Zelma’s Trip

Okay, firstly apologies for the title, but all should become clear……..

…So, I spent the day in Wanaka, wandered around the town and went and got a rather good gourmet burger with Lance. We went back to the hostel and after a little while there was a knock at the window. Lance answered and I heard, "is Zelma there?". It transpired that Paul, the guy I had met in Wellington, had hitch-hiked from Christchurch to Wanaka and asked around the hostels to find out where I was. I went into town with him and we were in a bar when I was talking to him and trying to explain that I didn’t want to meet up with him further down the line in my travels. Perhaps it will help to explain that he was firstly intoxicated and also infatuated with me before I explain the next bit. Anyway, after explaining that I wanted to travel by myself I got up to go. He got up and said, "is that it?", and I again explained that I wanted to go and to travel by myself. At that point he went for me, completely out of the blue. He properly flew at me, screaming and throwing punches. I ducked and covered my head but one of them managed to crack me on the back of my head at the top of my neck. I looked up and could hear the staff screaming at him to stop, which he didn’t. I shouted out, "Mate", to the staff and they were relatively quick to get over to us and wrestled him to the floor. They all asked if I was okay and told me to leave, which I did after they assured me they had already called the Police. Shortly after getting out of the door I wondered why I had to leave and went back in. For some reason I asked them not to hurt him and they urged me to leave again. This time I did and ran as fast as I could back to my hostel. The fast as I could didn’t seem as fast as it would have been previously and I vowed to smoke less, although I think a lot of my panting was as I was in shock and scared. When I got back to the dorm I explained that I needed to get out of town and Lance said he would take me. As I finished packing my stuff there was a knock at the door and it was the Police who had apparently been informed by Paul where I was staying.

At the Police station I gave statements and was majorly impressed that firstly I had been assaulted by some nut when traveling but also that I was in a Police station, giving statements! The Police were really brilliant but it was still a preverbial pain in the backside. After the interview I was taken to the Doctor’s as I had a cracking headache. I was given painkillers and advice about concussion and, to really rub salt in the wounds, had to pay for the privilege. As we drove out of town I began to calm down in one way but got really annoyed that anyone could do something like this to me, particularly with no provocation. I also told myself that it could have been far worse, for example if he picked up a glass, if I was wearing my hoop earrings or heels as I would normally have been or if I had been less with it and had more than the two glasses of wine which I had. Due to too much work, I also did several risk assessments before we got to the club which may sound weird but may also have helped a bit.

It was late when we left Wanaka and by the time we reached Queenstown nowhere was open. Lance asked at the Y.H.A. who pointed us to a "cheap" hotel which turned out to be anything but. We carried on and got to Glenorchy, a small town surrounded by countryside and mountains.

I got up and met the English girl, who was also going on the heli-hike, in the reception of my hostel.  We headed down to the centre in the town where we paid and were given a disclaimer and brief information.  Then we headed down to the briefing centre where we were given our gear.  This was basically a big coat, (apparently glaciers can be cold, being made of ice and all) gloves and a hat if you wanted one.  They also had oversize boots which we had to wear to attach our crampons to once we got on the glacier.  When I say oversize boots these things were basically like clown shoes and they made me walk like one too!  As we were told various things, such as how those in the front of the helicopter had to be careful not to touch any of the controls, I got even more excited and also slightly anxious.  I also wondered if I would be able to resist pushing buttons or whether I would end up pushing one in a kind of Dougal from "Father Ted" style.  We were put into groups and I was one of the last to leave.  We watched the other helicopters landing and then taking off and it all became more real.  I’d never been in a helicopter and tried to imagine what it would be like as they buzzed off up into the air.

Once in the helicopter we were strapped in, put our headsets on and the door was locked shut.  I have to admit that at this stage I was bricking it slightly but was also excited.  When the helicopter took off I was really surprised how smooth it was.  For some reason I had it in my head that it would be really juddery but it was far from it.  The thing almost felt like it was floating, apart from the noise of course, and as we got higher up any concerns quickly faded into excitement and awe at the amazing scenery below.  After a short time we were above the base of the glacier and then the helicopter veered to the right to show us a waterfall which seemed crazily close.

