Our Big Adventure

Baňos

2008-08-21T04:19:00.001+01:00

One of Ecuador’s biggest claims to fame is its location on the equator and thus we stop off at Mitad del Mundo (Middle of the World) to straddle the physical line that divides the northern and southern hemispheres. We listen hard to the guy from National Geographic who explains why this particular spot is considered to be the very Middle of the World, but both Will and I are baffled by his explanation. As far as we’re concerned, it’s on the equator that runs around the middle of the world and that’s good enough for us. I think it’s something to do with the height we’re at and how this makes us at the closest point to the stars than at any other point on the equator, or something like that.

Past Volcan Cotopaxi (5897m) but it’s too cloudy to see the peak, something which we will come to realise is a bit of a recurring problem where volcanoes are concerned. Will’s Spanish has now picked up to such an extent that he’s sitting in the front chatting away to the taxi driver and I’m only catching every other word. How did this happen?

By late afternoon, we’re approaching Banos, which means Baths in Spanish, and peering out for sight of the active Volcan Tungurahua which last erupted in 2006. Long before the volcano springs into view, we can see thick grey smoke high in the sky and realise that this is the smoke from the volcano which is hidden behind the clouds. A little further along the road and we see volcanic ash pilled high to one side whilst on the other deep cracks in the earth and wide runs of lava flow which have destroyed everything in their path, including the road we’re driving on which has had to be rebuilt. Weird to think this was only 2 years ago.

As a result of the active volcano, there are lots of hot springs in the area and thus the place was named Bathroom. We’re booked into the grand sounding Palace hotel located beside some hot springs and gushing waterfall. Sadly, the location is much better than the inside of the hotel which looks as though it hasn’t been updated since its 1950s heyday.

Will takes the kids to check out our very own onsite hot springs but, judging by the state of the hotel, I’m not holding out very much hope of them being very nice, but I go anyway to appease him. I walk in and then walk straight out again. He’s not such a fusspot as me and they all go to wallow in someone else’s dead skin whilst I try to get some fresh air into our mildew smelling bathroom.

A taxi takes us to the top of a mountain opposite the volcano (since you can’t drive up the actual volcano itself as it’s not known when the next eruption with be) for a better look at the peak, but despite hiking up a very steep incline at the top, the sight eludes as once more due to the cloud cover.

I’ve read that the hot springs next to our hotel only change their water every three days and I really don’t fancy other people’s 3 day old dead skin sneaking inside my bikini so we head instead to the Piscina El Salado just out of town and located alongside a river and next to a waterfall. The setting is perfect but the place itself is a bit ancient and rundown, which also describes the old lady heading towards us with her 2 feet long empty breasts hanging out of her swimming costume. And my stomach does a triple summersault when we take a pre-plunge shower and discover a man sitting on the floors of the showers scrubby particularly manky-looking scabby feet with gusto. Just as well they do a daily water change here although it’s a shame I didn’t manage to make it in ahead of this guy.

The town of Banos itself is a small place and we find a place for dinner at Le Jardin that also happens to have free WiFi so it’s here that I find myself one evening looking for accommodation at our next location. After an hour or so of fruitless searching, I ask the lady who owns the place if she knows of anywhere to stay in Puyo. Yes, she says, my sister owns a hotel there. And it happens to be the very first hotel on my list of half a dozen that I’ve been unsuccessfully trying to get hold of. Yes, she says, they have a room for 4 people for tomorrow night. Fantastic, now I can have two more of those happy hour Cuba Libra’s whilst Will gets the kids in bed.

Ecuador - Quito

2008-08-21T04:18:00.004+01:00

At 2850m, Quito is the world’s second highest capital city after La Paz, but we don’t seem to be as breathless here as we were in Cusco. Maybe we’re finally acclimatised.

Home for the next couple of days is a 2-bed, 2-story apartment at Apart Hotel Antinea (www.hotelantinea.com) which seems very reasonable at $63 per night. It’s not quite so cheap when we’re told that there’s 12% tax plus 15% service to be added to this basic price. Unfortunately, it’s not only the hotel that adds this but also the restaurants so that the price on the menu bears no resemblance to the actual price on the bill at the end of the meal.

Fortunately there’s a nearby square that reminds me of St Christopher’s Place surrounded by bars and restaurants and here we stumble across a tapas bar that has all you can eat and drink for $15. The tapas is good and keeps coming and the wine is the same.

Since September 2000, the currency of Ecuador is the US Dollar. This followed some serious devaluation of the sucre, Ecuadors former currency, in 1999/2000 when the effects of El Niňo and the sagging oil market sent the economy into a tailspin causing the currency to devalue from 7000 per US Dollar to about 25,000. Hence there’s an awful lot of people here who have never recovered from this body blow and are still struggling.

The old town here is another UNESCO World Heritage Site, but we can’t see why. Maybe we’re just getting blasé or maybe we’ve been spoilt, but there’s really nothing particularly charming about this place. Yes, it has a lovely central Plaza with the ubiquitous pretty church and some nice old colonial buildings, but it’s really nothing to write home about.

We take a taxi ride up Cerro Panecillo, the highest hill in the area with a huge statue of La Virgin de Quito atop. She’s chained for some reason but it’s not clear if these are the chains to the virginal chastity belt or not. A good view across town and, if the crowds gathered to one corner are anything to go by, also a good place to fly a kite. There’s a number of power lines nearby full of kites wrapped around them and, just as I’m wondering why anyone would fly a kite here when it’s so obviously going to get wrapped around the wires, the first one plops itself down and wraps itself over and over as a startled child looks on in bewilderment as if to say “how they hell did that happen?” As I’m giggling to myself at the stupidity, the second kite does the same thing and within a few seconds a third one follows suit. I wetting myself as I watch each kite flyer in turn look at their kite and then try frantically to release it, only making things worse. Maybe they should have engaged their brains before flying kites next to telegraph wires full of dead kites.

Ruby’s delighted to have found a book in our hotels’ book exchange that lists lots of games which came be played in the car. Closer inspection reveals the book to be 35 years old with a cover price of 20p. Where has it been lurking all these years?

We round off our time in Quito with £2.50 martinis in the Square. I’m liking this place

Otavalo

2008-08-21T04:18:00.003+01:00

Our pre-booked taxi doesn’t arrive and Will’s forced to find one on the street that will take us on our 2-hour trip to Otavalo. Of course, it’s now $15 more expensive than the pre-booked one and it’s smaller meaning that some of our bags are squashed inside the car with us.

Our apartment at Hacienda Palmeiras is located a little way from town but this means that we have some beautiful grounds around us and, for the first time this trip, feel confident enough to let the kids wander off without us watching them. They can’t go far and are having a great time playing with the resident dogs and alpacas. I hope Harley manages to get off bite-free this time.

Saturday is market day in Otavalo and this one is huge. We buy some presents for our families knowing that we don’t have to carry them around for very much longer. Most of our families have done something for us be it storing our car or furniture, taking our mail or delivery of our packages or something else so it’s only right that we take them something back, even if it is a dead guinea pig…

And speaking of dead animals, the local speciality here looks to be whole pig, head still attached complete with startled expression (well what expression would you have if someone stuck a poker up your bottom and shoved you on a spit) from which large chunks are ripped off and served up with some crispy roast potatoes, corn, salsa and gravy. A plateful for £2.50. Will’s enjoying it so much he scoffs down three platefuls and washes it down with a couple of beers and I’m almost gagging on the smell of hot pork fat combined with piggy giving me the eye.

We’re off to Cusin to go horse riding and we all get our own horse apart from Harley who’s sitting on Dobbin with the guide. A 1 hour ride gives us a pleasant view of some surrounding countryside but I’m finding the slow-pace a bit of a bore. I’d love to give my steed a whip and have him take me for a canter, but I’m not allowed to since the others will follow suit, probably dumping Will (who’s on a horse for the first time in 35 years) and Ruby (who’s on a horse for the second time in her life) in the process.

Miraflores

2008-08-21T04:17:00.001+01:00

Back to Lima for a couple of days (www.miraflorescolonhotel.com) where Will has to wait for a phone call from work and he also wants to go to see some catcombs at the Monasterio de San Francisco. The catacombs are said to be filled with the bones of 70,000 and archaeologists have opened many of the burial sites up and laid the bones back in a very orderly fashion.

We also check out Barranco and have possibly the worst lunch of the trip where Ruby is so beside herself with hunger (made worse when her food doesn’t arrive for over an hour and then, when it does, it’s inedible) that she’s almost in tears. I end up taking her outside and feeding her a chocolate doughnut!

It’s a shame that we didn’t stumble across the bajada earlier (a very pretty Bougainvillea-filled steep path leading down to the beach and filled on both sides by lovely looking restaurants), a particularly pleasant part of town where we wander under the Puente de los Suspiros (Bridge of Sighs) to the coast and spot an amazing old church built of mud and wood that had definitely seen better days but was still standing.

Back to Lima

2008-08-21T04:16:00.001+01:00

Retracing our steps yet further, we’re back on the bus to Puno where we have a couple of hours to kill before heading to the airport at Juliaca for our flight back to Lima. Nothing remarkable about this you might say, except that you didn’t see the road. We drive along for a few miles and suddenly the road has been dug up in every direction and there’s no obvious way to get through to the airport. Cars are driving over piles of shingle and stones and across railways tracks trying to make a path for themselves and cars coming towards us have to stop to let us pass. A huge bus hurtles along and everyone is trying to follow in its path figuring it will create a road of sorts. It’s total chaos. Added to that the fact that there doesn’t seem to be any actual work going on. It’s as if it’s been dug up and then abandoned. And this is the major road between the airport and the port. Bizarre.

Copacabana, Bolivia

2008-08-21T04:15:00.001+01:00

Having eventually managed to book a taxi to get us the hell out of dodge, we’ve decided to head back to Copacabana rather than onwards to La Paz figuring that, in absence of a decently priced flight back to Peru, we can at least retrace our footsteps back across the border on the bus and work our way back to Lima from there.

We’re not 20 minutes down the road and our taxi is pulled over by a group of uniformed men carrying guns. I’m certain we’re about to be shaken down for some cash but we all sit tight and the driver hops out and opens the hatchback. One of the men has a very quick look over our luggage and then waves us on. Apparently, they were the army looking for drugs being smuggled out of Bolivia (which processes an awful lot of cocaine) and into Peru. Lucky for us we’d taped it all to the bottom of the car and they didn’t have any sniffer dogs…(I’m joking mum!!).

So back across the river we go, us on a little motor boat and our taxi plus all our worldy goods on a wooden barge. We’re hoping that our taxi will set off before us and arrive after us lest the driver decides to make off with our bags which would be worth considerably more than the $50 fare we’re paying him.

Ever since Chile pinched 350km of Bolivia’s coastline during the War of the Pacific, Bolivia has been landlocked and yet they still have a navy. Clearly, these guys have very little to do so they congregate around the Titicaca Naval Base at Tiquina…and direct the traffic!

Back in Copacabana, we’re booked into La Cupula (www.hotelcupula.com) and have a great room for $28. Once again, I’m gutted that we spent so much time, effort and money get to Huatajata. La Cupula is perched on a hill, overlooking the lake (which looks more like a sea from up here), with 2 separate gardens containing hammocks and deckchairs and gorgeous views. Not only that, but the sun is beating down. The kids make the most of the space and run amok in the gardens whilst I make the most of the weather and sunbathe. At a height of 3,800m above sea level, it’s probably not a good idea to sunbathe when you’re this close to the sun, something I only realise the next morning when I wake up burnt to a crisp. Even throughout all of Australia I didn’t get burnt like this.

Copacabana has a small ‘beach’ at the side of the lake and it reminds us of some English seaside town in the 50’s. The edge of the lake is full of duck shaped pedalos; there’s old bikes and trikes to rent; there’s even table football games set up along the promenade and ice cream parlours at the back.

Parked nearby is a lorry covered in flowers which has just been blessed at the cathedral. Vehicles are blessed to give them long life and also to ensure the safe passage of those who travel in them. If you saw Bolivian drivers, you’d understand why they need this.

Bolivia

2008-08-21T04:12:00.002+01:00

Just across the other side of the lake lies Bolivia and it’s possible to get a bus across, so we think why the hell not. Country number 13: let’s hope it’s not unlucky.

A 7am departure and it’s just 2 hours to the border where we’re all off the bus and walking through a stone archway into Bolivia. A painless entry procedure where I don’t even have to hide anything in bins, back onto the bus and it’s just a short distance to Copacabana where we have just one hour before the bus leaves for the next part of our journey. We knew Bolivia was going to be cheap but we’re amazed to find that it cost less than £2 for a lunch of steak, rice, chips and vegetables.

Our destination is not La Paz, capital of Bolivia but Huatajata, on the same road but some 2 hours before. We’ve read about the grandly named Inca Utama Hotel and Spa – Andean Roots Eco Village (www.titicaca.com) and have decided to spend a couple of nights there. When we booked our tickets we were told that the bus to La Paz stops here but the driver is refusing to stop. My stomach is doing flips and I’m desperate for the toilet, but unfortunately there isn’t one on this bus. The roads are climbing higher and higher and I’m finding it hard to breath at this altitude. And to top it all of, I’m feeling sick too. This brings on a panic attack and before I know it, I’m gasping and wheezing at the back of the bus as Harley continually asks me what’s wrong. We should have taken all of this as an omen and gone straight back to Copocabana right then.

Fortunately, it’s not long until the roads start winding back down again and then it’s all out of the bus as we stop at the side of the lake. I can’t run fast enough to find a toilet and it doesn’t even bother me that these are one of the most revolting examples I’ve encountered on this trip, and believe me, there’s been a few bad ones.

As I emerge, quite literally relieved, I notice that our bus is being punted across the lake on a wooden platform and everyone is getting into small boats to be ferried across. Whilst we’re waiting on the other side for the bus to join us, Will finds the driver and greases his palm with 20 bolivanos (which is less than £2 but our entire 7 ½ hour journey costs only £4) and again asks him to stop in Huatajata. It works and the bus drops us right outside the hotel.

I’m slightly confused because we seem to be in the middle of nowhere, although we are right on the shore of the lake with stunning views. This wasn’t to be the only time I was confused in the next 3 days.

The marketing material promised us several museums, an Eco village, an observatory,
Aymara tribes people showing how to make reed boats, a spa using natural medicines of the Andes, a children’s park where local children come to play with your own, 2 restaurants, folk music performances every evening, cable tv, internet, bar, travel services….the list was almost endless. Almost all of the above were either complete fabrication or a total exaggeration. For starters, there are no local children; the Aymara tribes people have mostly moved on leaving just two old men and their wives here; there was no tv (not a problem) or internet (a problem since I need to book our next hotel and we’re in the middle of nowhere); no phones in the room (a problem for the same reason); the travel services were limited to offering hydrofoil tours to Copacabana for $180 each (vs the $4 it cost us to get here by bus); only 1 restaurant is open (and we’re the only ones in it) and there’s no folk music performances. There is a bar (which you have to go to reception and ask them to open) but the kids aren’t allowed in. The spa offers 2 types of massage: one with coca butter and one with mud - hardly natural medicines of the Andes. And I’ve never stayed in a 5 star hotel that doesn’t even have a fridge in the room. Breakfast is bowl of cereal, fruit juice, one roll with jam and a banana plus a coffee. No buses stop here and a taxi is our only way back to Copacabana and it’s going to cost us $50. Trying to book flight on the phone (from reception) is going to cost 25% more than booking over the internet. Even in the middle of nowhere in NZ it wasn’t this bad. I can’t believe we’re paying $110 a night, in cheap as chips Bolivia, to stay in this piece of shit.

We did have company in the hotel on the second night, a girl who was on her own, thinking she was joining a group tour for the next week and discovered that it was to be just her and a male guide. Poor thing.

There was one amazing thing to come out of all this. NASA donated a telescope to this place some years ago (presumably before it went to the dogs) and it is now housed in a grass hut in the grounds. We have to ask if it still exists and we’re led off with a member of staff (who, let’s face it, has absolutely nothing else to do) to watch a short video about the stars and then the roof rolls back and we’re invited to look at Jupiter. Not the most amazing site in the world (it looks like a small moon) but pretty amazing to be able to see it all the same. I wonder if NASA knows that one of their telescopes resides in a grass hut?

Billed as The Most Astonishing Five Stars on Lake Titicaca, I think it must be the only 5 stars on Lake Titicaca. Actually, it is the most astonishing five star hotel I’ve ever known, maybe that’s what they mean.

Islas Flotantes – The Uros floating islands.

2008-08-21T04:11:00.002+01:00

The floating islands are really quite remarkable and unlike anything I have ever seen anywhere else. Made from woven tortura reeds, these islands are home to several hundred people who still live here, in the middle of the lake in isolation.

To make the islands, reeds are anchored to roots at the bottom of the lake some 20m below and then more tortura reeds are layered on top to a thickness of about 1 metre. On top of these, small houses made of reeds are built and whole families live together in these one room houses with the most basic of facilities. The mattress is another layer of reeds, on top of which is laid a blanket, although the chief of one of the islands did have a small solar panel which powered a small tv and a single lightbulb.

As the reeds underneath rot, the top layers are constantly replaced giving the whole island a spongy texture which moves slightly as you step onto it. The tortura reed is used for everything here, including making boats which range from small, basic canoe-style vessels to large elaborate Viking warrior style warships complete with dragons head which are large enough to carry our party of 20 or so.

The Uros tribe began their floating existence centuries ago in an effort to isolate themselves from the aggressive Collas and Incas. Today, they still fish, hunt birds and live off the lake plants in a very primitive manner. The only slightly annoying thing is that they constantly try to sell you their handicrafts which are also made of tortura reeds when we’re most interested in learning about their cultures. Will relents and buys a couple of small boats from the chief when he discovers that he has a girl of 8 and a boy of 4, same as us.

It’s dark by the time we leave and getting absolutely freezing out here in the middle of the lake. I have no idea how these people all keep warm during the night under their one thin blanket atop their bed of reeds, but we’re all back on the boat and breathing into our hands to warm up. Maybe that’s why all the members of the family share a bed.

Puno

2008-08-21T04:10:00.001+01:00

We’re staying over-budget at the very nice Sonesta Pousada del Inca (www.sonestaperu.com), as Puno doesn’t seem to offer anything in between backpackers hostels and $120 a night hotels. But we’re right on the edge of the lake with a fantastic view and there are llamas, alpacas and guinea pigs running around in the grounds which the kids enjoy feeding

Moored at the end of a small jetty is the Yavari, a ship that was built in England in 1862 then shipped around the Cape Horn in kit form, taken by train for part of the journey and finally hauled by mule over the Andes to Lake Titicaca, a journey which took six years.

There’s nothing much worth seeing in Puno itself. It’s a dusty little port town and try as we might, we can’t find anything to get enthused about here. But it does make the perfect starting point for a trip onto the lake to see the amazing floating islands.

More of Cusco

2008-08-21T04:09:00.004+01:00

Will’s hungover and miserable and I’m wondering why I was so nice to let him out to do whatever it is men do when they go out on their own and come home at 3am. But he redeems himself over lunch back in Jack’s by insisting that I go for a massage with ‘his’ Marisol as she was so good. At which point one of his new found friends (Yaddick) from last night wanders in and sits down with us, telling me what a gentleman Will was last night by leaving the table when two woman sat down to join them. What a sweetie, I think. And then the guy ruins all Will’s brownie points by saying that he’d left the table to play pool and I instantly know that it was just a coincidence that he got up to play pool just as the women were arriving.

I did indeed have a massage with Marisol and she was indeed very good. The buttock massage was particularly invigorating. Now I know what he meant.

Sunday mornings all over the world and there’s normally a market somewhere. This one is in Pisac where, not only are there hundreds of stalls all selling the same things but there’s also a church service at 11am, heralded by the local boys blowing on large shells and, coupled with the elaborate dress and headgear of the older men, makes for a rather memorable praise and worship.

The produce section of the market was much more interesting than the touristy bit and we see live guinea pigs being bought and sold, the biggest selection of different types and colours of potatoes and a myriad different types of sweetcorn. I even buy myself a trilby since all the women here look so cool in theirs.

Puno bound

2008-08-21T04:09:00.003+01:00

We’re keen to see Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world and so once again call upon the Orient Express/Peru Rail 10 hour train to Puno. Personally, I’d rather have taken the (much cheaper) 6 hour bus journey, but being the subservient little woman that I am…I’m on the train.

It’s much more Orient Express-like than I’d imagined with free-standing armchairs and lamps on the table and the only downside is that we’re in a carriage with about 20 Australian sixty-something year olds, one of whom can’t stop telling anyone who will listen that her and her husband can only spend 10% of their wealth, which may be why they’re paying about £7,500 each for a 21-day tour.

Actually, the train journey was great fun. Not only were we served pisco sours at 10.30am (which we managed to snag 2 of by hiding our first ones under the table!) but I got talking to a girl from Chester called Laura and we had a real giggle together, especially once the fashion show was on. There’s nothing quite like seeing your waiter stripping off and changing into an alpaca jumper before prancing down the carriage to give me a fit of the giggles. The rear carriage was the bar where local bands played their wind pipes, drum and guitars whilst serenading us with traditional Andean folk music. The very back part of the carriage was open so that you felt as though you were standing on the back of the train.

Great scenery of mud houses, traditionally dressed women tending their flocks of alpacas or sheep and winding rivers gave way to some brown, barren scenes punctuated only by the train track running straight through the middle of it. But at least we had a three-course lunch and afternoon tea to distract us. And I had Laura to chat to whilst Will was on kiddie watch.

Almost at Puno, we pass through the town of Juliaca where a market spreads itself out across the train tracks. Books, fruit and car parts are literally set out across the tracks and, as the train comes through, it simply passes straight over the top of them. Seconds later, people step back onto the track and continue with their day. Luckily for them that this train only passes through once a day I guess.

Will’s birthday

2008-08-21T04:08:00.001+01:00

A lie in (means he misses breakfast, but I don’t think he cares somehow) plus I do homework with Ruby, for a change.

Lunch at Jacks Café for some long awaited Western food and then I pack Will off for a birthday massage. Apparently, the lady in question gave a very good massage, although I still haven’t got to the bottom of what was so good about it…

I take the kids off to collect the tickets for our next train trip to Puno and this time it takes almost 2 hours just to queue and pick them up. Orient Express really need to sort this out before their name is besmirched forever.

We meet with Will for an hour or so back at Norton Rats, but I can tell he’s got sport and beer on his mind and, since we can’t get a babysitter (huge gap in the market in these parts), I’m taking the kids back to the hotel so he can hit the town. I was expecting him in around 1am or so, bearing in mind that he’s been out since 1pm so I’m rather worried when he’s still not in by 2.30am. At least he’s there, still alive when I wake up at 3am.

Meanwhile, back in Cusco

2008-08-21T04:07:00.004+01:00

Cusco (also known as the Naval of the World) is a great place, apart from having entirely too many loud Americans using up the air. It’s clean, has great open squares, historical buildings, cobbled streets plus great bars and restaurants. Overlooking the Plaza des Almas is the Norton Rats bar where we can take a seat on the balcony and literally watch the world go by. And only a few step away do I grit my teeth once more as Will takes us for a tour of the Inka Museum. Lovely.

As darkness falls we’re watching on in amazement as a festival is unfolding before our eyes where the boys are wearing woolly gimp masks and whipping each other across the back of the legs with some kind of woollen whip. What do they do in private?

The Dawkins family join us for dinner and Scott seems as keen as Will to order the local delicacies and before I can say Chef’s Salad, there’s some rare alpaca and a brace of cuy (guinea pig) sitting in front of me. Ruby and Harley are attacking a leg each of the cuy with gusto and Toby is bemoaning the fact that he’s been given pasta when the cuy is clearly such a hit.

We’re en masse again in the morning when Scott and Will are keen to visit Saqsaywaman (one of the local Inca sites, famed because it is pronounced “Sexy Woman”. Ok, not famed because of the way it’s pronounced, but that does help). There’s not a whole lot left of this site because the Spanish tore down the walls and used the blocks to build their houses in Cusco, but we do find some great stone slides which we manage to climb and then fly down at an extraordinary rate (I think Will was fine catching the kids as they came flying off the end, it was as I came down, cackling like an old witch, that he floundered) and then Will leads all the kids into some deep, dark caves which I refuse to be a part of (not sure which put me off most, the thought of going through deep dark caves, or the thought of doing it with 4 kids).

Dinner again and I can’t believe the boys order up more alpaca. This is getting silly. So much for the advice about how to combat soroche which is ‘camina lentito, come poquito…y duerme solito’ (‘walk slowly, eat only a little…and sleep by your poor little self’).

The Dawkins 4 are off to Easter Island and we’re off to the Del Prado Inn (www.delpradoinn.com) as it’s right off the Plaza des Almas and will save us having to wait for the complimentary taxi service to take us 5 minutes away to Torre Dorada, which will be good for Will’s birthday as he’ll be able to wander to and fro as and when he feels like it.

Machu Picchu

2008-08-21T04:07:00.003+01:00

We don’t actually have our tickets for the train as we booked on the internet and Peggy’s insistent that Will leave at 4.45am to collect the tickets ahead of the 5am ticket office opening time. So it’s a 4.30am alarm call and he’s off whilst I try to raise the kids from their beds and get them dressed before meeting him at 5.30am. Why are we doing this??

All trains to Machu Picchu are now run by a company joint-owned by Orient Express and Peru Rail and, whilst the Orient Express luxury is there, the Peru disorganisation is what you have to deal with whilst trying to collect your tickets, which means that, as we arrive at the station at 5.30am, Will has only just managed to collect our tickets which were pre-booked and paid for.

We have opted for the mid-class train, the Vistadome, which costs £220 (for the 4 of us) for a 4 hour return journey to Aguas Caliente but hey, at least it includes breakfast (some coca tea plus a cheese and ham roll). Once we disembark at Aquas Caliente, we have to pay another $7 for a 30 minute bus ride up the mountain and then £25 each to get into Machu Picchu. To top it all, we then pay £25 for a guide to help us decipher the stones. An expensive day.

Machu Picchu was discovered by American historian Hiram Bingham in 1911, which is almost the same year that I started to harbour a desire to visit and it doesn’t disappoint. After our guide has left, we spent a long time just sitting in the grass and looking out over the mountains in front of us and imagining what went on here in its heyday. It’s not at all hard to imagine.

The problem with sitting in the grass and daydreaming is that sand flys take you unawares and bite you all over (or is it more like a sting?), leaving nasty welts that take 3 days to stop itching. It seems we’re not alone. Almost everyone we meet over the next few days who has been up here is sporting similar war wounds to those that we leave with.

On our train ride back to Cusco, the only other Brits in the entire train are sat across the aisle from us. Of course, as the highly reserved English rose that I am, I don’t speak to them for at lease, oooo, um, 10 minutes, and then I crack. They have a 6 and 2 year old (Toby and Clara) who soon hit it off with our 8 and 4 year old and pretty soon we’re all swapping seats so the kids can play whatever it is they’re playing together and we (plus Scott and Karen) can share a bottle of wine. 3 hours into the journey, we discover that, not only are we staying in the same hotel, but they have the room next door to us. Small world, once you get into the small rooms.

1 hour from Cusco and the train breaks down. We’re finally offered the chance of a minibus (which will take ½ hour to get back but will cost an extra £1 each) or we can stay on the train and take an extra hour. We opt for the minibus and finally arrive back to the hotel at 9pm. A long day.

