The view from the Treble Cone ski field of Wanaka
Queenstown's lake Wakapitu from our motel room (Lomond Lodge - great place to stay)
Amanda Maier Couper
Do not know what the blow-up doll mouth is all about
Clearly not a skiing pic - Mr Fleagle Huddard, lord and master of Bronte Beach, Sydney, who guarded us while housesitting for Sal and Ros in July. He broke our hearts.
Skiing in Queenstown - ain't the Alps (not much snow, short runs), but the mountain staff are super-friendly and helpful(ie not French). We allowed this pic to be taken on 2 August as consolation for the fact that we haven't been single for 9 years.
Our plans for the next six months are now firmed up (or at least we have plane tickets to get us around a bit). If anyone fancies joining us, we're not half bad travel companions.
30 July - 10 August: Queenstown, New Zealand, skiing
11 - 15 Aug: Melbourne, Stef and Jol's wedding + seeing couple we met in Galapagos
16 - 22 Aug: Driving Melbourne - Sydney, inspecting snow resorts
28 Aug: Syd - Delhi. Three months northern India, Nepal + Tibet (lots of hiking)
5 Dec: Delhi - Dubai for 3 days, staying with Judith's brother + family
8 Dec: Dubai - Johannesburg, 2 days with my brother + fiance
10 Dec - 7 Feb: Hermanus with parents, Cape Town, maybe Namibia
8 Feb: London
Saltie (bad guy)
Freshie (good guy) - behind the girl
Monkey Mia dolphins
Funny
We crossed it
Moving house
Out of Africa - giraffe in Dubbo Zoo
Free camping
Seasick = death
Amanda Redgrave Couper on the River Orde
Sunset at Uluru (Ayers Rock)
We're back in Sydney (chilly) after a 7,500km road trip in our camper van from Perth to Darwin (with a few side trips), a ride in the Ghan train from Darwin to Alice Springs and a flight back here.
The camera has swallowed all the pics on our 500mb memory card (before we could do a CD back-up) and the gods of Olympus are trying to retrieve them. We gulp and wait for good news.
Also, like all quality (?) publications, we've decided it's time to give our blog a new look.
The West Coast was magnificent: snorkelling a few meters from our camping spot on a deserted beach near Denham, seeing the dolphins being fed (in the nicest, conservation-minded way) at Monkey Mia, swimming with a whale shark on the Ningaloo reef (despite being so sea sick that I was throwing up under water next to this largest of sea animals), fooling around with a hobycat in the tropical-island waters of Broome, BBQing on fires for which we collected our own wood in free-range campsites. I should probably catch my breath and start a new sentence.
Renting (for only A$160) a kayak and camping equipment, including cooking utensils, waterproof plastic pots for clothes etc and a swag (a thick, canvas uber-bag with a thin mattress into which you slide your sleeping bag, allowing for some amazing star spotting but rather sleepless nights due to Australian night bush noises - is it a croc or a dingo. Boy, are we pathetic.)
Fantastic trip, though, just the two of us, 53km in three days down the River Orde from Lake Argyle near the border with the Northern Territory to Kununnara. Setting up camp, scouting for fire wood stomping around in sandals and shutting down the part of the brain that contemplates the presence of Aussie snakes, incidentally the same cerebral function that allows for swimming (nudie) in the river with freshwater crocodiles (freshies).
Correction
After my previous rant about BBQing in Oz, matters improved. Obviously the further north (ie furthest away from Pansyland) the more they welcome barbecuers.
Bearing in mind the number of crazy people in the Outback who want to dispose of folk of British descent (Coups, not me) we reluctantly decided to overnight where others do (which unfortunately means caravan parks). That is, until we discovered that fantastic Aussie institution, the free camping spot. Rudimentary - the upmarket ones come with smelly long drop - but normally in quite a nice spot, near a river etc and always next to the road - they allow people to break their journey in this country of huge distances. And you're allowed to make a fire. So a typical driving day would see us stopping a few kilometres before the free stop to collect wood, then getting to the free site, picking your spot and making fire right next to the van. I was in heaven.
