Australia, Sydney, then heading north

Arriving in Australia, working in Sydney, and the beginning of van adventure

Transcript

Episode 14 – Australia – Sydney, then heading north

Hey everybody, and welcome to episode 14 of my podcast, Goin’ down the road with Randy. I know, I know, it has been a while hasn’t it. I have no excuse for the lapse but I’m back now, so…cheers! I’ve got this and a couple more episodes to finish the tales of these travels, but then I still have other stories to tell, so, I’m not done yet

Tonight, we are going to take a deep dive into Sydney, Australia. We arrive on January 15th, 1991 just as the first Gulf War is about to break out. We are very nearly broke. We have spent all of our money in the 2 months we spent in New Zealand. We have chosen Sydney as the place where we will hang out and make some money to get back on the road. We intend to buy a VW campervan and drive it…well, somewhere. Our first order of business is to find a job.

It is the middle of the summer and hot and muggy. We have no problems with Customs and Immigration which is a small miracle as we have no onward ticket out of the country – and, oh, did I mention – we’re broke. We are rewarded with a six-month tourist visa. We go to the “Arrivals Café” to wait for Kelly’s flight. He left New Zealand a little after we did. I call Dad and tell him I bounced a check. He says he’ll cover it, for now.

Kelly arrives and we all get on the shuttle to King’s Cross. This is the Times Square of Sydney and is known for its late-night bars and red-light district. We find a room at the International Backpackers Hostel. It is an absolute pit but it is only 6 Australian dollars a night. Ten Australian dollars is about $7.50 US.

We can’t stand the thought of hanging out here so we go out even though we are very tired and still quite hungover. We have some lunch and then decide to go downtown. Our first obstacle is the Sydney transit system. The troll at the subway is absolutely no help. He sits in a window between two machines that sell tickets. Greta goes up and asks for change. He says, “No.” She doesn’t know how to respond to that and walks away. I go up with a five dollar bill and ask for change. He yells at me, “I don’t give change!” So, I ask him, “What do you do?” He screams at me some more, “What do you mean what do I do!” So, I walk away.

Well, it soon becomes apparent that the asshole sells tickets. I mean, he could have just told us that, right? So now we have to go and buy tickets from the asshole, which we do and we are soon in the depths of the Sydney subway system. It is actually only one stop, and we probably could have walked it -we get off at Martin Place and we emerge in the middle of downtown Sydney’s central business district.

We go to the post office, for Kelly’s mail. And then to AMEX, for more of Kelly’s mail. Then we go to the Centrepoint Tower, which at the time was the tallest structure in the southern hemisphere – I think the one in Auckland has since stolen the crown. A ticket to the top is a bargain at only 4 Australian dollars – and from now on I will just say dollars to refer to Australian dollars.

We get a beautiful view of the entire city and the surroundings. We can see the Opera House and the harbor bridge. We watch the ferries and boats crisscross Botany Bay, sparkling in the sunshine. We can just barely see a sliver of ocean at the mouth of the bay.

We come down and go to Café 123 where the sign says free meals accompany our happy hour beers. Score! We try for two but they say, “No.” Ah well, we’ll have another beer anyway. We make our first friend in Sydney, Rebecca, our waitress. We then catch the subway back to King’s Cross where we watch a very intense Chinese dude make figurines out of play-doh. He sells them for 4 dollars.

We wander down Darlington Road, the heart of King’s Cross, center of sleaze. We try some really cheap and mediocre sushi. Next door is the Tabon bar where we meet Bill, the Canadian doorman, who tells us about the hostel at #40 Darlington Street. Afterwards, we go back to the urine-smelling, dirty pit on McDonald Street where we fall into bed, too tired to care. Our first day, of many, in Australia.

The next morning we are up and out of this pig sty. We get a double room at #40 Darlington and Kelly gets a single. We have a contact here in Sydney, named Allen and we arrange to meet him in the Marble Bar at the Hilton downtown at one o’clock. We have breakfast in #40’s sister hostel where we are called cheapskates for asking for more hot water for our tea bags. Well, yeah, I guess we are.

Then we stop off at the McDonald Road hell hole to pick up Kelly’s surfboards – this guy does not travel light - before we hit the subway – which we now have dialed – to go downtown again. We get tax file number applications at the post office and then find that the Marble Bar does not open until 4. So, we go to the only one open, the George V.

We finally hook up with Allen and Kelly catches up to us and we start partying again. We take the monorail over to Darlington Harbor and go to a pub called the Pumphouse where we sample some ale called Thunderbolt that is 7% alcohol. It is a brew pub. They are common now but back then they were quite the novelty.

I call Mom and check in. She’s worried because I have no money. We go back to King’s Cross to get our bottle of duty-free vodka and change to go to the Great Northern Hotel in Chatswood, near Allen’s house. We stop at a place called The Orchard to drink some Guinness, and meet Allen’s friend, Mark. We bet on horse races and eat pizza. Then take a taxi to Allen’s house where we drink vodka and meet his roommate. A friend of his shows up to take us to the Great Northern where we put the finishing touches on a fine buzz.

Allen disappears so we taxi back to King’s Cross. We are drunk. Very drunk. We go to Tabor – I have no idea why – then go back to #40 to finish off the vodka. On the way we stop for some McDonald’s. I go out to get Greta another burger and I take a tumble down the stairs painfully slamming my head on the wall. We buy juice and make cocktails in the room where we all pass out with Kelly on the floor.

