opportunity to double my tally. Although I tried to act cool by dropping in lots of “mate” and “cheers”, they immediately label me a pom.
My two new friends have just flown in from Wongamolla or somewhere equally bizarre-sounding. They have very little luggage, but a large polystyrene box with some impressive yellow tape wrapped around it emblazoned with the words “PASSED QUARANTINE”.
“So mate, what’s in the box?” I ask hesitantly.
“Ahhh mate, it’s a turtle…”
Apparently, one can hunt them in the place they just got back from, and the two of them had made a boys’ week away out of it. Then again, perhaps I just didn’t get the Australian sense of humour.
I had a couple of days to kill before my liveaboard diving trip to the Great Barrier Reef left from Cairns. So encouraged by my roommates at the hostel, I arranged a two-day trip up to Cape Tribulation, north of Cairns. Cape Tribulation was so named by Captain Cook in 1770 when his boat hit the reef and he had to stay put for three months to make repairs. This mishap combined with searing tropical heat and unfriendly locals lead the captain to name the cape after the trials and tribulations he experienced when based here. Nowadays the cape is magnet for backbackers who want to experience the fun of the World Heritage listed Daintree tropical rainforest.
When booking my trip to tropical Queensland, I had not properly investigated the weather, and although the south of Australia is in summer (even given the rain in Sydney), the north of Australia is actually in “wet season”. Within two hours of leaving Cairns and in the middle of a boardwalk (a trek through forest on a walkway) our entire party gets completely drenched within a couple of minutes. The extreme humidity also means our clothes can’t get dry until we return to civilization in Cairns.
I check into the Cape Tribulation Beach Hut with Clio (UK) and Khanh (Canada). “Hut” in this respect means “close to nature” (we are eco-tourists after all) and so all huts in the complex appear to have been colonised by these huge golden silk orb weaver spiders. Fortunately the colonisation has been limited to the exterior of the buildings and the insides appear to be invertebrate-free.
Golden Silk Orb Weaver outside my hut in Cape Tribulation
First adventure activity of the trip is jungle-surfing! This involves being kitted out in hard hat and safety harness and zip-lining between trees within the forest canopy about twenty metres above ground. Great fun had by all.
Alex aka Crocodile Dundee kitted out for zip-lining in Cape Trib
Khanh prepares to take a leap
Clio in mid-surf
Next adventure activity: a night-time rainforest walk. All the best wildlife is meant to come out at night, however I was a bit disappointed and getting a bit bored towards the end of this excursion, particularly when our guide started explaining the “three stages of spider web evolution”. Next adventure activity: how to get back to your hostel two miles away in the pitch black with more tropical rain threatening to make an appearance. Khanh, Clio and I had came to into Cape Trib town to enjoy a few bevies with some of the other people on our tour bus including Helen (UK). Once the bar had shut we needed to get back to our beach hut which was further away than promised – Khanh and Clio had already made the journey one-way. The solution? Get two Aussies to give us a lift in the back of their pick-up truck (called a “Ute”)
Next day, and the adventure continues: how about some horse-riding through the rainforest and along the beach? When my horse had two hooves in the sea and two on the dry sand, I was in theory inside two different World Heritage sites at the same time (the Daintree Rainforest and the Great Barrier Reef). The group got up to a canter which was great fun considering some of us had little experience (my childhood memories of trotting in the New Forest now eclipsed).
Taking the horse for a little wander along the beach
For elevenses, we stopped off at a creek with a natural pool. I went for a swim and took along a biscuit to break up and feed to the fish. I misunderstood the advice from the guide however and didn’t realise I shouldn’t go swimming with the biscuit. Within seconds I’m surrounded by fish nibbling at my hand. Shocked by the creatures I can’t see, I let go of the biscuits sending mushy pieces all through the water. One obviously confused fish then mistakes my nipple for a tasty bit of cookie… my yelp was mistaken by some in our group as the start of a crocodile attack!
On the way back to Cairns, Helen, Clio, some more in our group and I swam in the famous Mossman Gorge. However, this was no creek, and anyone swimming in it has to make sure they aren’t swept down the river into the rapids!
All-in-all, Cape Tribulation was a little expensive (I suppose I did do a lot) but tremendously fun. I just had to make sure I got enough rest for the 6am start the next day to go diving; apologies to Helen for not making it out that evening
Hyde Park, Oxford Street, Paddington, King’s Cross, Haymarket, Liverpool Street…
Sydney seems to have a lot in common with London. I was greeted with continuous drizzle for my first few days in the city. On my first night, I met loads of Brits and Irish down the pub. Everything seemed very familiar, yet also different. Perhaps I had arrived in an, as yet unvisited, English town.
My main reason for visiting Sydney was to catch up with Sarah, formerly a best friend from university, but who has virtually disappeared and no one has really seen in the UK for years [I’m hoping this comment will aggravate her]. She lives in Bondi, which is famed for its beach full of glorious fit and tanned bodies. Alas, due to the rain, it was a few days until I was able to truly appreciate this spectacle.
A rather deserted Bondi Beach on an overcast day
The poor weather did give Sarah and me a good opportunity to catch up and share stories from the past couple of years. She will be back in the UK soon, so all of those missing her won’t have to wait too long to have her cackling on the end of a phone again.
When the weather finally improved we took a trip on the famous Manly Ferry. The ferry runs to the northern suburb of Manly and passes by the Sydney Harbour Bridge and Opera House, giving its passengers fantastic views from the water. Here Sarah poses with the Opera House in the background.