We stayed in official caravan parks when we had to top up the power for our fridge battery and laptop. (Yes, we travelled with a laptop, as ladies do. Or rather, birds who forgot their i-pod speakers and inexplicably lost the i-trip frequency settings.) And when we needed a shower, of course (every 3 to 4 days).
Simpson's Gap - a day trip out of Alice Springs
The local wildlife
Apart from close-up encounters with whale sharks and dolphins, and the omnipresent kangaroos/wallabies, we had a number of interesting sightings of the indigenous fauna.
On the beach in the unforgettable Cape Range National Park (Exmouth and the Ningaloo Reef), we spent a sleepless night due to the incessant rustling that was the invasion of the little fucker mouse (a new species, discovered by me that night).
The first fucker we caught, or rather s/he caught him/herself in the rubbish bag and couldn't get out. I made the fatal mistake of setting him (I'm sure it was a him) free, because he returned with his family and a few neighbours. After turning on the light at 3am for the 20th time, I spotted 4 of the said species scuttling for safety. A plague following some heavy rain, said the ranger. So the next night we wedged in our ear plugs and slept like babies.
Leaving Cape Range behind (the most amazing snorkelling at Turquoise Bay - coral, turtles, enormous sea snails, rays), our next overnight spot was in the Karijini National Park, 400km further inland and with fantastic gorges. But with a little snag: one little fucker forgot to leave the bus 400km back. He stayed with us for a further two nights (we wore our ear plugs again) and then disappeared - we still wonder what happened to him.
Then there are, of course, crocodiles (north of Broome, really). As with all things Australian, they've acquired diminutives. Salties for saltwater crocs and freshies for the other lot. The salties eat people, the freshies don't. The authorities tell you they track the salties, but nature being what it is, they can't legislate for the odd one slipping through. Fortunately, we experienced no slippage.
The Olgas - rock formations not too far from Ayers Rock
Plain sailing
The end of the road was Darwin (hot and humid - winter is a non-existent concept), and we were very sad to leave our mobile home. We'd grown used to living in such a small space - and in fact did not eat in a restaurant once, we were so into cooking and bbqing at home. Only once did we buy a glass of wine in a bar - although how much we had around the open fire is another matter.
After changing vans on day 2, we had no further mechanical problems, not even a flat tyre. But on entering the Northern Territory we got 4 chips within half an hour in the windscreen from stones flicked up by road trains (53m long mega-trucks), but at A$190 it didn't break the bank and we were very glad we didn't spend nearly $700 on top-up insurance.
The Ghan train from Darwin was interesting and fun - we regretted not being able to afford a sleeper couch but didn't complain about sitting upright for 24 hrs.
Alice Springs is disappointingly big, modern and efficient but it has a good vibe, great Aboriginal art galleries and fantastically clean air. We did a 45 kilometre cycle ride, slept a lot (with ear plugs - it was a backkpackers) and then went on a 3-day backpackers tour of Uluru (Ayers Rock), Kata Tjuta (the Olgas) and Kings Canyon. Despite there being 22 people on the tour, we laughed a lot, slept under the stars in our swags (very very cold) and made huge camp fires. And it was without a doubt the cheapest way of seeing what we saw.
Round circle
So here we are in Sydney after our 7-week adventure. It's cold, but we're by the sea (staying in the kind Sal and Ros's house and waiting to look after their dog Mr Fleagal once he returns from his holidays.) While we're chaperoning Mr F we're doing a sailing course (24ft-er) that will allow us to hire a boat of up to 12m in quiet waters (Greece). Two weeks of skiing in New Zealand at the end of the month, wedding in Melbourne in mid-August. And then it's off to India, Nepal and Tibet, but more about our plans in a later blog.
Lesbians of Arabia
New image: the Couldn't Stand the Hair in my Face no More-look and the I Got lotsa Body-look.
We're two Sheilas on the move and we're loving it. Our house is small but has a very efficient fridge, well-stocked food cupboard, sink and tap and two gas hobs for anything from Moroccan chicken to pancakes, which Coups observes me making from our most comfortable double bed, which during the day becomes lounge and dining room in one. And TWO lights - one in the kitchen, one in the Other Room.