January 17th, 1991

I wake to a pounding head. I go across the street to the McDonald’s for breakfast. Kelly and Greta go downtown with the goal of going to Manly Beach but they only get as far as the Opera House and Circular Quay. I go back to bed. Then I go sit in the tv room and watch the Gulf War. It is a lazy day. We stay in tonight and have noodles and broccoli for dinner. Gotta save money.

The next morning we check out of #40 and go to Bondi Beach – the world-famous Bondi Beach. Subway to Bondi Junction, then the 380 bus takes us there and we get a room at the Lamrock Hostel. We go out and look at some apartments. A German guy named Paul has quite a few possibilities. We check out the beautiful beach.

Which is fantastic and the water is a perfect temperature. We meet Paul afterwards and look at a two-bedroom flat and decide to go for it. It is $220 dollars a week with a three-week deposit, and 100 deposit for electricity and 100 for gas. Unfortunately, when we call him after making fish and rice for dinner it is already gone. We drown our sorrows with some tasty Cooper’s ale. We have, at least, decided that Bondi Beach is definitely where we want to hang out and work while in Sydney. It doesn’t feel so much like a big city out here but if we want one it is only a short bus ride away.

Saturday, January 19th, 1991

We have tea and breakfast and watch some war on the tv complete with infra-red images of laser-guided bombs destroying reinforced concrete bunkers. Enough of that, let’s hit the beach!

The surf is up and the body surfing here is world class. We have a very mellow beach day and then call Paul who has a place for us to see tomorrow. At 4 we take a bus and lovely air-conditioned train downtown to see the free jazz concerti in the Domain, a large park in downtown Sydney that abuts the botanic gardens and the Opera House.

It is quite good fun – thousands of people hanging out and listening to mellow jazz. We kick back playing Pass the Pig and drink some beer that we got from the bottle shop. We meet some Australian civil servants up from Canberra for the weekend. We pump them for local information then take the subway and bus back to Bondi and bed.

So, some thoughts on Australia after the few days we’ve been here. It is a bit of culture shock coming from rural New Zealand. Sydney is a really big cosmopolitan city that is very alive and vibrant. Lots of tall buildings and lots of people. It is picturesque and full of history. It is quite expensive as well. Bondi is a good compromise between the city and the beach. 30 minutes on public transport will get us downtown but here we can enjoy the sun, sand and waves. It is a perfect place to hang out for a few months.

We get up and have tea and breakfast and call Paul. We check out an apartment and we take it! For the first time in months we have an actual address – 313 Old South Head Road, Apartment 4, Bondi, New South Wales 2026, Australia. It is a mere ten-minute walk to the beach and the rent is only $175 dollars a month. We will be sharing it with Kelly and it is a 3 bedroom so we have an extra one to rent out to someone else.

We’re psyched and we can move in immediately. It is small but it is ours. One quirk is the hot water in the bathroom. In the corner at the front of the tub is a giant, chimney-looking contraption which is a gas-powered on-demand hot water heater. Paul makes sure we know how to work it which involves making sure the pilot light is lit, then turning on the gas burner, which sounds like a jet engine, and then turning on the water. This thing is a beast and intimidating as all hell, but it will pump out all the hot water you need until you tell it to stop.

We catch a cab to take us back there because we don’t want to schlep all our stuff up there – it is too damn hot. We drop stuff off and barely unpack before we go to the beach, lying on the sand and body surfing the perfect waves. Afternoon clouds roll in and we pack up and go…to our house where we clean and vacuum and scrub. Dinner is a roast beef sandwich from the Jewish deli on the corner. There is also a dairy store and a veggie market across the street. We meet our English neighbors, Helen, Steve, Andy and Alex. They are travelers too and are also looking for work – uh-oh – that means competition – and worse yet they are allowed to work legally since they are from a Commonwealth country. Oh well, I am an optimist and believe persistence will pay off.

Monday, January 21st, 1991

We walk down to Campbell Parade which is the road that curves behind the beach. There is a little park between the road and the beach and the opposite side of the road is lined with cafes, hotels and shops. I get money off of my credit card – again. Then I get a haircut. I was going to go to the barber but they won’t take a credit card so I pay Sharon and Tracy – another couple of English girls – 5 dollars to cut it. They are also looking for work.

Afterwards we check out a second-hand store looking for a fan with no luck but I do get a couple of pillows for the bed. Then we go to the post office and apply for a tax file number which is incredibly easy even though the girl I handed it to was new and was being watched by a supervisor and they looked right at the visa in my passport that explicitly stated “No Work”.

We have dinner at a Thai place on Curlewis Street. The green curry is hot and it is cheap and delicious. On the way back we run into our neighbors. They’re going out for beer and just like that we get sucked in. We buy two cases of Victoria Bitter – known locally as “VB” and spend the rest of the evening playing Pass the Pig and discussing the current crisis in the Mideast.

Which leaves me quite hungover the next day and unable to look for a job. The best I can do is go to the beach and hold down some sand. The water takes the edge off but I am a bit nauseated when I see a condom floating next to me. A word on Australian beaches. Most notably, they are top optional for women and quite a few beautiful breasts are on display, which I gotta say is probably my favorite aspect of Australian beaches.

On the way back I stop at the store and get fixings for a big pot of spaghetti for dinner.

The next morning I dress in my best clothes and hit several cafes along Campbell Parade looking for work, but have no luck. It is hot! I reward myself with the beach in the afternoon.

Thursday, January 24th.

Rainy day. We go into the city to meet Kelly’s Australian friend, Tory whom he met in Fiji. We meet her outside the Australia Museum after stopping by AMEX to pick up a package that has been following us for a while now. We wander around the museum for a few hours but are forced out by hunger and make for a small Italian café, that Tory knows, for sandwiches and a coffee.

