We are all very impressed with our campsite at Kings Canyon. It si clean, spacious and we have 'luxury' tents with proper beds and sprung mattresses. There's even electricity, a lamp and a fan. It doesn't take much to impress us these days! The air is cool for the first time and most of us get a good night's sleep, snug under our duvets. Yes, proper duvets are also included.
That's good because we have a good hike in front of us today, and despite leaving early (again!), it's already hot and sunny, when we set off. It's a steep climb to the cliff top around the canyon, but we stop frequently to admire the stunning views as we climb. The lads are in their element, clambering over rocks and peering down 100m drops from the cliff overhangs into the lush valley below. As we make our way around the the horseshoe we have to descend steps down the cliff into the secret 'Garden of Eden'. A small brook with a splash pool at the end is where we stop for a break in the shade to enjoy the peace and cool before carrying on back to the bus and on to Uluru aka Ayers Rock.

It's not far from Alice Springs to our next destination of Kings Canyon but I have lots to do in the morning before we leave as I still haven't organised anything for my post Ozbus weeks. I am also struggling to keep my blogs updated without my beloved netbook. By the time we set off mid morning I've ticked off a number of possibilities and feel a little more organised. For lunch we will be stopping at a Camel Farm but as Rick pulls in we can only see a couple of mangy emus and a dead kangaroo in a pen. As we set up our picnic tables in the shade along the fence the emus stretch their long necks through to share our lunch. The dead kangaroo opens a lazy eye to see if its worth the effort of getting up and decides against.
We soy some tables and benches outside a cafe and move away from the starving emus. Still no sign  of any camels. Inside 'Jim's Place' there are pictures all around showing his family history from Selly Oak in Birmingham and that of his faithful companion, 'Dinky' the singing dingo. Just as we are packing to leave, Jim himself, tells me to gather everyone around the piano and he will bring Dinky to entertain us. No-one believes me when I tell them but eventually we get a quorum. Jim takes some time to explain his life story and how he acquired Dinky. Just when we think he's getting to the point, we get the origin of the species in Australia. Dinky, meanwhile, has flopped on the floor next to him as if to say 'OMG, here we go again. Wake me up when he's done.'
Then, Dinky reluctantly approaches the piano and drags himself up and onto the keys. A few notes are tapped for him to tune into, Dinky clears his throat and starts to howl. We start to howl, with laughter. Dinky howls some more. We howl some more. Dinky howls louder. We howl louder. Dinky howls longer. We can't keep up. Dinky wins and we have wet oursleves.Dinky smirks and drops off the piano, whilst Jim starts again to tell us about other famous dingoes he has known. Dinky's heard it all before and decides to leave. He pulls at the lead but Jim has much more to tell us. Jim wins and Dinky flops back on the floor.You can almost see him putting his paws over his ears. Back on the bus and there are still no camels in sight.

We have passed through the very centre of Australia, 1500kms from the sea and on our way to Alice Springs, 900 kms to the south. I had expected kilometres of desert or desert bush, but am finding it extraordinary how the view from the coach can change in just a short time. Desert grass, desert bush, short desert trees, tall desert trees.  Escarpments to wide open plains. It varies with every few kilometres till it becomes difficult to remember what you saw where. Rick is also constantly on a wildlife tick list hunt for us as we travel along. So far, we have seen walleroos, Agile Wallabies, Rock Wallabies, 3m high termite mounds, and the piece de resistance for me, a frilled neck lizard! His depth of knowledge on all topics is amazing and interesting. When we stop at one of the remote roadhouses along the Highway, he disappears out back and returns with a beautiful black headed python for us to hold. Apprehensive but fascinated, some of us take a turn to hold him (or is it her?). Rick carefully places the centre body around our necks and explains the constriction process. For each person in turn, the snake is docile and winds its tail around their arm or into a pocket, or, In Frankie’s case, up her short skirt. Must be a male! It’s my turn and the snake hangs around my neck like a limp feather boa, it’s head along my arm till it appears to go to sleep. Then I start to feel it tightening around my neck. Quickly, I pass it on to the next eager victim. Tick ‘snake’ off my list. Then as we carry on down the road we narrowily miss running a 2m goanna over. Tick.

By the time we arrive at Mary Ann Dam, where we should have a picnic lunch and a swim, we are behind time and the swim has to be missed.