Onto Cusco

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Faced with a 26 hour bus journey or a 1 hour flight, we once again bite the bullet and pay up for the flight to Cusco in order that we can visit Machu Picchu. We’re in one of the highest cities in the world (3,310m above sea level) and are warned that we may be affected by soroche (altitude sickness) here, the symptoms of which are shortness of breath, light-headedness, sickness and more.

Our pre-booked accommodation at Torre Dorada (www.torredorada.com) are the only 3 star hotel I’ve ever known (not that I’ve known too many, if I’m honest) that provide a 5 star service, sending free taxis to collect from the airport and having the owner of the hotel (a lady of 50-something named Peggy) lug our bags upstairs for us, insisting that we can’t do it ourselves because of the soroche. There’s even coca leaf tea on tap for us which is meant to help, but help or not, I like the taste and as an added bonus, I’m assured it works as an appetite suppressant, which always works for me.

We arrive late afternoon and have to be up before 5am to get the train to Machu Picchu, so it’s a take-away pizza and an early night all round.

PERU

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As we step outside Lima airport, a big mumma declares herself to be our taxi driver and steers the trolley, with Harley sitting on it, away from Will, who walks nonchalantly alongside as I struggle behind with my trolley and Ruby atop. The airport has a real buzz about it and I immediately tell Will “I think I’m going to like it here”. Of course, what I should have been telling Will was “can you please push this trolley and stop prancing about at the side of mumma over there”.

We had a bit of a surprise on our drive from the airport as the streets were full of casinos and fast food joints and even though it was midnight, there were people everywhere. Cars tooting, buses full, streets busy. Not what we were expecting at all. And neither were we expecting to arrive at our hotel and discover that we don’t have a room. It’s after midnight, the kids are exhausted and we have nowhere to sleep. A lot of phone calls and key jangling later and we’re finally moved to the apartment block just a few meters down the road. It’s a decent sized one-bed apartment but there’s a lot of faffing around to get extra beds moved in and even then, it’s only one single bed so the kids have to top and tail again. Good job they’re both dog tired.

We’re here for 3 days and there’s not very much of interest in Lima so we head for Huaca Pucllana which is a pretty amazing pre-Inca pyramid built in the 5th century from mud bricks. Yes, that IS correct. Mud bricks still surviving from the 5th Century (I know, you were raising your eyebrows at the bit about my calling it a pretty amazing pyramid, but puulease, don’t expect me to play along!). The taxi driver initially tries to dupe us into thinking that it’s closed so he can make double the fare by taking us back again, but Will’s onto him and directs him around to the in-house restaurant which is apparently one of the best in town. Not only is the food passable (for the first time since New Zealand), but we are treated to our first pisco sours (the national drink) and Will decides to go for a pisco tasting in much the same way as he was for a cachaca tasting in Brazil. Shame he ended up liking the one that was $20 a shot.

Not 10 minutes walk from our hotel, we arrive at the coast where, despite the fog, we can see Peruvian surfers trying their luck. If we hadn’t been in Australia, maybe this wouldn’t seem so strange, but here, where the waves are hardly a ripple, where the weather is pretty lousy and where the water is so polluted it’s advisable not to swim in it, it seems a bit optimistic to call yourself a surfer.

And just across the road is the Peruvian equivalent of Harrods where we can stock up on food and wine for the next couple of days since the kids are always so exhausted by the time we come to go out for dinner. So Harrodian is it in fact that we’re chastised for taking a photo of Harley in the fruit department next to the world’s largest basket of apples.

Skiing.

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We book a car to take us up the mountain and, just a few miles up the road, we run out of petrol. I can never understand people who run out of petrol. Did you not notice the little needle going into the red? Did you not see the petrol light come on?

A windy mountain road and 2 hours later, we’re up at El Colorado for 3 days/2 nights of skiing. With 18 runs comprising a total of 568 acres, this place has the biggest ski area in Chile. It’s all ridiculously expensive up here compared to the rest of Chile and Will somehow manages to strike a deal whereby we don’t get our skis and boots until after lunch and we therefore pay only 2 days rental instead of 3. Still very expensive.

Our cabin is cute but a bit of a pain in the butt that it’s 200m from the hotel as it means we have to wrap up in the evenings just to go to the hotel for dinner, but since we all only have one set of clothes warm enough for this weather, that doesn’t take too long.

The advertised 18 runs is a bit of a cheat since it’s about 5 runs, split up with poles and netting which turns it into more. You wouldn’t get away with this kind of advertising in Europe. Still, we’re skiing with the kids and can hardly go mad. Will has Harley (who’s on skis for the first time) between his legs and I’m reacquainting Ruby with the delights of snowploughs as this is only her second time on skis, the last one 2 ½ years ago. It’s a pretty tiring way of skiing but very gratifying to see them making progress, even if I did have to get Ruby to side-slip down the top of the red slope for 15 minutes after she lost her nerve.

We’re both exhausted the next day and the muscles in our legs are shot to pieces, so we’re delighted to discover that we can put them both in ski school for 2 hours, even though it costs £40. We’re like crazy things as we drop them both off and then race to the chair lift which will whisk us right up to the top of the only black run. We manage to ski top to bottom of the mountain six times in the next 2 hours before we arrive, panting, at ski school, just in time to witness Harley doing snow ploughs on his own (good) and Ruby doing turns through bollards (bad, she’s way beyond this). But whether their skiing ability has improved or not, it was great for us to have 2 hours to ourselves.

The evening sunset is one of the most amazing I have ever witnessed. Santiago is just below us in the valley and during the day can be seen in the morning before the smog sets in. During the evening, if the smog isn’t too bad you can see the lights but tonight, the sunset is incredible. The brightest oranges and reds, stretching right across the sky.

Mr I’ve-Run-Out-of-Petrol is back to take us to the airport but he’s trying to fob us off into a smaller car which would mean we all have to sit in the back with bags on the front seat. We’ve already paid over the odds for his car (a 4-wheel drive) so he’s got some front trying to pull a fast one now. Only when Will makes a pretence of calling for another car (which we wouldn’t have had time to wait for since we have a flight to catch) does he miraculously decide to honour our deal and put his new passengers into the smaller car and let us back into his. Talk about being a member of the Better Offer Club. He’s in a bit of a hurry for some reason and we have a very hairy ride back down the mountain overtaking buses and cars on blind bends and getting far too close to sheer drops. He’s either double booked or else he’s trying to get us to the airport before the petrol runs out (if you’re low on fuel, should you drive fast to get as close to your desired location as you can before running out, or drive slowly to make the fuel last longer??).

We’re in plenty of time for our flight but, since I wasn’t able to get an internet connection up on the mountain, we currently have nowhere to stay in Lima. A frantic search of every website and I manage to book somewhere literally in the nick of time, just as we’re called to board our flight. With no time to read the reviews on Tripadvisor.com, I hope I’ve made an ok choice at El Condado www.condado.com.pe.

Back to Mendoza

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A 13 hour overnight bus journey back to Mendoza and this time I don’t precede it with a massage! More beautiful scenery and the worlds’ most amazing road that zig zags down the mountain with bends that wouldn’t be out of place on a F1 race track, and through short tunnels over which are built the ski runs of Portillo ski range.

An early morning arrival to our apartment and Will’s not moving from in front of the tv as he’s watching the Wimbledon final. The kids are happy playing so I make to most of the time to go for a mooch around on my own in the hope that I might stumble across some nice shops where I can buy some new clothes as I’m so bored of the few that I have. No such luck.

Back to Chile again.

2008-08-21T04:04:00.002+01:00

Another 7 hour bus ride to Santiago and as we cross the border from Argentina, a large roadside sign informs us that the Falklands belong to Argentina. Hmm, try telling that to Maggie.

There’s a very strict policy on not bringing in any animal or plant products so we quickly eat up the cheese and fruit that we have in our bag and I realise I’m still carrying around my beloved pepper grinder which I’m not prepared to throw out so I have a plan which involves putting it into the bin on the bus. We do the usual palaver of getting off the bus with all our bags, having the large ones scanned and the small ones searched by hand and then I get back on the bus, wait for it to pull away…and get the pepper grinder out of the bin! Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

Just one night at the Hotel Espana (www.hotelespania.com) before we leave for skiing and we’re got to get Harley’s stitches taken out. Unsure what to expect from the hospital, we’re amazed by how clean and new everything is, more like a private hospital. We’re ushered in, escorted to a private room and within 10 minutes of arriving, a smiling if battle-scarred Harley walks out of the hospital, stitch-free. Having previously thought we were lucky to be in BA for the stitches, we’re now wishing we’d been here instead.

We’re having loads of problems trying to book our room for skiing tomorrow and we’re reminded once again how grumpy the average Chilean is. Years of living under the rule of General Pinochet, perhaps? The room we thought we’d booked has been given to someone else as we hadn’t faxed a signature over to the hotel (a bit difficult to do from a bus) and we’ve now been relegated to a chalet 200m away from the hotel.

Tigre and the Delta

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One hour north of BA is the Rio Parana: innumerable canals that weave through this area where 3,000 people live permanently and many more have their weekend houses here.

The former president owned a house here that has now been encased in glass and turned into a museum and the whole area has a feeling of faded glory to it. Most of the houses are made of wood and the upkeep is very expensive, so consequently a lot of them are in need of a few repairs.

Access between the houses is only possible by boat, the school bus is a boat as it the supermarket and the rubbish ‘truck’. We’re not sure what the residents do to pass the time, although by the inbred looks of some of them, maybe we shouldn’t ask.

Apart from the odd-looking residents, it’s a pretty place with rowing clubs anda colonial building that was formerly a night club for the elite but is now an art museum.

After our boat journey, it’s onto a train which stops at San Isidro and we have time for a quick
walk to the unremarkable market and cathedral before hopping back onto a bus for the ride back home.

An interesting day, if not the most exciting.

A faceful of pavement

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There’s a strange way of dog walking here and that’s either to let the dog out on its own to walk itself, or else to employ a dog walker to do it for you. The dog walkers take out about a dozen or so dogs in one go and have very little control over any of them, then end result of which is dog poo all over the pavements. It was during one such ‘game’ of Dodge the Dog Poo on the way to the park that Harley took a fall, face first, not into dog poo but onto a metal grating in the pavement. I knew he was hurt from his scream but didn’t realise how badly until I picked him up and saw a three inch long and ½ inch wide cut above his eye that was almost down to the bone and I immediately knew that he needed stitches. The metal grating was in a diamond pattern and he had the perfect imprint of two such diamonds in his face. With blood pouring down his face and Will sprinting off down the road after a passing ambulance (which refuses to take us to hospital), a passing lady takes pity on us and offers to drive us to the hospital. With Harley whimpering in my arms, it seemed like a long drive through the traffic but miraculously, we’re not more than 5 minutes away and, with a bit of queue barging, he’s soon laid out on the bed. We’re thanking our lucky stars we’re here and not up a mountain or in a very remote part of the country.

Put out of your head any ideas of NHS hospitals and imagine this instead: in the operating theatre are 3 people sitting on a bed to one side, waiting to be seen. Harley’s laid out and when the doctor arrives, he tells us that only one of us can stay. That’s fine, I don’t want to watch this anyway but the other people in the room seem to have no choice. Outside the door, I can hear Harley screaming and shrieking and Will tells me afterwards that to clean the wound, the doctors plunge a fat needle full of antiseptic into the cut which is obviously hugely painful. Then, before the anaesthetic has had a chance to kick in, they put in four stitches. I can hear from outside the scream every time the needle goes in one side and comes out the other and I can peep through the crack in the door to see Will pinning Harley to the table. I just feel sick. By the time it’s all over, poor little Harley is lying on the table sobbing and I can hardly bear it. At that moment, an elderly man walks in with a very bad bump to the back of his (bald) head and takes a seat on the table to the side of the room. I ask Harley “Does your head hurt?” to which he replies “Not as much as that man’s”. Bless.

We have to move apartments and it’s not going too well. Firstly, there’s no one here to let us in and the lady on reception from the attached hotel is one of the most unhelpful people ever. She refuses to let me use to computer or the phone to try to contact the office meaning I have to go out into the street and find an internet café and then a phone box where I’m then abused by the staff in the office who tell me that emails are no way to conduct business, even though that’s the only contact we’ve had up until now. Then we’re finally shown to a tiny apartment with windows that have been covered over so we can’t see out of them. It’s positively claustrophobic. And to top it all, they insisted on taking a £50 deposit which to date has still not been returned.

Uruguay

2008-08-21T04:02:00.001+01:00

In true Brit-style, we’re taking a day trip, not to France but across the water to Uruguay, our 11th country in 10 months. And in true day-tripping style, the ferry is delayed by 2 hours due to thick fog.

Colonia del Sacramanto lies in fact not across the sea, but across the river, Rio de la Plata. It’s a UNESCO World Heritage site billed as ‘the only remnant of colonial architecture in this part of the continent, a well-preserved historical gem’, so we have high expectations.

A wander around the deserted streets once again leaves us wondering why these places seem to close up at the weekend, the busiest time of the week. We’re at a bit of a loss what to do and end up in the museums, each tiny one located in one of the 16th century houses and specialising in something specific. Harley’s enjoying the one with all the extinct animal bones and Ruby’s surprisingly enjoying the one with display of various rocks. I’m not enjoying any of it very much and wonder what we’re doing here.

We don’t have very much time due to the 2 hour delay, but we squeeze in a very cute hat purchase for Harley, a quick drink of (corked) bubbly and a mass roly-poly down the hill.

There’s no denying it’s pretty and the buildings are cute, but I’m not sure it’s been worth the time and effort it took us to get here.

Onto Buenos Aires.

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It’s a 14 hour bus journey from here to Buenos Aires so we opt for the Cata bus with fully reclining seats and airline style food. It’s first class bus travel and the kids are delighted to discover they can even pull curtains around themselves, put their seat flat into a bed and cocoon themselves with a blanket and pillow. Peace at last. Now I can sit back and watch the film, even if I’m not going to eat this congealed lump of something that’s just been put in front of me.

Amazingly, the kids get a solid 10 hours sleep and even Will and I manage to sleep fairly well after a couple of glasses of bubbles that accompany dinner. The hostess with the mostest (this girl could literally balance about 20 polystyrene cups of coffee on a tray as she walked downstairs in the bus, travelling at about 70mph over bumpy roads) served our breakfast and before we knew it, we’re pulling into the bus station.

No such fiasco with taxis here, but just extremely long queues met by extremely tiny taxis which sees people piling into the cabs and then piling their luggage onto their laps once they realise the boot’s too small to fit anything into. That’s us included, who have to pile our bags onto the front seat, squeeze all four of us in the back and then fill any remaining space between us with our hand luggage.

After a 15 hour journey, we arrive at our pre-booked apartment at 8am to discover that it’s still a building site. The advert on wotif describes this place as being newly built and completed in May 08, but it seems it’s not completed even though it’s now June. The builders are bemused to see us and we’re not impressed to see them. A few phone calls later and the cavalry arrives promising to sort this out. Will and I play a bit of good cop, bad cop until we’re eventually moved to a new 1-bed apartment that is small but nice.

Everyone has told us that they associate Argentina with horses so it seems only appropriate that we go to the horse racing. The horse races I’ve been to in the UK involve leaving the kids behind, dressing up, meeting friends, paying a small fortune to get in, drinking champagne and putting bets on with the bookies at the front. It’s all slightly surreal then as we have the kids with us, walk in for free in our jeans and converse, there are only totes and…gasp, they don’t serve alcohol! But we have a great time watching the fine fillies parading around (unlike the UK, the only fine fillies here are the horses) before thundering down the tracks towards us and we even put a few bets on, although lady luck’s not being very kind today.

The other thing that everyone associates with Argentina is tango and there’s tango shows aplenty here. But a) they don’t start ’til late at night, b) we don’t have a babysitter and c) I’d rather see people tangoing as part of real life rather than part of a show. So I’m pleased to discover that there’s a bandstand in the park where the locals go to practise their tangos every Sunday night. And here’s real life Buenos Aires, right before your very eyes. Men and woman arrive, mostly singularly but some in couples, and stand around the edge of the dance floor. The music is in sets of three songs and then there’s a very obvious break between each set. The norm is to stay with the same partner for all three songs and then break and take another partner. If you’re a very bad dancer, you may well be abandoned mid-set. The shame of it.

San Telmo is host to a huge market on Sunday mornings and there’s plenty of street performers here too, including a couple of impressive tango dancers. Done correctly, this is a very sexy dance.

And there’s one more thing (or rather one more person) that will forever be associated with Argentina, and that’s Eva Peron (the real Evita, not the Madonna fake). As part of our sightseeing tour, we visit the Presidential Palace from where Madonna warbled Don’t Cry For Me Argentina across the balcony and then to the museum underneath where we learn a bit about the real First Lady. Both revered and reviled from different quarters, Eva became known for speaking out for the working classes and for women’s rights campaigns. She died of cancer in her early 30’s, thus ensuring her a future of adoration reserved for those who die young and beautiful. Her body is now encased in the Duarte family tomb at the Cementerio de la Recoleta where generations of Argentina’s elite rest in ornate splendour and thousands come here every year to leave flowers and notes for her. The cemetery also houses some rather fine statues to former presidents and there’s even a life size statue of a former boxer here, which doesn’t sit too well next to the angels and cherubs all around him.

Every Thursday there’s a march in the square in front of the Presidential Palace by the so-called Mothers of the 21 May, a group of 70-plus year old woman whose sons disappeared during the Dirty War and have never been seen since. In short, during the late 1960’s a group of middle-class youths formed a Peronist guerrilla group (the Montoneros) and bombed foreign businesses, kidnapped executives for ransom and robbed banks to finance their struggle. In 1976, a coup by General Videla took control of the Argentine government and this began a period of terror and brutality primarily aimed at the Montoneros. It’s estimated that up to 30,000 people died in this so-called Dirty War. To disappear meant to be detained, tortured and probably killed. Ironically, the Dirty Was ended only when the Argentine military attempted to repossess the Islas Malvinas (Falkland Islands), of which no mention must be made in these parts by us Brits. The Mothers march in an attempt to stop their sons being forgotten, but sad though it is that they’ve lost their sons without ever knowing what happened to them, I can’t see what good it will do.

MENDOZA

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In 1861, an earthquake levelled the city of Mendoza, which was a bit of a bummer. In anticipation of the next one, the city was rebuilt with low-level buildings, wide avenues (for the rubble to fall into) and lots of spacious plazas (to use as evacuation points).

It’s smack in the middle of Argentina’s vineyards (70% of the country’s wine is produced here) and backed by mountains, including the western hemisphere’s highest summit, 6960m high Aconcagua. Set against beautiful clear blue skies (even though it’s icy cold) and snowy peaked mountains, the vineyards look beautiful, even though the leaves are brown and there’s no fruit at this time of year.

Will’s booked a driver to take us to a couple of the wineries for a tour and Ruby manages to surpass herself by throwing up all over the lawn of the first one, Cartena Zapata, meaning I get to sit this one out whilst Will swills and slurps at 10am (well done Ruby, just as planned!). Over at Tapiz, they had a novel approach to the tour, taking us first on a tour off the vineyard by horse and cart before taking us on a warmer indoor tour and then finally a tasting. And to round off the day, Carlos Pulenta-Vistalba for a lovely lunch and a bottle of bubbles. Not sure it would have been such a lovely lunch for the man sitting across from us entertaining his young totty had he overheard Will describe them as father and daughter.

The hotel offers a babysitting service at £2.50 p.h.so we leave our babies and head out for a long overdue evening of fun and debauchery. We have fun at a busy bar with a band knocking out some classics but Will doesn’t get very far in his attempt to get debauched as the two women with tiny bottoms and long legs, dressed in black rubber and high heels turn out to be men. It’s ok Will, your secret’s safe with me (Ha! Wait ’til the guys back home hear that he’s being eyeing up transvestites. I trust you’ll spread the word, Ed!).

We have a few hours to kill before our overnight bus journey to BA so take it in turns to go for a massage. Will’s up first and when he returns to tag me, warns me that the guy is a bit snuffly. I arrive to find a 65 year old man watching kids cartoons on tv and he orders me into the cubicle to remove my clothing. I explain that I only want a back massage but he’s insistent (as insistent as you can be with one eye on the tv) so I dutifully remove my clothes and wrap up in a towel. I think this has to be the worst massage of my life in terms of relaxation. The fluorescent tube lighting is shining brightly above my head, the tv is blasting out kids cartoons in Spanish and the guy not only has the snuffles (making it sound like he’s enjoying this massage just a little too much), but he also shuffles around the room in a pair of slippers. Snuffling and shuffling, not a good combo. Considering I asked for a back massage, my thighs and buttocks got a remarkable amount of attention. And then when he’d finished, he sat back down to his tv program. I guess I should be glad that’s all he did.

Back to Rio, onto Chile, across to Argentina

2008-08-21T03:59:00.003+01:00

Elias is back to pick us up in his gas powered car and once again, he pulls in just minutes after we’re all on board and puts about £2 worth of gas in the car. Rather nasty Friday night traffic delays us and, with another stop for gas halfway there, we finally get back to Rio just in the nick of time for our flight to Santiago. Another slight hitch as we’d forgotten my very expensive Redken Smooth Down shampoo and conditioner (helping to prevent some of the frizz-bomb effect this climate is having on my hair) was packed in the carry on backpack (in 250ml bottles) and I’m not prepared to surrender it to the Nothing Over 100ml In Your Hand Luggage Nazis, meaning Will had to make a mad dash back to check it in and was then detained when he dashed back through the side gate of passport control (having already received all the necessary exit stamps on the first dash through). Ah, the price of vanity (she says, with 2 inch dark roots).

It takes us 12 hours door-to-door to get back to Santiago and we’re here for less than 24 hours before we leave again for Argentina. We’ve got chores to do (booking hotels and buses, doing washing and shopping for ski clothes) and then we’re off again, this time on a 7 hour bus ride across the border to Mendoza.

A fantastically picturesque drive across the Andes gets us to the border where we have to get off the bus, get our passports stamped then get all our luggage off to be screened. Whilst they’re doing that, we have to line up behind wooden benches and open our hand luggage to show that we’re not trying to smuggle in any strictly banned fruit or vegetables that could introduce some nasty bugs to the country and wipe out their vines. All very Communist-feeling. Will’s sitting with Harley inside the bus, in the warm (it’s freezing outside and we’re surrounded by snow) and somehow manages to blag his way into staying on there with his sleeping child, whilst I’m left clambering on and off with Ruby and lugging all our bags out of the bus then back on again. Typical.

As we pull into the bus station and clamber off the bus, people offering us taxis and places to stay surround us. To one particularly insistent guy, I explain that we already have a hotel booked and don’t need his services, thanks. Which hotel? The Reina Victoria. Oh, he says, Mr. Reina Victoria is inside the café there, waiting for you. I’ll get him. Over comes Mr. RV and tells us he’ll take us in his car to the hotel. Something doesn’t seem right but I’m not sure what it is so I ask to see his business card. Suddenly he can’t speak English and says he’ll call the hotel. Whilst Will’s delighted to have been met at the station by this kind guy, I’m watching him having an over-exaggerated ‘phone-call’ a few feet away. And then I realise what it is that’s wrong. The hotel didn’t know that we were arriving by bus so there’s no way they could be sitting here waiting for us. The guy returns from the phone and I tell him there’s no way he’s from the hotel and he tells me that we’d better take a taxi from outside. Will’s still wondering what’s going on as we head towards to a cashpoint and, as he’s inside the cubicle getting cash out, I notice two women sidling up behind me and standing just a little too close for comfort. I turn around to see one of them eyeing up my backpack and then both take a slow amble off as I back into the wall. Welcome to Argentina!

Paraty

2008-08-13T00:03:00.004+01:00

Our flight back to Rio is delayed and doesn’t land until 10pm, which means that we don’t arrive in Paraty until 2am. This wouldn’t be so bad except that we can’t drive up to our hotel as it’s located in the historical centre, full of cobbled streets and closed to cars. So at 2am, the manager of the hotel is roused from his bed and meets us in the street with a wheelbarrow to collect our bags, which won’t wheel over the cobblestones.

Our home for the next few days is the delightful ArteColonial Pousada www.paratyparavoce.com, a 17th Century building oozing with charm and there’s even a lovely German lady (three words not normally used together in the same sentence!) running the show who insists we make ourselves at home and use her kitchen. Will likes her even more when we ask her for a recommendation for a place for dinner and she suggests the local cachaca bar. Now as far as I knew, there was one type of cachaca (spirit made from cane sugar and the main ingredient in Caipirinha’s, Brazil’s national drink) and that’s the foul type, which is why I prefer to drink Caiporoska’s (the same drink but made with vodka). But we’re chastised, no, damn well refused a Caiporoska in this place and they insist we try their cachaca, certain that they’ll find one we like. Little did we know that there’s as many different types of cachaca as there are whisky: oaked, blue, flavoured and young. I’m still not entirely convinced but at least I find one or two that are palatable.

The picturesque old churches and brightly hued stone buildings that line these cobbled streets form the perfect setting for a film crew who have created a set nearby and are making a film called Dream Maker about Napolean. It’s all a bit surreal as we wander past the extras, clad in ripped clothes and with “blood” pouring down their faces. I try my best to make a sneaky appearance, but there doesn’t seem to be a call for one of Napolean’s wenches in this particular scene.

We’re right on the coast here and there’s dozens of boats that leave every day from the marina for a cruise around the many islands here. Ours is a particularly lovely wooden affair and we’re both surprised and delighted when we notice that the staff are those that were enticing us with Caipirinha’s just last night and so naturally they offer us another the minute we board. It’s only 10am and I have some self-restraint, which is more than can be said for some people (cough, cough). A lovely day in which we see fish literally jumping out of the water, stop at a real Robinson Crusoe island with crystal white sand and lots of shells, snorkel amongst hundreds of fish and relax with a lovely lunch.

There's another beautiful beach nearby that we're keen to explore so hop onto the local bus, a decision we started to regret as the driver took the twists and turns in the road at 100kph. We're all hanging on for dear life and even the loacals are emitting little screams as we hurtle around corners with shears drops on one side. Thankfully, the ride back was a little more sedate.

Back at the pousada, the kids are enjoying having a garden to play in and loving having the two resident dogs to play with even more; a little sausage dog and a big, bouncy Labrador puppy. True to form, it’s not long before we hear a cry from the garden and rush out to find Harley backed into a corner having been bitten on the arm by the sausage dog! Turns out Harley had fed him a banana skin and then tried to stroke him as he was eating it. Poor Harley, doesn’t have much luck with dogs.

Guarojube

2008-08-12T23:49:00.002+01:00

Half an hour down the road, we stop and our coach load of people are all herded into a restaurant for lunch, which immediately reminds us why we hate package tours. I refuse to be one of the crowd (as has always been my problem, or at least one of them) and we head down to beach in search of something a little more authentic. 10 minutes later, we’re sitting in front of enough freshly grilled fish, salad and rice for four people (with a side dish of manioc flour, this being Brazil) for £11 and caiporoskas at £2 each to boot. As the tour group fight it out over who’s having the vegetable soup, we’ve got sand between our toes and a beautiful view of the sea with the mountains behind. It’s hard not to feel smug. The kids strip off and enjoy a post lunch dip and, just as I do the same, the storm clouds roll in and we’re left huddled under the umbrella, trying to avoid the rain. It’s still better than sitting in that restaurant.