Tory heads home and we go to 123 Pitt Street for the free happy hour meals and chat with Rebecca. Then it is back to Bondi for a mellow evening of reading.

The next morning I am awakened by our phone ringing. Oh yeah, we have an actual phone. It is not good news. Mom tells me that my Grandmom died last night. Not at all a good way to start the day. I never thought she’d go so soon and I am glad I got to visit her last year. She’ll be happier now that she’s reunited with my Grandad but I’m worried about Mom – she says there is a big void in her life now.

We go to the beach and make 30 dollars selling watermelon. It is our new gig. We get a cheap Styrofoam cooler and a bit of ice. Then we go to the veggie market for a couple of watermelons which we cut up and put in the cooler. We get some pink and green zinc sunblock and Greta puts it on her breasts – which serves the dual purpose of sunscreen on her tender bits and advertising for our melons - and we stroll the beach selling cold slices for a dollar. Business is booming - hopefully it’ll help tide us over.

We have spaghetti for dinner and then go down to the Hotel Bondi for a few beers where we meet a couple of nice Swede’s and one asshole American from New York.

Saturday, January 26th, 1991

It is Australia Day – the Aussie equivalent of July 4th. Lots of celebrations, a free symphony in the Domain and fireworks. We hang out then meet Allen and his friend Glen at Circular Quay for drinks. We go to some pubs in the area of Sydney called The Rocks, which is the oldest part of Sydney. Then it is on to Darlington Harbour where we watch the fireworks.

For some stupid reason we go to the Marble Bar in the Hilton which is very ostentatious and that means expensive. We have a few black Sambuca shots. We end up at a bar with some Australian navy lads who follow us around. Jackson’s on George won’t even let us in because we are wearing t-shirts though there are people wearing togas coming out so apparently that is ok. The end of the night is a bit blurry but somehow we end up back in Bondi where we are supposed to be.

The next morning is hungover again. It’s getting to be a familiar feeling in Australia. The beach is the cure and the water does not fail to satisfy. There is a strong rip current today and the surf is strange. Bondi is a south-facing cove and sometimes when the waves and current are just right – or wrong – the rip can be downright deadly. We sell a melon and make 15 bucks – hey, every little bit helps.

Allen calls to invite us to a party – oh lord, here we go again. I take a nap to prepare. Allen shows up, we call Noel looking for Lucy but find Mike instead. We all – Greta, Kelly, Allen, Glen and I – go meet Mike, who has brought three Israelis with him. We can’t all crash this party so Kelly, Allen and Glen go and the rest of us go back to our flat and proceed to drink a case of VB while playing pigs.

Monday, January 28th, 1991

I wake up late feeling awful from a cold and a succession of hangovers. Boiled eggs for breakfast. We go to the beach to sell melons but it is cloudy and sales are down. Come back for another cheap spaghetti dinner and a mellow evening reading on the couch. Paul comes by for rent but we ask him to come back tomorrow.

I don’t feel much better the next morning. Just hang out and read until l I work up the energy to go to the beach. The water is warm and the surf is down but the lifeguards are as cold as ice. They warn us about selling our melons on the beach. So much for that idea. Apparently the Aussies do not value entrepreneurship as much as we do. I pick up a roast chicken, a bag of potatoes, and some broccoli for a change of pace for dinner.

Wednesday, January 30th, 1991

Two weeks in Sydney and still no job. I get the paper and find a few leads. I received my official tax file number in the mail today so I can provide that if I do get offered a job. I dress up and go pound the pavement. I check mail at AMEX but there is nothing. No luck with a job downtown so I go to the sleaze at Kings Cross and check out a tip that I had for Neptune Seafood restaurant. After hanging out for an hour I talk to Miss Rhee who agrees to “give me a try”. Be here tomorrow at 6:30.

Score! On the way home I discover the killer mall in Bondi Junction complete with giant food market and a K-Mart. I need to buy some black pants and a white shirt for work. I go back to the flat to find that Greta got nothing and Kelly didn’t even look. He seems to be content to complain about being broke but not actually do anything about it.

The next day will be the first day of actual work in almost 6 months. (What a drag!) I go into Bondi Junction and buy the clothes I need – shoes, socks, pants, shirt, bow tie - for 85 precious dollars. I have time to hit the beach before work.

When I go in there is no one there but Miss Rhee and me. She starts gibbering and pointing about and -voila! – I am trained! I soon learn not to bother taking orders – she does all that. Mostly what I do is take and make drinks and run orders out of the kitchen and sell dessert and coffee. My feet are killing me by the time I am relieved at 1030. I say good night to Kenny, the Scottish doorman who used to work on the QE2 and I’m elbowing my way past the late-night hawkers for all the sleaze clubs to grab a bite at McDonald’s and then down the subway back to Bondi.

I check the Hotel Bondi for Kelly and Greta but don’t see them, so I stop in the bottle shop and go home to find a note saying they’re at the hotel. They come in an hour later explaining that they were upstairs playing pool.

Friday, February 1st, 1991

We all get up early to run out and catch the bus to the airport to pick up John, who is flying in from New Zealand. The bus winds all over the place and takes forever to get to the airport and we are late to meet John but we find him standing in line to change money.

We get back on the bus for the long ride back to Bondi Junction where we finally get breakfast and pay the bond for our electricity. Then it is back to the flat and prepare to hit the beach.