A quick shop for tonight’s dinner in Tennant’s Creek and we’re on to the Devil’s Marbles. Scrambling from rock to rock in the baking sun, it’s another welcome opportunity to stretch our legs during long days on the bus but by the time we pass the Tropic of Capricorn and arrive at our destination in Alice Springs it is already dark.

There is nothing better than an Aussie steak (sorry John!), salad and a bottle of Aussie red wine to perk you up after a long day on the bus so we decide to go and investigate Alice Springs. After a 20 min walking tour, we end up in the local hostelry, where I am tempted to try a typical Oz cocktail of Bundi & coke. Just one or two. Pretty soon its throwing out time so we set off for the hostel. Its only 15 mins walk. Two hours later, we have circumnavigated the entire town thrice, found  various hostels, and could rewrite the entire street map but have failed to retrieve our own hostel, whose name or address we have also failed to recollect. Just as all hope fades for our redemption, a familiar landmark comes into sight and we creep into our dorms, hopeful that no-one will remember our misdemeanours in the morning.

Its another early start after a fairly sleepless night of camping. The tents were not at all what I had expected, being more like canvas garden sheds without windows but with two bunks beds down either side. Talk travels easily through canvas walls and some had partied hard into the night. Others are suffering the result. Everyone is hot and bothered but Rick has a great idea to cool us off.

Our first stop requires a short walk into a leafy glade with a cool pool and waterfall. There are no crocs near this pool except for those on our feet and we all dive or slide in off the rocks. Pretty soon we are all suitably chilled and refreshed enough to carry on.

But we have 2 opportunities to get wet and wild today as our next major stop is another Falls. Edith Falls is calm and tranquil. The pool is clear and the fish are curious, nibbling around our heels. I know some people who would pay a fortune for that. We are assured that any crocs here will be ‘freshies’ and  will keep well away. Nonetheless, I find myself constantly checking for eyes  just above the waterline.

Arriving at the camp site, the tents here are even more basic than the previous night, with no more than mosquito netting around the 2 sets of bunk beds. Even so, there is precious little air to help us sleep in the heat.

 

 

 

Our flight to Darwin leaves at 11pm and arrives at stupid o clock the next morning but it is not too long. When we started this trip I had not been particularly looking forward to Australia as it did not seem as exotic as all the other places in between but as time has passed, talking with others and our 2 native Aussies I have become more and more fascinated at what lies in store for us as we travel through this vast and diverse continent. On the down side, we are arriving at the start of the ‘Big Wet’ and the forecast does not look particularly encouraging. Darwin can experience entire weeks of nonstop torrential rain and despite Peter Kay’s remonstration that it is ‘that fine rain’ which soaks through you, I can confirm that torrential rain (check out Koh Samui blog!) is much more efficient at it. On the positive side, at least we should be wet and warm!

Waiting for us in Darwin is a new bus, a new driver and Mills’ dad!. It is a lovely surprise for her. She is on her way home to Perth from London, after spending 3 years in Europe and was using this trip as a means to get home and visit her home country, which she had never done before. She had not expected her dad to fly to meet her in Darwin and this gives her a chance to celebrate his recent Big Birthday which she had missed whilst travelling with us.

Our new bus is a welcome return to Western standards and we quickly arrive in Darwin city centre. To me it looks like any other small US provincial town. Housing well spaced. Wide roads and sweeping avenues. Out of town retail centres and similar advertising. I am a little disappointed and a little bit thankful that communication and shopping etc will be easier and more like home.

Our hostel is purpose built, clean and well organised, with wifi access, an open air swimming pool and a pool bar. There is a large kitchen and open air (and under cover) eating area. Our rooms are not cramped and the streets appear quiet at 4am.

After a few hours sleep  am back on my mission to resolve my computer problem. Hopefully, here it will be easier. The girl on the desk recommends a local company the hostel uses and I phone to check they have the facility to do what  I need. The technician appears confident but confesses it could cost me a lot of money not to make progress. I am heartened by his honesty and take a taxi to the address given to me. The taxi pulls away but I see no sign of a computer shop. Looking around, all the garage lock ups appear closed and there is not a soul in sight as I wander round looking for signs of life in the baking heat. I have no water, no phone, no hat and no recollection of the name of the place I need to be nor the name of the hostel I am staying at. There is not even a passing vehicle to flag down for assistance. In one of the garages, I spot a guy at work, making digeridoos, and ask him for guidance. He berates me severely for putting myself at risk in such a stupid way (he’s not wrong) and eventually we come to the conclusion that the place I need is another 300m walk along the road. Did I leave my brains in London, or did I naively assume that because this place looks and feels familiar and everyone speaks English (sort of!) that I don’t need to take care?

