Blue Mountains, Bloody Fog and Doritos

Leaving the Palms was wierd - its like leaving school. You say you'll keep in touch, but how many people would you actively correspond with in a few years?? I did make some very good friends, though, including someone who might be doing England next year and I might meet up with.

Saying goodbye to the homeless people outside (response: "got $2?"), I headed for the Blue Mountains, my next stop, and renowned walking/scenery/backpacker thing to do.

I was wearing my jeans that day due to them being the largest thing to pack; I was greatful that I was wearing them when I arrived in a temperature in which I could see my own breath condensing before me... Checking a digital thermometer on a chemist (every country has these outside chemists except the UK, no??), it was 10.5C. Yay, I was back in Blighty. A cheeky bonus to the cool clime, the large weather system that was due to infect the whole of the South East coast was leaving an inpenetrable fog over all of the town, and most of the mountains, as I discovered the following day.

Walking around Katoomba, the hub of Blue Mountain Activity, I felt like I was in another time warp - people had mullets, perms and backwards baseball caps covering rat-tails on the back of their head. Young women were going around in Granny-made cardigans and I got a feel that no one liked the Gays that infested Sydney.

Being white, and pretty non-descript (is that an oxymoron?), I hobbled to my home for the next few days without being glared at too extensively, and did some shopping for some tucka. I reckon I can still live on around $25 a week for food... a 5 pack of instant noodles is 99c you see and inhumanely produced eggs are 6 for $1.40. Plus the communal food shelf is always worth a pillage - managed to wrangle a beer and half a bottle of wine on top of the spaghetti and tatar sauce.

Making chums with an Israeli, a hair metal dude, his mate and 2 Yanks called Paul and Matt, I set about watching some films on the Hostel's rear-projection TV. 'Moment' is a good watch if you're into a little bit of reverse-structure plot filmage.

The following day I set out with Paul to go walkies. Turns out that his career in Philladelphia (sp?) is to photograph Tama drumkits and Ibanez guitars and the musicians his employer sponsors. Interested me, anyway!

Again the weather was poop - the mist was still lingering with some malevolent force, though we thought we'd just see what we could see. Walking to the first few lookout points over the valley, the most we could see were a few trees 100m below; everywhere else was white. Bummed out, we took to looking for the spiders that created the 100s of webs on the cliff faces to our side, to no success.

We got to see a few quite cool cascades and waterfalls, which seemed to clear their local area, which was cool, reminding me of Jurrasic Park - mist, huge valleys and small rivers and streams, sans man eating beasts.

By the early afternoon, we'd reached a point that apparently looked right down the valley, and the info board prooved this with a gloating picture of what we should have been seeing. Suddenly big holes appeared in the mist; we could see the adjacent vertical cliff faces! Albeit for no longer than 15 seconds at a time. Being amazed by this luck and the beauty of those glimpses, we stayed for a while longer, frantically snapping away at every widening hole in the mist. I deleted all of those earlier pics, because within 15 minutes of being up there, the whole valley had cleared, like we were moses, the mist that river.

What a sight! I'd seen pictures before, but of course they did it no justice. Imagine the grandcanyon, then half it in size and add loads of unspoilt green trees. With the namesake blue haze above (which comes from the Eucalyptus oil vapout that fills the valley), of course.

Snapping away, we trekked a multitude of other kilometers, almost getting caught out taking a Number 1 once by some fast walking old people (we reckoned they ran to catch up with us).

We got to an area where there's a lot of famous 'icons' to see/do. Seeing a challenge, I forced Paul down the Great Steps (all 900 of them in total), which isn't one staircase like some Aztec temple, but a very narrow, windy and high set of normal steps. Passing the '3 Sisters' (wikipedia that or something for the aboriginal story about it and it's origins, if you're interested), 3 great peaks 300m above the valley floor, we trekked for another 2km to the 'steepest railway in the world' - and at 55 degrees to flat, who's going to argue? Going up and seeing the ground infront of you was quite cool, despite it being very easy to slip and probably fall to your death.

Good day in total, but not as good as the cuppa tea when I got back!

That night we played scrabble, having watched Jerry McGuire, which is fairly good as far as chickflicks go. Only Matt the Yank was drinking, for some reason. He got into the dorm an hour after we did, getting into bed and turning off his light. He started to eat the dorito pack that was next to him, which I thought was odd, but not outstounding. When he started to eat handfulls of the crisp with gaps of half a minuite between each and stiffled mumblings filling the gaps, I came to the assumption that this was a case of Sleep Eating! He came up to me in the morning and asked me if he'd seen where the rest of his doritos were...

Beaches and more rain

Rain dosen't help anything apart from farmers, I'm sure. I tried to go to a beach called Manly beach a few days ago, only to be rained upon with an almighty force 30 mins after I'd got there. Followed by the wind, I became cold and thoroughly not in the mood for a swim or surf.

The only thing to do was look at over priced Ripcurl, Quicksilver and other surf clothing. Had to keep reminding myself that I can spend whatever's remaining in Thailand, the land of cheap ripoff fakes of a fair quality.

