Just like in the RV magazines 22-6-12

This way please!



Way back before Alana and I started this trip we used to lay in bed at night all tucked up and cozy, musing on our upcoming adventures. So many of the places we thought about were just dots on the map to us, full of mystery and myth.

I would be leafing through my RV magazines (which Alana calls my caravan porn) and I would allways be stopped by any full page ad advertising the latest van pulled up at some secluded or unspoilt beach front, or even articles showing glossy pictures of the same thing. I would lay back and go to sleep wondering if those places were out there and could I reach them in my bitumen anchored Fiat Ducato. May be all those tanterlising full page glossy spreads are just set up for the magazines, just to keep my heart rate up!.
Well I'm pleased to say that we did find one of these picture perfect locations.

It's called Whalebone Bay, which is on the way up to Denham and Monkey Mia on one side of Shark Bay. We pulled in off the side of the road at about 4.00pm not knowing what to expect as we have had some pretty non descript free camps on our travels so far. As we wound our way down to the bay a little ways we were greeted with a magical view, "just like in the RV magazines" ads. There were only a couple of campers here, both of them lined up in a prime position just a few steps away from the sand. Alana and I set up a few meters back and went for a stroll on the beach.

                                                                             

A couple of girls who were traveling together sitting outside their van taking in the setting sun gave us a smile. Alana said something like "This is a horrible spot hey!" to which the girls replied "Yeh! it's shocking". We joined them for a chat after the stroll along the beach and found that they have been traveling fom Innisfail in QLD all the way accross the north now traveling due south.

Meet Dale and Roz, the Leyland Brothers have got nothing on these two.

They had a lot of tips for us on where to stay and some great stories from the road. Alana and I had a good laugh along with them. I lked the way they described themselves as one being the minister for finance while the other said she was the minister for Transport n Housing and Communication. Seriously these two girls looked like a good team and you couldn't help but be swept along with their warm and cheeky humour.

                                                                                   

                                                                     

   

I guess we better go inside soon.





Recall 25-5-07

Recall is a funny thing, by it's nature it just sneaks up on you, taps you on the shoulder. I love it when my thoughts randomly split off into other thoughts that randomly split off again. A lot of these thoughts are memories of past events. I play them lovingly, like an old movie buff watching his favourite films.

Sometimes objects are the tools for recall. They can pop that reel in the slot and let the movie flash up in front of your eyes.

Recently one of these objects for me was a tube of palmolive shaving soap that you squeeze out like tooth paste. I don't use this stuff as a rule, it just ended up in my toiletry bag as a spare. Alana keeps it in the guest bathroom and I thought I may as well use it when my "boutique foaming, moistrising, sensative environmentally friendly gel type" ran out. I was lathering up while gazing into the mirror. The soapy smell started my recall of this movie.

I recall the time when I was 5 or 6, standing toe to toe with Dad at the bathroom basin. I recall the heady smells of "Old Spice" and soapy palmolve shaving foam or soap. Dad would be shaving, working up quite a lather. He would use these time outs with me to ever so gently take the piss. I even knew back then that there was something not right with what he would say, but at the same time I took so much joy from his sillieness. Like when he used to tell me to flex my biceps, he would then grab one of them with his huge ape like hands and say "Ah! they're like chicken insteps". The way he used to say it, made me want to believe that my biceps were exact replicas of Hercules. Another one he used to pull on me was when he would roll and clack his false teeth around in his mouth, look down on me and without saying a word would know that I would try and ape his action. I would open my mouth wide and try to pull them out so I could rattle them around like him. He would say "This is how you do it son". Take his falsies out of his mouth, pop them back in and clack them around again. I never learnt how to do that trick despite all of his encouragement.

It's been six years since Dad died.      But I can still smell him.



Myth and imagination

As I sit here over another breakfast of toast and tea, I am aware that we have entered a new chapter in our journey. The 'holiday' has been entering its final phase of entropy for a couple of weeks now. After packing up our camp at Burns Beach, a northern beach suburb of Perth, we moved into a new gear.

We left the city at last and were now facing the next couple of months in a part of our country that covers vast stretches of bitumen that join mythological towns that we've read and heard about all our lives.