We landed on the glacier itself at the highest possible part which was flat and got out.  When we were safely on the ice we were given crampons to fit to our shoes.  The group was split into two and our guide built our confidence up in the crampons by getting us to walk up and down a slope with a gradient which felt like it wouldn’t be humanly possible.  The crampons were amazing though and it was a good test to show us what we could do in them.  We set off across the glacier with the guide using an ice-pick to make steps in impassible places.  The glacier was truly amazing.  I couldn’t help thinking back to Geography lessons when we were told about the blue ice and never really believing that it was truly blue……but it -really- was.  It was so beautiful and so vast.  After a little while we got to an ice tunnel and took it in turns to slide in, slide around, take pictures and get very wet in the melting ice.  The hike carried on and we traipsed a fair way over the glacier with a couple of ice caves on the way.  We were at the top for around two hours but it absolutely flew by.  For the most part the weather was great and it wasn’t really cold, or maybe that was the jackets!

When we got back to the helicopter pad, well flat bit of ice, we waited to be picked up.  The pilot took us further up the glacier and you could see down huge crevasses in the cracking ice.  As we headed to the top I was in awe of the thing itself and the tremendous view.  We headed back down the glacier and I decided that I wanted to be a helicopter pilot, then swore that I had to at least go in more helicopters or at very least wear funky head phones which made me look like a pilot.

When we got back to the town I was disappointed that the whole thing had ended but -so- pleased to have done it.  We headed back to the hostel where we met Lance and went and got a much needed pub lunch.  I say much needed as, somewhat like swimming, apparently hiking on glaciers makes you -very- hungry.

After lunch Lance and I headed South towards Wanaka.  We stopped at Fox Glacier briefly and I took a few photos.  It wasn’t quite as spectacular as the aerial view I had had of Franz glacier but was brilliant nonetheless.  As we carried on through amazing scenery a strange building caught our eye on the right.  We pulled up to discover that it was a woolshed and also that people had hung hundreds and hundreds of toothbrushes on the fence outside.  I’d heard of such things with boots and the like but toothbrushes were a novel twist on the whole thing and boy did they make interesting photos.

After a rather lovely drive we arrived in Wanaka and checked into a dorm at Wanaka backpackers’.  Also in the dorm were a rather sweet, if brave and adrenalin like (the girl had done -everything- white knuckle you can imagine) Asian couple.  In the evening we headed into town for a few drinks at "Bullock bar" initially, then a couple at another bar, prior to heading to a rather low key party which we left relatively soon after arriving.

On Thursday I woke up and wandered into the town. When I say town here, there was really only one road in Franz Josef with shops but it was enough. I sat and had lunch and drank lots of coke with ice whilst admiring the most amazing views up to the mountains. Franz Josef is a popular destination for tourists as it is one of the easiest places from which to access the glacier but the town was stunning in its own right. I spent a lot of time deciding how I wanted to see the glacier and whether I could afford to do a heli-hike. A heli-hike, without wanting to patronise anyone, is how it sounds, i.e. a helicopter ride where you are dropped at the top of the glacier, a two hour hike and then a helicopter ride back down. By the time I returned to the hostel in the afternoon I had decided that I couldn’t really afford the heli-hike but that I wanted to do it enough so booked it anyway.

In the evening I sat and watched television in the hostel and got talking to a guy called Lance, a German guy and an English girl. I had decided to go on a "glow worm walk" which was just up the road from the hostel and the aforementioned joined me along with another Asian girl. The German guy turned out to be a hoot and was going on about how it was always the quiet ones who murdered one of the group and the like. The walk was good, although we arguably didn’t have enough torches between us and there were a couple of slips. There were several points with groups of glow worms along the way but the piece de resistance was at the end of the walk where there were so many glow worms that the place just lit up.

When we got back to the hostel we watched a rather dull film and chatted. After the obligatory, "Where are you from, where did you come from and where are you going?" questions it transpired that I was headed in the same direction as Lance who was driving and kindly offered to give me a lift the following day.