Yes, we in our camper van have joined a bevvy of octogenarians with 21st century caravans who move up the west coast of Australia in autumn/winter in search of a bit of warmth. We wonder at the Aussie retirees who've been travelling around the country for three year and love the three ladies from the UK who are doing the route together - each in her own camper van. At a certain age, one needs certain luxuries, n'est pas?
We pick up our camper van from Perth on a Wednesday, spend all of Thursday on a garage ramp waiting for broken speedometer/gear box to be fixed and get fed up, upon which Coups manages the impossible ("We never do this kind of thing, madam") by convincing the rental company to bring us a different van.
So the real trip starts by doing negative kilometrage - we go south while our real destination is Darwin, 4,200km north of Perth. But we have a lovely time - apart from freezing our bits off at night in our un-insulated van - tasting wine, cheese and chocolate in the Margaret River region and watching a road rally in Nannup. And the fun reaches sky-high proportions when we scale a 61m tree (old fire look-out) in a eucalyptus forest.
Up where we belong: having a grand ol' time on the West Coast.
Up a 61m tree
What is wrong with these people?
Australians can lay absolutely no claim to the barbecue champions title. They don't barbecue.
They might call it that, but turning on a gas hob and chucking some snags/battered steaks on a heated metal plate should never be equated to the skillful art of starting, nursing and preparing a fire (And then burning all edibles to a cinder, admittedly in my case, but that's not the point).
The locals have not made a barbie fire for such a long time that the lady in the camp site had not the slightest inkling what I was talking about when I asked whether she sold wood. (Come to think of it, she was bloody stupid.) Virtually nowhere am I allowed to make a fire, and trying to buy a BBQ grid has proved nigh impossible.
Have they become too used to the good, fast, immediate-gratification life, are they more American than they care to admit or, perchance, are they simply lazy? They probably don't barbecue for the same reasons that they need a Drive Thru Liquor Shop, a Drive Thru Coffee Shack, even Drive-Thru Finance.
Yours sincerely, Militantly Disgusted from Tunbridge Wells
Cautious driving
We have not yet had any unfortunate encounters with a kangaroo on the road - apart from having to stop for the one that was trying to make up its mind in the middle of the number one freeway (What was it again - left or right?). They're supposed to be on the move and crossing roads at dawn (at which time we're never on the road) and dusk (when we're often on the road because we didn't get up at dawn). But grissly remains on the verges abound.
The further we drive, the warmer it becomes - we even managed to fit in a bit of sailing in Kilbarri today. Or drifting, really, because we didn't believe the hire man when he said there was no wind. We didn't take kindly to canoeist shouting that we should have hired a kayak instead as he rowed leisurely past us.
But now we have to go. Our campsite has a Bring a Tinnie (beer, I think) and Have a Sizzly Sausage While We Sing Around the Campfire (they actually mean the gas BBQ - 'struth) moment. God help us.
Here we are in Sydney - this clean and ordered (control-freaky) modern city full of affluent and bronzed power-walkers. Amanda is diligently looking for a job while I loll about. It's a fantastic autumn and we've been on the beach swimming virtually every day.
But it's hard to generate any real enthusiasm for this place that, weather apart, is so much like home. (But we are thankful that our supply of Marmite has been replenished - thanks to visiting friends. God, how we've suffered. We ran out in Santiago de Cuba two days before Christmas, gritted our teeth and pretended we didn't care in Argentina and Chile, suffered withdrawal in Bolivia, and shamelessly forgot about it in Peru while composing eulogies to the black gold in Ecuador. Gamely we opened our tastebuds to Aussie Marmite, Vegemite and Promite but were forced to retreat in horror.)
The story so far
We did not want to leave South America. Having lurched from one highlight to the next amazing experience to yet another fantastic moment the prospect of Australia seems unreal, and strangely unnecessary. Why not rather go back to Torres del Paine National Park in Chile and do the 4-day "W" hike we promised ourselves? Or the Cordillera Blanca in Peru - should we not somehow have made time for it? Venezuela, Guyana? And why did we not see more of Ecuador? Not to mention Brazil. Life's too short.