Right now we are in the mid-west at Geraldton. We're here to wash, clean, cook and rest after free camping for over a week and to prepare our (my) faint hearts for the next leg of our adventure. This lifestyle has become the normal way of being now - setting up camp, taking in what the area gives us, packing up again and moving on to the next dot on the map.

As I sit here jotting down my thoughts I am visited by four different types of birds; honeyeaters, wagtails (always wagtails - little darlings), small iridescent doves, and the silvereye, and I realise I am no longer reaching for my camera to capture yet another close up of one of these lovely creatures. They are just part of camp life - a little more intimate than the grey nomads or the Euros out to see the world - part of this new kind of community to which we belong.

We still ooh and aah at the new sights and experiences we see and live, but take it all so much more in our stride.

You could be forgiven for thinking that this type of travel is relaxing and all you do all day is stroll along beaches and read books. But that is far from the real picture which has us keeping a steady travel pace, knowing we need to get up north and across the top end during the height of the dry. Each time we stop and sit a spell and think about chilling a bit longer, we get the maps out and see all those mythic towns and seaside must-sees, and are compelled to follow our imaginations up the North West Highway to feast on the next experience. It can be taxing and requires a bit of stamina - but so far we've managed to make it this far in good health and good spirits - and with Shark Bay (think stromatolites) almost in sight, and with it Monkey Mia, the most westerly part of our country, we are once again ready to pack up and do the ks to enter the North West's history and mythology.











New Norcia Pub 8-6-12

This is probably going to be one of the more unique pubs I'm ever likely to come across on our trip around Australia. So I think it deserves a mention as "What makes a pub a good one" or at least, Gee! that's different!.

Before I get started I better fill you in as to how we got here. Alana and I were told about this place called New Norcia which was founded by the Benedictine Monks in the early 1800's. I can imagine the Pope at the time saying to Fr Salvado  "Hey Bro, have I got an opportunity of a lifetime for you to get in on the ground floor to save a whole lot of souls in this far flung place called Australia". Here's the link to it's history. Being a lapsed catholic and Alana having done her fair share of time in a christian cult, sorry I meant community church, we were both drawn to have a look. On a personal note I spent seven years in a boarding school in the mid sixties. I could see some parallels and the nature of most institutions is very much the same or at least they have a lot in common, anyway back to the Pub.  


                                                                                 

Yes that is a pub



This establishment started off its life as a hostel and guest house. Walking up the muddy circular driveway I can imagine the owners and builders of this place (the Monks) having a vision of those stately old European mansions, with columns spanning the two levels and solid wide steps leading to the Italian tiled patio chess- boarding it's way through to the statement-like front double doors. Once inside there was an enclosed reception office to the right, an informal sitting area to the left with a cavernous foyer in the middle. All leading up to a grand stair case. Jarrah everywhere!. Upstairs, laid out on one side of the corridor were all the bedrooms each with their own entrance to the outside shared balcony.

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No!, you carry the suitcases.

The actual pub part of this old hostel was down the far right of the building, past the hallway, off the reception office. I was somewhat taken aback by the lack of pub-like paraphernalia and advertising slogans that you would normally see. Don't get me wrong, there were stools at the bar, the pouring taps were there, bottles of spirits lined up behind the bar, even the pool table and TV on the wall in the adjacent area. I just couldn't see any of the usual accessories, like runners along the top of the bar with Carlton Draught logos, no pub tab, no races on the TV, no clocks with Jim Beam written on its face, no tradie type "parma n pot" Tuesday night special scrawled on the black board, there was none of it.    

However, I did see out of the corner of my eye, a picture hanging unobtrusively, abandoned like an orphaned child, on one of the walls. It had a religious theme to it but I don't think it was hung there with any sense of purpose, probably more the fact that it was hung there so no one would trip over it. Still, like I was saying, I didn't see an advertising poster with "five Cougars thanks" and the accompanying busty blond barmaid next to it.

pretty spartan huh!

it's easy to get a drink in here

 

 

anyone home?

 

 

Imagine!, a nice cold bevy on a sunny afternoon right here.