By far the best beach day I've had so far was on the famous Bondi Beach. Most people have heard of it, even in the UK, but I hadn't a clue where it was until I saw it on a Sydney map - its 2 train stops to the west of my hostel. Arriving at the misguidingly close "Bondi Junction", I walked 40 minuites down a network of roads to the beach.

Its a classic curving beach, about 1km long and wide enough for any David Hasselhoff/Pamela anderson to run down in slow-mo to save someone. The real beach rescue people are much less sexy, wearing red shorts and large polo tops finished with a red skull-cap type fixture. Don't envy their job - being put on the line daily for people who just don't read the warning signs and fall foul of their own stupidity. I was put in a similar position on another day, which I'll write about later.

Walking along the beach, I realised that I recognised this place, and not in a deja-vu kind of way. Working it out, I realised that I'd played a game - some Tony Hawk's game - where a level had been heavily influenced by Bondi's local buildings and layout, so much so that I predicted that there was a colourful pool by the sea at the opposite end... Sure enough, there was an open air swimming pool at the end!

Content with myself, I got about getting into the water for a swim, as I was getting right hot with an increasing humidity. Making a couple of girls who looked like they were serious about getting a tan look after my bag, I made for the wet stuff, jealous that I didn't have a surfboard for the perfect conditions.

Then I discovered body surfing! I'd heard rumours of its existence, but only then saw anyone doing it. These guys were carving along the breaking waves, one hand in front like a plow, and miraculously they were surfing, moving fast enough to avoid the crashing waves. Asking one of the guys who could actually do it, I just got told it "comes with practice", which isn't what you want to hear when you want to do it NOW.

After multiple waves pulling me down and putting me on rinse cycle, I managed to get a decent ride, magically floating down the steep face of a wave and away from the crashing bit! Good feeling, and I felt a little bit more smug when I saw some kids going "wow". Yup, I'm a role model.

Getting out of the now-nice-n-warm water, I read a book whilst the sun dried me and gave my unprotected back a little frying (It itches even 4 days later, but its so difficult to sunscreen one's back!) while I read and made for home, watching some skaters in a retro pool park do their thing and smoke and drink and swear like cool kids from 80s films.

That night was free beer night, so we did our bit. Check out the picture of the way they serve cocktails in that bar!

Couple of days later, and I'm back in the water, in very different conditions. Its overcast, nippy and the seas are angry about something. Perfect for going for a swim off rocks for the first time!! Guided/pushed by the hostel manager, Dan (and his dog, Bandit), I managed to get a little bit more body surfing in, with my newfound talent, avoiding the rocks hidden a foot under the water (and the big sharks I imagined there would probably be) and oncoming waves and surf that really didn't want me in the sea. I think at one point I got caught in the rip that was circling the small bay, pushing me about 20m further into open water than I thought I was. It was probably only 5m, but it seemed a far distance when your underused swimming muscles start tiring... Naturally I started thinking "what if I get caught again by the rip or I get too tired" stuff, but just powered on, towards the shore, relising I'd been silly to let myself get tired in the water - V dangerous!! Eventually slamming onto the seaweed ridden rocks (nice softish landing), I clambered out and away from the platform, slipping and sliding on the seaweed that had probably saved me from a nice cut. I got to the rock where we were chilling before, and realised my arms and legs were shaking! Obviously the thought of potentially drowning had sent out a job load of adnreneline. Or my muscles were just tired. Good stuff, good experience, but without local knowledge about currents and help about getting in and out, I probably would have come a cropper!

Leaving Sydney tomorrow, after 3 weeks. According to my calculations, I've only got about 3 and a bit months left til Thailand! Blimey time goes fast. Even better? I'm underspending!! Might treat myself to something British from the British sweet shop down the road.

Rain, 'You aweful tense shoulders', Timber and more men jumping off piers.

The Harbour Bridge is massive. Its a massive structure that is much bigger than it looks, and is an upscaled version exactly of the Harbour Bridge in Newcastle in the UK. I had the option to pay $180 for a bridge climb, where you get up to a few hundred metres. Stuff that! I'll walk it for free, I thought! That decided, I embarked on my trip. Its must be 100m above the sea on the pedestrian walkway anyway, so the view of the surrounding areas is pretty good. It must have taken me a good 30 mins to walk across, its ma-hoosive! Once on the other side, I thought I might as well explore the local area and try and find a waterside pub for a beer or something, but there's absolutely nothing of any interest whatsoever! Just houses and steep hills. Wandering around for another hour, I started looking for shops, but even that provided unrewarding! I could see more skyscrapers in the distance, but I couldn't be bothered to walk there and back, so I tried finding my way out of the intertwining streets back to the Bridge. With no idea of where I was, I almost resorted to smelling my way back to the bridge or choosing the street names I liked the sound of, but a helpful old lady gave me a long string of directions that I stopped trying to remember after the 1st few pointers.

Finally getting back over the seemingly endless bridge, I had a long deserved beer at The Rocks, which seemed to be a nicely gentrified and cutsie area. People I've talked to keep banging on about this area but I wasn't too impressed by it.