And we can't agree on Number One Highlight. Coups puts her money behind the Galapagos, Darwin's source of inspiration and our source of, among many other sensory experiences, warmth and sunshine after a cold and rainy week in Quito. We frolicked in the luke-warm water, snorkelled with turtles, sea lions and the occasional shark and gawped at the 100-year-old tortoises, blue and red-footed boobies, great frigate birds. How many times did we nearly step on an iguana while photographing his wife? Or fended off cheeky mockingbirds dive-bombing our water bottles?
While the Galapagos were a close second, my top choice is still the 4-day 4WD trip from San Pedro in Chile's Atacama desert to the Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia - starting with the 2-day wait at the Bolivian border for the snow-logged mountain pass to open. The memory of us and our four travel companions cuddling up against the freezing cold in 4 beds at 5,000m next to the Most Disgusting Toilet in South America (the fetch-a-bucket-of-freezing-water-and-flush-it-yourself type), suffering from altitude sickness while gritting our teeth against the horrible Bolivian pop music of Romero, our grumpy guide. The greenness of Laguna Verde, the redness of Lago Colorado, the awe-inspiring reflections of the white expanse of salt that is the Salar de Uyuni. The quietness of this remote corner of Bolivia will stay with me forever.
Third choice for both of us was probably the Inca Trail (spectacular scenery; dog trying to shag pig; running in the rain at 5am to get to the Sun Gate first only to see, erm, a bank of fog; the delight of finding a little lady with a bowler hat up a mountain selling a Snickers bar for US$2, and, of course, the jaw-dropping Machu Picchu itself )
To complete our top four, we plump for the Perito Moreno glacier in southern Argentina, the likes of which we've never seen before. Even on a dank, rainy day we stood for hours listening to the eery crackling of the ice, startled and delighted by the occasional roar of the birth of a new iceberg. (And giggle at the two Alaskans who spent hundreds of dollars to get to Calafate to see the glaciers, only to leave without laying an eye on them, grumbling about the expense of getting there and, in any case, there are glaciers in Alaska too.)
And the bicycle trip down the World's Most Dangerous Road near La Paz, the Potosi mine where13-year-old boys hope to strike it rich (but hardly ever do), the Iguazu Falls on the Argentinian/Brazilian border, the harsh beauty of the End of the World (Tierra del Fuego) and the terrible bus trip to get there, our 10km/hr adventure with CrapCar in Northern Argentinia, all vie for a place in our heart, while we marvel at having spent most of our 3 months in South America's summer in fleeces, hats and gloves in the high Andes.
So we'll be back - giving ourselves more time, maybe spending a month or two in La Paz or Quito to perfect our Spanish, daring to tackle the enormous planet that is Brazil. Or whatever - as long as we return.
These photographs will probably do a better job at explaining our eight days in the Galapagos, 3,000km off the coast of Ecuador on board the 14-person Golondrina, a former British shipping boat.
Eight days of early risings, nightly crossings from island to island, daily snorkeling and constant, intimate contact with sea lions, iguanas, turtles, the three boobies and naughty mockingbirds. (And no seasickness). In weird, mostly dry, sometimes surprisingly green volcanic landscapes.
Blue-footed booby and egg
Land iguana
Sea iguana
Great blue heron in Puerto Ayoro's harbour
Swallow-tailed gull
On Bartolome island
Pelican - Amanda's favourite
Red-footed boobies in the mood
Sea lions snoozing in the late afternoon sun
Floreana island
Frigate bird wooing the ladies
This fella is more than 100 years old - Charles Darwin Research Station
Amanda Couper - professional snorkeler
Galapagos penguins
Sea iguana claw
Ducks, obviously
Sally Lightfoot crab
Mockingbird drinking iguana pee (naughty birds who get any water they can lay their beaks on. Tourists with water bottles are frequently attacked)
Golden rays - Turtle Cove, Santa Cruz island
Nazca booby on Espanola island
Flamingo doing impression of dog
Cactuses (I hate 'cacti') on Santa Fe island
And some pics taken with a disposable underwater camera while snorkeling:
Puffer fish
Sealions - they sometimes came scarily close but were never aggressive