Leaving my beloved netbook in the caring hands of the technician, I take a taxi back to get on with other outstanding jobs awaiting me. The hostel pool is like a warm bath and unchlorinated. I decide to attack a new challenge of learning to swim front crawl. Back home I swim every morning but am a one trick pony with my breast stroke. I have been determined to learn to front crawl and in this unchlorinated water, can make the attempt with the need of goggles. Donna and Liv are obviously past champions (or maybe even current champions) and offer good advice on Isobel and my techniques. I manage at least 10m without struggling for breath. Look out 2012 Olympics, here I come.

Exploring Darwin proves a bit more of a challenge. Not because it’s difficult but because there really isn;t much to see or do, after you’ve wandered along the sea front and supped a few pints in the bars on the main street. Most challenging for all of us is the cost. The Aussie dollar has gone from strength to strength whilst other currencies have plummetted and the cost of a pint is now €7.00 or £5.00. A bar sandwich sets you back £10.00. I could hire a motorbike for that in Bali.

That evening the computer technician confesses that he is unable to retrieve my data and that it will still cost me AUD270 to get my computer back. Devastated, I decide to blow the budget completely and treat myself to a posh dinner in a recommended restaurant. If I’m going to waste my money, I’d prefer to enjoy myself doing it.

As we make our way back down the narrow mountain road in the morning, I am sad to be leaving Java. Andi has instilled in me a new enchantment with volcanoes and I would love to spend some more time exploring them close up. But we have to keep moving and we are all looking forward to some time on the beach in Bali.

The ferry crossing to Bali is a short one of 30 minutes but the scenery on the island is completely different to Java. This is much more cultivated and organised. We catch a glimpse of  mangrove swamps and white sandy beaches as we make our way across the island to our destination.

Kuta is a shock to the system as we re-enter Western civilisation for the first time in months. Trendy shops. Bars and restaurants. Tanned western faces and lots of blonde hair. Shorts, vest tops and singlets. Are we still in SE Asia or have we been magically transported to Magaluf?

Our hotel is smart and clean, with spacious rooms all facing onto a lovely pool surrounded with well kept shrubbery to provide some shade. Bev, Lisa and Amanda have been waiting for us to join them and there isn’t a cloud in the sky to rain on our parade.

As we have a couple of days here, my first priority is to try and get my computer fixed. Next morning, Ando accompanies me to a recommened outlet but by the end of the day they admit defeat and have been unable to recover my photos or documents. Very apologetically they return my computer and don’t even charge me for their time. I am determined not to let this setback spoil my time so its off to the beach for a bit of body boarding and sunbathing before sunset. Leaving Stu to guard the bags, Isobel and I head for the waves. The surf is good and Isobel is becoming a bit of a bodyboarding expert. As the sun starts to head for the horizon over the sea I head back for my camera. Stu is surrounded by a gaggle of local women. Not unusual, some might say. One is massaging his back and shoulders, while another is slicing up fresh pineapple. Yet another is engaging him in banter as she had offered a massage first and been turned down. Its a hard life! I sit down to get my camera from my bag and immediately she starts to massage my shoulders. It seems Stu has negotiated a group discount for us. Almost immediately another young lady appears and starts a pedicure on my feet. As the sun finally sets we leave the beach, oiled and massaged to perfection with bright red toenails decorated with daisies (and that’s only Stu!). Its a hard life!