It’s been a long day and we finally arrive back in Salvador to find some kind of carnival kicking off (there’s always some kind of carnival going on here. Any excuse for a party. Remind you of someone?!). Just as we’re all walking home, it seems everyone else is walking in the opposite direction TO the carnival. The kids are tucked up in bed, fast asleep by 9pm and there’s music coming from every direction outside. Ever feel like you’re missing out on something?

Praiha do Forte

2008-08-12T23:40:00.004+01:00

Located 80km north of Salvador, this former fishing village is now a resort town with roads of sand. It’s been bought up by a German who decided it would be a good idea to turn the fisherman’s houses into shops full of resort wear. I wish we’d realised that before we set out early this morning.

We’re here for the Tamar Project (oddly sponsored by Petrobras, one of the largest South American oil companies. Guilty conscience??) which overseas the protection of turtles in this area. Five of the remaining seven sea turtle species are found here in Bahia and workers or volunteers at the Tamar patrol the beaches at night to keep it that way. Unfortunately, ever since mankind started to encroach on the habitat of the local wildlife by building hotels closer to the sea, the turtles have been mightily confused and, since they head for the nearest light, have more often than not hatched and headed for the lights of the local hotel, thus ending us in the swimming pool or worse, rather than heading out to sea. The workers at the Tamar try to locate the nests and, if necessary, move the eggs to a safe place at the Tamar hatchery where they will blossom into beautiful little turtles before being released back into the sea. The remaining local fishermen, who previously used to hunt the turtles for their meat and shells, are now paid the same amount, if not more, to protect the turtles and their hatchlings.

The kids are loving seeing the turtles in these shallow tanks, as well as stoking the rays and sea snakes and Harley’s not really paying attention to where he’s walking, so it’s not too much of a surprise to us when he takes a tumble and lands face first onto the concrete and ends up with a Tom and Jerry style tennis ball bump on his head. Boys, eh?

Morro de Sao Paulo

2008-08-03T16:47:00.001+01:00

We’re taking a day trip to a nearby island, 1hr 50 mins away by hovercraft. At least, that was the plan. Particularly choppy sea meant that the journey took over 2 ½ hours, we’re all feeling a bit queasy by the time we eventually arrive and no one feels like going back in 3 hours time for a repeat performance. But we’re all cheered by the sight of 3 or 4 dolphins gracefully gliding in and out of the water nearby as the boat docks and decide to try to stay overnight. Our first task is to change the return tickets over for tomorrow’s boat and the second is to find a place to stay for the night. We manage to find a cheap pousada with a room for the night, even though it only has 3 single beds. Ruby’s not impressed, but since we are also having to pay for our place back in Salvador, she’s going to have to put up with Harley’s feet in her face for the night.

Morro de Sao Paulo is a gorgeous little island with no roads (and therefore no cars) and streets that are just made from sand. Transport here is either by horse or wheelbarrow, or there is one tractor that can drive along the beaches, if you’re really desperate.

From where the hovercraft docks, you walk down onto 1st beach, along to 2nd beach, keep walking along the water’s edge to 3rd beach until finally you come to 4th beach. Each beach is different, facing a different direction or with a different type of wave and three out of four are almost deserted. It reminds me of Koh Samui in 1990, before they built an airport there. Mostly unspoilt, laidback and very relaxing. All except for Ruby whose major worry is that we’re unexpectedly staying overnight and she doesn’t have Scruffy, her lifelong favourite teddy with her.

The island is surrounded by coral reef which means that the waves break a long way off the shore and leave a 3 foot deep natural swimming pool, which makes a nice change from the huge waves we encountered in Rio.

With no change of clothes or even any toiletries, we’re really feeling in backpacker mode, but it’s a welcome relief not to be laden down with baggage and even more of a relief not to have to pack up again in the morning. The kids obviously aren’t feeling quite so relaxed as us since they spend the entire morning arguing, pinching and poking each other. After several hours (in fact, several days of this), we’re at our wits end and just can’t decide what to do. We’ve tried everything over the course of the last few weeks to stop the bickering (admittedly, it’s mostly Harley hitting Ruby and being generally annoying) and, on a whim, I tell Ruby to hit Harley back, something we never normally endorse and which she never normally does. For a couple of minutes, all hell’s let loose as we stand by and watch the pair of them scrap like cat and dog. An elderly couple walking past look first at us and then at the kids and can’t believe their eyes. Only when Ruby draws blood by scratching Harley on the chest do we step in and declare her the winner. Ding ding. Ruby’s shocked and embarrassed in equal measures by the fact that she scratched him so badly and he’s screaming, mostly from shock. Will and I are looking at each other in that “did we really just let them do that” way and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Something must have worked, be it guilt on Ruby’s part or fear on Harley’s, because they spend the rest of the afternoon playing happily together in the sea whilst Will makes a deal on 10 caiporoskas and some acai berries (Amazonian wonder-berries, meant to be an aphrodisiac) before we have to take the 3pm boat back to the mainland. The dolphins are there again and give us a lovely send off, whilst I keep my eyes firmly fixed on the horizon for the next 2 hours to avoid a repeat of the queasiness I had on the way over. Not everyone seems to know the eyes-on-the-horizon trick and there’s a few green-faced people who get off the boat the other end.

Harley's birthday

2008-08-03T16:45:00.001+01:00

What does Harley want to do for his birthday? Go to the playground, of course. Amelia on the front desk tells us that we can find one at the end of the street so we dutifully trot up there, past houses with Brazilian music pumping out through open, barred windows and up to the square….to be greeted with numerous comatose bodies lying prostate in the grass, next to puddles of their own vomit, sleeping off the effects of last nights frivolities. We step around them and straight into one of the many piles of shit, left not by the revellers (at least, I don’t think all of them are, although some do look remarkably human-like in their form) but by the many wild dogs that constantly roam the streets. And, to add to the delights, the slides and see-saws are made of rusting metal. Time for a re-think. The rest of his wish-list is to buy a new toy car (even though we’ve just given him a remote control Lightening McQueen), a chocolate cake and a toy from Mcdonalds, so a swift change of plan sees us heading for Barra where we know there is a shopping centre. The taxi driver tries the age-old trick of setting the meter on tariff 2 instead of 1, but we’re not up for being taken for a ride, literally. Mind you, since both Ruby and Harley have got shit on their shoes, of one form or another, he probably deserves double the fare.

Barra is as unremarkable as most other shopping centres around the world with one difference. In the middle of this one is an ice-skating rink. Should we? Rude not to really. I’m in a summer dress which is not really suitable ice-skating clothing, but no one else seems to care so I buy some socks and clip up my boots. Luckily, two of the staff have got hold of the kids and are dragging them around the ice so Will and I can concentrate on at least staying upright, if not on our style. It’s been years since I skated and it’s not at all like riding a bike so I’m a bit cautious on my first few laps of the rink, which is considerably more than can be said for Will who flies around like (a very large) Bambi on ice. He’s literally flying round, arms and legs flailing and I can hardly stand for laughing at him (note I say AT him and not WITH him). Thump, he hits the ice and then, shortly after, thump, so do I. With sore knees and elbows, I’m just righting myself when a cute young guy skates effortlessly in my direction to quietly inform me that my left breast has popped out of my dress. Oh well, lucky I’m not the shy type or I may be embarrassed. Our half an hour on the ice is almost at an end without any major injuries when Will decides to really push the boat out and takes the most spectacular backward fall, straight onto his head and almost knocks himself out. I have visions of spending the rest of the day in casualty but he assures me that he’s ok so we head back to our hotel where I try to keep him awake whilst simultaneously trying to stop Harley ramming his remote control car into all the furniture.

Salvador

2008-08-03T16:31:00.001+01:00

Elias is back in his gas-powered car to take us to Rio for one night and we’re heading back to the Copocabana Beach hotel where we stayed previously. For some reason, Elias waits until we’re all loaded up before deciding to stop for a couple of pounds worth of gas which is pumped into the engine of the car via a metal tube which looks like a dipstick (an oil dipstick, not a stupid person). Back at the hotel, we’re put into a 4th floor suite, same as before but this one has a view, has been recently renovated and has the added bonus of not smelling of mothballs like the previous one did.

It’s costing £600 for the four of us to take a 2 hour flight to Salvador de Bahia, but the alternative is a 28 hour bus, which I’m not prepared to put myself through, let alone the kids. Salvador is known as the African soul of Brazil as here, the African slave descendants preserved their culture more than anywhere else. The African feel here comes from the mix of Brazilians, Portugese and the Africans, most of whom have intermarried at some stage. Our guide book informs us that if we’re going to be pickpocketed or mugged anywhere in Brazil, Salvador is likely to be the place! So we pack away the crown jewels, lock up the laptop, gird our loins and brave the fray.

We’re staying at Studio do Carmo www.studiodocarmo.com.br run by Italians Francesca and Max and they’ve given us a huge room on the ground floor with lovely wooden floors. It takes the kids a few days but they manage to find a couple of holes in the floor which they can peer through, down into the kitchen below and watch our breakfast being made in the mornings. It’s not cheap at £70 per night, but it’s in a great location and it has the added bonus of serving breakfast in your room. We treated to some weird local fruits and fruit juices, some of which we’re still not sure about.

Our location in Cidade Alta or the Upper City is very close to the Largo do Pelourinho, steep cobbled streets where slaves where auctioned and runaway slaves were publicly beaten on a pelourinho (whipping post). A sobering thought. Declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1985, the whole area has since been renovated and is full of beautiful colonial buildings, built by the Portugese and now painted in pastels colours. To get down to Cidade Baixa or the Lower City, we take the Elevador Lacerda (236 feet in a couple of stomach dropping seconds), built in 1872 and costing about 2p per trip. There’s not much to see down here so we jump in a taxi to the Mercardo Grande, which we figured was the correct way to ask for the huge local market that’s on everyday. Guess our Spanish still isn’t up to much since we’re first driven to a local hypermarket (well that’s one kind of large market, I guess)! Never mind, we’re onwards to the market….only to discover that today, Sunday, is the one day of the week that it’s closed. Round trip, back to the bottom of the Elevador, R$ 30 (£10), a great way to waste money!

It’s very poor here with lots of favellas (slums), beggars, a huge drug problem (crack is apparently the drug of choice here), kids sleeping on the streets in plastic bags and an average wage of R$ 400 pcm (£130) so we’re understandably very cautious when we withdraw R$ 500 from bank to tide us over a few days. Not a large amount of money for us but definitely makes us potential mugging targets. We split the money between us and put bits into different pockets, just in case. There’s tourist police everywhere which, on the one hand, makes you feel safe and, on the other makes you realise how much crime there must be here. There is always the option to be escorted back from the bank by the police and this will cost you R$20, the same amount which you need to pay to the cashier if you’re paying cash into the bank in order to ensure that it reaches the right bank account…it’s quite tiring being on high alert all the time, not only where personal safety is concerned, but also never taking our eyes off the children. Maybe this is why we all loved Laos so much. Average annual salary of USD 200, yet no violence, few beggars and a very relaxed atmosphere. It couldn’t be more different.

On Tuesdays (Blessed Tuesday) in Salvador, everybody goes to church (not quite everybody…we prefer to worship at the temple of food and wine. If it was the temple of bread and fishes, we may have something to be proud about) and that’s followed by a big music night. There’s live music on every street corner and right across road from our hotel, on the steps in front of church Terça da Benção is a live band. Couldn’t be in a better spot for us to watch from the door of the hotel, but it does mean that, as the streets are so packed with revellers, it’s difficult for us to leave and find a restaurant for dinner. Not to worry as there’s a pizza place just a few doors away and they agree to let us have a take-away, which is when Ruby declares that she feels like salad. Wow, there’s a first for everything!

Buzios

2008-07-05T03:06:00.003+01:00

200km north of Rio, Elias drives us to Buzios whose claim to fame is that it was discovered by Brigitte Bardot when she fled here with her Brazilian boyfriend in the 60’s to hide from the world’s press. There’s even a statue of her, hat in hand, gazing out to sea so that anyone who cares to can cop a feel of her bottom. Luckily it was sculpted then and not now else they’d need twice as much metal. Buzios is a pretty little place but much more resorty that we imagine the rest of Brazil to be.

Home for the next week is the Hibiscus Beach Resort (www.hibiscusbeach.com.br)
a collection of little bungalows set amongst tropical gardens full of…you guessed it – hibiscus. The surprise is the tiny hummingbirds that dart around between the bushes.

There’s 20 or so beaches in this small area and the best way to around is beach buggy. So we do. The kids treat it like a fairground ride and scream with delight every time we hit a bump or take a corner and I’m clinging on for dear life fearing being thrown out of the non-existent door. Actually, it would be quite fun but I’ve got some kind of bug that is wiping me out and I’m not really feeling up to being thrown around.

I’m guessing that Harley may have caught something from me a few days later when we take him to breakfast and, as he’s eating a fried egg (heuvos. See, I’m improving), (which have never been his favourite food, but he feels the need to copy Ruby), he suddenly sits back and declares he doesn’t want any more…at which point he throws up all over the table. Will grabs him and, on the way to the door, Harley manages to throw up all over the chair and the floor, prompting the other 10 or so diners to abandon their tables and pretend they’re finished. Maybe it was the sight of the old Chinese man who has just won the Veteran’s Table Tennis Championship in Rio and seem to be confused by the breakfast buffet, thus pouring strawberry yoghurt onto his sausage and eggs and eating butter straight from the pot with a spoon.

We get to meet Andy and Jean, a retired couple who have been travelling for 7 months and are now heading home. Seems like 65 is the new 25.

Our plan from here was to fly up to the Amazon for a few days but everything in Brazil is so expensive, especially flights, that we decide against it and plan instead to fly up to Salvador. But first we have to get back to Rio for our flight.

Q&A

2008-07-05T02:56:00.006+01:00

We're asked the same handful of questions over and over, so here, for your personal pleasure, in no particular order, is a list of the most frequently asked, and even an answer.

What do the kids do about schooling?

Harley doesn’t start school until January so he will return to St Peter’s nursery for one term, 4 full days a week, to get him in the groove.

Ruby does homework with Will (because I don’t have the inordinate amount of patience required) for between 1 and 2 hours every morning except Sunday, wherever possible. We initially bought along a whole stack of home-schooling books and, once she had finished these, we bought a couple more in OZ. If we have internet connection, they use the BBC Schools website (www.bbc.co.uk/schools). If we’re on the road, Will does times tables with her. She’s also keeping a scrap-book and of course, she’s learning loads about different countries and their cultures.

What will you do for jobs when you come back?

Will is on a one year sabbatical and will return to his former employers, Armit Wines. I have no idea yet what I will do, there’s a credit crunch you know! But my first task will be to get my CV ready, something which hasn’t been updated for 15 years!

How do you pack for a year?

Pack as if for a 10 day holiday, then throw some things out and buy a few new bits along the way. But none of us will be winning any glamour contests this year. We have a total of 70kg between us. Baggage allowance on flights is generally 20kg per person.

How are you carrying all your stuff?

Will and I each have a Dakine bag on wheels that consist of two bags which clip together to form one (http://www.dakine.com/travel-bags/wheeled-luggage/guys/split-convertible/). Will pulls his and Harley’s stuff, I pull mine and Ruby’s.

What about toys?

Ours, or theirs? Everyone carries their own small backpack (actually, Harley pulls his along). If the toys don’t fit, they don’t come. Both have a couple of soft toys each, plus Ruby’s carrying loads of Barbie-shit and small figures she’s picked up along the way whilst Harley cares for nothing much except some cars and trains, complemented by a few sticks, stones and dead bugs.

Where’s your favourite place?

Too hard to choose. We all loved Laos as it was so beautiful and the people are divine. Cambodia was really interesting with so much to learn, although it was pretty hard, dirty going. Vietnam had the most varied terrain, from mountainous Sapa in the north to the stunning Halong Bay, through educational Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City, down to the idyllic Phu Quoc at the bottom. Australia ranks high as it was so lovely to hang out with all our friends and drive over 10,000km down the east coast, stopping whenever we felt like it. Jury's still out on South America as we're not done yet...

Do you miss home?

Yes, and no. I miss my friends and family but I don’t actually miss London itself.

Are you looking forward to coming home?

Again, yes and no. I’m looking forward to seeing everyone again and catching up on everyone’s news, meeting new offspring and partners, discovering new places that have sprung up. I’m not looking forward to parking tickets, supermarket shopping and school runs.

It's Rio baby!

2008-07-05T00:20:00.004+01:00

A 4 ½ hour flight takes us west to east, from Santiago to Rio de Janeiro. We’re staying at the Copacabana Praia Hotel http://www.copacabanapraiahotel.com.br/
located right between Copocabana and Ipanema beaches and instead of the hotel room we were expecting, we find ourselves in a spacious 2 bedroom apartment. Not bad for £55 per night, including breakfast, thanks to the deal on wotif.com.

Our first day is spent soaking up the sun and the atmosphere on Copocabana beach next to which sits Sugar Loaf mountain. It’s not at all what we were expecting. For a start, the Brazilian women here are NOT hot! This may be in no small part due to the fact that they eat all day long. In complete contrast to Australia where everyone lugs huge cool boxes to the beach, Brazilians go to the beach in their (extremely skimpy) swimwear, already sun creamed-up, carrying enough cash for their food and drink for the day (although I have no idea where they put it because there doesn’t seem to be room in the men’s trunks for anything other than the budgie that most of them seem to be smuggling down the front). Hire your deckchair and umbrella, order your caipiroska (for £2) and sit there whilst hawkers constantly walk up and down the beach selling iced matte tea, empanadas, grilled cheese (they actually walk up and down in the boiling sun with a little charcoal grill in their hands), corn on the cobs, prawns, sandwiches, ice creams…and the Brazilians just eat and eat and eat. I’m happy with a sweet corn and we drink and drink and drink. We don’t manage to do much swimming as the waves are huge and literally knock you off your feet, so it’s as much as we can do to keep our balance, let alone swim. In fact, one particular wave wiped me out so badly that I thought I’d maybe burst my eardrum and couldn’t clear my ears for 2 days.

We delighted to discover that Ipanema is much trendier and the scenery is much better too. It’s a younger, more beautiful crowd and Will’s delighted when a trio of lovelies parade in front of him in their thong bikinis. A real postcard shot.

Talking of which, the oft photographed Sugar Loaf mountain is calling our name so we venture onto the cable car and up to the first station, where we manage to steal a view of the surrounding scenery through the passing clouds. Up to the second station, through the clouds….and now we can’t see a bloody thing except loads of large, black birds (which Will insists are birds of prey but I think they look more like crows. The jury’s still out) soaring in the thermal currents. We manage to just sneak a few peaks through the clouds at the beaches stretching out below us before we head down for lunch at the very nice restaurant below us. Will blows out on a meat feast of steak, lamb chops, pork and sausage and I get….a salad, just for a change.

The other much-photographed site here is Corcovado atop of which stands the arms-outstretched statue of Christ The Redeemer. An hour or so outside of town, our driver Elias drives up and up the mountain until we are allowed no further. Cars get left behind and we transfer into mini buses for the final 1km to the top. Along the way we are allowed to jump out and watch a 3-toed sloth make its way very, very slowly across the road. I was expecting to climb up to the statue, but no. There, at the top of the mountain, is an escalator! Finally, we get the aerial view that we missed out on the other day as well as getting a close up view of one of the most photographed statues in the world.

On the way back, we stop in Santa Theresa, formerly home to Great Train Robber Ronnie Biggs and his young Brazilian wife. Very cute, with cobbled streets and a tram passing through with people hanging off the sides and a great restaurant called Asia where the kids scoffed on Peking Duck whilst I enjoyed the view. We also drive past the favelas; Brazilian shanty towns built high into the hill, the houses made from old bricks, sheet metal or any other material that may have been left lying around. Ironically, the poor residents of the favelas enjoy the best of the sea views and the breeze, although they do live in fear of potentially catastrophic landslides.

Final stop is at the Carnival museum. Not a museum at all, but a shop displaying some of the costumes worn in last years Carnival, located just to one side of the route. For about £1, we can choose a costume, put it on and parade outside, just in front of the stand where the tickets sell for approximately £300 each. Harley's given something that makes him look like Oliver Twist with a hat so big it falls down over his eyes and Will looks like a gay centurian, which gives me an idea for my next birthday party....The weight of these things, especially the head-dress, is unbelievable and I have no idea how they parade for hours in the heat.

There’s one other thing worth mentioning about this section of our trip. We went for dinner at a restaurant called Jobi which does tapas sized meals and lots of different flavoured Caiporoskas, resulting in a rather shocking bill for 300 Brazilian Real (about £100, or £20 more than the price of a private car and driver for an 8 hour return journey...). Attempting to pay the damage with the Visa, we discover that credit cards are not accepted here at which point we look around and see it written everywhere! Great. We have about £10 in cash, no bank card and no other way of paying. The manager is contemplating calling the police, or at least taking us hostage, when Carlos, a local metals trader, kindly steps in and tells him to let us go back and get cash from our apartment (a 10 minute cab ride away) and, if we fail to come back with the cash, he’ll pay our bill. So we dash back, grab the cash and Will returns to settle the bill and buy Carlos a beer, except Carlos has left so Will orders himself a Courvoisier in the hope that the manager will say it’s on him. No such luck and he’s now got an additional £8 to pay for his brandy! Like all bad criminals, we return to the scene of the crime a few days later and discover Carlos nursing his after-work beer and discover that the reason behind his generous offer to cover for us is that he once had exactly the same experience in a restaurant in Italy where a local offered to do the same for him. See. Goes around comes around. Told you so!

Valparaiso

2008-06-28T01:46:00.001+01:00

A couple of kilometres further along the coast is the much more bohemian Valparaiso where the houses are built high up into the hills. To access the hills there are many funiculars which climb steeply up offering terrifyingly scary views of the port down below. Restaurants are few and far behind up here but we manage to find a hotel with a rather lovely looking restaurant serving lunch. I order the kids a steak to share with a simple request to hold the raspberry sauce that accompanies it and feel downright pathetic when it arrives, smothered in the stuff so that neither child will eat it. Ruby quite correctly says that it tastes like raspberry jam. I’ve really got to learn some more Spanish and pronto (oh no, that’s Italian…) or we’re all going to starve. Actually, it looks like I’m going to starve anyway as I don’t eat meat and I’ve got an aversion to fish with bones in it, which seems to be the only type of fish served here. The next lunch is more successful for everyone else except me. I ask for some kind of vegetarian meal and the waitress suggests some kind of bean stew that is usually served as an accompaniment to their chicken dish. I have one mouthful and I’m certain there’s chicken it. Oh yes, sorry says the waitress, it’s actually cooked together with the chicken but we didn’t give you any of the chicken. Right, so what’s this lump of white flesh lurking in here then? Urgh.
A drive around the very steep streets up here gives us a fantastic view of the whole area but we drive just a bit too far and find ourselves on a road that leads to and ends at a huge prison. There’s woman and kids swarming everywhere and we’re trying to doing a 3 point turn in a tiny space while surrounded by hundreds of people coming and going to and from the prison. There’s arm’s sticking out the windows and clothes tied to bars getting an airing. It’s a sobering sight.

Vina del mar and Ruby’s birthday

2008-06-28T01:34:00.002+01:00

Fortunately, our next stop is only a couple of hours away. Well, it should be but we don’t have a map and the road signs are almost non-existent, so it takes us until sundown before we finally arrive, without anywhere to stay. This would be fine but the roads are all one way and we can’t reach either of the places we’re earmarked to try for a bed so end up in a rather faceless Best Western, the highlight of which is 20 or so rather large marines who are on leave from the aircraft carrier docked in the nearby port.

Vina del Mar is the seaside holiday destination of choice for the more wealthy Chileans, many of whom own a second home here. It has a very European feel to it and there’s neither a poncho nor an alpaca in sight. In fact, there’s not very much in sight at all as a thick fog has enveloped the whole town. Doesn’t bode well for the day at the beach we had planned for Ruby’s 8th birthday. This doesn’t seem to bother her too much and she’s very happy to wake up and find her room full of balloons and even a few presents (a Maori necklace and some High School Musical stickers and badges plus book from us and a chocolate love heart and a bath bomb from Harley. If only birthdays in the UK were as cheap as this!) We let her choose what she wants to do for the day and spend the morning in the shopping mall where she’s eager to spend some money she was given by family before we left. Clutching her new purchase (another bloody Barbie – this one a swimming instructor with two children and swimming pool. How the bloody hell are we meant to carry a Barbie swimming pool around the world?) she decides on sushi for lunch, at which point a horse and carriage sweeps past and Princess Ruby decides she can’t live without a ride. Chocolate Pig cake, which strangely tasted like it contained rum, and dinner at a local fish restaurant wraps up her day.

Santiago, Chile

2008-06-28T01:23:00.002+01:00

Chile is a ribbon of land, over 4,300km long but only 180km wide and separated from two of its neighbours, Bolivia and Argentina, by the Andes mountains which run almost the entire length of the country. Sitting between these and the Pacific ocean, the smog caused by terrible traffic is unable to disperse, leaving a thick layer sitting above the city, thus ruining the view from our 11th floor room. A population of 6 million in Santiago makes for a very bustling city, which is a bit of a shock to the system after being in New Zealand for 3 weeks.

Also a shock to the system is that we’re now in a Spanish speaking country with only a few phrases between us. Thanks to the Get By In Spanish CD we played in the car on our long road trips in New Zealand, we can order some food, drinks, a return train ticket and get a room with a double bed, none of which works too well since we need a room with 3 beds, we want to hire a car not get a train and, on our first attempt to order pasta with cheese sauce, no meat, my meals turns up complete with ham which they deny is meat. Hmmm, we may be in trouble here. At least we know how to order vino and discover that the local Carmenère grape variety is a very nice drop.

Sunday and, being a very Catholic country, almost everything is closed and families are parading the streets in their Sunday best. Luckily, we stumble across the Chilean equivalent of Leicester Square (some may say this is distinctly unlucky) and manage to find a restaurant open for lunch (or is it dinner, we’re so confused). We’re entertained by a father and his two sons playing a one man band kind of drum, cymbal, dancing-monkey show and watch as the remains of our food are divided up. The half-eaten bread and scrambled eggs are put onto one plate which is quickly scooped up by a passing local and any untouched food is scraped onto another plate and passed to the local pensioner and her husband who sit at the side of the square selling tat to tourists. I’m all for giving away food to those less needy, but I’ve never seen it done this way before.

Before we move out of the hotel into cheaper accommodation, Will books us both a massage hoping to ease the knots in our backs and, as we play tag at the bedroom door, I’m heading downstairs with high hopes which are dashed when I’m greeted by a 60 year old with bad facial hair. It’s a bit like being massaged by your mum (except mine doesn’t have a facial hair problem) and neither relaxing nor therapeutic.

We move to the Ciudad Vittoria Hotel (www.ciudaddevitoria.cl) and, despite our language difficulties, manage to snag a suite for US$90 (although it’s sadly nothing at all to do with our Spanish and everything to do with the fact that the guy on reception speaks excellent English) complete with breakfast of bread, cake, a slice each of plastic cheese and plastic ham, half a glass of yoghurt, a glass of tinned fruit cocktail, a half-glass of juice from the tinned fruit. Don’t think I’ll be rushing to breakfast, thanks.

The Chileans have a novel approach to the issue of smoking around children. Rather than banning smoking in restaurants, they banish kids outside to sit in the cold, whilst the smokers enjoy the warmth and give each other cancer inside. Which is all very well, but it’s freezing and we’re walking the streets trying to find somewhere to feed our little cherubs. Fortunately, the waiter of the excellent Patagonia restaurant takes pity on us freezing outside and invites us to sit inside his almost-empty restaurant. A quick check reveals no smokers and we gladly peel off our layers of clothing as we take a seat. Will orders enough parma ham, salami and cheese to feed a family of ten and I order a squid ink risotto. Little did I know this would be the last decent meal I would have for some time.