Today, the beach is hitting back. The surf is way up and huge waves pound us as the undertow threatens to pull us out to sea. We play in it for a couple of hours but then we head back leaving Kelly with Steve. Steve ends up being rescued by the lifeguards after getting caught in a rip current. He apparently refused the offer of a ride from one of the surfers a hundred yards off the beach.

I have to go to work and I get off at around 1030 and return to find Kelly passed out and John and Greta playing pigs. We have a few beers and a few games and crash.

The next morning, I sleep in while the others go into the city to show John the sights. I get the paper and go apply for a job in Bondi that I don’t expect to get and then go to work in the capital of sleaze – King’s Crossing where it is actually rather busy. I am off by 11 and meet up with the group at Tabon’s for a few beers followed by some roast beef subs.

We all share a taxi back to Bondi to find that there is a huge party in the flat next door. People everywhere! We soon learn that the tales of huge spliffs of hashish are all too true and that is what sends me over the top and to bed.

I sleep late again the next morning. As I am preparing to join the others on the beach there is a knock on the door. It is Mohammed – no, not the prophet, but an Algerian guy who wants to rent our extra room. I tell him to come with me to the beach where it is settled. He will move in tomorrow. This is very cool as now my rent will drop to 40 dollars a week, or roughly 130 US dollars a month.

The surf on the beach has dropped considerably too but soon I have to go back to make a sandwich and go to work. I finally get paid, 4 nights of work, 4 hours each night at 8 dollars an hour for a grand total of 128 dollars. Pretty suckish actually but it is better than nothing.

I get back to find John and Kelly passed out and Greta well on her way. I have tomorrow and probably Tuesday off as well. I plan to ride around Sydney because I have an unlimited bus, train, ferry pass that will expire so I may as well use it.

Only, the next day I slept late and just went to the beach. Same for Tuesday, went to the beach but came back about 3 to go into town to take the 1-and-a-half-hour harbor lights cruise – a bargain for $7.50. We provision at a bottle shop, a bottle of wine, a couple of Foster’s oil cans with an airline bottle of Grand Marnier for before the boat.

The cruise goes all around the harbor. The most beautiful views of Sydney are from the water. Afterwards we party heavily in the Rocks district. I end up getting into a fight with a racist South African dude who was just asking for an ass-kicking, so I gave it to him. Those who know me know that this is very out of character, but I was just drunk enough and not too drunk and he was pushing my buttons. One thing I can’t stand is a self-righteous racist. The result might have been helped by the fact that he was far drunker than I was. I left him bleeding in an alleyway and I don’t feel bad about it. We take the subway and bus back to Bondi where we end the evening with a few games of pool at the Bondi Hotel.

Wednesday, February 6th

I am so hung over I don’t even leave the apartment and don’t get up until one. It is a gray, cloudy day though still hot. I hang out reading while the others go out and come back truly piss drunk. In the meantime I called Neptune’s to find out what my schedule is and found out that I didn’t have one. Ah well, unemployed again after 4 days’ work. I barely made enough to cover the clothes I had to buy.

So, what else, spend the next day on the beach. The waves are down but the sun is up. A mellow evening sipping some VB. We make plans to go to the zoo tomorrow.

We’re up by 10. We take a bus to Bondi Junction and then subway to Circular Quay to catch the ferry to Taronga Zoo on the northern side of Botany Bay. The city is magnificent in the daytime as well with the Harbour Bridge, or the Coat Hanger as the locals call it, making a magnificent backdrop to the gleaming Opera House and the sparkling water.

We wander around and do the zoo thing. It’s hot. It takes five trips to the platypus enclosure before we finally catch a glimpse of the strange and elusive creature. That and the wallaby in the children’s zoo that let us rub its belly are the highlight of the trip. The location of the zoo affords gorgeous views of Sydney across the harbor.

On the way back John and I take the 380 bus to the beach for an evening swim while Kelly and Greta get the 387 to go directly home. At the beach we find that the surf is immense! After a half hour of getting thrashed by the waves we’ve had enough and head home to shower.

Afterwards we go down to Diggers, the local RSL, or Retired Services League, a club for veterans which offers beer for a very reasonable $9.30. I think they make their money off the plethora of poker machines, but we have found that the RSL clubs are the way to go for a cheap drunk. You are supposed to a veteran but if they like you they’ll let you in and for some reason they usually like Americans.

Fully primed we finish off with a few games of pool at the Bondi Hotel and then head home. It too damn hot to sleep so I read until about 4 o’clock.

I am going to dispense with the day-by-day, blow by blow report for a while and hit some of the highlights because we would be in Sydney until mid-June and besides how interesting is it to hear of our nightly drink fests. Also, I find that during this time there are large gaps in my journal including a huge one from March 1st to April 30th.

Most of the days were spent at the beach and looking for work. I was unsuccessful until the 18th of February when Alfio, the Italian owner of the Gran Café right on Campbell Parade, gives me a job, bartending and waiting tables. It has taken a month but we finally both have jobs. In fact, Greta got the job at the Gran Café before I did and talked me up to Alfio. Most of that month I had survived off of cash advances on my credit card – not good.

The job at the Gran Café is good. We get lots of hours, usually working 6 days a week and make pretty good money between the wage and tips. Being so busy working is a big reason why my journal-keeping suffers. I open a bank account and started saving money. Work usually starts in late afternoon and goes into the wee hours so I can enjoy the beach nearly every day and I do. After work we would generally go to the Bondi Hotel and drink beer and play pool or go to the RSL and drink beer and play video poker.