Next day, some decide to rent a car to take them round the island, others decide to hire motorbikes or scooters, others stay local. I am one of the motorbike group and we head off to explore the other side of the peninsula where we have been told we will be able to snorkel, dive and jetski to our heart’s content. As we roll into town and head for the beach it is obvious that this resort is the upmarket side, for which Bali is famous in Europe. A gated entry, manicured gardens and little side roads for the large hotels, each with their own private beach for guests only. The activities are a little further north and as we pull into the public beach it is clear that there are not too many tourists around so we should be able to negotiate a good discount. The bike has cost us less than £10 for the day so we are hopeful that the activities will be cheaper. The first shock comes when we are told that new laws in Bali means we cannot share jetskis (even tho we have an experienced driver) but must be accompanied by one of their official instructors. Our plans to share costs are ripped to shreds and some particularly hard bargaining on price is required. However, my disappointment fades away as my young, tanned and very fit instructor climbs on the jetski behind me. This could be fun. He starts the jetski up and almost immediately hands me control. Silly boy! I have my 15 mins of fun trying to lose him off the back, as he clings to me for dear life. As we return to the beach, he staggers off, looking a little paler than I remembered.

Now, I have never snorkelled before and, after doing a scuba try dive earlier this year had decided that I should learn to snorkel before attempting anything more complicated. This is my moment. The sea is calm and uncrowded. The coral reef is shallow and easily accessible. Looking like Marina the mermaid, I slide elegantly into the water from the boat and fin gently around, occasionally executing a perfect duck dive to explore the reef with its angel, parrot and butterfly fish more closely. Oops, did I say ‘I’? Actually, that WAS Marina the mermaid. I, on the other hand, cause a minor tsunami, as I drop like a stone into the water and then float to the top like some inflatable whale. Even whilst flapping  on the top like a demented duck, I almost manage to drown myself, inhaling sea water through the supposed non return valve of the snorkel. Needless to say, there's not a fish left in sight as WW3 breaks out overhead

Long drives are now the norm alongwith poor road surfaces, large potholes and poor toilet stops. I won’t waste any more time dwelling on them, except to say that, by the time we arrive at the mountain base, dusk is already upon us and the rain  has started to fall (also the norm now!). We have to transfer to minibuses but the minibuses that await us are not what we expected. These obviously double as ‘passion wagons’ by night, painted black with flames and logos down the sides and blacked out windows all round, even the windscreen, with only a thin slit across the top for the driver (and passengers) to see through. I clamber, very unladylike into ‘Sexy Girls’ and try to sit on the bench seat. Unfortunately, ‘Sexy Girls’ wanted his girls to lie along the benches rather than sit with their feet on the floor as they are too close together. As we start to thread our way around  narrow hairpin bends on a steep gradient, the rain is thundering down on the roof and we can see a river coming down towards us as we try to peer through the steamed up narrow slit in the window. Opening the side windows to let some air in only results in being immediately drowned by the flood that comes in. As we climb quickly up to 2000m the temperature drops rapidly. I am cold, wet, disoriented and  carsick  with a touch of altitude sickness from the rapid climb but by the time we reach the top the rain has stopped. From the hotel we have a direct view over the plain below and Mt Bromo opposite. It is a stunning conical shape with a thin plume of smoke coming out of the top. Isabel’s beaming face at the sight of more beautiful mountains is the last thing I see before I hit the floor.

In the morning, it’s a 3.30 wake up call to see the sun rise over Mt Bromo from Mt Panajakan. I’m a bit nervous as it means another steep ascent to 2700m in the cold mountain air but am determined not to miss it. There is a long line of 4x4s following the track to the viewpoint and we jostle for the best position at the top. The moonscape below looks surreal as the morning mist swirls around the perfectly shaped volcanoes and I half expect one of the Clangers to climb out of one.

On the way back to the hotel, we ask the driver to drop us off near foot of Mt Bromo so we can climb to the crater edge before breakfast. A long line of miniature Arab ponies is waiting to gallop us across the plain and up the steep slope to the bottom of the final 250 steps to the crater. Bless! As I look at their perfectly arched necks, tiny backs with a  dinky saddle perched on top of their spindly legs, they would not look out of place on a carousel and I feel I should be carrying them, rather than the other way round. Even their diminutive grooms look incronguous atop as they weave in an out of the crowds of hefty Europeans, Americans and Aussies bartering the price of laziness .

Despite the temptation of a gallop across the plain, I fail to spot a suitable cart horse to carry me. The walk is not arduous, and we only stop to admire the view from each 5m ascent up the steps.