Sarah poses with the Opera House in the background
The whole area around the harbourfront is to Sydney what the Houses of Parliament are to London and the Eiffel Tower to Paris. Some days later, Sarah and I checked out the Opera House (surprisingly covered in ceramic bathroom tiles) and the view from the bar underneath the Opera House esplanade. We were very lucky to get a table right by the harbourside where we proceeded to drink champagne (one can call any sparkling wine that here) and gin and tonic. Great fun! Perhaps most astonishing was seeing a colony of thousands of bats fly over the harbour as the sun went down.
Sarah and Alex in front of the Sydney Harbour Bridge
Obviously a natural poser
One of the reasons I am travelling is to explore some of the other global cities around the globe. (This is why I am also visiting Singapore, Shanghai and Beijing.) Compared to London, the Sydney CBD (central business district) has a modern feel with its many high-rise buildings, yet is familiar enough not to be too disconcerting. (The main street in Chinatown shares my surname afterall!) It is however more expensive than I imagined (I suppose food is subsidised heavily in Europe) and I gather from people that work here that the working hours are not much better than the UK, and the vacation allowances are less generous. All-in-all however, I had a marvellous time and this could well be a place I choose to work in the future.
Singapore doesn’t fail to impress. Compared to some of the rundown terminals at Heathrow, Changi Airport is very well turned out without being too garish (like some Middle Eastern and Asian airports). But my lasting impression won’t be made by the architecture and interior design, but instead by immigration.
Those used to travelling to the United States will know how bad the immigration experience can be; fingerprints, photographs, plain rudeness. Not in Singapore; here you are greeted with beaming smiles and a professional manner. To top it off, after everything had been checked, stamped and found to be in order, I was offered a mint…!
“Welcome to Singapore”
Too tired to tackle the city on my first night, my first adventure was to find breakfast the next day. Guided by a Wikitravel page insisting that I eat a traditional Singaporean breakfast, I walked a few blocks from my hotel to Orchard Street, the main shopping street in the city, to find a place to eat. Breakfast typically revolves around “kaya”, a sort of coconutty butter spread on toast, accompanied by soft-boiled eggs with soy sauce and strong coffee with condensed milk. I had no idea what to do with the two eggs and bowl of soy sauce handed to me, but the cashier came over to my table to help explain everything. (“Break the eggs into the bowl of soy sauce and give it a good stir”)
Typical Singaporean breakfast
Food in Singapore is brilliant. Chinese, Malaysian, Indian and European food is readily available, and often brought together to create a Singapore fusion cuisine. I met a coursemate from Imperial College for lunch. Neil took me to a food court where around twenty different stalls were selling different foods, which all smelt fantastic. We ate on a roof terrace overlooking the city.
Old ISE coursemates: Alex and Neil overlooking Singapore
The majority of the city seems to be covered in distinctive high-rise office buildings, luxury appartments and shopping malls. However, each of the different communities in Singapore has a cultural heartland: Chinatown for the Chinese, Little India for the Indians, Arab Street for the Malays (and I suppose the old Colonial district represents the European heritage). They each show a quirky side to the city that once was before the massive development that has taken place over the past 40 years.
Arab St – the Malay quarter
Little India, Singapore
Chinatown, Singapore
Singapore Cricket Club with skyscrapers in the background
On my last day I visited the resort island of Sentosa. Connected to the Singapore mainland by cable car (and monorail), much of the island has been extensively developed into a pretty excrutiating family theme park with observation towers, beaches and cinemas connected by covered escalators piping out elevator music. Prices were also very high compared to the mainland, and my cash vanished far more quickly than I had expected. Nonetheless, there was a very good aquarium which made the journey worthwhile. My cable-car trip back to the mainland that evening also afforded some fantastic views.
For my last few hours in the city I walked along the riverfront and really experimented with all of the different settings on my camera to create some fantastic nighttime city images.
Singapore Harbourfront skyline
Last stop Raffles Hotel (apparently the place to be seen, but not to stay) then I was on my way to Sydney with another mint from immigration!
An Antipodean Adventure 
Gay
Friday, 17 April 2009I rushed back from Fraser Island to catch the largest gay pride march on the planet, the Sydney Mardi Gras. I had obviously been overloaded by all of the macho activities I had been taking part in he previous weeks.
Sarah was no longer in town, so I was staying in a hostel this time in Sydney. Even though I had made a booking on Hostelworld, the hostel refused to honour my booking. “Haha,” the clerk said, “we’ve been fully booked for four days. It’s Mardi Gras you see?” Being well aware that it was Mardi Gras and that it would be impossible to find anything else in town, I refused his offer to refund my deposit, started being terribly British and explained to him the principles of leaving deposits to secure a booking.
After several minutes, he conceded, but only on condition I didn’t tell his boss he was letting me stay. I didn’t enquire as to quite how he had managed to conjure up a spare bed, when five minutes previously he was “fully-booked”.
The three boys from Stoke I was sharing a room with, really didn’t get the hints I was dropping that it wasn’t advisable to make homophobic comments in my company. I really need to practice my camp accent!
I wrapped myself up in my Pink Jack and went to meet up with Sarah’s friend Katie for the parade. Her group did really well securing one of the best spots on the parade route, and we got some marvellous pictures.
Matthew Mitcham (gold medal Olympian) leads the parade…
An event for women and children too…
The Aussies have stolen our flag!
Surf Rescue Club 😉
Pam-Ann: please take your positions for take-off!
Do NOT feed the bisexuals!
The Scottish contingent…
No big gossip on the evening I’m afraid. I had a 7:30am start the next morning to get to the Blue Mountains (see below), for my final day in Australia before heading off to New Zealand.
Tags:activities, Australia, Blue, British, comments, Fraser, friend, gay, Gras, Haha, hostel, Hostelworld, island, Jack, Katie, Mardi, Mountains, Pics, pictures, Pink, planet, practice, pride, room, Sarah, Sydney, Zealand
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