We spend the next couple of days as tourists – riding the hop-on/off bus, taking the funicular and cable car up to the huge statue of the Virgin Mary which peers out over the city in much the same way as Christ the Redeemer does in Rio, and avoiding the wild dogs that are so prevalent in this part of town. We even manage to fit in a visit to the pre-Columbine art exhibition complete with mummified new-born babies.

We’re considering our travel options and, since the country is so long, momentarily consider a camper van. Take a moment to check out http://www.chile-travel.com/holiday.htm which kept me highly amused for a while. The top of the range camper vans are basically an open back truck with a box strapped on top, complete with…radio-cassette player. In the words of Jim Bowen, come and ’ave a look at what you could ’ave won. We settle for a car instead and our pidgin Spanish comes in handy almost immediately as we’ve only got enough fuel to get us 7km. Should have gone to Hertz instead of the dodgy local company who do us a deal so long as we pay in US Dollars, cash.

On to Chile

2008-05-27T00:31:00.001+01:00

A sleepless flight during which our children’s behaviour is simultaneously praised and derided. From one side of the plane, an elderly lady complimented them (and therefore us) on their good behaviour, noting that her similarly aged grandchildren would never have been so good on such a long flight. In front of me, the 30ish year old Irish girl who fully reclined her seat onto my lap the second the seatbelt sign went out and promptly fell asleep, moaned within one minute of Harley coming to sit on my lap for a story that he’d kicked her seat and should be immediately sent back to his own place. I apologised and explained, in my best sarcastic tone, that space was a problem in economy but she was furious that he’d disturbed her 8 ½ hours into her sleep. I couldn’t help but want to punch her in the back of the head as she drifted off again…

We arrive at 12pm on Saturday, 5 hours before we’ve left.

I’ve really struggled to find any reasonably priced accommodation and so we’re spending a couple of nights in the completely overpriced Crowne Plaza. Our bodyclocks are so out of whack that the kids want breakfast cereal for dinner and no one gets to sleep before 4am.

It’s lunchtime before we wake up and time to investigate.

Old friends

2008-05-27T00:30:00.001+01:00

I was last here in 1990 and spent 6 weeks touring the North Island with my good friend Lucia, getting as far as Rotorua before she met and fell in love with her Maori prince, Anthony. One year later, I was delighted to be their bridesmaid at their beach wedding in Fiji (she is of Fijian descent), with her and I resplendent in the Maori outfit whilst Anthony and best man George wore traditional Fijian wedding skirts. Sadly, that was the last time I saw them and about 8 years ago, I lost touch with them completely. Numerous internet searches failed to reveal their Auckland contact details and I was therefore determined to find them whilst I was here. With a total population of 4 million, I figure it can’t be that hard.

A copy of the White Pages telephone directory reveal just two families of the same surname in Rotorua, both of which turn out to be cousins of Anthony’s (hardly surprising since his dad has 15 brothers and sisters) and one gives me the number of another cousin in Auckland who supposedly knows of Anthony’s whereabouts. One more call and I was in possession of the phone number I searched for so long.

Sadly, Anthony and Lucia are no longer together and she has gone back to Vancouver. He has no contact details for he so my search is not over just yet. But so lovely to meet up with him again after all this time and, after a couple of hours spent catching up on all the news, both good and bad, he takes me off to his rugby club to hang with his mates. Me and 20 rugby playing Maoris, with even a hongi or two (the Maori kiss – pressing noses together) thrown in for good measure. I’m in heaven!!

A bit of shopping in preparation for Ruby’s birthday in a few days time and then we’re meeting up with Peter Kidd-Davis, a cousin of Will’s who he last saw here 18 years ago. Bought up in Ireland, it seemed appropriate to take him to the Irish pub for lunch.

Off to the airport for our 5pm, 11 hour flight to Chile. We’re back in proper travelling mode.

Auckland

2008-05-27T00:29:00.001+01:00

We’re just here for a few days before heading off the Chile and I’ve booked us into the Heritage (www.heritage.co.nz) , formerly the Farmers department store for 80 years, so it’s full of character as well as old wooden floors.

The City of Sails, as Auckland is alternatively known (due to its having the highest number of boats per head anywhere in the world) is on a narrow strip of land, sandwiched between 2 harbours, surrounded by islands and 48 volcanic hills, so you’re never far from a beautiful coastal vista.

Will gets the best view of our location when he ascends the 328m high Sky Tower and jumps off at 192m for a 16 second, 75kph base wire jump (more like a parachute jump than a bungy. He’s making the most of this cheaters form of parachuting as he’s too heavy for the real McCoy where the maximum weight allowance is 100kg (note, he’s just made me amend this to 100kg, but it’s actually 105kg) …) just as the sun is setting. He flies to the ground like a heffalump on acid (although he says it was a gentle glide) and can’t believe his luck when they offer him a second jump for free (they obviously like a giggle…). Down on the ground below, we can’t believe our eyes as we watch him dangling high above the ground like a manic Spiderman, arms and legs flailing furiously, as the try to get him into position for a good photo.

Not sure whose nerves need calming more as we head for dinner to Viaduct Harbour, resplendent with huge yachts and motorboats moored up. We watch as some oik in a baseball cap makes a complete hash of mooring his beautiful 40ft cruiser and reflect how money can’t buy you brains, although it does appear to have bought this guy a wife at least 10 years younger than himself.

There’s a plethora of restaurants to choose from down here but we don’t choose too wisely, blinded maybe by the offer of $5 cocktails in one. The kids eat well with their Stonegrills (essentially a piping hot square of stone on which you cook your own meat to your liking) but Will’s $10 rack of ribs apparently tastes like something Kerry Katona would serve up (i.e. something cheap and dodgy from Iceland, not chips dipped in ketamine).

We’re car-less so the Auckland Explorer bus gives us a one hour tour of the city and we hop off at the Auckland Museum for a bit of Maori culture, including the magnificent 25m long war canoe, carved from a single tree. We’re also treated to a traditional Maori song and dance (waiata and haka) and, whilst Ruby is entranced by the female poi dancers, Harley’s taking in the fact that these guys are allowed to poke out their tongue without being told off for it, a fact he later took full advantage of.

We walk the entire length and back of the K-road (almost as unsightly as K-Fed) looking for a good place for dinner and end up on Ponsonby Road in a promising looking curry house. This time, we fare better on the food and the kids are left hungry as their “mild” lamb korma comes out hot enough to take the skin off your tongue. We’re not doing very well on the meal front.

Kaikoura and dolphins

2008-05-27T00:15:00.003+01:00

Kaikoura, 180km north of Christchurch and home to an abundance of sea life, including whales, dolphins, seals, penguins and sea birds aplenty. The seabed slopes gradually from the shore to a depth of about 90m before plunging to more than 800m and, as the warm and cold currents converge, it brings nutrients up from the ocean floor, providing a lovely feeding ground for marine life to take advantage of.

We’re here for the dolphin tour which we’ve booked with Dolphin Encounter (www.dolphin.co.nz) . I’ve always wanted to swim with dolphins in the wild and this is my chance but I’m somewhat put off when I’m told that I’ll be give a wetsuit, hood, two pairs of gloves and two pairs of (wetsuit) socks to wear and given hot chocolate to drink when we get out of the water. Hmm, sounds like it’s going to be just a little too cold for me, so I opt out of the swimming and decide to just take the dolphin-watching tour from the warmth of the boat instead.

There’s 30 of us on the boat and only 9 of us not swimming, so while the others get fitted up with snorkels and flippers, we keep our eyes peeled for the dusky dolphins that frequent these waters. Within 20 minutes of leaving shore, we’re all yelping with excitement as we spot first a couple behind us, then half a dozen to the side of us and then a huge pod leaping about just a couple of hundred feet in front of us. Our boat pulls up alongside the main pod and blows its horn to let the swimmers know they’re to get out. One after another they plop into the water as the dolphins swim around them…and then zoom off into the opposite direction. The horn blows again and 21 be-goggled swimmers clamber back into the boat. We race after the pod and pull up alongside them some minutes later, the horn blows, the swimmers plop into the water…and the dolphins zoom off again. We can’t help but laugh as we’re treated to the most amazing sight of 150 dolphins swimming past us, as 21 cold swimmers haul themselves back into the boat again.

I’ve seen dolphins before but never this many all together. It’s the most amazing sight as they leap up out of the water and then swim along the bough of the boat, just 3 feet below where we’re standing. A whale-spotting plane spots the pod and circles several times to get an aerial view of the spectacular display and huge royal albatross and petrels join in the swooping around.

We spend a good couple of hours out with the dolphins; the swimmers have been in and out of the water at least half a dozen times and they finally emerge blue around the extremities but looking extremely exhilarated. I’m still convinced I made the right decision to stay on board as I watch them rubbing fingers and toes for the rest of the journey back to shore, trying to get some feeling back.
One of the crew has told us where to get the best crayfish, direct from the fisherman, but we had no idea the setting was also going to be so spectacular. As we follow the curve of the road alongside the sea, we spot a few tables and chairs and a small stall selling, amongst other things, fresh crayfish. The fisherman’s wife cooks us up 2 crayfish, smeared with garlic butter and we sit at the edge of the sea with a wood fire to keep us warm, watching the sun go down as we eat slurp our delicious crayfish and wash it down with a glass of wine. What a perfect day.

With full bellies and happy hearts, we drive a short way to the end of the peninsular and spot seals lazing on the rocks. What we didn’t spot, as we walked along the grass verge, was the seals putting themselves to bed under the bushes and Ruby and I nearly jumped out of our skins as one roared at us, just a couple of feet away. That was us warned off.

We’re back to Christchurch for just one night and a bit of luxury at the 5 star Millennium Hotel before our morning flight to Auckland, North Island.

Hamner Springs

2008-05-12T05:34:00.002+01:00

Heading 2 hours north (although I actually managed to shave half an hour off the journey with my speedy driving, no cops involved. If only Will would let me drive me often we’d be $230 up…), we arrive in Hamner Springs to partake in the delights of the hot springs. Hot water, at 53 degrees, is pumped straight out of the ground and cooled sufficiently that we can dip in pools of water ranging from 35 to 41 degrees. The air temperature is a chilly 5 degrees and we run between pools, trying to keep warm. A mountain view provides a perfect backdrop and we all soak blissfully in 39 degrees.

Getting out of the pools was a slightly more difficult task. Firstly, I have to dip my necklace in Silvo as the sulphur in the pools has turned it a lovely shade of black. Then we have to run into the warm showers and finally wrap the kids up in our fleeces. Don’t worry about us, so long as you’re nice and warm…

2008-05-12T05:08:00.002+01:00

Back to Christchurch for one night before we head north. We're just at the back of the previously visited Mount Cook, but the pesky mountain range means it's a 5 hour drive away, as is Christchurch. We seem to be doing an awful lot of driving between places.

Good to be back in Christchurch and nice to meet up with Chay, a friend who moved here 3 1/2 years ago. We take it in turns to go out with him and I opt for the warm-up shift of 7.30 til 9.30pm (so Will gets to put the kids to bed). Playing tag at the bedroom door, Will's off the leash at 9.35 and gets home at 1.30. How come I get 2 hours and Will gets 4? Bloody chauvinistic pig. Both of them.

Franz Josef glacier

2008-05-12T05:03:00.004+01:00

As Ruby asks; why do we have to drive so far between seeing things here. One thing here, then get in the car and drive for hours; see another thing, get in the car again…and I have to agree with her, it is very much like that. Which is why we drive for 5 hours from Queenstown to Franz Josef to see the glacier that sits atop the mountains here.

Franz Josef is a very small town (population 250), of the one-store, two-pub, ten-motel variety and it’s, again, in the middle of nowhere (well, it’s actually 2km from Fox, home to the Fox glacier; small town of the one-store, one-pub, three-motel variety, but apart from that…) .

There are only 3 glaciers in the world which sit in a temperate region, amongst rain forest; that’s this one, plus Fox and one in Argentina. Added to that, most glaciers in the world are retreating but this is one of the few that are advancing due to the high annual snow fall. Luckily for us, there’s been one of those snow falls just a couple of days ago and the glacier is looking inviting.

Our transport crazy son has his eternal wish fulfilled when we are whisked up to the top of the glacier on a helicopter. At 300m deep, it’s a sight to behold. The ice below us is clear blue and we can see little tunnels as well as huge cracks in this monstrous beast. We land in a foot of fresh snow and clamber out (resplendent in 5 layers plus purple Ugg boots/slippers), to be hit with -10 degrees. There’s time for a quick snowball fight and tramp in virgin snow before we all bundle back inside the helicopter for a flight back down to mugs of hot chocolate. Even Ruby agrees this was well worth the drive.

Queenstown

2008-05-12T03:22:00.004+01:00

Brrrrr, it’s freezing! We’re not ready for this; icy cold winds blow right through us and chill us to the bone. Lucky then, that we have a lovely apartment that we can spend our first day in, warming up and chilling out (is that a contradiction in terms?). We have a double-whammy of good luck as old faithful wotif.com has turned up a gorgeous 2-bed apartment at The Glebe ( www.theglebe.co.nz ) , just 2 minutes walk from town, normally $450 for $240 per night. And even nicer when I check in and the lovely Anne decides to check us in to a huge and luxurious 3-bed apartment for the same price.

Our original plan was to hire a camper van but we’d changed our plans when we realised it was going to be too cold to make it a fun experience. It was one of our wiser decisions. The snow is no longer just on the mountain tops but covers the trees almost down to the edge of the river.

There’s so much to do here that we can’t quite decide which adrenaline junkie activity to participate in so we all plump for the Shotover Jet Boat and then Ruby and I decide on the hang gliding.

Overnight snow leaves plenty of snow on the mountains and a freezing cold wind, a fact we didn’t quite appreciate until we were in full throttle on the Shotover Jet Boat (http://www.shotoverjet.com). A $250,000 boat flies you through the water, doing 360 degree turns whilst heading straight for the rocks. As if that’s not already enough to take your breath away, with the morning wind factor of –5, the water that flies into your face turns straight to ice on contact with your skin. Lovely. We weren’t sure how the kids, especially Harley, were going to cope with the hairy ride but, after initial wariness, they were both soon laughing whilst hanging on with white-knuckles. And, of course, the minute we get off, Harley’s begging to go again.

A 10 minute drive takes us up to Coronet Peak, a ski resort from 1 June each year. We’re a couple of weeks too early for skiing but there’s enough snow around for a snowball fight.

Lovely as the snow looks, it’s caused the cancellation of our hang gliding due to low cloud, which is a real shame as I was really looking forward to it. Oh well, retail therapy will fill the hole. I know Ugg boots are slippers here, but they can’t be beaten for warmth. So what if I’m wearing slippers in the street, no one here knows me.

Arrowtown

2008-05-12T02:33:00.002+01:00

To say that the South Island of New Zealand is beautiful would be stating the bleedin’ obvious, so let’s just take that as a given, especially at this time of year when the leaves are all turning various shades of red, orange, yellow and gold. Everywhere you turn is a beautiful lake, a beautiful mountain, a beautiful something or other. But where are all the people? 1million people live in the South Island but we hardly pass a house or even car on the roads as we drive along. Sheep, yes. Cows, yes. Alpacas, yes. But no houses or cars. Which means that on long stretches of empty, straight road, a 100kmh speed is easily broken. Unfortunately, it also means that lone police women parked up at the side of the road can get a good angle on us with radars as we come around the corner doing 111kmh and speed up to 120kmh…I did ask her to be kind with her fine and she agreed to put us down at 115kmh meaning the fine was $80 instead of $120. A lot more reasonable that the $250 we were fined in Oz.

Arrowtown makes a perfect halfway stop and, in this drizzle and slight fog, the autumnal leaves, stone buildings and wood fires burning give the place a slight Lake District feel. Except I don’t think you can get a shot of wheatgrass in the Lake District. It’s my lame attempt to redress the balance after so much wine consumption.

Wanaka

2008-05-11T03:32:00.002+01:00

We’re headed to Queenstown, 56km away and there’s not too much between the big towns here. You can drive for miles and it’s the same scenery - lots of trees, mountains and sheep. Nice, if you like that sort of thing. Personally, I prefer a little more action. But, never wanting to be accused of not making the most of things, we stop at Puzzling World in Wanaka, which the kids really enjoyed. A huge maze, lots of games and some illusions for them to enjoy. And Wanaka village itself is a really lovely little alpine village with wood fires burning and ski shops a-plenty.

Unfortunately,we’re not staying here but at Cardrona, 26km down the road. So we leave lovely little Wanaka and drive into the middle of nowhere to stay in our little house in Cadrona. At $100 per night for a 2 story, 2 bed house, Will thinks we’ve got a bargain and should stay here instead of Queenstown and simply drive the 30km into Queenstown every day. I can’t think of anything worse and would gladly remortgage the house right nor if it meant getting out of here. Yes, the house is lovely, but we are in the MIDDLE OF NOWHERE!!

And have I mentioned how cold it is?

As we drive out of Cardrona on the morning (Karen 2, Will 1), we notice how close we are to the Cadrona ski resort which open on 1st June ans see lots of lovely little chalets being built nearby, so no doubt this will be a thriving little alpine village in iys own right in a few years time. But until then, I’m off to Queenstown for some action, baby.

Mount Cook

2008-05-11T02:54:00.003+01:00

At 3,755m high, Mount Cook is the highest mountain in Australasia and is a quite magnificent sight. For miles, you drive along mountainous roads and then suddenly, you turn a corner and there it is, looming above you, dominating the skyline. Well, at times it is, and at others, it’s just completely covered by cloud.

The Maori name for Mount Cook is Aoraki, which means Cloud Piercer and as we watch the clouds moving across, we realise that this is actually what happens. The clouds gether on the surrounding mountains and, as they move across the top of Mount Cook, they are literally pierced and dispersed. It’s a pretty amazing sight to watch being repeated.

There’s really only one place to stay here and that’s in the Hermitage Hotel (www.hermitage.co.nz) where I manage to secure us a $760 per night room for $175, complete with binoculars for viewing the spectacular view of the mountain. And there’s really only one thing to do here once the rain stops; walk, so we take the Hooker Valley track, which leads us across a couple of swing bridges and onwards, past the Tasman Glacier atop the mountains and towards the terminal lake. As we climb the final hill and round the final corner, we all delighted to notice huge lumps of ice floating about in the river which have broken off from the glaciers. I even hear a huge cracking; a piece of the glacier breaking off.

It’s taken us 2 ½ hours to walk here and we reward ourselves with our picnic, washed down with the bottle of Laurent Perrier I’d wisely invested our last Aussie dollars in as we left Sydney airport. We’d been waiting for the right time to drink it and this seemed like it. Our first true champagne (not that muck the Aussies call champagne) in 8 months and we savoured every drop, in spite of the wind and cold.

We’re very proud of the kids for walking 2 ½ hours back again, especially Harley who only needed a carry for 10 minutes and then somehow managed to run for the last 15 minutes. Crossing that final swing bridge seemed to give him super powers.

We were really lucky not to get rain and even luckier that the cloud which normally covers the top of Mount Cook has cleared today, a fact we only realised the next morning when it was pouring and with zero visibility. Giving us a perfect opportunity to check out the in-house Sir Edmund Hillary exhibition and planetarium show.

Around Christchurch

2008-05-11T02:46:00.002+01:00

We’ve been given the low-down by a local who says we should visit Sumner where there’s a great restaurant on the beach so we head out through the rather industrial looking harbour of Lyttelton, via a 4km tunnel cut straight through the base of mountain that happens to be in the way.

Sumner is a very small place and we easily find the (only) restaurant on the beach. In Summer, this would be perfect but it’s getting too chilly for us to fully appreciate the fantastic location. A bride makes her way down to the beach, resplendent in white wedding dress and hiking boots, and almost gets blown away as she’s having photos taken.

Akaroa, meaning Long Harbour in Maori, is fittingly named. Formerly a French settlement, it’s a huge stretch of lake, backed with a cute selection of bars and cafes. From here, you can take boat trips out on dolphin-watching and swimming trips, but a warm drink is more fitting today than a swim in the freezing water.

New Zealand, South Island. Christchurch

2008-05-11T02:35:00.003+01:00

On arrival at Christchurch, we’re greeted by the friendliest passport control ever. Not only do children under 5 get their own channel, to be shared only with diplomats and airline crew, but the staff are so chatty and busy finding stamps to put on the kids hands, just for fun, that a veritable-sized queue is forming behind us.

On first impressions, Christchurch seems like the land that time forgot, but actually, get away from the main street and it’s very quaint. Cathedral Square is a hive of activity on Saturday morning with everything from mobile coffee bars, a market, musical performances and even Irish dancing.

Step beyond this and you find the Botanic Gardens, trams, the Avon river where punters (literally, punters who punt their punts) ply for trade and a street full of trendy bars and restaurants (known as The Strip). We even manage to find some culture and make a trip to the William Morris exhibition on at the Art Gallery.

And don’t believe it when people tell you there’s no nightlife to be had in Christchurch. We were woken up several times during the night by music coming from a nearby club and by 5.30am I was considering getting dressed and going down to join the revellers. Luckily for them, it stopped at 6am.

Goodbye Australia, Kia Ora New Zealand

2008-05-11T01:56:00.001+01:00

It feels weird to be without our car, which has effectively been our home for the last 5 months. We’ve been able to buy things without worrying about how we’re going to carry them, always had food handy for overnight stops or just snacks for long journeys and the kids have been comfortable enough in the back to play or even sleep as we’ve been travelling. We’ve done almost 11,000 miles down the east coast since we bought it and we’re all sad to say goodbye.

We’ve all thoroughly enjoyed being here and it feels like we’re homeward bound now, even though New Zealand is actually further away from home than Australia is. We’re two-thirds of the way through and I have a feeling this last part is going to fly by.

Sydney and Blue Mountains

2008-05-11T01:52:00.002+01:00

Our final few days in Australia and we have chores to do…sell the car, pack and send home all the superfluous baggage we’ve manage to acquire over the last 5 months (which costs A$450…) and buy presents for our gracious hosts and then we’re all off to the Blue Mountains for the weekend. In between, we’ve got tickets to see High School Musical on Ice as a treat for Ruby. The show was quite good for Nicky and I too as we were treated to the sight of Troy Bolton removing his shirt to reveal a rather impressive 6-pack.

We’ve rented a gorgeous house at Wentworth Falls in the Blue Mountains, a couple of hours from Sydney. It’s absolutely beautiful and has every little extra that you wouldn’t normally even dream of finding in a rental property. We loathe to spend too much time away from it, especially as it’s so cold and wet, but manage to take a drive around the surrounding areas and into Katoomba, escaping the rain by ducking into a café for lunch, before heading to Scenic World, where a short but very steep railway (more like a funfair ride than a railway) takes you abruptly down the mountains and a cable car whisks you back up again. Spectacular views, even if it doesn’t look very blue…

Sunday morning and we’re off on a Thomas The Tank Engine steam train ride trough the mountains. Harley and Cooper are very excited to board the train, complete with Thomas face, and puff off through the trees to meet James, and are even more delighted to be allowed to hop up into the driver’s carriage. Very cute.

The nearby town of Leura is very quaint, tree lined and full of cute country stores and cafes. Our lunch spot has a huge floor to ceiling glass window at the rear which would normally give a far-reaching view out across the mountains, but today, it’s unfortunately to thick with fog to be able to see anything.

Our final night in Australia needs to spent in style so we have drinks at The Argyll and dinner at Rockpool, one of Sydney’s top seafood restaurants, complete with close-up view of the Harbour Bridge.

Melbourne for the third and final time

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Back for one night just to see Nick and Lisa and then to have dinner with Will’s old work colleague, Sarah Maclean plus her husband Nick. Last time we saw them was before they moved from Notting Hill 2 ½ years ago, so it feels slightly weird to see them with 6 month old baby Matilda now. Poor Nick is recovering from a hospital stay resulting from him choking on a piece of meat and leading him to have major surgery on his oesophagus, meaning that he can only eat soft food and drink water for the next 2 months. Sounds like pretty scary stuff. Gorgeous house, lovely evening and Melbourne doesn’t seem like such a bad place after all.

Back to Adelaide

2008-05-11T01:46:00.003+01:00

Adelaide has really grown on us this trip and it’s good to be back. We didn’t make it to Chinatown last time, but Saturday lunch here is excellent and the Saturday afternoon/evening Caiporoska making-session goes down a storm, as does almost the entire litre bottle of vodka between the two of us. Oops.

It’s even better to leave Rob in charge of 4 kids and head out the door on Sunday night for a girlie evening. There’s really only one street of restaurants and we’re planning on eating then hitting Distill, the coolest (for which read, only) cocktail bar in town. Trouble is, it’s closed. Sunday night obviously isn’t a very happening night in Adelaide. We manage to find another bar which also serves passable cocktails and stumble home to find that only one of the kids are crying and keeping Rob up. That’ll be the one with the dirty nappy Rob. He’s doing his best to rock baby Emily back to sleep but he doesn’t seem to have realised she’s in dire need of a change. My cue to slip off to bed.

Morning coffees with Jackie and Bec, who’s got 10 days to go before she gives birth. She’s looking fantastic and says she just can’t wait to pop the baby out…so I’m glad to hear that she has baby Frederick just 24 hours after I said goodbye to her.

And now I have to say goodbye to Moni, Rob and all the kids not knowing when I will see them again. I hate keep having to do this. Made even worse by the fact that, at Adelaide airport they can practically walk with me onto the plane. Just say goodbye at the door and sod off, would ya!

Back to Melbourne

2008-05-11T01:41:00.002+01:00

Will drops us off at the airport before heading off for his child-free 11 hour ferry crossing. I’m quite happy too as I only have a one hour flight before getting them into bed. All goes as planned and he arrives to collect us the next morning just as we are tucking into breakfast.

We spend the morning at St Kilda’s and then head down to the beachfront, indoor swimming pool. Melbourne is known for it’s changeable weather conditions and this is typical. So hot in the morning that we head for the beach, by lunchtime it starts to get chilly and by late afternoon we’re all digging out jeans and fleeces.

Will’s best friends from Uni days are both in Melbourne and we start by staying with
Dave and Sharon plus their 3 kids, Matt, Lucy and Ali. We haven’t seen them since the last time we were in Melbourne, 5 years ago, but it’s as if we saw them last week. Will’s soon out the door with Dave, off on a darts night and, when they finally return, drunken and loud, we all hop into the outdoor hot-tub. An hour later, we have company. At first we thought someone had ordered stripograms but no, turns out these two were a real-life policeman and woman, called by a neighbour who was complaining about the noise. I think they were a little surprised to see that there were only 4 of us in there, working our way through the 10 litre bottle of port. Poor Sharon was mortally embarrassed, as they’ve lived in that house for 12 years without a visit from the police, yet our first night there…I think Dave was secretly quite cuffed!

Sharon’s mum has kindly offered to baby-sit the kids for us the next day so that we can all go off to a winery for lunch and then they have friends and family coming over for a bit of a party in the evening. We arrive back from lunch to find that Sharon’s sister had to dive, fully clothed, into the pool as her 2-year-old daughter had gone under the bubbles and sunk like a stone to the bottom, without any of the other kids noticing. Kids drowning in pools is a massive problem in Australia and it really makes you stop and think when something like this happens.