That night I had another extravagantly minimalist meal at Alan and Helen's apartment, which was brilliant. Got some awesome photos of Sydney by night from their appartment --->

The next day...

Paddy's market is the Ozzie equivalent of Camden Markets, except all under one roof. Its a mangled mess off belt shops, cheap tat shops and confusion due to a wierd layout. I think they have duplicate shops just to destroy your sense of bearing. I managed to get everything I wanted in the world at that time (a waterproof watch, lock, shorts and sushi) for baaargain prices, using the power of threatening to walk away to drop the price of the shorts by 50% to ten bucks. Victory!! Another minor victory was getting a free 1 minuite massage on my shoulders, which were apparently in need of 'much more work. Oooo, vey vey tense here sir. Only $15 for top of body.' Nah, tension helps me keep alert and ready to take on unseen enemies. Kung-fu kick!

Went to a random house party or a friend of Swedish Patrick, a train ride away. Not really a mad party, but I got talking to people that I'll never see again but were nice enough for me to think that that was a shame. Walked back via the city centre, saw another possum and celebrated by lining up for 15 mins in Maccy D's for two 30 cent Mr Whippies.

Flugtag! Does the name mean anything? The Redbull Flugtag does - my second chance of seeing grown men jump off a 6m pier came about on last Sunday, the 7th. With the endless money from Redbull coming into the event, this deal was a lot bigger than the Birdman Rally I've seen in Melbourne however long ago (seems way longer ago than it probably is), with bigger, better costumes and Flugtagcraft. One that sticks in my mind is a 3 metre Gallah (a parrot like bird whose squawks always sounds like an adult caught in a child's body crying or shouting "OOhhhh Noooo!!") who spectacularly nosedived, to be followed by 2 guys in separate bird-poo outfits. Plop, Plop!

We (5 Germans; Janna, Julien, Rennee, myself and 2 guys who I've already forgotten the names of. Is that bad?) got bored of that pretty soonish, on account of the luxury boats getting themselves better views infront of our own view. Plus there was no free Redbull!! Just free portable radios for the comentary on the event, which I could never find.

Check the picture of a tree filled with BLOOD SUCKING BATS! Flying foxes, actually, and the biggest thing they eat is bugs, though they're killing their roosting trees one by one due to the toxicity of their poop!

Being defeated in a multi-mile trek around sydney for a sushi house that opens on Sundays, we succumbed to Hungry Jack's and his Meal Deals - $4.95 got me a Cheezeburger, Chips, drink and a McFlurry-alike! Thats about 2 pounds 30p!

I spent that afternoon having brilliant fun with the timeless frisbee. Its now official that I'm the best at throwing a frisbee with my feet and catching it over my head, see victory photo to the right.

Its so easy to do nothing except play Xbox and make 27 cent noodles for snacks. Its an instantly rewarding format for living, but ultimately unfulfilling. Fortuantly I'm aware of the slackpacker's ways, (see the photo to the left - a typical sight at the hostel! As is TV watching, to the right) so I've fairly well steered away from that existence. Its a difficult thing to do when the skies decide to downpour every few hours. Its a strange pattern, but one that is predictable to travel from various covers to covers and see more of the Sydney and what it has to offer. But when I've exhausted most of the must see things, its annoying! Beach days are out, as are lazy park days and wandering round suburbs (and realising that there's nothing but houses and corner shops for miles) days.

For the past few days I've been lucky, therefore.

A fellow resident at "The Palms", Philipp (ein German), offered me some work with him. It has to have been the least time I've worked in a day for a maximum reward. Our gang of 4's job was to shift timber to building sites from where the delivery truck dumps it, which was usually about 4 metres (!).

Leaving at 12.44pm (12.30 on the time sheet, of course), we drove to Mar-something-or-other, a posh suburb of Sydney over the Harbour Bridge. Waiting for 30 mins for the delivery truck, we had started paid 'work' when we left. When it did arrive, we had to move about 40 pieces of floor timber into the garage a few metres up the drive. Technically we're not allowed to work on a construction site (you need safety qualifications blah blah...), so to the annoyance of the site manager, we couldn't move the timber any further.

That probably took about 30 mins, by which time we had been 'working' for about 2 hours. Waiting on the call for the next job, we sat in the freshly broken-out rays of sunshine and increasing humidity.

The next job was in an even posher part of the city. Talking to a labourer afterwards, the house we were working on would cost $2m to build, the original house and land costing a similar amount to buy in the first place. The nextdoor neighbours had a house covered tip to toe in orange streaked marble slabs. The second most expensive and rare type, of course.

Watching an irrate truck driver try to reverse a 5m flatbed truck up a steep driveway was quite funny. Being paid, we stood back and watched the somewhat lacking problem solving skills fail miserably; who'd have thought a couple of wooden palettes can't take the weight of a ladden truck?? We'd have to move the timber about 5 more metres than was necessary.

After 3 hours of solid timber moving and more splinters than I have time or energy to remove, we completed what was the only bit of hard work I'd done in a few months. We drove home over the Harbour Bridge, which was quite cool (Photo of Michael driving)

Now there's so much more that I'd like to say, but I'm busting for a number 1 and this web cafe dont have no loos!!