The year was 1988, myself and Tim were in our prime and itching to
leave Dartford and go see something of the world. We made a plan to go
to Australia for a working holiday, a year of freedom and adventure,
365 days under big skies and swarms of flies. I had been suffering from
a bout of unrequited love and bought a one-way ticket, intending to
find some winsome Sheila to wed. The well-made plans of mice and men.
Don't get me wrong, life was good in those days, I was young and
debonair sporting a Rick Astley quiff. We had some great nights
cruising the pubs, clubs and parties, and still found the time to go
climbing during the evenings and at weekends. Golden days one and all,
and yet the myriad attractions of South East London and North West Kent
couldn't hide the fact that there were bigger fish to fry.
We left England in early October, just as the temperature started dropping and the nights were drawing in. Flying via Moscow, New Delhi and Kuala Lumpur to Bangkok with Aeroflot, thirty hours felt like sixty. How alien it felt stepping out of the arrivals doors into a blanket of humidity and tropical heat. But it also felt purposeful and free. We took the slow way into town - a 5 Baht train. The famous Kao San Road was less busy back then and the rooms had few amenities, meaning we could see through our floorboards to the 24-hour pool-room below. Our room had mosquito-shaped blobs of blood spotting the walls and was stifling and claustrophobic. The sweet smell of weed hung in the air. I thought I'd never get to sleep. I didn't.
From Bangkok we headed South on the increasingly well-trodden backpacker trail to Singapore. Phuket was just opening up to tourists but already the rot had set in and there were advertising hoardings in Thai, German and English. A slippery slope indeed. I enjoyed our few days at lonely Karon beach (yes lonely back then!) and in up-and-coming Phuket town. We were lucky to be there for the annual, and very gory festival of penance where devotees skewer their faces with metal bars and pieces of tree, ripped from the nearby undergrowth. I'm glad I hadn't eaten! This spectacle was unlike any I'd ever seen, and in the heat and humidity on top of jet-lag, I truly felt I was in a dream.
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Penang evokes memories of playing beach football with a group of workers out on a day-trip, then watching their faces as we walked arm-in-arm along the sand with their girls! And of scaling Penang Hill, for the fantastic views (or should that be de-scaling, as we walked down? It doesn't sound right to me!), taking ever-closer photos of the monkeys in botanical gardens. We stayed in an ancient Chinese hotel, sharing a room with a bearded guy we had shared a rickshaw ride with when we arrived. The smell of worm-holed hardwood paneled walls and smoky mosquito coils in echoing corridors; the sound of a slowly-revolving ceiling fan and children laughing and playing in the early morning. The timeless joy of travelling.
Fast forward to a different city, a different arrival. We had made it to Sydney, Australia and to Beethoven Lodge in Surry Hills. Sydney being full of backpackers hostels we happened upon this one just outside the city centre and opposite the cricket ground, and my life changed forever. Within days we were making great friends, having parties and finding jobs - everything going to plan. My first job was in nearby Redfern making wooden cigarette machines for $10 an hour, and finishing at 2pm on Fridays because, as the boss said "No bloody man should ever have to work on a bloody Friday afternoon."
We settled into a routine of working and enjoying our free time as much as possible. It's a great feeling being on the other side of the world from home. At the start of a great adventure and knowing that some lifetime memories are in the making. In the hostel the newbies have to stay in the worst room, but gradually you work your way up to the best room and feel one of the old hands. The owners Terry and Andy were stars and the hostel virtually ran itself. It sparked a desire for me to run my own accommodation somewhere in the world and even now I still have that desire. The weeks I spent in Beethoven lodge are still alive in my memory so many years later: Barbeques in the back yard, Turkish pizza meals, beers at The Dolphin pub, beetroot in the burgers, Christmas Day on Bronte beach, shopping in Paddington and Darling Harbour.
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Tim and I were saving money like crazy and before Christmas we bought a wonderful station wagon from some bearded suburban Swedes and prepared for our long road trip around the country. Our first test trip was out to the Blue mountains to go hiking and do some climbing with Rick and Sennan, two guys from the hostel. The sky was the deepest blue, the air scented and fresh, the landscape timeless and spiritual in the way Australia is. Glorious.
With all the socializing, it wasn't long before I was in the arms of Jackie and moving down to Coogie beach to share a room in a flat with her, Anna and Trisha. Later were joined by Jo, Matt and Phil. Matt and Phil lived outside the flat in their VW van, coming in to shower and use the loo. Tim stayed behind at the hostel earning his travelling money at Freedom Furniture. Then suddenly it was time to hit the road. Joining us on the journey and splitting the costs was our new friend Wendy from Wisconsin but Tim then fell into the arms of Dinah and went on ahead to Adelaide to enjoy himself. Myself and Wendy drove to meet him there. Farewell Sydney, hello Adelaide.
It's a long drive across country through beautiful scenery and endless farms. We passed through Mildura and crossed the Murray river to arrive just outside Adelaide in Old Noalunga, location of the stone cottage home of my aunt Betty and uncle Ivor, who generously allowed us to stay in their caravan and swim in their garden pool. Blissful days in the sun, visiting the wine-growing region, exploring Adelaide, walking along the beach and cooling off in the pool. The museum was well worth the visit and we learned much about aboriginal culture in advance of our trip North. A few days on, the car became full when we teamed up with Rachel and Hillary from the UK and headed up towards the scorching hot Red Centre.
