Mike and Alana's big drive: A smile, a handshake and a nod.

The towns slip by us one by one, each home to its own, and only a blink to travellers like us. In some we stop for coffee and supplies or petrol, smile and nod to the locals and take in the localities uniqueness - whether waterhole, chasm, gorge or museum. We take them in with our eyes and some of them remain: a memory of wading a crisp pool at the base of a dry season waterfall, still leeching out the wet season's gift, and greening small tracts of monsoon forest amidst this dry and yellowing landscape.

Michael cooling his feet at Florence Falls, Litchfield NP

Swimming at Wangi Falls, Litchfield NP.

Walking through the remnant monsoon rainforest at Florence Falls.

Having fun at Buley Rock Pool, Litchfield NP.

On a walk around Wangi Falls.

Other memories linger too; a conversation with Barb, a non-conformist seventy year old ukulele player from Narooma in NSW, who wears her bluebird tattoo proudly along with her eastern turquoise pendant and Turkish earrings; splashing and playing like kids in the wave pool at Darwin waterfront; camping alongside the eccentric Mike from Russell Island in Morton Bay via New Zealand and the Kiwi defence establishment; eating the best ever dark chocolate and mango sorbet in the world; learning for the first time the reality of the bombing of Darwin during WWII at the military museum; and catching a sunset at Mindil Beach with my old mate, Liz, after exploring the market.

Mike from Russell Island in Morton Bay.

Mike and Mike playing F n C, G again.

Having dinner at Mindil Beach Market in Darwin.

At Mindil Beach the locals and tourists alike come down from the market to watch the sun setting.

Mindil Beach sunset.

A happy coincidence catching up with my old mate Liz in Darwin.

Michael soaking up our military history at the War Museum.

A new purpose for the old WWII search lights.

Mindil Beach.

And other impressions, deeper and more elusive, play upon the mind. The unspoken line drawn between blacks and whites in towns like Darwin and Katherine, and the rare, but welcome, moments when a smile, a handshake, a nod, or a friendly conversation reaches across the gulf and reminds us that we are fellow countrymen after all, and help to push past these deep and painful rifts between us.

We southern city folk hold easy opinions, informed by commentary that fits our ideology and political persuasion, left or right, yet have no real experience or understanding of the realities - we think we 'know' the answers and offer them glibly - yet we do not know.

I look up at the stars and moon at night and send my hopes beyond the opinions and answers and it seems all I can do is wish.

I will listen to opinions, but I will not offer my own. They have been pummelled to red dust and left behind on the black tar of highway number one.

Being out here for us was never about seeing every great sight or visiting every place the travellers talk about around the fire or camp kitchen. We get tired of hearing "you should see this or that". We are happy to nod and ooh and ahh and thank them kindly, and sometimes we take their advice and are glad we did, but now after seven months of our journey there is a certain travel weary rhythm that we dance to. It is slower, more measured and as we set our sights toward the east once more we're looking forward to the fellowship of friends and family right down the east coast. We look forward to seeing their faces and being in their easy company once more. Talking and laughing and exchanging the mere joy of each others lives.

Someone asked recently, "are you still excited to walk those beaches and hike those trails and see those wonders as when you first began, or have you become desensitised to them?" I think it is partly true, however, something else kicks in when you're setting your sails for home and that is 'I must take all this in yet, I must still be present while I canoe Katherine Gorge and be in awe as I let the cool waters of the Wangi Creek wash over me.