Back in my dorm I met a couple of English guys who were both friendly and interesting and one of them, Andy, managed to make me giggle for ages. It’s always nice to meet people from England who are normal and share a sense of humour. They had also just done a day’s hike on the glacier and absolutely raved about it which pleased and excited me prior to my trip which was planned for the following day.

I dropped the relocation car off in the morning and pottered around the town.  Amongst other places, I went into one of the jade workshops which had an exhibition on the history of jade with a big waterfall thing on a jade boulder.  Okay, so I haven’t made it sound all that exciting but it was an okay kind of way to pass some time until my bus left.

The shuttle bus I got was a lot bumpier than I had expected.  Well I guess that could have technically been the roads or the driving but the ride was a lot more hectic than I had imagined.  It possibly felt more so as I had bought some thread and decided that making a friendship bracelet was a good idea which I guess technically amplified every bump in the road, or at least me noticing them.  The bus stopped at a couple of small towns on the way, which were more like hamlets, and eventually arrived in Franz Josef.

Once in Franz Josef I checked into a hostel where I was given one of the best welcomes I have ever received by the resident Manager and a girl called Kate who worker there.  In the evening I headed to the "Blue Ice" bar where Kate was and chatted to her, a guy called Lance staying at the backpackers’ and a guy called John.

In the morning I collected my next relocation from Europcar.  It was actually rather nice as, for the first time, I was collected from my hostel by a member of staff from the car hire company.  It was great but also slightly strange as the guy was just standing in reception when I checked out and had made no attempt to let me know that he had arrived.  Anyway, he drove me to the office and I did the obligatory signing my life away, acknowledging that the car was perfect etc before getting the keys and the all clear to go.  When I got in the car (a Kia) I looked to my left and then nearly had a heart attack.  It was an auto!  I know that automatics are meant to be easier to drive than manuals but I had never driven one and, for some reason, the thought of doing so concerned me somewhat.  I went back into the office and asked if I had the right idea in terms of what I thought I needed to do to make it go and stop and the guy on duty answered my questions very patiently.  When I headed off it was completely fine but I still had the odd urge to change gear.

I had decided to head to Greymouth (which is on the opposite/ West coast of the South Island to Christchurch) along Arthur’s pass.  Arthur’s pass goes through the mountains which run down the middle of the island and also has one of the most spectacular rail routes from Christchurch to Greymouth.   I did actually look into getting the train rather than doing a relocation but it looked like it would work out to be more expensive.  Relatively soon after getting into the mountains the weather turned and it all became rather grey.  This then turned into heavy rain and I was extremely glad to be relocating a car rather than a van and was seriously glad that I was not driving the six-berth which I had relocated previously.   A lot of the lorries on the route had actually stopped and I didn’t blame them.  Despite the weather, the scenery was amazing.  Infact, it almost added to it with everything looking even more woolly and rugged and waterfalls streaming down the mountainsides to the road.  On occasion they were streaming onto the road which was arguably slightly less cool but it was all fine.  When I got to Arthur’s pass itself I stopped in one of the cafes to get lunch.  You can imagine my delight when who sprang up but Ruwa, the crazy Kiwi from the pub in Christchurch!

When I arrived in Greymouth I checked into the "Global village" backpackers’ which was run by two older guys who I guess you would describe as hippy types.  They were very friendly and had clearly travelled extensively with various things collected from their travels adorning every possible space on the walls.  This is another one I’d recommend actually, without wanting to sound like an advert.  I was reliably informed by the hippies that I had enough time to drive to the "pancake rocks" in Punakaiki so decided that I would do so while I still had the car.  The drive was along the coast but it was slightly different to my previous coastal drive as it was raining.  The pancake rocks themselves were rather amazing limestone formations so called as they looked like piles of pancakes one on top of another.  There were also geysers which shot up through blowholes in the rock as the tide crashed in.  It was another sight which was possibly enhanced by bad weather, if that makes sense, as the sea was thundering in with the wind and rain and the volume of water shooting out of the blowholes was amazing.