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Australia is big, and the drive North from Adelaide to Darwin in the Northern Territories is immense and fulfilling. It was hot, and I mean hot. At Coober Pedy the temperature fell to 36℃ at night and everyone lives underground. The town is famous for its opal mining and is a place where the supermarket sells dynamite right off the shelf. For good reason, Mad Mel filmed Mad Max nearby and there is only one tree... it's made of iron. In contrast to this furnace is the sublime beauty of South Australia's Wilpena Pound in the Flinders Ranges. We were lucky and visited before the state improved the road and before a large resort was built to cater to tourists. You must stop by, it's only 428km from Adelaide. Did I mention Australia is big?
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As we drove ever North, temperature rose, the air dried out, the soil reddened, and the bodies of the road-kill cattle became ever more swollen. As hundreds of kilometres slipped by I remember the never-ending road seemed to have never-ending shredded strips of truck tyre strewn along its verges. As the infrequent traffic came our way we instinctively touched the windscreen to avoid it shattering if hit by a shard of sharp gravel; and to acknowledge our fellow valiant road-warriors, though few were foolish enough to drive the middle in the hottest weeks of the year. But as the song so rightly says: 'Mad dogs and Englishmen' (and American and Welsh women in our case). I loved every moment, even the dissent from the back seat - the natives were restless in the heat.
Ayer's Rock, as it was still called then, is not alone. What do I mean? Well, as we drove there we were surprised to discover there are other rocks around and about. Even so, this is a truly inspiring place and obviously of great spiritual significance to the indigenous peoples. We camped out and braved a 24-hour insect onslaught: At night, every 30 minutes, bull-ants bit their way into my survival bag and proceeded to teach me a lesson. I squashed them against my skin one by one. First thing in the morning, I would stick my head out and have 10 flies stick to my face. Aussie flies don't seem to fly off when you flick them, they simply run around, from your nose to your lip, your eye to your ear. Sixty tiny tickling feet having the time of their lives. In the evening, as the sun drops, out come the giant grasshoppers and enormous predatory mantis who fly through the air and land on your arms, legs, back, chest and head. And so to bed to be visited by fresh waves of bad-ass ants. Heaven.
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The climb up the rock is taxing and we reached the wind-blown flat top before 8am as it was already 30℃ in the shade by then. Of course there was no shade. The climb was rewarding but of course controversial due to the sacred nature of the site, these days I probably wouldn't go up to respect to the wishes of the local Anangu people. Tim and I enjoyed walking around the circumference of the monolith: a long hike through long grass, on which we looked excitedly for snakes and other wildlife. At the very base, there are some pools of water, and in them lurk oversize carnivorous tadpoles who delighted in trying to eat Tim's fingers. We felt very alone and the spiritual power of the place was tangible. Later, after well-earned beers, we joined the next 'must-do'. Everyone hopes for a classic sunset when they visit the location, lines of cars and buses, everyone waiting for the changing light to transform the rock through a spectacular gradation of reds, pinks and purples. A magical experience, apart from the flies.
Between Alice Springs and Darwin lie The Devil's Marbles, The spring at Mataranka, St. Katherine's Gorge and a whole lot of dusty road. The land of the 'never-never' where loneliness takes on a new meaning. I managed to stand on a crocodile in the silt-laden Katherine river, which gave me a fright as it swam away. Luckily, Johnson's crocs don't bite! The Northern Territories are a desolate waste for some but also stunningly beautiful and impossibly distant: the most extreme area of the Outback. The image of the 'never-never' is evoked by Henry Lawson in his poem 'The Never-Never Land'...
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Where lone Mount Desolation
lies,
Mounts Dreadful and Despair,
'tis lost beneath the rainless skies
In hopeless deserts there.
We reached Darwin in one piece, but fractured relationships within our party resulted in a parting from the girls. In addition, I received a letter from my still-in-Sydney girlfriend that caused me to get straight on a bus and reverse the trip we had just taken. I boarded the bus at noon on the Wednesday and arrived back in Sydney on Saturday morning, with only one hour stop in Adelaide. It's a bloody long way to go for a woman, but it healed a possible rift and I got on another bus to meet Tim and the car in Cairns. Queensland couldn't be more different from The Outback being green, lush and humid. The hostel in Cairns had a pool, the vibe was laidback, the Great Barrier Reef beckoned. On Green Island I disturbed a Stingray in shallow water. It came up out of the sand directly below my chest and I narrowly avoided being stung in the same manner as Steve Irwin did. We journeyed down to Sydney, through endless gorgeous scenery, visiting the Whitsunday islands on the way. All those many miles are now lost in my memory, blurring into one general sense of green and blue. Listening to our 'Good Morning Vietnam' soundtrack cassette tape as the road stretched out in front of us.
Back in Sydney and low on funds, I found two well-paid new jobs: delivering letters for a lawyers office in the business district by the Harbour, then entering data for an insurance company over the Harbour Bridge on the North side. Work enabling me to save enough for my trip home via New Zealand and North America. I turned 25 in July 1989 in Sydney, a quarter of a century already gone, but feeling like my life was just beginning. That was twenty years ago now and life still feels like a working holiday, perhaps it always should.