I do remember one exchange while I was bartending. A guy comes up to the bar and says, “I’ll have a scotch and rye.” I look at him and confirm, “Scotch and rye whiskey?” He says no, “Scotch and dry.” I feel really stupid because I am not getting it. I have years of bartending experience and have never heard of such a thing. Finally, he says, “Scotch and dry ginger!” I realize he wants scotch and ginger ale. I have never heard of this particular combo either but at least now I know what he wants.

We eventually move from our cozy little apartment and take a room with an Aussie couple, Pete and Mandy. They have a new baby and an extra room and could use the cash. It also saves us even more money so a win-win all around – or so we thought, but I am getting ahead of myself.

Meanwhile, we have been fortunate to patronize some of the finest restaurants in Sydney due to the largesse of Greta’s Uncle Vern and Aunt Lee who are currently living here. We went to a fantastic French restaurant in Balmoral but I didn’t record the name. We went to the Bayswater Brasserie in King’s Cross and a super Italian place in Darlinghurst called “Tre Scalina”.

We also have made friends with Mary, an English girl and Paul, an Indian from Punjab who are both working at the Cafe. Paul teaches me how to make a proper curry.

The most exciting thing was when we bought our van. It literally fell into our lap so our karma must’ve been good. We have been saving about 350 dollars a week and each had almost three thousand in the bank when one slow Sunday afternoon I notice a baby blue VW campervan parked across the way with a “For Sale” sign on it.

I run across to get the number and meet an American couple from Santa Barbara, Todd and Nicole. They want $4750 for the van but will take $4000 hoping for a quick sale. We also learn that a German couple is interested in it. Long story short, the Germans can’t come up with the cash and we can, so we become the proud owners of a 1972 VW Kombi camper van. It has 17350 miles on the odometer. Todd and Nicole had a new engine installed in Adelaide at a cost of $2000. There are only 4,000 kilometers on the motor and it has 10 months left on the warranty.

It's a beauty and we promptly name it “Stella Blue”. It is fully equipped with a 2-burner propane stove, sink, 3 way fridge that runs off of 12 volt, 220 volt and propane. It has a pop top, new shock absorbers, kangaroo bars on the front, AM/FM four speaker cassette with a 35 watt amplifier, halogen lights, dual batteries and a dash-mounted oscillating fan. They are throwing in all their beach accessories including mats, chairs, an umbrella, a 3-person tent, 5 gallon water can and a 5 gallon gas can along with linens, towels, cooking and eating utensils, a propane lantern – even a small TV!

The steering wheel is covered with sheepskin. The tires look good and there are some tools included as well. The tricky part is that it is registered in South Australia but that doesn’t expire until August. When I call the motor vehicle place they say that the transfer of ownership might be rejected because we are not residents of South Australia. When I mail it in I enclose a note that points out that while it is true we are not South Australia residents, it is also true that we are not residents of any Australian state. If it doesn’t go through we’ll have to register it in New South Wales but either way – we have wheels!

My journal notes that we feel lucky to be living with Pete and Mandy, a typical Australian family. Living in this small suburb of Sydney has allowed us to feel like a part of Australian society. When we go in the shops the people there know us. We have regular customers at work. We feel like a part of the community rather than tourists.

But there are lots of differences. To paraphrase an oft-repeated truism, New Zealand, Australia and the US are separated by a common language. We call an ice chest a cooler, the Kiwis refer to it as a chilly bin and the Aussies call it an esky. Aluminum, advertisement, vitamin and tomato / tomato.

We have experience dealing with unfamiliar institutions like the Rental Bond Board and electric and gas companies. We have gone from desperately looking for a job to being trusted staff members including counting the till and locking up at night. The owners, Alfio and Marco go to spend a month in Italy and designate me to be the manager in their absence. I am also tasked with performing an inventory of the wine cellar while they are gone. More on that later.

Greta and I have birthdays only days apart and for mine she treats to a weekend in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney. We stay in the Hydro Majestic Hotel in Katoomba and check out the Three Sisters – a stunning rock formation - and check out the rock climbing for future possibilities. The Blue Mountains must share some atmospheric similarities to the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia where I am from – thus the name

I treat her to a night on the town in Sydney starting with a lovely Indian dinner followed by a show at the Sydney Opera House – the John Mclaughlin Trio, which was made memorable by Greta barfing outside during intermission. That didn’t stop us from finishing the night with a series of nightcaps at The Rocks, Kings Cross and the Bondi Hotel. The next day Kelly says goodbye – he is off to LA.

We spend a lot of time in Sydney and while we are making good money, if we want to actually travel and see some of the country we realize we will have to extend our tourist visa and that is a tricky thing to do. We start making plans on where to go when we finally break free. We could go south and easily renew the car registration in Adelaide or go west to the opal mines of Coober Pedy but we are drawn north to Queensland and the Great Barrier Reef.

My journal entry for May 28th reads: What a difference a month makes! We have suspected our kind hosts (Peter and Mandy) of some foul play and we set a trap. We set out some money and then go out. When we come back 4 dollars are missing. This confirms our fear when I noticed 20 dollars missing and Greta was missing a 10.

We confront them which cause a huge ugly scene and accomplishes nothing. We want to leave but we are waiting for the car registration papers to arrive and also our friend Elliot is due to come in from New Zealand. (You’ll remember that he is the guy we gave our old car, the yellow submarine, to when we left New Zealand.)

The domestic situation is now very tense and we realize our days here are numbered. We sort out the van and all of our gear and prepare to leave. The inventory of the wine cellar has revealed several cases of wine that they didn’t know they had. I help myself to a couple of cases, which we stash under the rear bench seat in Stella, and Alfio is still extremely pleased. My brother has sent my rock climbing gear and we are pretty much ready to go. We have been stationary for far too long and we are itching to go.