On the Sunday I got up and headed to the craft market at the Arts’ centre that my taxi driver had recommended to me the previous day.  It was quite funky with the usual offerings of tarot readings and horrible, knitted woollen hats.  There were some other more interesting additions like New Zealand jade and a ridiculously young pair of jugglers as well though.  After pottering around Christchurch during the day I headed out for a couple of beers in the evening.  Unfortunately the "quiet pub" I picked was actually about the only place in the whole city which stayed open late and before long I was talking to people and my couple of quiet drinks was not so quiet.  The place was called "The exchange" and was so-called as there was a computerised stock exchange type set up with the drink prices going up and down all night.  It was a novel idea but must have got slightly annoying for the bar staff as people stood there gawping trying to figure out if they should really substitute their Pino Grigio for a GnT based on the price varying by some negligible amount.  One girl I met was truly insane and was called Ruwa.  I made the mistake of actually replying to her on more than one occasion and she seemed to think that this was an invitiation to talk to her.  After a rather longer night than I had initially hoped I headed back to my hostel.

The following day I organised my next relocation and pottered around the centre of town.  I decided that (no libel cases or the like here please) Christchurch was full of weirdos.  I’m sure there are a lot of lovely people that live in the city, it’s just that, for the duration of my time there, I managed to meet the people who were, erm how should I put this….Special?!  On more than one occasion I was randomly shouted at by people in the street.  Nothing offensive, just strange things and on another a guy clearly on something followed me from place to place.  Again this was not offensive or even particularly worrying, just very strange.  I don’t know why but the place did have a strange feel about it.  Apparently the whole city was built on a swamp, so maybe that had something to do with it.  It was nice in its own way though and was relatively pretty, I guess.

I woke up in my van after a surprisingly good night’s sleep and was pleased to see that it was beautiful sunshine.  I set off down the road and before long I realised why so many people rave about the South island of New Zealand.  I drove round a corner and glanced to my right to see the most amazing snow-capped mountains in the distance and before long I was on the coastal road, heading down the East side of the island.  It was truly out of this World being able to see the aqua-marine sea to one side of me and the snowy mountains in the distance on the other.  Although I am not wanting to feed into the thought that I am becoming a soppy cow in my old age, I did actually have a tear in my eye on more than one occasion.

When I got to Kaikoura I saw a sign saying there was a seal colony.  I glanced seawards in the vain hope that I would actually spot one and then, to my amazement and delight, realised that, what I thought was a lot of funny shaped rocks, was actually loads of seals.  I stopped my van, albeit rather abruptly, and looked down to the plethora of seals sunning themselves on the beach below.  They were really close, some of them only around two metres away.  For a little while I wondered if there had been some horrible marine disaster as they weren’t moving at all and then a helpful trucker went passed and beeped at me (yes some ‘traditions’ really are global) and all the seals turned in unison and stared at me.  After recovering from the excitement of seeing the seals I headed further South down the coast road where I was treated with sightings of penguins and various other amazing birds along the way.  It really was one of the most amazing drives I’ve done in my life.

When I arrived in Christchurch I managed to practically drive passed the depot where I had to drop the van off before driving round the town and then heading back there.  In the evening I headed into town to the "fuzzy duck", actually that’s not right, that was a Uni drinking game, erm it was the something duck anyway or the duck something or….anyway I guess this isn’t all that relevant.  It was next to the Arts’ centre and was a really nice place if anyone happens to visit and wants to go somewhere that sounds like a duck, not literally.  After the nameless pub we headed to a few other establishments in the city and I got a cab back to the hostel I was staying in.

So I arrived in Wellington, collected my things and got a shuttle taxi to the centre from the airport.  I checked into "Lodge in the City" backpackers’, got some dinner and had an early night.

The following day I was sat in the garden having a cigarette and got talking to a guy called Paul.  He offered to show me around the city and we headed to the botanical gardens.  To get to the gardens you can either walk or get a cable car and we opted for the latter.  Although the cable car was more like a train on steep tracks rather than a cable car over a deep, beautiful chasm, it was cool nonetheless.  It also stopped at various points up the hill at "stations" for people to get on and off.  Apparently it was very much a functional cable car which people used to travel like a bus or tube and not just there for the tourists.  Infact there was a kind of cable car museum at the top which showed you that Wellingtonians (if that’s the right word) had been using the cable car as a means of travel for quite some time.  The botanical gardens themselves were pleasant enough but there was only one plant house.  I think I’ve been spoilt somewhat by the botanical gardens in Singapore which were something else.