As we reach the top, I am ready for the thrill of a gurgling lava lake spitting out fumes from the crater. It is therefore somewhat disappointing, after all that effort, to be only able to see the thin plume of steam escaping from a crack in the surface between a couple of boulders. We stand there for half an hour, peering down into the crater surface, aching for a glimpse of red in all the grey as the sun climbs high in the sky, but eventually hunger calls us back for breakfast.

Disappointed from the morning’s efforts, a few of us decide to return to the crater for sunset. This time, there are no ponies or 4x4s offering to carry us across in the afternoon heat and we make the whole trip from the hotel on foot. Once again, we climb the 250 steps, stopping to admire the view as we go. This time, we have no expectations, only hope. We are a small group, alone at the crater edge as the sun heads for the horizon. Once again, we peer down. This time there is much more smoke swirling around inside the crater before clambering its way out into the early evening sky. The grey of the crater becomes more pronounced as the sky turns golden behind it. Then, just as we are giving up to make our way back to the hotel before darkness enfolds us, the smoke clears briefly and we spot a glimpse of red below us. It is bubbling and churning around as the smoke swirls around, obscuring our view, then revealing the earth’s innards below. It is enthralling and we stand mesmerised as the the sun sets and our view of the magma becomes clearer. In the still of dusk, we can even hear the thunder of explosions below and every so often it escapes into the evening, like gunshot. But night here has no light apart from the moon and eventually we have to leave to make our way by torchlight, down the rocky slope, across the sandy plain and up the escarpment on the other side.

Monday morning and we are scheduled to go to Yogyakarta for a couple of nights so we can visit the Borabadur temple. However, the news is that Yogyakarta is considered too close to the Mt Marapi exclusion zone and we will be staying in Solo which is further away.

On the way we pick up Andi, a local volcanologist. His enthusiasm for volcanoes and excitement at the activity is contagious. Indonesia has more than 500 volcanoes, of which 127 are considered active and 11 are at Level 2 or higher (there are only 4 levels). Mt Merapi is now at level 3 having had several eruptions since the initial one on Oct 26th. There is no lava, only ash as this is a pyroclastic flow (don’t I sound like the expert!). We travel through Yogyakarta on our way to Solo, but there is nothing to see here. Then we can spot it in the distance. A thin plume of smoke billowing out of the top. We pull over to take pictures and ask more questions. It’s enthralling to be soo close, yet we are more than 35kms away.

 

Next morning a few of us have elected to get up at the crack of dawn to try and get better photos of Marapi and attempt to get into Borobadur, which has been closed for cleaning after the ash fall. We will also try to visit the Sultan’s Palace.

Objective number one is a disappointment as the morning is overcast and the view very limited so we are not able to photograph the volcano again. The Sultan’s Palace is closed for a public holiday so objective numbr two is also missed. We have already been some time on the road and have to make a decision on whether to cut our losses and return to Solo or make a try for Borobadur which may also still be closed. We are the Ozbussers and will not be defeated. On we go passing through grey town after grey town as we approach. The remains of the ash are very visible and we pass by makeshift camps and lodgings for the evacuees. A huge clear up operation is underway by locals as the ash itself is considered a valuable resource for fertiliser and also for construction.

Whilst we are travelling, Andi has contacted a friend who is a guide and asked if we can get special dispensation to enter the grounds which are still closed to tourists.

As we arrive, his friend comes to meet us and let us in. We feel so privileged to be there, although we will not be able to climb the monument as it is still being cleaned. Hidden from the world until Raffles rediscovered it in the mid 19th century, it has since been rebuilt. As we gaze at all the buddhas in their tower to the sky, it’s hard to imagine it was lost to the jungle for so many years before.

Back in Solo, we are out on the nightly forage for food and my objective is set on sate ayam, which we had failed to find the night before. We decide to take a pedicab but these are not designed for the western beam and 2 people cannot fit in the seat. There is only one solution. One of us will have to ride the bike and the pedicab driver will have to sit in the seat. Stu decides he is the man for the job and the cab driver is game. As the pedicab hurtles up the street, locals look on in amused amazement and oncoming traffic hurtles to either side of the road in the face of a mad Englishman swerving from side to side in a pedicab.

Later, we look for the local dish of Nasi Lemit and find it in a street stall opposite our hotel. It is delicious and we are lucky enough to get chatting to a family in Solo for the celebration of Eids Al Adha.