The roommate situation explodes when I find a 50 dollar bill missing from the pages of my bankbook on a Sunday afternoon. We work Monday morning and get off at 5 and go to our room and move out in like 20 minutes. We never say goodbye. Those last days in Bondi are marred by the experience because otherwise they were great. I regret moving in with them in the first place. They gave me a very bad impression of Australians that took time to get over.

We drive out to Uncle Vern and Aunt Lee’s place, gorgeously situated on Kirribilli Point in Neutral Bay and languish in the lap of luxury for a few days while we sort out the stuff we had hurriedly tossed into the van during our exit. They treat us to yet another stupendous meal at Armstrong’s in North Sydney. We have one last visit to Bondi and have dinner with Paul 

Eliot has arrived, along with Mike (also from New Zealand) and they both want to join us on the VW bus to go north. We wrap things up at work. Alfio closes early on a Sunday and throws us a big going away bash with hors d’oeurves and wine and champagne. He gives us a couple of t-shirts. Not all Aussies are bad.

On Thursday May 13th we break free from Sydney and head west to the Blue Mountains before going north.

First stop is Narrabeen to pick up Eliot, who has been having a fling with a Canadian girl named Sonia. We have put in a word with Alfio and he has offered Sonia our old job. We get lost in Chippendale trying to find the place where Mike has been staying, but darkness finds us camped on a side road in the Blue Mountains in a place called Murphy’s Glen where the battery dies halfway through our wine-soaked getaway celebration and we have to quickly sober up to push the bus because it is butt-ass cold up in the mountains and it never would have started the next morning. It is fun and didactic and who cares because finally we are travelling again! Woo-hoo!

The next morning we go into Katoomba and suss out the opportunity for climbing in the Blue Mountains. Mount York seems to be the place and the folks at Mountain Design – a climbing shop owned by famous Aussie climber, Kim Carrigan – helpfully let us copy the relevant guidebook pages. We are off like a herd of turtles and don’t arrive at Mount York, a mere 20 kilometers from Katoomba, until late afternoon. We scout out a few routes and then open a bottle of wine. 

We spend 3 days climbing various routes at Mount York, not exactly tearing it up because I was very rusty and out of shape but we have tons of fun. On Monday, May 17th we motor back to Katoomba and pay to stay in a caravan park so we can enjoy a much-needed shower. We camp in the van those three days and pay nothing for our lodging. This is going to work out great!

The next morning we are on the road heading north to Newcastle which we reach just after dark after getting a bit lost in the Sydney suburbs. No such thing as Google maps in those days people! We park in the lot at the main Newcastle beach and pop the top. We cook up dinner, with wine, of course, and no one hassles us. The beach is beautiful and we have an oceanside view for free! This becomes the norm for our travels along the coast. We are blessed to have free oceanfront campsites and are almost never hassled.

The next day we head out west a bit to visit the Hunter Valley, a center for winemaking and vineyards in New South Wales. We have been steadily depleting the 2 cases we left Sydney with so we are looking to replenish some supplies.

We visit Drayton’s and buy a bottle of their Old Log Press Tawny Port. I am very well wine educated with several years of high-end dining and bartending experience but I have neglected port. Well, I rectify that small oversight right quickly.

Next stop is Lindemann’s where we get a 1987 Steven Hermitage. Then on to Tyrell’s for a bottle of Dry Red, a Long Flat White and a Long Flat Semillion. At Wyndham Estate we add 3 bottles of 222 Chardonnay, a Pinot Noir, a Botrytis Reisling and an Hermitage. All told we get 11 bottles for about 80 dollars. We also manage to find an ounce of fine marijuana which sets us back a whopping 460 dollars but we split it 4 ways, so, really not bad.

We have a bit of trouble finding a campsite and end up perched over a rubbish dump in Bedford State Forest. I have no idea why there is a rubbish dump in a state forest but, there is. We cook up a dinner and uncork some wine and enjoy a spliff. Life is good! We discuss whether to pursue more wine tasting the next day but ultimately decide to head north to Brisbane where John is currently living and we are invited to crash a few days at his place. So the next day finds us motoring steadily north on the Pacific Highway with no plans other than that.

A note on the Pacific Highway. It is the main road north from Sydney to Brisbane. At the time that we traveled on it it was a two-lane road. It is heavily traveled and quite dangerous due to there being no barrier between opposing lanes of traffic. I hear that it has since been upgraded to a standard divided, limited access interstate-type road. 

We are drawn in by signs for a koala sanctuary but it is getting late and we splurge on a caravan park for showers and laundry. We even eat out in a fantastic little Italian place.

We stop by the koala reserve / hospital the next morning to see the cute little koalas. You can look but not touch sadly, but they are awesome to see as they are quite endangered.

We call John and he says be there by Saturday, that would be tomorrow, so we drive north. Darkness finds us at the small, coastal Yuraygir National Park. It is wonderfully secluded and reported to be full of all sorts of marsupials though we’ll have to take their word on that as we don’t see nary a one. I am not keen on driving after dark on these unfamiliar roads driving on the wrong side of the road, so we habitually stop at dusk.

The next morning is Saturday and we are due in Brisbane. We drive north passing Byron’s Bay and Nimbin, which is known as hippie central. We vow to come back after our rendezvous with John. We arrive at about 6 o’clock. He has prepared a case of the local Queensland brew, 4X Castelmaine, and we have dinner at a great little Mexican food place which is quite good. More wine and doobies and we all pass out.