I’ve managed to wangle getting a flight back to Adelaide for a final weekend, taking Harley with me. Although we spent 3 weeks in Adelaide over Christmas and New Year, I really didn’t get to see a lot of Moni since she was either in hospital having baby Emily or back there with her when she caught a nasty virus and I don’t know when I’m going to get to see her again after this trip. So I’m off on a plane again (don’t mention carbon footprints. I know, I know) on another one hour flight, leaving Will and Ruby in the capable hands of Nick, Lisa, Henry and Charlotte.

Mount Wellington

2008-05-11T01:38:00.002+01:00

Dominating Hobart’s skyline is the 1,270m high Mount Welllington which, when you drive to the top, give you a fantastic bird’s eye view over the surrounding area. We drive up through the clouds and the outside temperature drops to 10 degrees. The clouds are swirling, the wind is blowing and it’s freezing, but hey, it’s scenic! We even manage to step aoutside the car for a few minutes before almost being blown off the top. Quite an achievement.

Port Arthur

2008-05-11T01:33:00.002+01:00

We’d mistakenly believed that Port Arthur was a village, but actually, it’s the site of an old penal colony. Built in 1830 on the Tasman Peninsula, it made a great prison as it was connected to the mainland by a strip of land less than 100m wide, across which were chained vicious guard dogs and surrounded, so the rumour had it, by shark-infested water. Prisoners were not just incarcerated here but put to work ship-building or brick-making. Between 1830 and 1877, 12,500 convicts were imprisoned here. The sentencing did seem a little harsh though – for example, a 12 year old boy was sent on the 3 ½ month boat journey from England, over to Australia and given 7 years for the theft of a handkerchief. In reality, he probably never returned home.

We also took a harbour cruise around the Isle Of The Dead, literally a tiny island, full of graves for which people paid huge amounts of money for the privilege of being laid to rest here.

There’s a huge amount of wildlife here and we saw most of it….squashed in the road. The amount of road kill is unbelievable and obviously a problem since on certain roads, there is a 50kmh enforced between 6pm and 6am. We race along at 100kmh watching the minutes tick down towards 6pm after which it will take us twice as long to get back home.

Richmond and Salamanca

2008-04-30T08:50:00.002+01:00

Richmond is about as historic as Australia gets. Australia’s oldest bridge (built by convicts) from 1823, a jail from 1825, a church built in 1834, cemeteries with headstones dating back to 1846, and all in a chocolate box pretty setting with a river full of ducks (which chased the kids for quite some way, trying to grab the bread out of their hands), quaint little shops and galleries.

Salamanca market is apparently the place to be on a Saturday. When we asked directions of a local, she told us to follow her. Oh, I said, are you going there too? Yes, she replied, what else is there to do here on a Saturday morning? She’s obviously never heard of lying in bed with the papers and a plate of toast, or maybe a plate of oysters would be more appropriate here. Anyway, I digress. The market is not particularly interesting, full of tourist tat, but behind the buildings is Salamanca Square where we were taken by surprise at the sight of a band of merry men and women very enthusiastically Morris dancing. Been a while since I’ve witnessed that particular delight.

Tasmania - Launceston

2008-04-30T08:49:00.006+01:00

There’s two ways to get to Tasmania from Melbourne, a one-hour flight to or an 11-hour ferry crossing. The original idea was that we all cross by ferry (since we need to get the car over there) but the cost for this is $400 each plus about $60 for the car. The flights, on the other hand, are less than $100 each, return. I decide that I’d rather take the plane and get the kids in bed in the shortest time possible and Will decides that he’d quite like 11 hours of cave time on the ferry, so it works out perfectly. We get to spend the night at the Launceston Country Club and he gets to spend the night in a shared cabin, in a bunk bed. Apparently, the 3 others he was sharing with were snoring all night. Now he knows how I feel. And whilst we’re all still waking up in the morning, he’s making the 100km drive from the ferry terminal to collect us from Launceston.

We get some terrible weather due to hurricane winds coming across the Bass Straight from Melbourne which has cut off 200,000 homes from power, closed major bridges and killed 2 people. We abort our planned trips to the platypus house and seahorse world and instead visit the wineries of Jansz and Pipers Brook (also home to 9th Island).

Launceston is a strange place. I hope Dave Bracey will forgive me for saying that it’s stuck in the 70’s (maybe that’s why you left, Dave?). Lots of mullet haircuts, time-warp menus and restaurants, if you can find any, that close on Sundays.

We spoke to a few people who know Launceston and asked for some recommendation of things to see and do and no one seems to be able to come up with anything other than Cataract Gorge. Off we go then.

A chairlift up a very pretty Gorge and over an open air swimming pool that would be gorgeously located were the weather warmer (although, in fact, were the weather warmer, we’d swim in the gorge, not the pool), then an uphill climb for a birds eye view of the surroundings. A gentle walk back down via the restaurant and a very nice lunch makes us a bit more forgiving of Launceston.

Hobart

2008-04-30T08:49:00.003+01:00

Down to the south of the island now for a few days in Hobart. I’ve found a cottage on a vineyard, right next to a beach just a few miles outside town and it’s lovely. There’s a selection of their home-grown olives and a few bottles of wine in the cottage along with a an honesty box for you to pay for whatever extras you’ve consumed. Lots of lovely extra touches like mohair rugs for the chilly evenings and picnic hampers plus Wendy, the owner tells us that we can walk down to the waters edge and collect our own oysters, straight off the riverbed. I’m not big into oysters, but Will’s been known to schuck a few (48 in one go once) so we set off with our bag and instantly pick up a dozen huge oysters out of the water. Very organic. Waling back to the cottage with our prize, we come across the bones of a couple of sheep, long since mauled, and Harley is intensely interested in how all the pieces might fit together, especially the jaws and scull. He collects a bag of bones and brings them up to the cottage to play with and we later find him outside, banging the two jaws together and knocking the teeth out as Ruby observes, giggling. Feral children.

Ballarat

2008-04-30T08:48:00.002+01:00

We’ve been told that we should take the kids to Sovereign Hill, just outside Ballarat, which was the location of heavy gold mining in the 1850’s. The town has been recreated and, apart from being a tourist attraction, is actually very educational. We learn about the gold fever that ran through these parts, how the gold was mined and refined and lots more besides.

There’s even a bonus for Will. The motel we’re staying at has a sign in the grounds saying “Royal Tennis Court”. Further investigation shows this to be one of only 3 real tennis (Will’s favourite sport) courts in Australia and he even manages to get himself a game. I was very impressed by the 89 year old who showed us around the court and who took up Real Tennis aged 66 and still plays.

Lorne

2008-04-30T08:47:00.002+01:00

We’re driving to Lorne to meet up with our Aussie gang for a final weekend en masse for quite some time….sob!

Nicky, Andy and Cooper are flying in from Sydney whilst Moni, Rob and the kiddies are making the 13 hour drive from Adelaide. We’ve rented the most fantastic house with a fab view out to sea and a massive living area (all open plan, such is the typical Aussie house) upstairs with bedrooms downstairs. We even get flocks of wild cockatoos and cockatiels landing on the railing of the huge outdoor balcony and eating from our hands.

Once the kids were in bed each evening, it was like the good old days - before everyone left us for fairer shores. I get back into my cooking, which I’d been missing and we all get stuck into way too much booze. I still can’t look a bottle of bubbles in the face after last weekend so sensibly stick to gin and tonics, leaving me hangover free in the morning (which is more than can be said for poor ole Nicky). I even managed to win the game of poker.

Saturday morning, I use my bad back as an excuse to sneak off to Endota Spa with Nicky for a massage and facial (yes, I know facials don’t help bad backs but hey…) whilst the boys take the kids to the trampolines and meet up for lunch at the Lorne Hotel.

A hilarious game of Name Game fills our evening. Andy wins the Koo Stark/who starts? award for worst heard name and Moni, the Ewar Woowar/Candice Spelling (mother of Tori, apparently) award for ridiculousness. You had to be there. A good old lazy Sunday morning breakfast, another visit to the trampolines and fish and chips at the side of the beach rounds off a pretty perfect weekend.

Rob manages the drive home in 8 ½ hours and we decide to stay extra night in our luxurious pad. We’re all sad to say our goodbyes but I’m going to try and sneak a flight back to Adelaide in 2 weeks when Will returns to Melbourne to meet up with his friends.

Rutherglen and Melbourne

2008-04-30T08:46:00.001+01:00

Places to stay here are few and far between so we end up in a faceless motel with such a soft bed that my back is knackered, again.

Yet another wine region, this one famous for its muscats, including Cambells who produce my mum’s favourite wine, the delicious Cambells Rutherglen Muscat. A visit and a purchase here, followed by the same at All Saints would seem like we’re heading for a nice day. But no. Harley whinged and moaned for the entire day and Ruby left her new fleece in the motel meaning we had to do over an hours detour to collect it. I’m ready to quit for the first time in 7 months!!

After a 4-hour drive, we arrived in Melbourne, in the rain. My back is killing me, the kids are driving me insane, the traffic isa nightmare and, unusually, we don’t have any pre-booked accommodation. Fortunately, I spy some Oaks apartments; a chain which we’ve previously stayed in and they have always been great. It’s over our budget but I don’t care, I just want the day to end!

I’ve never really liked Melbourne, I don’t know why. Maybe because it’s always raining when I come, or because it reminds me of New York; everyone in a hurry, the yellow cabs and skyscrapers.

It’s very autumnal here and getting cold which means fleeces on for the first time and, of course the rain macs get pulled out from the bottom of our bags.

A long walk might make me change my mind about poor old Melbourne, so we cut through alleys, give Harley his last haircut of the trip and equip the kids with Converse. Lunch in an Italian restaurant, a walk across to Federation Square, and a bottle of bubbly at Southbank which doesn’t go down well. Too much Easter weekend boozing.

Only one thing for it – shop. I leave Will to finish off the bubbles and treat myself to a very expensive duck down pillow and equally expensive Egyptian cotton pillowcases (and then threw away the receipt evidence before I walked in the door) which I shall carry with me for the next 6 months. I’m hoping it will ease some of my back issues. And if not, it’s always nice to lie on Egyptian cotton!

Canberra

2008-04-30T08:45:00.004+01:00

Our good friends Matt and Donna moved over here in June with their sons Max and Sam (5) and daughter Mary (just 2) and they now have a new addition to the family, a Great Dane called Ugly Betty (5 months).

There’s nothing much to see or do in Canberra since it was purpose built to house the government. But fortunately, Donna cooks like Nigella Lawson and Matt has a box at the Brumby’s, Canberra’s rugby team. So whilst the boys are out at the Brumby’s, the girls (Nick, Donna, her friend Kerry and I), have dinner and drink some wine. Well,that was the plan. Unfortunately, by the time we’d sunk a few bottles of wine, no one could be bothered to cook and the evening ended with me falling drunkenly down the stairs, before sitting up and slurring (to Donna and Kerry who hadn’t moved from their seats) “I’m sh’alright”.

No one’s really in the right frame of mind to take the kids to Questicon (Canberra’s answer to the Science Museum) the next morning, but we all haul ourselves out of bed and manage a couple of hours there. Fortunately, Matt and Donna’s house is huge and the kids can amuse themselves for hours so we’ve all managed to have a bit of a sleep-in to get rid of our thick heads. A more sedate evening follows with a bit of Perudo, which I thrash the boys at, again.

Easter morning and according to Figgis family tradition, the Easter Bunny, comes first thing in the morning and leaves eggs in the garden. So 7am sees Donna and myself outside, hiding chocolate eggs in every flowerbed, crack and crevice, which leaves the kids to gorge on chocolate whilst we laze on the balcony in the sunshine, admiring the mountainous view.

My birthday

2008-04-30T08:45:00.003+01:00

In thinking about where I would celebrate my birthday, Will had suggested the Blue Mountains and I had nearly choked on my muesli (my spell-checker doesn’t recognise my spelling of the word muesli and suggests instead that I use the word Muslim. I’d like to make it clear that I did not choke on my Muslim). If we’ve learnt anything about ourselves on this trip it’s that Will is happiest surrounded by beautiful scenery (which is obviously why he’s with me) and I’m happiest surrounded by life form of a more human nature. He’s happy walking up hill and down dale and I’m happy walking into deli’s and boutiques. Which is why we find ourselves celebrating my birthday in Sydney with Nicky and Andy.

We’re having dinner at Marque, one of Sydney’s best restaurants (where, as a non-meat eater, I was labelled as an aquatarian. Surely that means I only eat fish?) which we’d heard was a BYO (you can take your own wine). We didn’t realise that you’re only meant to take one bottle per table and turned up with 6. Fortunately, they let us off with a warning and we also bought a bottle from them just to appease our guilt.

I’d wanted to spend my actual birthday sailing around Sydney harbour, but this worked out to be so ridiculously expensive that we just took a gorgeous picnic and champagne to Balmoral beach instead. Some beach tennis and frisbee, swimming and sunbathing with our friends made for a perfect day.

Sydney

2008-04-30T08:44:00.002+01:00

Yay, we’re down to Nicky and Andy’s for 10 days. They’re in Dulwich Hill, just west of the city, and it’s great to be in a place like Sydney but living like a local. Sydney, like London, could be a big scary place but instead we’re treated to the delights of Leichardt (lesbian capital of Australia. Will I have anything to prove here, I wonder?) where we sample not only the best coffee but also the best Italian food.

Nicky’s works in the media business and we’re invited to the premier of the new Dr Seuss movie, Horton Hears A Who. There were apparently quite a few Aussie celebrities sharing the red carpet with us, but I wouldn’t have known any of them. There’s no Heat magazine here you know.

It’s Sunday, it’s Sydney. What do locals do? Go to the beach of course. Beach of choice, the beautiful Bronte complete with bogey hole (a natural large rock pool which fills with water as the waves come in and out and provides a perfect kiddie paddling pool).

The next few days see us visiting gorgeous Manly (note to self: could definitely live here) and Bondi beaches and the Rocks (the first European settlement). No visit to Sydney is complete without a trip to the Opera House, so we do. Even though we’ve been here several times before, there’s something very special about this place. The architecture is outstanding, even after all this time, and the views amazing.

I love the North Shore and we revisit Ripples restaurant, just below the Olympic swimming pool with the most amazing view under the Sydney Harbour Bridge and across to the Opera House. The sunsets behind us completes an idyllic spot, only spoiled, in Ruby’s opinion, by the fact that Luna Park (funfair) is closed.

Bill Granger is a celebrity chef here and his three restaurants serve the most delicious breakfasts. We choose the Woolahra branch one and go for a total carb overload; the ricotta hotcakes with maple syrup can’t be beaten. Well, not unless you count his sweet corn fritters. Yummy.

With a few more days here, we visit Darling Harbour and the Saturday morning Victoria Market and take the ferry from Circular Quay to Manly.

So we’ve done all the touristy stuff, what’s next? Ah yes, flex the credit card at Bondi Junction shopping centre and go to Aveda for some long overdue care and attention to my hair in preparation for my birthday.

Hunter Valley

2008-04-30T08:43:00.003+01:00

Wine country, again. Highlight of the trip - Roberts restaurant (www.robertsrestaurant.com), a gorgeous little cottage so covered in vines it’s difficult to find the entrance. The tiny wooden entrance opens out to an extended glass room backing onto a gorgeous garden. It’s truly sublime. Unlike England, they’re very relaxed about the kids just wandering around outside whilst waiting for their food.

Just across the path is Pepper Tree Wines, which may well have won more than 500 medals for its wine but, unusually, we didn’t find anything that tickled our fancy. Maybe that was because we’d just been so spoiled over lunch.

Two final stops. First at Tyrells where a 75cl of port costs $15 or a 10 litre bottle costs $85. Figuring we’ve got a good block of time coming up where we going to be with friends, we opt for the latter. Final stop of the day is the Blue Tongue brewery where Will can stock up on his currently favourite beer.

Our apartment for the night at Pokolbin Chateau (sadly not a chateau at all) affords us not only stunning sunset views across lakes, but also provides us with our own little family of wild kangaroos who hop by for a nibble of our lawn. What a lovely day.

Port Stephens

2008-04-30T08:42:00.002+01:00

We’re staying in a Eco-lodge (www.wanders-retreat.com.au) as it sounds so lovely. Wooden cabins, set amongst Eucalyptus trees with koalas often spotted nearby and just a 5 minute walk to the beach. It’s all as lovely as promised, including the koalas who kindly fall asleep in a nearby tree on the short walk to One Mile Beach, but we’re all struggling with the rotaloo. It looks like a normal toilet, except that, instead of a bowl beneath your bottom, there’s a 5 foot drop to the ground where a blade rotates everything a few times a day. Not only are we all paranoid about being bitten on the bottom by a mossie/red back/snake, we’re becoming constipated by our refusal to use it, except in emergencies. I’m still feeling sick from my drugging and the thought of hanging my head over that toilet should I need to is enough to prompt me to the internet café to find our next hotel, this time one of the Mantra hotels, right in town. It’s gorgeous, although not at all Eco-friendly. Great apartment, great pool and a fully flushing toilet, putting us all in such a great mood, we’re up for a spot of sand-surfing. A 4-wheel drive takes us out to the sand dunes on Stockton Bight, the longest moving sand dunes in the southern hemisphere, stretching 35km up to Newcastle. It’s an awesome sight with an eerie yellow glow rising off the dunes and, as we drive into them, you can get a real feeling of being in the desert. We’re dropped at the top of a steep hill of sand, given a board which we park our bottoms on and whoosh, we’re off! It’s exhilarating flying down the sand dunes but very hot, hard work hiking back up. The kids cope admirably with the both the heat and the hike, it’s only Will and I who are out of breath by the time we get back to the top. Suitably exhilarated, we head to Samurai Beach (clothing optional) and, finding that you need a 4-wheel drive to get there, decide to park the car and walk through. Fortunately for us, we’d only been walking for a minute when a couple in a 4-wheel drive pull up and offer us a lift. Very lucky indeed, since it was a good 5 minute off-piste drive before we hit the beach. A naked dip revives us sufficiently to make us wonder how we’re going to get back to the car and I’m just thinking about shaking my booty at one of the fat-bellied, small-willied men that seem to be suddenly prowling this stretch of beach when Will realises that we’re just a short scramble across the rocks to One Mile Beach, which is much closer to the road. Slightly too late, we realise that the tide is coming in and cutting off our path over the rocks and we end up battling with the tide, holding Ruby in one hand, bag containing camera and phone high above my head in the other, and managing to slice my foot open on a rock in the process. A lovely walk along the beach and a short walk over the dunes to the road just leaves Will to go and collect the car. As he trots off into the distance, I flag down a car and ask the guy to please pick him up and drop him off where our car is parked. Sure thing he says, just as soon as I’ve finished my phone call (ok, I didn’t flag him down, he happened to be stopping nearby to take a call and I leaned in through the window, but which one makes a better story, huh?). I was disappointed to notice that he didn’t even slow down as he passed a puffing Will. We find a some tea rooms on the top of the cliff at Nelson Head giving us a fantastic lunch-time view and Will’s determined to get us all hiking to the top of the local peninsular for spectacular views and possible sightings of dolphins or whales. We think we got lucky but upon closer inspection our sighting turns out to be people in kayaks.

Sydney Mardi Gras

2008-04-30T08:41:00.002+01:00

Meanwhile, I’d made my way to Sydney to meet up with Nicky and found myself standing amongst some eye-popping outfits modelled by quite a few hotties but also a fair share of notties.

The parade was amazing, starting with the Dykes on Bikes and ranging through to a rainbow of nuns, muscle bound honey’s in their red Speedos (hilariously known as budgie smugglers here) and most of the men more glamorous than the women.

I seem to attract attention from both Arthur and Martha as the group of lesbians we find ourselves standing amongst tell me that they’ve been debating whether my nipples are real (I give them a flash and let them judge for themselves) and then a rather cute, albeit camp guy marching past decides to stop and snog me. I’m not complaining, even though I have a pretty good idea of where his tongue’s previously been.

All’s going well until I’m passed a bottle of wine by an overly-friendly Geordie and shortly afterwards, my legs buckle under me and I can’t even stand up, let alone walk. Fortunately, Nicky’s 6ft dad and his brother were there to carry me back to a cab. Seems I was victim to this charmer’s Mickey Finn. Serves me right for drinking wine straight from the bottle, so uncouth!

Newcastle

2008-04-30T08:38:00.004+01:00

I’m not planning on staying here long as I’m driving 3 hours down to Sydney to go to Mardi Gras (so I don't have any photos and offer you this one of the car instead), so I find a good apartment to cover my guilt, knowing that Will will be left alone for 24 hours with the kids. I also do a huge shop in preparation for my departure.

I leave at 12pm and am back by 10.30am the following day. I return to find the apartment looks like a bomb’s gone off, Harley has a badly scarred knee and Ruby has gone out with unbrushed hair, but at least they’re all glad to see me.

Port Maquarie

2008-04-30T08:36:00.001+01:00

Interesting thing about Port Maquarie; the rocks which make up the sea breakwall are all covered in graffiti/loving messages/RIP’s. Uninteresting things
on our visit; it’s pouring with rain which doesn’t make for pleasant viewing conditions of this or Nambucca heads, the local, gorgeous surfy beaches. So we head straight for Southwest Rocks lighthouse, 50km away, which affords a fantastic 360 degree view across the bays. Slightly unfortunate then, that we take a slight diversion which ends up being 30km of unmade road.

But, since the rain’s stopped, we also do a quick stop at Trial Bay Prison. Originally built to house well behaved convicts whose main task was to construct a breakwater around the bay, it was last used to house Germans during World War 1.

Coffs Harbour

2008-04-30T08:35:00.002+01:00

Australia spawns a host of Big things: the Big Banana started it all 40 years ago and is now joined by the Big Prawn, the Giant Gumboot, the Big Mango, the Big Pineapple, the Giant Rocking Horse (and these are just a few of the ones we've spotted at the side of the road)....the list goes on. The rule for a Big thing is quite simple - it must be man-made and larger than the actual thing it is replicating. We still can't work out the appeal of these things but for some reason, they're on the to-see-list of many visitors here. Bad news about the Big Banana “tourist attraction”, chocolate coated bananas. The good news, it has a fantastic toboggan ride that we can go hurtling round at huge speed with the kids wedged between our knees. Ruby started out slightly wary and soon decided she wanted to swap drivers in the (mis-guided) belief that Will would go faster than I did.

A short drive takes us to Bangalow, a cute little one street town full of boutique shops and the most fantastic place for lunch – Utopia – where the menu was so amazing we ordered too many dishes just so we could have a taste of each. All were scrumptious.

We’re off to go horse riding in Valery which is deep, deep in the forest, accessed via narrow dirt roads with furiously speeding logging trucks hurtling towards us. Harley gets his first proper pony ride, Ruby her first horse ride and I get back on horse for first time in years. A lovely ride through the forest gives us all a taste for more and we’re plotting a way to go horse riding on the beach.

We take the kids to the Pet Porpoise Pool which is absolutely brilliant. A seal comes out and gives us all kisses; we can walk around to the dolphin pool and get a kiss there too (from a dolphin, not a dolphin handler, unfortunately); there’s a dolphin show where both Will and I are (separately) dragged up to make fools of ourselves (ok, I wasn’t dragged up, I just happen to like making a fool of myself in front of dozens of people); show-off seals and penguin feeding. It’s a fantastic place.

So a final day in Coffs Harbour. How shall we spend our day? Will has a great idea. Let’s have lunch at the fisherman’s co-op, a fantastic place which is where all the local fishermen bring their catch. You choose your fish and have it cooked any way you like. And BYO too, so you can bring a bottle of wine and sit outside overlooking the harbour as you stuff your face. Let’s walk it off by climbing up Mutton Bird Island, he says. 2,000 mutton birds nest here. We climb up and walk to the far edge and keep our eyes peeled for incoming mutton birds. How many do we see? 2,000? No. 200? No. 20? No. 2. Yes, 2. We’ve just hiked up Mutton-fucking-Bird Island to see 2,000 Mutton Birds and we’ve seen 2. I bite my tongue and trudge down again. Will 1, Karen 1.

The scenic route to Coffs Harbour

2008-04-30T08:12:00.004+01:00

We take the scenic route, as ever, via Maclean, resplendent with a different Tartan painted onto the bottom of each of the telegraph poles. It’s a one horse town, full of touristy shops and cafes, all of which are closed (except for a fish and chip shop) as it’s now 1pm on a Saturday afternoon and they all close at midday. Bizarre. Own touristy shop in touristy town and close on the busiest day of the week?

Next stop, Red Rock. Formally an aboriginal settlement and the site of lots of bloodshed, it’s now just a very beautiful estuary with a huge sandbank in the middle and a wooden boardwalk through the wetlands all along the edge. The kids were delighted to notice loads of crabs which have one overly large, bright red or blue claw, all scuttling along the edge. I wasn’t so delighted to notice that the mossies were starting to attack as this damp, grassy area obviously made perfect breeding grounds. Harley decides he wants to go for a swim which necessitates Will negotiating a very slippery and muddy riverbank with Harley in one arm and Ruby and I trekking back with all their clothes and shoes. Will’s so enamoured by the place that he wants to stay the night. What’s here apart from the river? A small park with a BBQ area and a camping site. Shop? No. Anywhere to eat? No. Does this make Will change his mind? No. Impractical as ever he insists we don’t worry about all of that and just ask at the camp site if they have a spare cabin. I insist we carry on to Coffs Harbour before it gets dark and everything closes. So you can imagine my delight when we arrive just half an hour later and I manage to secure us a large 3 bed, 4 ½ star apartment (yes, they do have half stars here) for the night, right opposite a supermarket and next to half a dozen restaurants. Karen 1, Will 0. Unfortunately, we have to move into our pre-booked accommodation the next morning which turns out to be not quite so nice. A motel next to the motorway, for the next 4nights, with a restaurant called Basil’s and a conference room called Manuel’s. You get the picture. Oh well, at least we’re staying right next door to…The Big Banana. Da da da!!

Byron Bay

2008-02-29T04:54:00.002Z

A different state, a different time zone. As we cross into New South Wales from Queensland, we move our watches forward one hour.

Often referred to as The Promised Land, Byron is the total opposite of Surfers. Just a 2 hour drive south and yet a world away; low-key, arty, a bit hippy and not a building above 2 levels high.

Staying at Byron is one of my most vivid memories from my backpacking trip in 1990 and as we drive in, I recall the defunct railway line, the originally named Railway Bar, a very posh hotel facing the beach and the beach itself where I saw one of the most amazing sunsets I have ever seen, even to this day. Except the very posh hotel (it was posh to me, as a 23 year old backpacker, and I dared not even go in) is now a very busy bar which has extended its boundary out over the front lawn and where the grassy verges of the beach were, there’s now a car park. I cannot believe it. The very spot where I sat with a take-away curry is now a Ute’s resting spot. Where I gazed along the beach, there’s now a swimming pool blocking the view. And we call this progress. I’m really getting the feeling that, wherever there’s a beautiful spot, we just go right on in and make that spot more accessible and thereby ruin its beauty. Mankind really are a stupid race, considering the size of our brains (although actually my brain seems to be shrinking by the day due to lack of use, especially compared to my girth which seems to be expanding by the day due to the amount of food and alcohol we’re consuming). One of the guides we met on Mission Beach said that mankind have the largest brains of all the animal kingdom and yet we’re the only ones who have to send our children to school for 12 years to learn how to live in the environment we’ve created and that no other animal destroys its own habitat in the way we do. I keep replaying those words in my head and they’re so true.