After the botanical gardens we headed into town and went to a bar by parliament.  We looked at "the beehive" and other buildings around the city and headed out to a few more bars which then led to quite a late night around the city.

The following day I pottered around Wellington and soaked up the atmosphere in various cafes.  In the evening I headed to the garage closest to the backpackers’ to get some munchies and cigarettes and returned to the hostel to see a Police car outside.  I asked about this and was informed that it was a regular occurence as the Police had to check that people were in for their curfews.  When I walked inside there was a guy sat by reception who asked that I call an ambulance as he was having difficulty breathing.  After him disappearing up the road, locating him and the ambulance and returning to the hostel I vowed to check out the following day.

The next morning I checked out and checked into the "downtown backpackers’" which was opposite the station.  The place was actually really cool and was in a converted old building.  I would recommend it if anyone’s visiting Wellington.  In the evening I went out in the city and, somewhat randomly, met a girl who recognised me from Cape Tribulation.  I also went to a bar with a lot of very scary transvestites and left rather quickly after it transpired that they all seemed to want to kill me.

For the next few days I explored the city, pottered between cafes and tried desperately to find a good relocation heading to the South island.  The problem with this was that all the relocations were from the South to the North island and not in the direction that I wanted to go.  Eventually on the 18th I managed to find one and booked it for the next day.

On the Friday I left the hostel and headed to Petone which, somewhat oddly, was not pronounced "pet one" as I had assumed but "Petoni".  In Petone itself I posted a parcel home, was given ridiculous directions and eventually found the place where I was to pick the van up from.  I’m not sure what it is with New Zealanders and directions.  It’s similar to Australia in that people are so keen to help you that they give you directions even when they have no clue how to get to where you are heading.  Although it’s nice that people want to help it’s also slightly unhelpful when you end up in completely the wrong place.

When I got to the place where the van was the guy told me I could go and get it and bring it round to the office.  I nearly went back and said I couldn’t when I saw the thing.  When I booked the six berth van I was (unreliably) informed that it would not be as big as I thought.  When I saw the thing I thought I needed an H.G.V. licence to drive it, it was -huge-!  I drove the thing nonetheless, partly as I had little option in terms of escaping from Wellington, other than getting some shared bus or something.  I got to the port for the ferry crossing really early and headed to a small suburb of Wellington which had amazing views down over the city.  When I got back to the port a ferry had clearly just arrived and the car park was full which didn’t please me with my monster van.  I pulled into, possibly too tight, a space and the woman next to me was trying to reverse out.  I -was- close to the back of her car but, using my mirrors, I was able to see a good six inches of clearance.  Anyway, this delightful Kiwi chap, who she must have had the unfortunate pleasure of calling her other half, leans out of the window and says, "you nearly took the bloody tail lights off".  He then rather less politely asked me to move so that they could reverse out as his other half was obviously wanting to increase all the stereotypes about women not being able to manouvre vehicles, even when moderately sized.  I then managed to demonstrate that I was also inept after driving into a kerb several times as reverse was in a stupid place and then reversed at a funny angle.  I stopped and the delightful Kiwi guy decided to scream at me some more.  Having replied that, "I don’t think you shouting at me is going to help this situation", I looked to my left and Paul was doing a comedy hiding behind his jacket, i.e. I’m not with her thing which pleased me nearly as much as the Kiwi guy yelling abuse at me.  Needless to say I completed my manouvre beautifully and Paul didn’t get a lift down to Christchurch!