Sunday, we hang out nursing hangovers and then go to a picnic / BBQ in the park. Monday, June 24th we give Stella a complete wash and wax inside and out. I also check the valves and they are all quite loose. Luckily, I have experience maintaining VW air-cooled engines and I set them up tight again.

Later Greta and I go to a BBQ with Mark, whom we had met at Dave’s house in Christchurch in New Zealand. There are heaps of people there and we have a great time meeting new friends. We get back to John’s quite late and missed him – he was off on a bus to somewhere, Darwin, I think. We spend the night and leave the next morning.

We only go as far as Burleigh on the Gold Coast south of Surfer’s Paradise where we camp in the parking lot by the beach with no problems. For some reason gas is much cheaper in Queensland – by like 12 cents a liter.

Wednesday, June 26th finds us backtracking south to Byron Bay, the easternmost point of mainland Australia. It’s only about an hour drive so we’re there by late morning. We wander among the shops in the mellow village and laze on the beach. The Byron Shire Council prohibits camping or caravanning anywhere but we find a spot on a side road and settle in. Screw the Byron Shire Council.

The next day we spend on a beach called Wategos near the lighthouse on the tip of the cape. I walk out to the easternmost point and slice up my toes on the barnacles in the process. Sunset finds us back at the main beach and we have a beer and a shower at the Beach Hotel. We try fishing off the breakwater with no luck. We stock up with a box of wine and a bottle of port and spend the night on our side road hideaway. Eliot prepares a jamming Thai style coconut curry with tofu.

We hang out some more the next day and go to a Greek place for dinner then try out the Railway Friendly bar and watch Mike try to chat up the local ladies which is quite humorous when their boyfriends come to find out what’s up. Rather than going to the trusty side road we investigate Seven Mile Beach State Park which proves to be an excellent spot with good bodysurfing and no one bothers us.

We continue hanging out there the next morning and in early afternoon we go into Byron for some supplies and decide to plug in at the First Light Caravan Park. Stella Blue is treating us right and it is so nice to travel in. It is a bit cramped with four of us but actually surprisingly comfortable. Mike and Eliot sleep in the pop top and Greta and I sleep on the rear bed.

Sunday the 30th of June we say goodbye to beautiful Byron Bay and head for the hills of Nimbin. Nimbin is like the Haight-Ashbury of New South Wales. Apparently there was an “Aquarius Festival” here in the early 70’s and the hippies came and never left. I can see why. The country is lush, green and beautiful. The town itself is colorfully decorated with many rainbow and cosmic murals and is populated with drug addicts. There are scores of communes in the hills. Many of the druggies have turned to heroin and so are eager to sell marijuana to tourists. We are asked dozens of times if we want “heads” as marijuana is known down under.

We finally cave in and buy some but have to bargain hard for a good price. It is a weird, kinda sad, scene and we want to see the arts and crafts fair or market that is supposed to be there but isn’t. We head out to find this big commune but it is soooo mellow I feel like if we stay we might be like the hippies who never left. So we leave to drive up Mount Nardi to have lunch and camp.

It is a beautiful place surrounded by rainforest. We climb a huge radio tower and watch the sun set over Mount Warning. The view is fantastic, you can actually see the rim of the huge ancient shield volcano of which Mount Warning is the plug. Eliot and I go back up after dark and can see the moon shimmering on the sea 40 kilometers away.

Eliot brews up his delicious signature chai the next morning and we head back into Nimbin for supplies and then spend the night in the parking lot for Mount Warning so that we can be up before dawn to trek to the top to be the first people in Australia to see the sunrise. Or, well, we would have been but it was misty and cloudy at the top. This is the beginning of my aversion to treks before dawn to see a sunrise from some high place. Eventually the sun burns though and we are rewarded with a spectacular panorama. We are bit knackered by the effort but manage to drive north on highway 97 and leave New South Wales for the last time.

We enter the Sunshine State of Queensland again and stay at a caravan park in Nerang on the river of the same name. We are in desperate need of showers and laundry.

From here we head west to Lamington National Park and Binna Burra where we do some trail walking to some caves before driving to Brisbane to become squatters in John’s house. John has left on a bus to Darwin and out of the country. His roommates are all in a similar situation. The house is currently uninhabited and ours to stay in – a very strange, but pleasant situation. When we arrive, one roommate, Meredith is still there but she is leaving at 4 am. We have a slab of beers and treat her to dinner, so she is fine with everything.

The next day is July 4th so we decide to have a big BBQ to celebrate. We go into the city for provisions and also pick up a climbing guide to Kangaroo Point, an excellent and lighted top-rope area for rock climbing along the river right in the city. We cook up some burgers and invite Mark, who brings his roommate. We also invite Jody from next door. We even find some sparklers to make the celebration very festive.

The next day we have to deal with getting our visas extended. We have been here almost 6 months and if we are going to have to leave now, well, let’s just say it would not be ideal. The effort entails taking most of our money out of our Commonwealth Bank accounts, opening a fresh account at ANZ Bank with a lump sum - this is done so that they won’t be able to tell that we were working illegally - then buying plane tickets out of the country to Indonesia and going down to the Immigration office to plead our case. 

Our story is that Greta’s Dad is flying in later to visit the Great Barrier Reef – he’s not, of course - and we want to meet him when he gets here. We show them our fistful of credit cards and after paying a 50 dollar extension fee we are blessed with another 6 months in Australia – yeah baby!

We go pick up Eliot and Mike back at the house and then go down to Kangaroo Point for some top-roping. We climb all day and then at dark the lights come on and we climb some more. It is great fun and moves Brisbane to the top of my list for Australian cities.