We’re staying at Mariners Bay (www.marinersbay.com.au), a 2 bed apartment just a 5 minute stroll from town. Will takes full advantage of this on our first night and heads into town, supposedly to watch some footy (I swear his other woman must following us down the coast, but I don’t have any proof just yet) and he miraculously ends up in the Beach Hotel (formerly the Posh Hotel) rocking to a live band til 1am.

It’s Sunday and we haven’t yet had a Sunday Session (when in Oz, do as the Aussies do), so after having watched the surfing competition and admired some buff bodies running around the beach, we head to the Beach Hotel where a band is playing at 4.30pm. Just my scene; right next to the beach, live music, a glass of wine and a seat right next to the dance floor. Maybe this particular change to the Byron Bay beachfront isn’t so bad after all.

We’ve decided to stay here for a week, which is the longest we’ve stayed anywhere on this trip, apart from Adelaide, which means we have plenty of time to explore the area. We pass through Bangalow which is a cute little one road town but we’re headed to Nimbin which, according to our Lonely Planets guidebook, is even more hippy than Byron. The trouble with the Lonely Planets books is that they’re usually at least 3 years out of date by the time they’ve been published and you’ve bought them, which is very evident here. Nimbin sounds like an idyllic little hillside village filled with happy-go-lucky residents smoking a bit of weed in the afternoon before sitting around a camp-fire doing a bit of happy-clappy. Now, the residents appear to be on something a little harder and there’s lots of glazed-eyes and shuffling movements going on. Even the lady who made our lunchtime sandwiches (who Will thought was 60 and I thought was closer to 70) didn’t seem to know what day of the week it was and struggled with an order of toasted sandwiches and fresh orange juice. Apparently, when Sydney hosted the Olympics in 2000, a lot of the local hard drug users were given cash incentives to move to Nimbin, which inevitably changed the hippy culture into a completely different scene. There’s only a handful of shops here but one offered the cheapest deals yet with mangoes at just 99 cents (45p), pineapples at $1.99 and 10 kiwi fruit for $1. Leaving with bags bulging full of fresh fruit, we decide we’re definitely glad we came, but we won’t be rushing back, unless it’s to buy some more fruit!

Bloody bowling! My back is f***ed since Brisbane and ignoring it isn’t helping. At least we’re in the right place for a massage. An hour of pummelling later (unfortunately not at South East Asian prices) and I’m starting to feel some relief but I really need to get back to doing some proper, regular exercise. I’m actually starting to miss those 7am gym sessions I used to do. And I definitely miss the muscle definition I used to have. Strange thing to miss!

There’s one thing that absolutely everyone does when they come to Byron and that’s to visit the lighthouse, the most easterly point of Australia. So we do. It’s a beautiful spot, even if it is an overcast day. I don’t manage to make it right the way down the walkway to the rocks due to my knackered, pummelled-to-death back, but Will and Ruby (who increasingly seem to be forming an A-Team whilst Harley and I sit it out in the car) trek on down and arrive back panting and sweaty. Figuring they’ll sleep well, we book the babysitters….

Ah, freedom. I’m loving travelling with the kids, loving spending time with them, but it’s so good to get some time away from them too. We’re headed back to the Beach Hotel and hoping the band are as good this time as they were on Sunday. It turns out to be a slightly different gig as a heavy-rock looking bunch of guys surprise us with some Shania Twain, a selection of wedding-reception music and even a bit of YMCA. If you can’t beat ‘em, you join ‘em in YMCAing, don’tchya?

The Railway Bar (now called the Friendly Railway Bar. Strange that, cos I remember sharing jugs of beer with other backpackers here in 1990 and that’s pretty friendly. More strange that I was drinking beer) offered another evening of live music and was only interrupted when Harley started to wilt…at 7.30pm.

As Head of Research, I’ve questioned our fellow residents over pool-side swimming as to where’s the best place to go for dinner. Rae’s at Watego Beach is amongst those recommended and I order everyone to get down there. Ah, this is what trips are made of. The most amazing food, gorgeous restaurant, right on the edge of the beach and, although ours are the only children in the place, they’re very child-friendly. A bright green tree frog even comes to join in and hops onto my hand for a while which seems to revive Harley and gives him a second wind. A moonlit walk on the beach seems in order and, by the light of the silvery moon (and the flashing light of the light house just above our heads) we head down onto the sand where Harley decides that he’s going to get onto his knees and use his two fore-fingers to draw a train track in the sand. Almost 400 feet later, he’s still going, backwards…

A re-read of all our pamphlets and booklets the next morning reveals that Rae’s is in the Conde Naste top 20 restaurants in the world. Ah, that would explain the bill…….I don’t care, it’s amongst the best food we’ve had since we’ve been away. Coming to Australia? Come to Rae’s! (I’m not even paid to say that. Must change that.)

Gold Coast

2008-02-20T12:46:00.003Z

We’re heading to the Gold Coast, most famous for being home to Surfers Paradise. We’ve taken the Rolley’s advice and are staying at Broadbeach, slightly more sedate than its neighbour but our 7th floor apartment gives us a great view of all the high-rise buildings. You might think high-rise buildings would not be a very great view, but we’ve just spent the last few weeks ooo-ing and ahh-ing over rainforests, creeks, rivers and deserted beaches and it feels quite good to be back amongst the energy of a holiday destination like this. It doesn’t feel like we’re travelling here, more like we’re on a holiday and we’re referring to this as our holiday within a holiday.

There’s so much happening here that we take advantage of the advertised babysitters for a night out. The kids have had quite a few different babysitters in their time, but never one that’s come with her guitar and sat on the bed singing lullabies to them. Very cute. Harley’s dumbstruck and Ruby’s smirking into her pillow.

Starting our evening at the Versace hotel (where the contestants of I’m a Celebrity…hole up), we’re disappointed that it’s not plusher. I was expecting very dramatic furnishings and sumptuous bars but one bar had more of a dining room atmosphere and the other was in the reception area where you felt more like you should be drinking afternoon tea than cocktails. Our cab driver tells us that the hotel had applied for an upgrade to six stars but in fact got downgraded to four. Not sure if that’s true as the pool was gorgeous but it’s certainly nothing special apart from that. We hadn’t realised Surfers was quite so tacky until we got close up. Fast food is king here and huge neon-lit bars lie side by side with girlie bars called tasteful things like Bedroom. The only cool thing is that the police zoom around town on quad bikes. After a pit-stop at an Irish bar for a bit of live music, we manage to find one great little cocktail bar before heading back to relative calm of Broadbeach. A final drink before releasing the babysitter eludes us as everything is closed. It’s 11.30pm. I guess that’s the lure of Surfers.

A rainy next couple of days sees us driving out into the hinterlands. From our mountainous journey, you can apparently normally get a fantastic view over the whole area but it’s unfortunately so foggy that we can just about see the car in front of us. But the day looks up when we see a sign for Cedar Creek winery which has it’s very own glowworm cave. Double whammy! Kids get to sit still whilst we sample their wares and, in absence of a good riesling, we both love the sweet wine called 3 Entwined, an unusual blend of semillion, chardonnay and vedelho.

Out the back, the owners have spent AU$ 1.5 million building a fake cave and filling it with glowworms. We see a short film about the life cycle of the worm and get a tour by the keeper who has to go into the forest every morning and catch 2,000 insects for their lunch. I think if we sent Will out, he’d be able to attract that many in no time since he seems to still be getting eaten alive by mossies whilst the rest of us are bite free, for the first time in months.

We stumble upon a dairy where, after a heavy tasting session, we stock up on some farm-fresh cheese and the kids get their fill of ice-cream and then head off into the rain again in search of the tree-top walk - a swing bridge 15 meters off the ground followed by ladders up into the trees, 30 meters up. Harley did his usual trick and fell asleep in the car on the way there, which meant I had to stay with him (and saved me having to confront my fear of heights), but apparently Ruby showed no fear and was gazelle-like in her ladder climbing (have you ever seen a gazelle trying to climb a ladder…).

We discover there's an ice bar in town which is minus 10 degrees inside (despite it's name of Minus 5) and everything inside, including the glasses and the furniture, is made of ice. Despite our warm coats and two apirs of gloves, the kids have had enough after about 10 minutes and even dancing can't get them warmed up but Will and I are quite enjoying our first blast of cold in 5 months. We can't stay in there more than half an hour, but that's certainly enough as your fingers start to go numb after that, which means you have trouble holding your (ice) glass, and we can't have that, can we?

Natalie, a friend from home, is staying with relatives nearby so a girlie lunch is planned. As I head off to meet her at 12.30, Will says “see you later, about 2ish?”. He joins us in the bar at 5pm…and we return home together at 7.30 just in time to get the kids in bed before the babysitter comes again at 8pm, and head off out again! Probably not the best night to go to the casino, but my alcoholic haze does make me very cautious on the blackjack table, which is more than can be said for some people (cough, cough). My best move of the night was to find a guy (who happened to be called Randy - trust me) who had a huge stack of chips in front of him and play behind him, which essentially means that he gets to call the bets and I just pick up my winnings. Didn’t take too much brainpower, which was just as well as I didn’t have too much left by then.

I work off the calories and the thick head the next morning with a game of tennis where we discover that Harley is a natural and, with just a couple of minutes tuition, is hitting the balls over the net with relative ease. He’s definitely going to have Will’s sporting abilities. Lucky for Ruby that she got my brains.

Brisbane

2008-02-20T12:34:00.003Z

Wotif.com have turned up a huge old colonial house (www.franklin-villa.com.au run by the fabulously named Forrister Jenot) built in 1800, situated south of the river (yes, I am prepared to go south of the river) in Highgate Hill and we even get a 4-poster bed and a Jacuzzi in the bathroom. It looked good on the website, but we didn’t quite appreciate how lucky we’d struck until we got there. The huge downstairs living area and outdoor pool are set up to be shared by everyone who rents one of the five bedrooms (a kind of high-class backpackers), but there’s no one else here except a guy who’s working at the nearby car show from 10am til 10pm for 10 days straight (and that was the only straight thing about him). Which means that once the kids are in bed, we can play snooker in the snooker room, use the internet or sit in the sitting room, cook in the huge kitchen or swim in the pool. We can even go up to the verandah and admire the view of Brisbane twinkling in the distance (not too much of a distance this time).

Making the most of our fab location, we head into town for a walk around the CBD, China Town (not really a town, more of a China Street) and drive into the trendy Fortitude Valley, all rounded off with a visit to Strike bar for a game of tenpin bowling. Sadly, despite constantly thrashing him on the Wii before we left, Will won this time. I can use my weak back as an excuse for not being able to get down low enough (and I’ll have to remember that excuse, you never know when it might come in handy).

Down at the South Bank (which looks scarily like London’s South Bank), apart from a lagoon (open air swimming pool, right next to the river, complete with sandy beach) and a gorgeous riverside walk, there’s an Andy Warhol exhibition on which I’m desperate to see. I drag Will in kicking and screaming but he’s soon as immersed in it as I am and the kids are even enjoying watching his 15 Minutes tv shows which are playing. It’s a great exhibition and made child—friendly by being able to do your own 15 seconds of film, have your photo “Andy Warholed” and stand in a room filled with silver pillow-shaped helium-filled balloons which you can bash around. A great way to spend the afternoon.

And what greater way to spend the evening than dinner with the rest of the Rolleys. Louie’s cooking and we finally get to meet her mum Helen, her sister Annabel with boyfriend Brendan and catch up with Jack and meet his girlfriend Sam. Poor Harley manages once again to be the target of an angry dog’s attention when Helen’s dog Rudy, a normally placid sausage dog, decides he doesn’t like him. Thankfully this dog was hustled away before he could bite!

Brisbane bound

2008-02-07T12:59:00.002Z

Having trouble finding a hotel in Brisbane for 3 nights and unusually, www.wotif.com aren’t of much help today. Eventually manage to find something in one of the Northern suburbs so relax and spend the day at Steve Irwin’s (RIP) Australia Zoo (www.crocodilehunter.com). A great selection of indigenous animals are housed here (most having been nursed back to health via their in-house animal hospital) and are joined by some elephants and tigers. All of the animals have huge amounts of space, most have been hand-reared and still have constant interaction with their keepers. Wandering around here, you get a feeling that Steve Irwin really cared about these animals (although maybe not quite so much as the giant, humping tortoises cared about each other that afternoon) and we all feel quite sad that Mr Crikey is no longer alive.

Wotif have definitely used poetic license to describe Redcliffe as a northern suburb of Brisbane. We’re actually 35km outside of Brisbane and travelling to Tom (Louie’s brother) and Emma’s for dinner in the rain and the dark takes quite some time. Tom and Emma are renting a gorgeous house in Wilston and we have a fab bbq on the deck at the back. Lovely to be in someone’s house for dinner again.

Redcliffe was the first white settlement in Queensland and has much in common with Eastbourne. Nice beach, full of old people waiting for God. Must get to internet café and find a hotel in Brisbane.

Southwards to Noosa

2008-02-07T12:58:00.003Z

Leaving Airlie Beach the next morning, some familiar faces from last night were on the streets, only now they looked like they had several cares in the world, mostly how to get rid of their hangovers.

There’s not too much of interest between here and Brisbane, so we drive for most of the day, covering 500km and stop for the night at Yeppoon. No prizes for guessing who has a hotel here? Rydges Capricorn Resort sports a massive swimming pool and we spend the rest of the afternoon taking advantage of it.

Another day, another 400km and we pull into Hervey Bay, a 10km stretch of idyllic beach. Being south of Rockhampton, we’re now officially safe to swim without fear of stingers and god, does it feel good to plunge into the sea, even if the sea is only knee high for at least a kilometre out. Enjoying sitting in the shallow waters as the sun sets, it seems like a good idea to spend the night here. I wander across the road to see if there’s any free accommodation and come up trumps with Eden by the Bay (www.edenbythebay.com.au ). One of the nicest apartments we’ve had so far, we decide to extend our stay for an extra night and use the day to hire tandem bikes and take a 2 hour cycle around the bay and out onto the 1km long jetty. Quite hot work in this heat and keeping the kids steady on the back, but I think we finally found something that all of us enjoy.

As dusk descends, we think there’s thousands of birds suddenly flying into the trees but closer inspection, as they zoom just above our heads, reveals that they are bats. Hundreds and hundreds of bats flying in from as far as the eye can see on the horizon, swooping in to the trees, over the shops, everywhere. They fly so close to us we can literally see their eyes. Ugly little critters. As we drive out in the morning, I spot an area full of dead trees covered in what looks like big, black leaves. Not leaves, but hundreds and hundreds of bats hanging upside down in the trees with only the occasional flap of a wing or mouse-like squeak to give away their hiding place.

Just a 1 ½ hour drive to Noosa and we find ourselves at Bermuda Villas (www.bermudavillasnoosa.com.au ). Noosa is gorgeous. Gorgeous houses, great restaurants and a beautiful river that runs in front of us and joins the sea that flows behind us. Fantastic beaches (if you discount the stingers that we saw washed up on the beach) and great surf, perfect for some body-surfing. Great to see Louie, our old nanny, again. We haven’t seen her in 2 years and we’re all delighted when she arrives in time to join us on our rented boat on the river. Back to the apartment for a swim and jacuzzi and we hit the wine far too early. We’re both the worse for wear as we head out for dinner and by the time Will takes the kids off home, we’re both up for more partying so join a couple of Louie’s friends in the bar at Café la Monde. You don’t need any more details!

Airlie Beach

2008-02-07T12:57:00.001Z

500km to Airlie Beach (sticking to the speed limit this time) where both Will and I spent time, separately, in 1990 and again, neither of us remember it. We can’t work out whether it’s because of all the new building works or because we were in too much of an alcoholic haze last time around.

We’re in the heart of the Whitsundays, a group pf 74 islands only 7 of which have any buildings. Staying at the over-priced Waterfront apartments (www.waterfrontwhitsunday.com.au) gives us a tantalising view of the sea and some of the islands out there and after a move to the much bigger and more reasonably priced Coral Vista, we take the Fantasea catamaran from Shute harbour to Daydream Island, Hamilton Island and Whitehaven beach, which is rated as one of the top 10 beaches in the world with pure silica sand. Very beautiful until we spot 4 jelly fish washed up on the sand and all beat a hasty retreat out of the sea. Oh, how times have changed. Roll back to 1993 when Lucia and I met the crew of a beautiful yacht who invited us to sail with them from Auckland to Hamilton Island. We declined but met them at Hamilton where they let us sleep on their boat (whilst they stayed in the only hotel on the island); we crewed a trimaran in some sailing races and joined a Castelmaine XXXX beach party where I had my photo taken by the Brisbane Sunday Times and told I was going to be their page 3 girl (I was wearing a bikini…). 2008 sees me stepping off a huge ferry, taking the local bus around the island (which now has about 20 places to stay) and admiring all the yachts from afar. Ah well, at least I still have the towel that I stole from here all those years ago!

We spend the rest of our time at Airlie Beach visiting the Vic Hislop Shark Show, a rather bizarre exhibition culminating in the display of a frozen 25ft shark. Vic was the man who sold a shark to Damien Hirst for Damien’s pickling exhibition. He was paid £30,000 for the shark, later sold by Charles Saatchi to a collector for £2 million. Maybe I should start up a shark investment fund when I get back. I'll make no obvious puns here about sharks running investment funds.

26 January is Australia Day, the celebration of the first white settlers and now celebrating everything Aussie. What’s Aussie? Beaches, barbeques and booze. Not necessarily in that order. Also cane toad racing, betting, didgeridoo playing and dressing up in the national flag. Oh, did I mention getting drunk? We joined in the fun at Magnums for a couple of hours before taking a break at the lagoon pool; witness the arrest of a drunken youth, the local police marching up to people drinking on the streets and grabbing their beer before pouring it out onto the ground and much frivolity and high-spirits in the pool. Heading back to Magnums, we all enjoy watching the locals getting into the spirit of things by dancing around, faces painted, without a care in the world. Increasingly sleepy children prevented us from getting too involved ourselves, goddammit!

Destination Townsville and Maggie Island

2008-02-07T12:56:00.003Z

Good news, the car is quite speedy. Bad news, the police stopped us for doing 125km in a 100km limit and issued a very swift $250 fine. Shame it was Will driving and not me or else I’d have given him a quick flash and been on my way….always works!

I know I was in Townsville with Lucia in 1993, but I don’t recognise it at all. A lot of the buildings seem very new and we’re once again in a Rydges hotel, firstly in one of their gorgeous apartments and then in a hotel room. Palmer Street is full of bars and restaurants and we manage our first “late” night out with the kids when they manage to stay awake over a tapas dinner until 10pm. Woo-hoo!

We’re only an 8km, 40 minute ferry ride to Magnetic Island where we’re booked into the Island Leisure Resort, Nelly Bay (www.islandleisure.com.au). A tiny island where everyone drives around in Mini Mokes for the 9km journey from Picnic Bay in the south to Horseshoe Bay in the north. The kids happily play across the road at the playground, backing onto the beach, whilst we have some dinner and watch the sunset (one eye on them too, of course!).

It’s a very beautiful island made of giant granite boulders, some teetering precariously above you as you make your way down dusty little tracks to a deserted beach. Half of the island is national park and it boasts the largest number of koalas found in the wild in Queensland, so we spend a lot of time peering into the trees looking for grey fuzzy bums.

Having failed to spot any, we take a visit to the Koala Park where, apart from the obvious, you can hold crocs (complete with taped shut mouths, which gives me an idea…) and even a huge python. Harley impresses me by having the snake (three times the size of him) draped around his body. Only 2 months since we went to the Snake Pit in Cambodia and he refused to even stroke a snake. This trip is definitely making both Harley and Ruby more confident.

We’re on such good terms with Rydges now that we get an email from Townsville letting us know that they found our passports in the drawer when we left. Thank god for emails.

Mission Beach

2008-02-07T12:55:00.004Z

The drive south continues with a 3-hour trip to Mission Beach where we stay in the best cabin yet (www.boutiquebungalows.com.au), plenty of space in this one and even a kitchen, unlike our previous cabin experiences. The family who own this place have 5 kids who go to the local school where shoes are banned at this time of year. Apparently, it’s too hot and wet and can cause all kinds of foot rot, so everyone just goes barefoot.

There’s some beautiful beaches around here and Garners Beach is just one of those. The Horizon Hotel provides a beautiful cliff top location for lunch and a swim and we even manage to see a Cassawary in the wild. These huge, emu-like birds with bright blue heads are only found in Northern Queensland and there are only 1,500 left, which is the same amount of pandas still left in China.

We drive out to Tully Gorge for a much needed stinger-free swim. The river is flowing very fast today, probably something to do with the fact that this area is experiencing its worst flooding for 37 years. We’re managing to stay a couple of days behind the worst and only getting rain at night.

We’re in the heart of the Great Barrier Reef here, so we take the Reef Cat, first stop Dunk Island, then 3 hours of snorkelling. The kids are in stinger suits which are basically nylon, zip-fronted suits with hoods, covering your body but leaving hands, feet, head and face exposed. A good hour of snorkelling and lunch before another hour of snorkelling when we decide that there’s just too many jelly fish in the water to make this very enjoyable anymore. Whilst Will carries on alone (and sees a reef shark), we take a trip on the glass-bottom boat for some safe viewing of this beautiful underwater world.

Cairns and surrounds

2008-02-07T12:54:00.001Z

Our flight to Cairns goes via Sydney where we have a 5 hour stopover, giving us time to go back with Nicky and Andy to their house and check out our future accommodation. Lucky for them, it passes!

www.wotif.com has turned up a Rydges hotel (www.rydges.com), our home for the next 3 nights whilst we try to find a car. Travellers Auto Barn (www.travellers-autobarn.com) only offers a selection of three different vehicles on the day we’re looking, but since they also guarantee to buy the car back from us in Sydney for 40% of the purchase price (not a great deal, but always nice to have a back-up plan), we settle on a Ford Fairlane Ghia with a 3.6 litre, V6 engine for $5,500. Three weeks car hire in Adelaide cost us $1,500 - we’ll get 16 weeks use out of this car, after which time we’ll get at least $2,200 back. Do the maths!

We’re off to Cape Tribulation, so called because Captain Cook’s ship The Endeavour got caught on the reef here in 1770, forcing him to spend several months ashore with the locals whilst they patched it up. It’s stunning here; thick rainforest, right down to the beaches which are untouched by anything except the sea. Unfortunately, you can’t swim off the Queensland coast in summer because of the stingers (jellyfish), some of which can cause death within 3 seconds, which is less time than it’s taken you to read this sentence…ouch, what was that? aaaarrrrgggghhhhhhh………...

Our journey up here has taken us past fields and fields of sugar cane, through the lovely Port Douglas with its 4 mile beach, where we stop for lunch, and onto the tiny Daintree River Ferry, just big enough for 6 cars at a time. Hope it doesn’t break down as there’s big crocs basking just at the side of this river.

Cape Trib Beach House (www.capetribbeach.comm.au ) is our home for the night where we stay in a wooden cabin, deep in the rainforest and eat our meals outside to the cacophony of a thousand tree frogs.

Our morning drive further north to Cooktown is hampered by the fact that, 2km further along the only road, there’s a sign warning that only 4-wheel drive vehicles can make it past this point. Ah well, next time…

We head west to the Atherton Tablelands, passing lots of mango and coffee farms this time. It’s perfect growing conditions for both apparently, with 80% of Australia’s coffee grown up here. In Mareeba, we head to Granite Gorge, a fantastic raging, rocky river, ending with a waterfall with a wooden swing bridge slung across from one side to the other. This being the rainforest, we not disappointed when it buckets down and we’re totally soaked through within a few seconds. It’s so warm and the humidity is 90% so it really doesn’t matter.

Tonight we’re staying in Kuranda, in another rainforest cabin, and this one comes complete with a 3 hour power cut, thanks to the thunder storm raging outside. Our morning plan to take the train down to Cairns and the 9km cable car back up to Kuranda is scuppered when we discover that it’s lots of messing around with buses to do it this way (rather than the usual cable car down, train back up – but you know me, I like to be different), so head to Barrons Falls instead, another gorgeous, rocky waterfall and then a visit to the 200 year old curtain fig tree, a strangler fig which attaches itself to other trees, sends its roots down to the ground and literally strangles the host tree.

We drive down to Yungaburra, a National Trust village with a very Swiss feel, but we fail to see the platypus known to frolic in the river here (makes a pleasant change from crocs). To see platypus in their natural habitat, you need to be still, quiet and patient. And we have Harley. Still, we drive on through the Misty Mountains (very appropriately named today), to Ravenshoe with its 20 wind turbines and extinct volcano and on to Innot Hot Springs where there are 6 pools of natural hot spring water at various temperatures, the hottest of which is 43-45 degrees. I make it into the very relaxing 41-43 degree pool but Will’s not to be beaten…

Passing huge termite hills all along the side of the road, we continue to Mount Garner, an old mining town. Signs of previous wealth are dotted around, with many of the houses having three or four beautiful, but now rusty, antique cars dotted in their gardens.

Final stop is the Millaa Millaa waterfall, where Ruby and Will take a dip in the torrential rain and I stay on guard with a sleeping Harley in the car. All whacked out, we head to Innisfail, and after a fruitless search for a hotel for the night, end up in the rather cell-like Barrier Reef Motel. But it’s only for a few hours and then we’re back to Cairns to collect the car insurance document and, before the rain sets in again, we spend the afternoon at the open-air lagoon pool, right at the side of the beach, but without the stingers. Back to the Rydges, but this time at the Rydges Plaza where we spend the next two nights.

Christmas down under.

2008-02-07T12:52:00.001Z

Urgh, can it really be 5.30am? Are there really 2 children in my bedroom holding out their presents from Santa? Am I really being asked to get up? Ok, ok, I’m up, I’m up. Which is more than can be said for Will who’s looking a little the worse for wear having got to bed at 2am. Rob and Moni are also looking a little weary as Jack and Harry are bouncing around the living room. Presents opened, Will skulks off back to bed for another 3 hours, the bugger. Since I’m in charge of Crimbo lunch, I get peeling and Rob does his bit by throwing a couple of chickens on the BBQ. Nicky, Andy and Cooper plus Nicky’s sister Michelle and her daughter Poppy come by in the evening to continue with the eating and drinking. They didn’t get up til 9am, bastards!

It’s slightly odd but great having Christmas in such extreme heat - 40 degrees c (110farenheit) by lunchtime. Christmas in England, cold and dark by 4pm. Christmas in Oz, hot and still light at 8pm. No rushing out the door for a walk before it gets dark here. We even get a chance to go out and fly the remote control dragonfly Santa bought for Ruby. A very light, very fast dragonfly that reaches great heights very quickly. So quickly in fact, that when I took control, it soared over the trees, taken by the wind and plopped into someone’s back garden. A distraught Ruby accompanies me as I knock on doors, climb up trees, rummage in long grass and run from snarling dogs, before I finally spot it on someone’s garage roof, undamaged. Phew!

Boxing Day, we take a drive out to Sellicks beach where you can take the car onto the sand. A great day with a calm, shallow sea and the highlight of the day for Ruby and Harley - being allowed to sit on Will’s lap and drive the car. Give me this kind of Boxing Day over the UK version every time.

There’s still a hundred or more wineries in this area, but we head to Mclaren Vale and, after a quick stop in at the Hamilton winery to pick up a bottle for lunch, we hit the more famous D’Arenberg. It’s 11.45am and having already tasted ½ dozen wines at Hamilton, we now settle in for a dozen or so D’Arry tastings. The group next to us are clearly already on their way to being half cut.