When I went through to board the ferry I was in line with a guy who owned a relocation company who came to talk to me.  He took it upon himself to then spend a lot of the journey offering me free drinks which he apparently got in the truckers’ lounge.  The ferry itself was slightly daunting.  I don’t particularly like driving even my car at home onto ferries so if you can imagine multiplying the lack of wanting to do that by around ten fold in order to encompass a mammoth van, you’d be aware of the extent of my concerns.  Helpfully the staff asked me to put it on a ramp which was so similar in size to the van that I couldn’t actually open the driver’s door.  The ferry crossing itself was fine and flat.  When I got back to the van I remembered that they had said to put my foot on the brake and I soon realised why as the entire section I was on angled itself to around forty five degrees so that we could drive off.  The relocation guy had told me about a nice spot up a mountain in Picton where people often slept in their vans.  I found the roundabout he told me about, started driving up the mountain and began to question if he had been winding me up.  The mountain was horrendously steep and there wasn’t another campervan in sight.  There was also nowhere to turn round on the very thin road.  Eventually I found somewhere almost big enough to turn my motor monstrosity around but hate to think how close I was to plummeting to my death when I was reversing the thing.  On the way back down I cursed him less as I saw one van parked up.  I decided to head out of Picton and ended up stopping in a lay-by where there were plenty of other vans, near Blenheim.

So after a flight I expected to be terrifying which wasn’t at all I arrived in Sydney.  I phoned a backpackers’ place from an advert at the airport and spoke to a worker who advised me that a shuttle bus would be arriving in around fifteen minutes time.  I went and waited where they had advised, waited some more and then realised nearly an hour had passed.  I went and called them back and was informed that the driver had just arrived.  The driver turned out to be a slightly psychotic Chinese woman who ushered more people and luggage into her minibus than I though possible, even by Asian standards, and then proceeded to drive like she was possessed.  This wasn’t me being a nervous passenger here either, she was actually certifiably insane in terms of her manouvres.  Other traffic was beeping, she was dodging lights and also seemed to have a slightly interesting idea of how best to get around the city.  After everyone else had been dropped off I was informed that we had to pick more people up.  There was a strange moment where I was sat in the minibus by myself in the middle of the city.  I have no idea where the driver had actually gone, perhaps to get her shot for the day or something I don’t know.  Anyway, she returned eventually only to tell me that we had to go to a different pick up point because of the traffic.  So essentially my flight from Brisbane took just over one hour, then my getting from the airport to my hostel took around three hours.  Go figure!

I finally checked into the hostel and sorted myself out.  After a wander around I must say that I was more impressed with the city than I had been previously.  I’m not sure if this was due to the absence of crazy Catholics everywhere, as was apparent for my last visit, or the fact that I was staying in the heart of China town but the place seemed more alive.  In the evening a group of lads at the hostel invited me to play poker with them.  I managed to come second and win my money back which I guess can only be a good thing.  What possibly wasn’t such a good thing was the game of "ring of fire" which followed and the rather late night.  This, coupled with a bad time of the month, meant that I got little done which I needed to the next day and generally lay in bed and moped around going "ow".  I did go out and get a McDonalds with Ben (one of the guys in my dorm) though which helped significantly.  Oh, and do other productive things like watch television and drink coke.  As Ben pointed out things like sending parcels are much cheaper in New Zealand anyway.

The following day I woke up far too early, decided the alarm was evil and made it go off a bit later.  Being one of the hostel staff and a kindly sort, Ben booked a shuttle bus for me which I promptly got him to change for half an hour later.  I then went down to the bus about five or ten minutes late, sat on the pavement, got cold and realised that I had missed the bus.  I always think that the two hour international check-in is a bit over the top but I had vague concerns to be honest.  Another girl appeared out of the hostel who had booked the seven o’clock bus so I ended up waiting for the later shuttle.  When I got to the airport the check-in queues for Qantas were horrendous.  What’s good about being late though is you get the staff going round calling out flights and then you get whisked to the front of the queue – woohoo!  I think I need to start taking the whole airport on time thing just slightly more seriously actually.  Anyway, I got to the gate with enough time to buy a horrendously over-priced brie sandwich so it can’t all be bad.

The flight was fine although I was very tired.  I managed to confuse the air hostesses who were trying to give a vegetarian meal to the man infront of me.  When I heard them say, "Green", I suggested it might be mine.  When asked if I had moved seats I piped up with, "No, I’ve been sitting in seat 11C for the whole flight".  They then rather politely informed me that I was sat in seat 12C and they were right of course.