Totally pumped we go to the Stony Bridge Hotel for some blues and brews. A great blues band called John Marshall is playing and rocking it.

We spend all the next day climbing at Kangaroo Point. What a great place it is, right in the center of the city.

Sunday, July 7th the others go about their business and I boulder at Kangaroo Point – I love this place! Later we go to the beer festival at Stony Bridge where I splurge on a t-shirt. My favorite is the Eaglehawk Stout. John Marshall is playing again and we meet the bongo player who did an excellent version of “Samson and Delilah”. A Mexican food feast rounds off the evening.

We are meant to leave the next day but instead we hit up the local library to learn about mushrooms (we hope to harvest some of the magical variety when we go to the outback later), local animals and scuba diving. We came back to the house and invite Mark over for a goodbye dinner.

The next day is Tuesday, July 9th and we were really going to leave but, it is raining and we hope it will make the mushrooms sprout. We hang out, provisioning and preparing to leave. 

Which we did the next day, heading north on highway 1, which circumnavigates the entire country. We start out looking for Frog Buttress and the Glasshouse mountains to do some more climbing but we never find it and in fact, find out later it is not even near the Glasshouse mountains.

Ah well, we are not bothered and head back for the coast, known as the Sunshine Coast. We are not seeing anything to catch our eye so we keep driving towards Noosa. Talk about Touristville! We are feeling let down by the rampant consumerism and disappointed by the “No Anything” signs, a’ la Byron Bay. We don’t know where we will sleep. But our karma is good as everything is solved when Mike and Eliot go off to play some hacky sack and meet Taylor.

Taylor is an American is an American over on an exchange program through Lewis and Clark University. The program went thru New Zealand and Australia and now the program is over and he and his buddy Micah are living and working in Noosa. They are renting a beautiful condo and invite us to stay a few days. We, in turn, style them to beers and dinner as they are both quite broke and if they are broker than we are, well, they are to be pitied.

This becomes a lasting arrangement. They take us to a party where we replenish our “heads” supply and we meet a crazy dude named Steve who keeps rolling joints until we have three going at once and no one can speak. The rest is a blur.

The party handicaps everyone the next day and all we are good for is holding down whatever sand at the beach that we are able to.

Friday, July 12th we spend on Sunshine Beach just south of town and enjoy the spectacular breaks. A full day of body surfing and boogie boarding before going back to the condo for dinner and beers.

The surf is so good we go back for more the next morning but we don’t want to overstay our welcome and also we are anxious to keep moving. We say goodbye to Taylor and Micah and we’re off to Rainbow Beach to plan our Fraser Island adventure. We spend the night at the beach with no hassle.

Fraser Island is the largest sand island in the world at 76 miles long and 14 miles wide, it is 710 square miles. It was declared a UNESCO World Heritage site shortly after we visited it in 1992. There are no roads on the island so what you do is rent a 4-wheel drive and take a ferry over to the island.

We book a 4-wheel drive for three days and two nights for a fairly reasonable hundred bucks each. We get food and gas and drive up to Hervey Bay where we will meet the ferry and camp, very cheekily, on the outskirts of the caravan park.

The next day is the 15th and we meet the ferry at 10:45 and a half-hour later we are dropped off on Fraser Island. We immediately drive to Lake McKenzie and have lunch. The lake is crystal clear and surrounded by white sand dunes. There are two types of lakes on the island, perched lakes, which are filled with rainwater and are dark-colored and can be quite murky and window lakes, which are formed when the land goes below ground water level and they are crystal clear. Lake McKenzie, of course, is a window lake.

After lunch we go down to the ocean side for some surf driving and check out the wreck of the S.S. Maheno, an ocean liner that was washed ashore during a cyclone in 1935. We find a suitable place to camp on the beach and relax drinking wine, sipping port, and smoking doobies by the fire.

We spend the next day inland at Lake Alum, a perched lake, to see the turtles and then back to the beach to Indian Head, so named by Captain Cook for the aborigines he saw on it from afar. From the summit we scan the ocean for whales, sharks and rays and see only rays and a majestic sea eagle. We drive up to see the so-called champagne pools, large tidal pools with sandy bottoms. We camp on the beach again with a nice fire and wine. I see a dingo on the beach.

The next day is our last on the island and we drive up and hike into Lake Wabby, which is a perched lake and is slowly being filled in by a marching sand dune. We jump and roll down the dune into the water. Then we go to Central Station which is a camping area that we have been avoiding and we have a shitty, coin-operated shower. The shower is made up for with a beautiful walk down an emerald stream and a sighting of our first Angiopteris or, King Fern.

We have to race back to the ferry to return our 4-wheel drive vehicle and repack everything in Stella. We get some fish and chips and drive north to a rest area outside of Bundaberg, where we camp.

Thursday, July 18th we wake up and drive into Bundaberg and have breakfast at McDonald’s and it is good and cheap. Our intention is to visit the “world famous” Bundaberg rum distillery hoping to score some cheap rum but it is not cheap, so we blow off the tour and decide to motor to Carnarvon Gorge. We drive to Gladstone and stock up on food at “Jack the Slasher”, a very cheap food store and drive to Biloela. This is a good jumping off point for our expedition to the “inner west” of Queensland. We camp in a very cool little park on the edge of the small town and crash.

And this, people, is where episode 5 picks up and takes you out to Carnavon Gorge and up the Queensland coast to the Great Barrier Reef. So this is where I will leave you for now. I will pick you up again somewhere down the road. Thank you so much for listening, I do appreciate it. Be sure to check out the Facebook page for pictures. Be kind to one another.