We’re invited over to Norm Doole’s (a client of Will’s; Norm owns the Dowie Doole winery) for lunch and Ruby’s delighted to meet his daughter Cordelia again. We’re at least as delighted when she takes Ruby and Harley off for a long swim in their pool, leaving us to sample some more fine wines.

Over the next few days, we head up into the Adelaide hills to a German settlement area and visit Lobethal with their Bierhouse, the 60 foot tall giant rocking horse at the Wooden Toy Factory, go to Jackie’s for a pool party and Nicky and I take some time out to have a girlie day. Spirits are only dampened when we discover that baby Emily has been hospitalised with a virus and will be kept in for observation.

New Years Eve and we’re all over at Bec and Tony’s for a pool party. All of us except poor Moni and Emily who are still being kept at the hospital. The stroke of midnight finds us in the pool, drinking champagne and fighting with crocs and sharks, fortunately only rubber blow-ups.
NY day, the boys (minus Rob who hopes to collect Moni from the hospital) are having a boys day today with 18 holes of golf, watching the 20:20 cricket at the Oval and shooting some pool. It’s 40 degrees and I don’t envy them trudging round a golf course in this heat. Nicky comes over and we hang out for a while before heading for the pool. If all goes well tonight, Moni will be bringing Emily home from hospital tomorrow morning.

We’re off to Barossa, an hours drive from Adelaide. Andy’s feeling like someone spiked his drink yesterday but his symptoms sound like heat-stroke to me. Either way, I don’t think he’s really up for the stops at the wineries on the way. Still, not a group to be deterred from wine tasting just because someone’s ill, we visit the Henscke family at their little stone cellar door and Saltram for a top-up.

Final stop for the day is Rockfords, famed for their sparkling shiraz which is only available from the cellar door for 3 weeks of the year. We’re in luck and load up the car.

Nicky’s booked us into the Novotel, which slightly concerns me as Novotels in Europe aren’t particularly plush affairs, so we’re pleasantly surprised to discover that we have a great 2-bed apartment with views over rolling vineyards belonging to Jacobs Creek. We’re heading out for dinner tonight and as the babysitter arrives, for only the second time in 4 months, Ruby asks “are you going out AGAIN?”. She then proceeds to ask, very loudly, if this one will better than the last, who didn’t speak any English and why did we pay her as she was rubbish. Fortunately, the babysitter doesn’t seem too put out and shoos us out the door – destination Peppers the Louise. Peppers are a small group of boutique hotels and this one is renowned for its restaurant. It doesn’t disappoint. Exquisite food, fantastic amuse bouche between each course, gorgeous wines, sunset….even Andy’s perked up.

The boys are up early for more golf so Nicky and I take a quick trip to Jacob’s Creek for some of their Reserve Sparkling (and we even drive over the actual Jacob’s Creeks – very exciting!) before retiring to the pool for the afternoon. Is it really January?

A four hour spa at Endota for Nicky and I the following morning, including a ½ hour soak in the tub together, which could only have been improved by a glass of bubbles in hand!

Homeward bound and we have to make the most of all the wineries around here by a visit to Bethany (population 80) for some sweet Late Harvest Riesling and then to Wolfblass for a President’s Selection Shiraz.

Back to Adelaide where everyone is home and well from hospital, which just leaves us with a dozen or so bottles of wine to drink over our farewell dinner tomorrow night. I thought my cooking may have been a bit of a letdown after Peppers The Louise, but as it turns out, the whole Kingfish I bought at the market is delicious. Everything to do with my preparation and nothing to do with Rob’s bbq skills.

Adelaide and great friends

2008-02-07T12:51:00.001Z

A 3-hour west-to-east flight and we land in South Australia to be greeted by Rob (complete with bouffant hairdo), Moni (complete with 8 ¾ month baby bump), Jack and Harry who we haven’t seen since January, after having spent last New Year’s eve with them in Carrackalinga. Harry was a bouncing baby of 12 months old last time we saw him and looks very different now as walking 2 year old and Jack’s as happy as ever to see his favourite god-mother (eat your heart out Nicky!).

I’ve booked a week’s accommodation at Glenelg in the Glenelg Lake Apartments via the net, which were all I could find due to this being just one week before Christmas. As soon as we arrive, we discover exactly why this apartment was still available. Let’s just say it wasn’t good and leave it at that, shall we? We dump our bags and head straight off to Rob and Moni’s house in Linden Park, east of the City. Apparently it’s the posh part of Adelaide. They’re clearly trying to keep up with their posh English friends. Will and I spend a leisurely afternoon cracking open Rob’s wine and the kids are delighted to have not only Jack and Harry’s toys to play with but also a playroom the size of a garage, set in the garden, in which to do it. We return to Glenelg late enough to just plop the kids in bed and get up early enough to head back to Rob and Moni’s for a BBQ lunch and another attack on Rob’s wine. I was so depressed by the thought of going back to our apartment that I took to walking the streets that night (remember that I am Head of Research and my job sometimes involves dangerous undercover work) looking for a new place to stay whilst Will got the kids to bed. I returned with several options, most of them twice the price and none of them very nice. Undeterred, I insisted we pack up in the morning and leave, whereupon I would find somewhere else (thanks to my fabulous newfound friend www.wotif.com). The fist apartment was AU$ 567 for a week, the new one was AU$ 1,400 per week. The first was a shit-hole, the second was abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous. One balcony overlooked the marina, the other overlooked the beach and the fantastic sunsets each evening. We were now able to return the favour and have the Tolly’s over for dinner. Yay, we’re back to being their posh friends again. We pass the next couple of days by taking the kids up to Cuddly Creek for a ’roo/koala fest, going to the beach, taking the tram into town, drinking wine, cooking and enjoying the sunsets. A early morning phone call signals the arrival of Nicky, Andy and Cooper who have just arrived in Adelaide following a 13 hour drive through the night from Sydney.

They head straight over to our lush pad and, as Nicky and I park the car, Andy and Cooper get stuck in the lift, thanks in no small part to Cooper pushing the Stop button. Just what they need after a 13 hour drive. Fortunately, they were stuck just inches from our floor and we could open the door a few millimetres; just enough for us to taunt them with talk of how thirsty they must be and did they need the toilet!

We haven’t had an impromptu party in the 4 months since we left, so tonight seems like as good an excuse as any. Somehow, once Rob, Moni, Nicky and Andy have gone home, we end up drinking with Nicky’s dad, Jim and his brother David til the early hours which leaves me, in my other job as Chief Packer, with a huge clear up to do before vacating the apartment by 10am.

21 December, Moni leaves her house for hospital at 7.30am and we move in at 11am. Ah, bliss. Being in a house (not to mention that outdoor playroom) is such a luxury. Baby Emily Isabelle Tolladay is born that morning and we celebrate when Rob comes home by cracking open some of our wine, for a change.

Moni’s back home Christmas eve but not up for drinks in the park with the Adelaide posse, including Tommy, Kirsty and Arki in from Singapore. The session continues at home when Scotty comes over and, as the boys try out his drinking game of downing 100 shots of beer in 100 minutes, I put my sensible hat on and stagger off to bed at midnight.

Back to Perth

2008-01-24T04:26:00.001Z

We break up the journey back to Perth with a stop off at Busselton Jetty. At 2km long, it’s the longest wooden pier in southern hemisphere and it houses an underwater observatory at the end. From here, you can get a view from 13 metres below the surface and watch as the fish swim past and the squid float over the sand. Harley managed to walk the entire 2km there and then, 45 minutes later, all the way back again, which was a pretty good effort for such little legs.

We stop for the night in Freemantle (Freo, to the locals. Want to learn to speak Australian? Shorten every word to one syllable and add a vowel to the end. And if someone asks you a question, start your reply with the word Look. And, of course, if someone thanks you for something, just reply No Worries.) which is known for it’s proliferation of live music acts. We’re staying the night in a room above Rosie O’Grady’s pub and after a pub-grub dinner, we hear a guitar rift floating through from the other bar. We’re treated to a middle-aged guy with a pretty good voice belting out lots of covers and also to treated to drinks from the locals standing at the bar. 9pm sees the security guard asking us to take the kids out of the bar, but Will’s man enough to put them to bed whilst I rock on downstairs. The locals insist on buying my drinks for the rest of the night, especially after one of them had dared to suggest that Will might not be all man for putting the kids to bed whilst I stayed in the bar. I don’t think he’d ever had an ear-bending like the one that I subsequently gave him for his ridiculous, chauvinistic comments.

Back in Perth, we stop off again for lunch at the Shag Bar (the Shag is a bird…), located right on the Swan estuary. Very windy but very beautiful. Fortified, we pop in on Charlotte (ex-Figgis, Matthew’s sister) and family and then we take ourselves off to the park which, not only affords the most beautiful hill-top view of the city, but also has a fantastic tree-top walk, made of glass and steel which literally swoops over the tops of the trees, 20 metres off the ground.

Our home for the night is the Northbridge Hotel which is currently throwing a couple of office parties. Not to worry, they’re not disturbing us. Will pops down to the bar to get some ice and suddenly the fire-alarm’s set off, right outside our room. Will’s downstairs and won’t be let back up and I’m stuck in a room on the fourth floor with two sleeping children who aren’t even waking up with the shrill wail of the alarm. So, shall I try to wake Ruby and carry Harley down or throw them both over my shoulders? I know you’re meant to leave all your possessions in the event of a fire, but I need to get the passports, car keys and a credit card at the very least. And then in walks Will who just passed an extremely drunk, extremely disorientated woman just outside our room as he went to reception. Odds on, it was her. But glad that reception were taking it so seriously. Thank goodness I didn’t have to walk out in the street in my floral, nylon nightie and hair curlers, with my cold cream facepack on (isn’t that how it always happens on the tv?).

Margaret River - Wine Country

2008-01-24T04:22:00.001Z

A three-hour drive south of Perth gets us to the Margaret River area and a quick visit to the Info Centre finds us staying the next 3 nights in a gorgeous two bed, two bath house (www.assured.net.au). Harley’s much amused by the novelty of having stairs for the first time in 3 months and spends the first half an hour running up and down them. I’m much more amused by having lots of space, a garden and a whole street of shops just a one minute walk away. A quick trip up to the supermarket and the bottle-shop and I’m practically skipping back in the heat of evening sunshine. I’m so happy! Can’t decide if it’s because of the weather/accommodation/proximity to shops combo or just because I’m child-free for an hour!

Margaret River is chock-o-block with wineries, which is obviously the reason why Will’s here. I’m not much of a drinker myself but as the dutiful partner, I feel I should accompany him. Day 1 itinerary: a visit to Cape Mentelle winery where we taste each of their dozen or so wines. At an average price of AU$35 (about £16) per bottle and trying to stick to our daily budget, we opt for the 2007 Georgiana (a blend), at a more reasonable AU$14. Next up, a visit to the Berry Farm where we thought we could pick up some soft fruits but this sadly turned out to be a selection of 25 or so chutneys and jams which were available for tasting and purchasing. Oh well, best stick to the wineries. Visit no 3 is to the beautiful Leuwin Estate where we try each of their 15 of so wines and settle on their rather fine 2005 Art Series Riesling. Winery no 3 was Xanadu, where we tried most of their dozen or so wines but none of them tickled our palettes enough to buy, so we settled for lunch there instead.

Feeling a bit wined-out, we stop on the way home at Hamlyn Bay beach, a beautiful stretch of beach with just four other people on it. Mistake number one was getting out of the car. The swarms of flies were so appaling; the locals were wearing special nets on their hats to prevent the flies from going into their mouth and nose. We were not so well equipped and felt like rotten pieces of meat as the flies literally swarmed all over us. Will and the kids stripped off hoping that a dip in the water would ease the situation, which worked until the second they stepped from the water and the flies descended again. It was truly revolting. As we get back into the car, about 20 flies follow us in and we have to drive quite some way before managing to get them all out of the windows. Only later do we discover that this particular bay is famed for the stingrays that swim in very shallow water. You know the stingrays that killed Steve Irwin…yes, those ones.

Finally, a quick stop at the lighthouse where the Southern and Indian Oceans meet before the final leg of the journey back and we are treated to our first sighting of a kangaroo in the wild.

The designated driver decides he wants to take the long road home via the Kirri Forest, which is interesting for about the first mile. He’s delighted by the very tall, very straight Kirri trees, enthralled by the sight of two green galahs and entranced by spotting a kookaburra. I just want to get home and open the Riesling, now that I’ve finally been converted to liking wine. In case you’re interested, the Art Series Riesling was very good but the Georgiana was sadly not. False economy.

Surprisingly un-hungover, day two’s itinerary pans out in a similar way with our first stop at Vasse Felix which boasts some stunning sculptures around the grounds and, after first tasting a dozen or so wines, we settle on their 2005 Shiraz. Next stop Cullen’s (sorry Nick, it was a winery not a gin distillery), and the obligatory tasting of a dozen of so wines saw us buying a 2006 Pinot Noir which should be drunk chilled. Drunk, did someone say drunk? Hic. Not so. We’ve still got enough room for a visit to Wise Wines to try theirs. Hmmm, not too much to please our taste buds here but we buy a bottle of their sparkling shiraz which we know our friends will appreciate. Stunning views from here so we decide it’s a good spot for lunch. Oh yes, did I mention that it’s only just lunchtime and we’ve already tried about 30 wines? A one course lunch, with just one glass of wine (for me, Will’s driving…!) and very small pasta dish for the kids precedes a bill for 140 dollars. Ok, the views are spectacular, but £70 for a very average, very small, very non-alcoholic lunch leaves us feeling slightly deflated.

I’d always wondered how our Aussie friends knew so much about wine but now I understand. Head to a winery in France and, at best, an old man will greet you at the door with a nod, pour you a sip of wine and watch as you drink it, waiting for your approval and your order of a dozen bottles of his oh-so-fabulous wine. Here in Oz, it’s very, very different. There’s absolutely no obligation to buy and they delight in educating you about the grapes, the soil, the wine. Want to just try the wine without the chat? Fine, just tell them which of their dozen or so wines you want to try (all of them, if you like. Of course, we never did that) and they’ll pour and leave you to it. Want to chat, they’ll happily talk to you about the label choice, the winemaker, which of the wines you may or may not like. I have discovered that I like Aussie Shiraz very much and that, despite not liking many of the German Rieslings that Will often brings home, the Aussie versions are actually rather good.

Only one thing left for the day, and that’s to head to the Margaret River Chocolate Company where we can fill ourselves up on their chocolate.

A very good day is only slightly improved when we see that the weather forecast is 30degrees for Perth and just 1 degree for London.

Perth - Western Australia

2007-12-21T04:17:00.001Z

Yip Yip Yip Yip. I can’t believe we’re actually here, finally. The flight was delayed due to insurmountable technical difficulties (no sound on the video which doesn’t bother me since I’ve not seen any TV in 14 weeks and am not missing it a bit, but Ruby’s gagging to watch the Simpsons movie). Arrival at the airport was the usual palaver, declaring anything made of wood, any food….we declare the biscuits and the wooden motorbike we’ve bought as a Christmas present, both of which are subjected to careful scrutiny, and then the bags are scanned. We’re interrogated as to what else is in the bags as they haul off the book bag and Will and I look at each other blankly. Did we read the declaration? Yes. Did we understand it? Yes. Do we know what’s in the bag? Ummmm, some books. Homework. Pens. Nope. Three bamboo recorders, some Kampot pepper and a wooden frog. Busted. Shit, we’d completely forgotten about those and now we’re going to get a mark against our names so that any time we come into Australia, we’ll be subject to extra close scrutiny and fined if we fail to declare anything. Closer scrutiny? It’s already so close, I’m figuring next time I’ll be strip searched. Must make sure I’m wearing my Agent Provocateur. Ruby’s saying “mum, what about that puppet of mine that’s in your backpack, that’s made of wood” and I’m kicking her in the shins to shut her up.

We didn’t arrive until 2am at West Beach Lagoon, our apartment on Scarborough Beach (known as Scabs to the locals) so wake up unusually late and hungry the next morning. A walk along the beach front for brunch where we discover fish and chips costs £11. About turn and into Coles the supermarket where we find that blueberries are £3.50 and limes are 75 pence each. Enough shopping for the next 2 days meals, without any alcohol, sets us back £80. Lucky we hit duty-free in Hong Kong.

Scabs beach is gorgeous. A long sandy stretch of clean sand, turquoise sea full of surfers and kite-surfers…and a wind that whips up the sand and blows it really hard onto the back of your legs. Three months travelling through South East Asia with hardly a tear, and here we are, just stepping onto our first Aussie beach and both the kids are screaming and crying because the sand is stinging their legs. I can’t help but laugh and this only makes matters worse. So I laugh again. We’re off the beach quicker than you can say G’day Mate and back to the safety of our apartment pool and two plates each of long-awaited pasta, pesto and tuna for the kids dinner.

We originally planned to hire a camper-van and drive off down to the Margaret River (wine country) but, since we’re heading into high-season here, we can’t get one unless we take it for 10 days, so instead we’re picking up a car tomorrow and we’ll hopefully find hotels along the way. I’m excited about getting a car and taking each day as it comes rather than having to book hotels on the internet in advance. Everything feels so easy here compared to the last 3 months; being able to buy food in the supermarket, cooking the food you want to eat, having an English speaking person on the other end of the phone when trying to book anything, even doing your own cooking (tonight, it was prawns cooked on the barbie at the side of our pool…) and doing my own washing in the laundry room. Not sure how long that particular novelty will last.

Hong Kong and Disneyland

2007-12-21T04:16:00.002Z

The kids have been so good on this trip, I kind of feel like we owe them this early Christmas treat of 2 days at Disney and have booked us into the Disney Hollywood Hotel, an art-deco “palace” resplendent with Mickey Mouse ears.

They’re so hyper they can hardly sleep and I’m so exhausted, I can hardly keep my eyes open. Somehow, Mickey Mouse doesn’t hold the same allure for me as for them. The room has fantastic views across the South China Seas, but Ruby’s more interested in the free Mickey slippers and shampoo and the face cloth rolled up to look like a duck. And you can imagine their delight when faced with Mickey shaped biscuits at breakfast the next morning.

Hong Kong Disneyland is only a couple of years old and, once again, we’re one of the very few Westerners there. This doesn’t surprise us anywhere near so much as the fact that over 80% of the visitors here are adults. Not only are they immensely enjoying Winnie the Pooh rides built for 5 year olds, they’re practically pushing the kids out of the way in their quest to be photographed standing next to Goofy. It’s all very odd.

Despite Ruby’s unprompted promise not to let on to Harley that Mickey and Co are in fact “just people wearing costumes”, she’s gradually warming up and losing some of her worldliness so that, by the time she spots Cinderella, Snow White and Sleeping Beauty, it seems she’s completely forgotten that they’re just people wearing costumes. We stay for the 5.30pm Christmas Parade and right through until the 8pm fireworks display. We’re hoping they’ve had enough, but no, they want to come back the next day.

I’m not a fan of Legoland and my abiding memory of it is always fat people walking around eating chips, and so I use it here for comparison. It’s costs over £100 for a family of 4 to get into Legoland, where you can buy something delightful like a hotdog for lunch for a very reasonable £5. £9 if you add a coke and £20 if you add the chips and more chips from the Healthy Lunch Menu. Here, it’s £70 for a family of 4 to visit for 2 days. I have a delicious prawn tempura lunch, complete with rice, miso soup and green tea for £3. The kids share half a spring chicken with green beans, carrots, corn on the cob and rice, plus a huge bowl of mushroom soup for about the same price. Will gets a bowl of pork ramen (noodle soup) big enough for a family of 4. Plus fresh juice, all under a tenner. Not a chip in sight.

Two nights in the Disney hotel is quite enough and, since it’s situated on Lantau Island, about 20 minutes away from the mainland, we decide to move for our last 2 nights. The Metropark Hotel is a nice little 4 star situated in Kowloon and you’re not greeted by Mickey Mouse on your shower curtain, which is always nice.

We only have one day here and since Will has been here 3 times before and I’ve been twice, the last time for 10 days (thanks Sam, I never recovered from that freezing cold February where I had to sleep in my clothes. Or your snoring, which still haunts me!), we have no particular desire to see anything, but think we should do our touristy bit for the kids and take them on the funicular up to the Peak which offers a sky-high view over the city. By the time we come back down, take the open top bus down to the port and then hop on the Star Ferry across the harbour as the sun is setting, we’re just in time to meet Will’s client Thomas Lai at my chosen restaurant for the evening, Aqua (thanks Nick, for the recommendation; we do still like the same places!). Located on 29th floor with amazing views over the harbour, we’re treated to dinner by Thomas’ wife Miranda, who has also turned up with a big tin of chocolate biscuits from Mark and Spencer for the kiddies.

Siem Reap and Ankor Wat

2007-12-21T04:15:00.001Z

There’s really only one reason to visit Siem Reap and that’s to see Ankor Wat, the biggest religious monument in the world. Ankor was built in the 12th century and took 30 years to build. I guess Rossi was working on that job.

Most people who come here get up at 4am to see the sunrise over Ankor Wat, but we decide that we’d rather go later thus avoiding the early morning crowds and with the added bonus of not having to deal with two irritable children all day who’ve been up since before a sparrow’s fart. Wandering around a bunch of old temples doesn’t rate very highly on a 3 and 7 year olds list of great ways to spend a day, so we set off with our driver and guide at a sedate 8am.

The drive up to see Ankor Wat passes alongside the beautiful man made moat, 5km long, which surrounds the whole temple. I know I’m meant to rave about the beauty of Ankor Wat in the morning light here, but actually, the moat was the most beautiful sight at that time in the morning, with the sunlight just glinting off the water. The temple itself is part of a huge complex and is full of very intricate carvings of the Hindu battles between the gods and the demons. Interesting to see if you ever find yourself in this part of the world, but not nearly so stunning, for me, as Bayon, the temple with huge faces carved into the stone. Last on our list was Ta Prohm, famously known as the temple where Tomb Raider was filmed. This place is amazing. Unlike most of the other temples which fill this area, the jungle has only been partially cleared here and it’s now very much a match between jungle vs. temple for King of the Jungle. Huge silk-cotton trees and strangler figs are growing amongst the stones and there’s some huge trees growing on top of the temple, the massive roots pushing down through the stones to reach the jungle floor. As the roots get larger, the stones are pushed apart and the temple is literally held up by the roots of the trees. When the tree dies and falls over, it takes a large chunk of the masonry with it.

We’re growing to love bite-sized chunks of history, such as our hour scoot around museums and palaces before they close for a 2 hour lunch break and this proves to be a perfect bite-sized visit to 3 very different temples. The great thing about having a guide, rather than taking a tour, is he can give you quick, concise directions “over here you will see…..up there…..down here…..want to see more? No, ok, let’s go”. Leave home at 8am, back home by 3.30pm with uncomplaining kids – always a bonus. Will’s decided his favourite was the mother of all wats, Ankor, Ruby likes Ta Prohm, I like Bayon and Harley just wants to play with his cars.

Siem Reap itself is a great little town. We’d got the local bus up from Phnom Pehn which took 6 hours and an hour or so into the journey, Will had mentioned how, this being the 27th November…..except it was 26th November, meaning we’d checked out of Phnom Pehn one day early and now had nowhere to stay tonight. And we’ve been having a nightmare finding places to stay as it’s high season. Cut a long story short, we end up staying one night in Villa Eurasian, a family house with a couple of rooms to rent. Upon arrival, in the dark, we’re deposited hungry and tired at a house with nothing to eat or drink. We’re directed to Café Eurasian which has the same owner as the Villa. First impressions aren’t good, with a big green neon sign, but inside was gorgeous with abstract art sculptures scattering the gardens and paintings by the niece of John Constable, Sasha. Great French food and such a friendly French host, we knew he’d been living abroad for some time!

Our next morning move to La Villa Loti and everything is right with the world. A great 2 bed room with the loveliest staff and just a little way out of town. We use the pools of the nearby Sofitel and Meridien when we need to cool down and go into town when we fancy some shopping at one of the two markets. There’s a great bakery, some lovely restaurants, $8 massages and good shops.

Will, as Chief Educator, has been teaching Ruby all about the various religions here and she’s now keen to see some of the Apsara dancing which is depicted all over Ankor Wat. The Temple Bar has a passable free show which saves us shelling out US$ 39 each to see it at the Sofitel. I, as Head of Research, get to sit in the Blue Pumpkin, with their free WiFi access and sort out our next accommodation (and log onto Facebook) whilst Will finishes off homework with her. I’m loving Siem Reap. We’ve got a one night stopover in Ho Chi Minh before our flight out to Hong Kong so I find a hotel, book it and pay online. Done. Now, Karen is….all sorted.

Our flight is at 5.30pm, arriving Ho Chi Minh one hour later and then our flight out to Hong Kong is 11.40 the next morning. Or not. Trying to check in at the airport, there seems to be a problem. I notice that they’re writing out baggage tags to check our bags right through to Hong Kong but we were expecting to pick them up at Ho Chi Minh, so we open each bag to take out clean set of underwear, plus the wash bag. This draws the attention of Big Boss who asks where we plan to stay tonight. I give him the details of the hotel, but he tells us that, without a new Vietnam visa, we won’t be allowed to leave the airport. We assure him that we checked it all out with a travel agent in Vietnam and that we can have a 24 hour stopover without a visa. True, he tells us, but that 24 hours must be spent in the airport, therefore we’ll have to spend the night on the floor at Ho Chi Minh airport, not known for it’s comfortable sleeping arrangements. He suggests that we try to change our flight out to Hong Kong for a later one that next day, then come back tomorrow to take the first flight to Ho Chi Minh, thus negating a 5 hour stopover instead of a 17 hour one. It’s Sunday evening and the offices of all the airlines are closed, we can’t get the telephone number of Ho Chi Minh airport from anywhere, the internet isn’t working, our original flight has just left and we’re now stuck not knowing what to do. I take an executive decision and we pile back into a tuk-tuk, which gets lost on the way back, and risk our luck back at Villa Loti in the hope they’ll have a room for us. We arrive in darkness as there’s a power cut but at least we can have our old room back. I head out into the darkness into town and am delighted to see the lights of Blue Pumpkin shining brightly. Half an hour later and the flights are changed so I celebrate with 2 glasses of wine and some spring rolls. Karen is…delighted not to be sleeping on the airport floor.

Back to the airport in the morning where we’re greeted by Big Boss and given VIP treatment at check-in. Shame we don’t also get an upgrade but with Ruby and Harley looking more like Mowgli as each day goes on, it’s not too surprising.

The Killing Fields and the Tuol Sleng Museum

2007-12-21T04:14:00.001Z

Difficult to comprehend until you actually arrive and difficult to put into words the eerie feeling it gives you to visit this awful site. The Killing Fields is the place where thousands were killed before being buried in mass graves they’d dug themselves, most having previously been tortured or, at least imprisoned and starved in Tuol Sleng.

When Pol Pot came to power in 1975, everybody was ordered out of Phnom Pehn and into the countryside to work as labourers in the fields. There were to be no more doctors, dentists, teachers, monks….families were separated as the woman were taken off to work one set of fields and the men another. And then, in the middle of the night, soldiers would come and order whole families into trucks and drive them off into the night. They would be driven to a school, previously called Tuol Svay Prey High School, which had now become the main Khmer Rouge torture and interrogation centre. Upon arrival here, each person would have their photo taken and then, depending on their “crime”, they would be thrown into either a tiny cell where they were shackled to the floor or sent upstairs to one of the large rooms and shackled in a long line of people. Under intense interrogation or simply from starvation, many people would die here and their bodies would be thrown into a mass grave behind the school. Those that survived would be put into a truck and driven to Cheung Ek where death awaited them.