On Saturday morning I got ready and checked out of the hostel in Maroochydore.  Stuart wasn’t quite as sprightly but eventually we were ready to leave.  He was driving and we headed South down the coast.  En route we stopped at the most amazing beach (in Caloundra), drank white wine (well I did) and admired the ridiculously good, young surfers.  There were also dogs to watch and one in particular (a dalmatian called Molly) was awesome.  She was far more interested in eating some horrible, dead, sand-encrusted creature than playing fetch with her owner.  She was also a delight to watch when other dogs arrived on the beach.  After a little while appreciating the sounds, sights, sun and sand we continued South via a few places we decided not to stop at.  Eventually we managed to find a campsite in Caboolture.  When I say eventually here we drove up and down the same road several times.  Upon arrival Stuart took a long time trying to cook bacon on his camp stove, much to my amusement, prior to realising that it wasn’t actually turned on properly.  When he discovered this and corrected the error it actually worked pretty quickly.

The following morning I woke up feeling like I had slept on several large boulders as the van was not particularly comfortable.  We left the campsite and decided to head South via Bribie Island having both heard good things about it.  I’m not sure whether it was due to half of Brisbane apparently being there on a weekend jolly, or whether it was more built up than we expected but neither of us were particularly impressed by it so headed pretty much straight off the island again.  Well that is after Stuart bought an airbed and a lilo, the latter at my suggestion.

We carried on from Bribie Island through some pretty spectacular scenery.  At one point we were in rolling farmlands with field upon field.  We headed through D’Aguilar (which I re-named Christina) and passed Mount Nee.  The views were amazing, as were some of the roads.  We took a road which was a designated tourist drive with a creature on the sign which looked like a manatee but is apparently some kind of animal native only to certain parts of Australia.  Although this was very good at first, as you had to pay less attention to where you were going, we soon realised that you did have to pay -some- attention as we found ourselves backtracking a number of times as we blindly followed the little brown signs back down and round roads we had previously driven on.

The names, as in much of Australia, were reassuringly English and we passed through places like Scarborough, Margate and Brighton.  None of which, it has to be said, looked particularly like their namesakes back home!  After getting slightly annoyed with the pesky manatee like creatures which seemed to like sending us in ever decreasing circles, it was actually quite a relief when a new brown sign told us that the tourist route was about to finish.  We were on the outskirts of Brisbane and found a friendly motel and, more importantly, had a night sleep without waking up feeling crippled.

The following morning we left the Bracken Ridge area and headed to Ipswich.  This was largely my doing due to the fact I wanted to see if this Ipswich was anything like the Ipswich near my parents’ house.  We stopped at an out of town shopping centre and I booked my flight to Sydney.  We didn’t actually head into Ipswich itself afterwards but I’d be willing to wager a fair amount that it bore no resemblance to its Suffolk counterpart.  They should twin places like that, now that would confuse people, i.e. "Ipswich, twinned with the town of Ipswich".  Maybe I should write to someone to suggest it….or maybe not!  Anyway, we carried on driving to Darra where I had a cunning plan to avoid backtracking on the motorway in order to get to the Valley of the lakes.  Unfortunately my cunning plan was thwarted by the scale of our map and the fact that all roads in Darra seemed to lead to the railway track and to do so several times.  At one point I thought I had sussed it until the road we were on quickly decreased in size and we ended up next to some kind of factory.  Eventually we got to Mount Crosby, which is where we were trying to get to, and drove to Fernvale.  We passed through Lowood as it seemed slightly uninspiring and settled in Esk.  Esk was the most amazing town with wooden fronted saloon type pubs and the most beautiful views.  We set the van up with the airbed and lilo combo (I got the airbed) and headed into town for dinner and a quick drink.  Well that’s what we thought we were doing.  At this point it was around half eight and when we hit the high street (that’s a bit optimistic as a term there actually "the street" would have sufficed) everything was shut.  We went into a garage and then asked a passing motorcyclist who informed us that the pub shut at seven thirty.  Seven thirty?  There was apparently one restaurant which he thought might be open which subsequently wasn’t.  So we headed back to the camp, had some wine and retired to the, now more comfortable, van.

Tuesday was my Birthday.  I know, I know, you’ve all sent Ferraris, champagne and rich bachelors to my home address so thought it unnecessary to wish me electronic greetings.  Anyway, we headed off towards Kilcoy which turned out to be somewhat uninspiring.  We turned off onto a smaller road and headed to the Somerset dam.  The dam itself was awesome with a huge jet of powerful water speeding out of it.  I got out and took several pictures before realising that my comedy squatting angles probably looked to other motorists like I had been cut short.  Did I just misquote another saying?  Oh well, I’m allowed, it was my Birthday after all.  The drive around the dam area was one of my favourite sections as the road closely followed large lakes.  We headed via Brisbane valley to lake Wivenhoe which was equally spectacular.  After which we turned left towards D’Aguilar National Park.  When we turned right onto the mountain tourist drive we were confronted by several signs about how unsuitable the road was for various different vehicles and it transpired that Stuart’s van was not its greatest fan.  It also transpired that this was -the- place to ride your motorbike and we saw several of them, many of which spent some time behind the rather slow van probably cursing into their helmets.  The peak of Mount Glorious was just that and driving up that high not only caused havoc with my ears but was truly amazing.  It was luscious and green and the air was so fresh.

After the glorious Mount Glorious we drove to Samford where we bought burgers prior to deciding we would carry on.  In Dayboro we found a great looking hotel, bought a couple of drinks and were then informed that they didn’t have accommodation.  I don’t mean they were full either, I mean they were a hotel without one of the ingredients you may consider befitting of such a title, i.e. beds.  It turns out that in Australia pubs like to call themselves hotels in order to fox stupid English tourists.  Well maybe that’s not the reason and there is some clever difference between a pub and a hotel here but it escapes me.  So, we carried on to Strathpine and then to Petrie and Kallangur.  In Kallangur we pulled up outside a motel and I called them to inquire whether they had any vacancies and guess what, they didn’t.  I then called a couple of others which also had no vacancies.  Using our mighty number of leaflets (i.e. one) Stuart suggested I call another place.  I phoned them and was informed that it was a children’s camp site.  I started laughing over the phone and then, realising I may sound like some kind of weird prank caller, promptly apologised.  Fortunately the guy on the other end of the phone also saw the funny side.  I then called another motel, which did have beds and wasn’t exclusively for children on Scout outings and the like.  I was reliably informed that a standard room was seventy dollars and a deluxe room was eighty one dollars.  When I asked what the difference between the two was the guy said, "eleven dollars".  Now, this completely threw me.  I’m not sure if it’s just me but there appears to be some kind of logical gap between English and Australian thinking sometimes.  While I’m on this subject an example from a New Zealand guy in a pub may help.  Basically, if you aren’t familiar with it the New Zealand accent has a slightly different twang to that of Australia.  Anyway so this Kiwi guy is in Australia and he wants to buy a new bed, so he goes to a bed shop.  When he gets there he says that he’s interested in buying a bed.  Apparently he received some very strange looks and comments prior to realising that the Australians thought he was trying to buy a beard.  Now, this is what I am talking about about a logical gap…I mean, firstly how many people actually buy fake beards and secondly, would you ask for one in a bed shop?

Right, back to the task in hand.  So there were beards at the one place but I wasn’t overly keen having just been completely flummoxed on the phone by the eleven dollar comment.  Stuart then suggested another place and I called them and was informed they didn’t have accommodation.  This was actually an English error, or rather a Stuart error, as there was only a drink icon next to the name on the leaflet and not a bed, or maybe it was a cunning plan on his part to get to the pub or something.  So we decided to head towards Brisbane in the hope of finding somewhere.  Fortunately we did, although Stuart did try to kill me on several occasions on the way by disobeying road signs, ignoring other vehicles and deciding that the middle lane of the motorway had been exclusively reserved for him!

The following day we checked out of the motel and Stuart drove me to the airport in Brisbane for my flight to Sydney.  I was actually bricking it about my flight as I managed to work myself up about flying after my previous slightly dodgy flight from Sydney to Byron bay.  I was searched for explosives at the airport which I am getting far to used to, flew with Virgin Blue and the plane was actually really nice.  I was also distracted by a guy to my left who clearly had a real flying phobia rather than a stupid contracted silliness as I did.