We visited these two places in the wrong order really, but either way, it’s not a pleasant day out. First stop, the Killing Fields. This is literally just a field which is full of mass graves, 89 of which have been dug up revealing the remains of almost 9,000 people. The skulls of these people have now been put into a monument at the entrance to the field as a reminder of the atrocities Pol Pot and his henchmen wreaked on this country. By the end of his four year reign of terror, 2,000,000 of the total 7,000,000 population of Cambodia were killed.

As you walk around the grounds, you see deep holes which were the graves, a tree which was used to throw babies at until they died, another tree where a radio was hung with loud music playing to drown out the screams of those being tortured, a glass case full of bones and another full of teeth, a site where the bodies of soldiers had been dug up, all minus their heads, which have never been found. And if you look down, you’ll notice bits of bone stuck in the soil beneath your feet. Bits of material poke through the ground – the clothing of another victim who has not yet been dug up. Look closely at the skulls in the memorial stupa and notice that some have axe wounds, some bullet wounds and some just have huge bits missing. After the former in-mates of Tuol Sleng have dug their own grave and then been killed and thrown into it, chemicals where poured over them lest some were still alive.

The location of the Killing Fields is actually really peaceful with a lake running by the side of it. Hard to imagine the atrocities which went on here.

There are 150 more of these killing fields scattered throughout the countryside which have not yet been exhumed and which will doubtless yield countless more bodies.

Although the children don’t seem too phased by their visit here, we figure they’ve seen and heard enough about death for a while, especially since Harley is asking when we will die and telling us that he’s scared he’s going to die and fall on the floor where no one will notice and will step on him. There’s also been much talk about wars and, for the first time, he’s starting to “shoot” Ruby, so we decide to take it in turns to visit the museum and Will’s off first, leaving me with them in the café opposite to order some lunch.

He’s soon back and I’m hoping my lunch won’t be coming back up as I step into the old school. It’s a very weird site because it’s still laid out like a school, with the classrooms in 3 blocks, facing onto the school yard. Except inside are all the signs of torture as they were previously used, alongside large photos of each victim as they arrived here. Then pictures of the torture that used to take place here, painted by a former inmate. Of the thousands of people who found themselves here, only 7 escaped with their lives as they were sculptors by profession and could turn out countless busts of Pol Pot. And just one person managed to escape, although there are no details anywhere of what happened to him or how he managed to do it. I’m not quite as upset by this sight as I was by the War Remnants Museum in Ho Chi Minh, but at least I’m not as blasé at the girl coming down the stairs, saying to her boyfriend “I just wanna see bullets and stuff”. Touching.

A few days later, we’re having lunch at Pacharan, with a great view of the boat racing on the river opposite and get chatting to a 50-year old Khmer (Cambodian) man who now lives in Melbourne. The youngest of 7 children, he was fortunate enough to have been sent to Australia by his father just a few months before Pol Pot came to power. His mother and father were separated and she used to come during the day to visit the kids and then go away again. He has no idea what has happened to his father or any of his brothers, although he heard that 2 of his brothers may have died of starvation. His mother survived only because she was “employed” to look after the children of the Khmer Rouge. It’s an all too familiar story.

Phnom Pehn, capital of the Kingdom of Cambodia

2007-12-21T04:13:00.001Z

We’re still struggling to find hotels and have taken the recommendation of the concierge at the afore-mentioned Independence Hotel who has kindly called in a favour and found us a room at his old work-place, the Goldiana. It was a nice thought, and it at least got us a room for the night, but just walking into the lobby made me claustrophobic; low ceiling, painted dark green, swags and tails on the curtains, pleated net curtains, wood panelling, swirling patterns on the carpet…it looked as though it had been interior designed by Liberace on acid. Let’s not even talk about the view. Actually, let’s talk about it. One room had the beautiful view of….not sure what as the windows were so dirty we couldn’t see out of them and the other room was built literally 3 inches away from the brick wall of another building giving a view of….brick. I spend a frantic hour on the phone trying to find somewhere else to stay and manage to find a room for one night at the Juliana, which I’m hoping is no relation of the Goldiana.

A morning taxi over to the much nicer Juliana to discover that, no, they don’t have a room for us. There’s no record of our booking and they have only one room left in the whole hotel, available for just one night. It has one double bed and they want $40 to put 2 extra beds in the room. Up ‘til now, we’ve almost always paid nothing for extra beds and, even on the rare occasions that we have paid, it’s been a nominal charge. Will refuses to pay on principal and the manager refuses to budge, so coming back from dinner, we sneak a couple of the sun lounger cushions from the swimming pool and, with a couple of extra blankets, make the kids perfectly cosy beds on the floor for the night. Ruby tries to strike a deal where she and Harley get half of the money we’ve saved by making her sleep on the floor, and Will almost goes for it just for her audacity.

We would still have been homeless the next day had the manager of the Juliana not taken pity on us and phoned around to find us somewhere to stay (I think we can safely assume he didn’t notice that a) we used his pool cushions as beds, and b) that Will snuck them into the wardrobe of our neighbours’ bedroom as we left in the morning, rather than be rumbled by the cleaners). He secures us a room at the Holiday Villas with ample beds, but I send Will on over for a look at the place before trusting a second hotel employees’ opinion on what makes a good hotel. We’re more successful this time and manage to book in for the next 4 nights without any further ado, without having to steal any bedding for the kids and without having to pay extra for their beds. I finally feel like we can get to grips with this place rather than wasting time each day looking for hotels, packing up bags and moving again.

Gabby has recommended that we visit the Green Vespa cafe, a favourite of Ella and Florence’s when they were here, mostly for the Heinz baked beans. They may not feature very high on the top of your list of great things to eat, but after you’ve been in South East Asia for nearly 3 months, let me tell you they taste damn good, especially to a 7-year old who hates anything with even a sniff of spice. They’re also doing a Monday night wine and cheese special where you can buy a bottle of red wine plus a plate of various cheeses for less than the price of the wine on it’s own. And if that wasn’t enough, they have a healthy looking dog who’s just given birth to a pile of puppies, all lying huddled together in a box, just outside the door. Having been forbidden to touch dogs throughout our trip, the kids are dying to stroke her. I check with the owner that she’s okay and he assures me that she’s friendly. Ruby bends down and gives her a stroke then Harley wanders over to do the same. He bends down and GRRRRR!, she bites him right in the cheek. Poor little thing was so scared he didn’t know what to do with himself. And neither did the owner who was mortally embarrassed and couldn’t look us in the eye even when bringing ice. He later assured us that the dog only ever growled at beggars and the butcher, so either Harley looked a right scruffy little urchin or he smelt like a pork chop. Neither is good.

We’ve heard about this weird Korean restaurant called Pyong Yang where the waitresses are identically dressed, from their hairstyles, their jewellery and even their make-up, who get up and perform on stage. It all starts off very reasonably. Ok, they’re all dressed in an outfit that looks like they were modelled on Ronald McDonald, all red and yellow stripes, and we haven’t a clue what we’re ordering to eat, but then it all gets a bit surreal. One waitress takes to the keyboard and another sings On Top of The World by Karen Carpenter in a speeded-up opera version, replete with heavy Korean accent. Next up, a dancing, high-leg kicking, quartet accompanied by a crazed violinist doing Frank Sinatra. Then a bit of electro-pop accompanied by some ballroom dancing. All performed by 7 identikit women who, between skits have to rush back to take an order. Ruby’s transfixed, Harley’s fallen asleep and Will and I are wondering what they put in the food.

After a day visiting the Royal Palace, we find the Foreign and Colonial Club, a high-ceilinged, open-aired bar facing the river. That’s lovely enough before we discover we’re here in time for happy hour and they make a rather fine cosmopolitan – two for £2.25. I think I like it here!

Phnom Pehn lies at the confluence of three rivers; the Mighty Mekong, the Tonlé Sap and the Bassac. We’ve fortuitously arrived here in time to see the Water Festival, a 3-day annual event involving hundreds of long-boats and tens of hundreds of men to row them, upstream, in kilometre long races along the Tonlé Sap to its meeting with the Mekong. It’s packed with locals and most of the ex-pats seem to have fled town which makes for great empty bars and restaurants along the route, two of which have fantastic first floor views. The owner of the Green Vespa had warned us to stay clear because of the huge crowd, but I guess he’s never been to the Notting Hill Carnival. Granted, there were a lot of people here, but there certainly wasn’t any of that shuffling-forward-one-inch walk that you have to employ as a mode of transport on the bank holiday Monday in August.

Sin Ville

2007-12-21T04:11:00.001Z

Sihanoukville sits in the Gulf of Thailand, on a headland, surrounded by half a dozen different beaches. We’ve suddenly hit high season and have had real trouble trying to find a room anywhere so have ended up staying at the Holiday Palace and Casino on Victory beach. In a bid to lure people to the casino, their rooms are really good value and we secure ourselves a huge suite for not much more than 2 separate grass-shack bungalows down on Serendipity (officially called Ochheauteal, but I think the backpackers who mostly stay here were too stoned to pronounce that) beach. We take a tuk-tuk down here one afternoon and are sadly disappointed. What was obviously once a beautiful bay is now ruined by side-by-side bars and restaurants (most selling pizzas with the possibility of a “happy herb” extra topping), large waste pipes every hundred meters depositing pools of god knows what onto the sand and the constant noise of jet skis bombing up and down. Serendipity doesn’t seem like a very fitting name.

The next bay over, Sokha, scores much higher. A 5-star hotel has been built in the middle of this beach so it’s much cleaner. Either end of it are open to the public and at one you can hire a beach chair for $1. A bargain compared to the £8 we paid in the South of France earlier this year. It’s absolutely beautiful here; white sand, calm, clean sea and blue skies.

We also visit Independence beach which houses the Independence Hotel. Once the resort where the King came to party, it was later bombed and only re-opened 2 months ago. It’s another beautiful white sand bay, mostly because there’s not another soul here except for the gardeners still clearing up the grounds. There’s also a distinct lack of guests at the hotel which gives us sole use of their pool for the afternoon, in exchange for having lunch there.

The kids really enjoyed going to the Snake Pit for dinner. Snake wasn’t on the menu (although crocodile was), but you eat surrounded by glass cases full of snakes, a huge open-topped aquarium in the middle and even snakes underneath the glass topped tables. Ruby bravely stroked the huge, yellow python which one customer had draped around his neck, but Harley wasn’t quite so sure, especially since we’d told him not to touch the bright green snake we’d seen slithering up the steps by the swimming pool in Kep.

It’s 3 ½ hours to Phnom Penh and our taxi, with extra small boot, awaits. So does the drivers’ mate who’s trying to catch a ride with us. He can’t understand why, with four of us in the back and two of our bags on the front seat, we won’t let him join us. To us, it’s stating the bleedin’ obvious that there’s no room, but he can’t seem to understand how we can’t squeeze him in for a free ride.

Only as we’re an hour into our journey do we start to understand his logic. We drive past numerous cars, overloaded with people and even with motorbikes strapped to the boot. How many people can you get into a hatchback? 16. Not sure of the configuration to make them all fit, but there were definitely 16 people inside. And the minivans were full to groaning, not only loaded up inside with people, but with goods, motorbikes and several people sitting on the roof. We feel like turning back and telling matey than he can sit on the roof if he likes – I’m sure he would have jumped at the chance.

Kampot

2007-11-25T15:02:00.002Z

Kampot is famous for one thing and one thing only – pepper. Apparently, the pepper that is grown and produced here is amongst the best in the world and was a regular on the tables of all the best French restaurants. I can assure you, this pepper is damn good and I’ve taken to the Khmer way of mixing it with a little lime juice and covering my meals with it.

The rest of Kampot doesn’t get quite such good press. A small, dusty provincial town, with not very much to offer…until we reach the area known as Riverside. Stunning views across the river to the Bokor mountains opposite which provide a wonderful sunset spot for dinner at the rooftop restaurant pf Rikitikitavi www.rikitikitavi.com . I even manage to sneak in a hours’ $4 massage at Seeing Hands, a massage school for the blind. That’s massages from the blind, not massages for the blind.

Our taxi comes to Little Garden www.littlegardenbar.com in the morning to collect us for our 3 ½ ride to Sihanoukville, but our driver is like Sterling Moss on speed and manages to shave a good half hour off the journey.

Cambodia - Kep

2007-11-25T14:47:00.003Z

Our taxi driver, Mr How, has been waiting for us for 4 hours as Will got the travel times mixed up, but we’re as glad to see him as he is to see us. We are literally in the middle of nowhere on a dusty, potholed road. The potholes often turned into craters and for the next 5 km, we lurched along at 5 kmph until we hit a tarmac road. We’re heading for the coastal town of Kep, which is 49 km away.

First stop, The Beach House (www.thebeachhousekep.com) with a great view out over the sea. We get chatting to a Dutch couple, Moira and Joost who are tripping around the world for 18 months and learn that Joos has just won $10,000 from a fruit machine in a casino along the coast, which is very handy as Kep is pretty much a one-horse town, without a bank or even a cash-machine.

Kep is on a small headland and the beach is a 1km long crescent of sand that was shipped in from nearby Sihanoukville over 30 years ago. There’s just one road that traces the coastline before doubling back on itself and electricity only made it here 2 months ago. Formerly a colonial retreat for the French elite, many beautiful villas were built here but little remains now except the concrete frames of the buildings, some still standing behind locked gates and some with families living in amongst the tangle of weeds taking over; no windows, doors or roof. After the French fled Cambodia in the 50’s, the villas were initially looted by the Khmer Rouge and then further stripped of every possible bit of wood, tile and plastic by locals selling materials to the Vietnamese in order to survive the 1979/80 famine. The constant sight of the houses serves as a poignant reminder of the devastation and destruction Cambodia suffered during the war.

We have to move hotels and we take Moira and Joost’s recommendation to go to Verandah Natural Resort (www.verandah-resort.com). A 15 minute walk up a steep road and set into the foothills of the Kep National Park, we find our wonderful 2 bed bungalow, reached across wooden bridges stretched between the trees. Behind us is a view of the jungled mountains and, in front, a fantastic view of the sea in the distance. The restaurant is the eating equivalent of an infinity pool with no beginning and no end, just a never-ending view across the trees. I’m so relaxed that I practically fall over. If you lived here too long, you’d be forced to take valium as uppers.

There’s not very much to Kep itself but there’s an awful lots of crabs. A whole bunch of women constantly wade in and out of the sea, pulling bamboo baskets behind them. Inside are an assortment of crabs, all sizes and various colours and people come and choose, either to take away and cook or to have cooked by one of the little shack restaurants that line the shore. Every restaurant here has crab as a staple of their menu and Will tries most varieties; in soup, in pepper and in chilli.

The official currency of Cambodia is the riel, but in fact, the US Dollar is more widely used and accepted with small change being given in riel notes (8,000 riel to £1). There’s also one bar in town, called, strangely enough, Riel that I recommend you visit if you like drinking pints of Ankor beer…for 75 cents a pop.

Heading to Cambodia

2007-11-23T01:41:00.001Z

Despite Phu Quoc’s proximity to Cambodia (14kms), it’s quite difficult to get there. Most people take to plane back to Ho Chi Minh to get their visas, a flight over to Phnom Penh (capital of Cambodia), then a bus down to the coast. This is not only expensive, but time consuming too.

After literally hours of searching on the internet and lots of emails, including to 3 different embassies (which go unanswered), we finally discover that there is a land-crossing which recently opened between Vietnam and Cambodia which is only 3 hours away by boat, but everything we read says that you must already be in possession of your visa. We hear a rumour that someone crossed two weeks ago and managed to get a visa at the crossing and decide to risk it.

No Super Dong this time. We’re on an old wooden boat, with wooden benches a foot apart and an overpowering smell of fish sauce. The only foreigners on board, we’re joined by several motorbikes and a dozen boxes of fish. We provide the locals with 3 hours of entertainment as they watch our every move.

On arrival at Ha Tien, we get a taxi to take us the short distance to Xa Xia, where we leave from Vietnam. Then a 500 metre walk on a straight stretch of road between the most beautiful scenery on either side….and over to the Cambodian side where our visa are issued. Phew, sigh of relief. The guy initially asks for $74 of Vietnamese dong but we tell him we only have US Dollars, so he asks for $60 instead. The next step is the health declaration form where that official asks for $2 in exchange for a piece of paper each for Will and I with a telephone number on it in case of medical emergencies. I question him over the reason for the $2 before I realise he’s on the make. I take one and give him one dollar before telling him he’s “a very naughty man”. He’s about to ask for another dollar before changing his mind and going back to lie in his hammock.

Final stop, the immigration police who have to check everything’s in order before letting us in. He asks how much we paid for the visas and we misunderstand when he mentions $20. In fact, he’s not asking for any money, but telling us that the guy who issued the visas has just charged us $20 too much as the kids visas are free. I take all the passports back again and ask if he might kindly return the money which he’d taken in error. He looks me straight in the eye and says “I’ll give you $10. I need $10 for my children”. Nice try matey, but I used to work in the City you know. Hand it over now, before I charge you some additional upfront costs, admin fees, management charges and interest.

Fortunately, our pre-booked taxi is waiting for us, otherwise our only form of transport would have been a couple of bony old cows.

Phu Quoc - Island Paradise

2007-11-23T01:40:00.001Z

The Super Dong turns out to be far less impressive than the last Super Dong I encountered, but maybe that’s just my memory playing tricks with me. Anyway, this one did the job (as did the last one, I think), and before we know it, we’re dragging our bags off the boat, into heat and…brilliant sunshine. At last!

We’ve pre-booked 2 adjoining bungalows at Cassia Cottage www.cassiacottage.com, right on the west-facing beach and we’ve made a excellent choice. A gorgeous view, a great stretch of beach, a lovely pool and even WiFi in our rooms, which is always handy for booking up accommodation at our next location.

Pho Quoc is Vietnam’s largest island and is home to some 80,000 people. I say it’s Vietnam’s island, but actually, if you look at a map, you’ll see that it looks much more as though it belongs to Cambodia. The Vietnamese border comes down in a pretty straight line then takes a wild swerve out to the left to include Phu Quoc…but that’s another history lesson.

We take a long walk up the beautiful stretch of beach and discover a clutch of beach bungalows, one swanky French-colonial looking boutique hotel (Verandah), one bar (Eden) and one beach-shack restaurant. Perfect. The water is calm and clear, the sky is blue and even the palm trees are bending out across the beach at the perfect angle for scenic photo shoots. We already liked it here before we discovered that a very good one hour massage on the beach costs $3. Bliss. The memory of all that rain soon becomes a distant one.

The shack is rather unimaginatively called The Palm Tree but their fresh seafood BBQ scores much higher. The freshest fish, huge prawns and squid, straight out of the sea, onto the BBQ and onto your plate. It’s run by a gorgeous guy called Anh Tú who has been living here, literally in a bamboo shack on the beach, for the last 10 years and we book onto his boat trip for the next day. We stop for some fishing where I hook a tiddler, but you should have seen the one that got away… several stops for snorkelling and then a stop at a true Robinson Crusoe beach; a tiny stretch of pure white sand covered in shells and broken bits of coral, surrounded by palm trees and only accessible by boat. Homeward bound, we stop off at Soi Beach in the Southeast where the waves are wild and the sand is white and the drive home, as the sun is setting over the ocean, along the longest stretch of straight coastal road pretty much wraps up a perfect day.

We took a trip north to investigate the jungle which covers much of this island and a short uphill hike takes us to a waterfall and a pool big enough for a dip. Stopping off at Mango Bay for lunch, we discover another gorgeous little beach and some great bungalows scattered around in the gardens. Definitely the place to stay if you want to get away from it all.

We loved it here and all said we’d love to come back. I hope it doesn’t become the next Koh Samui and change beyond recognition in the next few years.

Rach Gia and Super Dongs

2007-11-20T14:25:00.001Z

After breakfast on the roof, we hop into our mini-bus where the lady from Bao An Travel Service (Welcome Travel), www.welcometravelvietnam.com (I only give you her details so you don’t use them, should you ever find yourself in HCMC) insists that we must take the front 3 seats and one behind, rather than our current two in front and two behind arrangement. Apparently, all seats are pre-sold and pre-allocated. We’re not 5 minutes up the road before the driver pulls over and insists that all four of us squeeze onto the front 3 seats. I refuse and they call up the woman from the travel agency who insists that the front row, although being only 3 seats wide, is actually counted as 4 seats in Vietnam. I refuse to move, as does the bus driver. We eventually reach a compromise where I will sit up front with him (all just a cunning ploy to get me to sit next to him, I’m sure). I feeling quite vulnerable this close to the windscreen, as he hits speeds of up to 130 kph on small windy roads, at times using the grass verge as a lane, and it’s very fortunate that we’re not involved in the motorway pile-up which we pass by some hours later.

The children are fantastic for the entire 7-hour journey to Rach Gia where we check into one of the best hotels in town (there’s only 3), Kim Co, where rooms are £6 per night, mating geckos for free. We splash out and take two (rooms, not mating geckos, who only come in two’s). A late afternoon stroll around in search of a restaurant for dinner confirms that this is a town largely untouched by tourism. The typical tourist takes a 1 hour flight from Ho Chi Minh directly to Phu Quoc, but since the flights were sold out for several days, we’re reduced to staying here for the night before our early morning boat. We’re somewhat of a novelty and manage to attract a little crowd of local kids who follow us in our search and Harley, as ever, is touched, pinched and stroked whenever he passes people. We eventually manage to find a restaurant but whichever chicken previously owned the legs Ruby had, I think he must have been a champion weight lifter.

With nothing else to do here, we get an early night in preparation for our 3-hour boat journey to Phu Quoc on the Super Dong, express boat. Whoever owns this also owns a sense of humour. “Hey baby, wanna take a ride on my Super Dong?” could prove to be the Vietnamese chat-up line of choice.

Chu Chi tunnels and War Remnants museum

2007-11-20T14:20:00.004Z

The infamous Chu Chi tunnels are just over 30 km from Ho Chi Min City so we arrange a car and driver through Saignoncitytour.com. Taking advice from the wonderfully camp Luxe guide (www.luxecityguides.com) our driver Mr Thang stops at Annam, a shrine to Harvey Nicks food hall, so that I can pick up some food for a picnic.

The day proves to be a history lesson to rival any other, but unlike history lessons I remember, this one is fascinating.

Work started on these underground tunnels in the 1940s and it took 25 years to complete them. Built initially to evade the French, in 1960 the invading North Vietnamese communist army successfully overran many parts of the capitalist south, including Chu Chi and was one of the reasons citied by Lyndon Johnson to involve the United States in a war that, frankly, had naff all to do with them. But that just goes to confirm my (some may say tainted) image of certain of our Yankee brothers. Those canny commies went on to dig tunnels which came right up into the US base camp causing for many a soldier to wonder how it was that they were getting shot at in their tents during the night. The area around Chu Chi was virtually obliterated by the B-52s who carpet bombed it. The villages were evacuated and razed to the ground, chemical defoliant was sprayed from the trees and napalm ensured the job was finished off sufficiently so that there was no hiding place from the US troops.

Driven underground, the commies continued with their burrowing until there were 250kms of tunnels, some running several stories deep housing kitchens, hospitals and weapon factories. We were shown how the smoke from kitchens was exhausted meters away after having passed through a series of other tunnels, cooling the smoke down in the process, so that when it finally escaped over the forest floor, not only was it cool enough to stay low but it didn’t give away the true position of the tunnels. Some entrances were hidden underwater and could only be accessed from rivers. The men and women here would live underground for weeks, even months on end. In fact, one of the ladies who worked here was born in the tunnels.

There’s just one or two places to see where the tunnels are still their original size and even Harley has to crouch down to get inside. The rest have been widened and heightened to allow access to fat tourists, and still even skinny Ruby has to bend over. My slight claustrophobia gets the better of me and I decline the chance to scramble through but the others scuttle in and emerge hot and dusty a few metres further along.

We saw the bombs and missiles of the US Army, stacked up next to the crude but nastily effective weapons of the Vietnamese. Trap doors set in the jungle floor, landmines created from unexploded US bombs. All pretty nasty stuff.

For $1 per bullet, you can have a go at firing a rifle or even an AK-47. Plumping for the latter, I fire off a few bullets but this 30 year old gun is off centre and loud enough to make your ears bleed so I pass over the last 5 bullets to Will who also manages to miss the target. We’re both a bit spooked out afterwards to think that this gun was probably used during the war with devastating effect, although the sight must have been slightly better then to have inflicted any injury.

We decide to round off the day with a visit to the War Remnants Museum and ask Mr Thang if it’s suitable viewing for the children. He assures us several times that it would be ok to take them in and, since Harley’s now fallen asleep anyway, we take Ruby tentatively in. We’re greeted by the sight of old US army tanks and aircraft, an all too familiar sight to us by now. Pushing on inside, we can instantly see that this is not viewing for a 7 year old. Will takes Ruby to sit on a bench with him and sleeping Harley whilst I take a good look at the photos and stories on the walls. It’s a truly horrific sight: American soldiers carrying pieces of Vietnamese bodies in their hands, like souvenirs; smiling soldiers sitting around a couple of Vietnamese heads whilst the bodies lie discarded to one side; pictures of the area around Chu Chi pre- and post- napalm; torture; the My Lai massacre (where the American army suspected the South Vietnamese of harbouring the enemy, so killed every man, woman and child in the village, just in case); pictures of many of the victims of Agent Orange and, just for good measure, three pickled still-born babies, all badly handicapped as a result of Agent Orange. It’s more than I can face and I return, sobbing to Will telling him to go on without me. I take the kiddies outside to get some air and remember that the bottle of red I’d bought for the picnic is still sitting in my bag, and now seems like as good a time as any to drink it. I’m soon feeling better but you’ll have to read Will’s blog (www.willsworldtour2.blogspot.com) if you want further details about the museum as I didn’t move from that spot until closing time, when he returned dry eyed and completely unemotional. Boys, eh?

Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon)

2007-11-20T14:18:00.001Z

A short flight (delayed for an hour by a flat tyre which needed 10 people to prod and poke it, before attempting to pump it up with a bicycle pump) takes us to HCMC, formerly the capital and called Saigon until is was renamed by the Hanoi Government following North Vietnam’s defeat over the South in 1975. Everyone here still refers to the city as Saigon, but officially, it’s only District 1 where most of the government buildings and tourist attractions are that still goes by its former name.

We’re staying at the brand new Elios Hotel (www.elioshotel.vn) in District 1 and most things of interest are either a walk or a cyclo ride away. I have developed a deep sense of respect for the cyclo drivers who, I have discovered through my recent steep learning curve about the Vietnam war, were previously doctors, teachers or journalists here in South Vietnam. Post-war, they were punished by the new communist regime for siding with the U.S. (they didn’t, they were just too intelligent and the communists feared that they would not accept the new ruling without question) and sent to re-education camps, for months or sometimes even years, and stripped of their citizenship. Since their certificate of official residence has never been retuned to them, they cannot own property or even a business and are forced onto the streets, sleeping in their cyclos and eating on street corners. The government is now talking about phasing cyclos out so you have to wonder what will become of these men.

The traffic here, although far heavier than Hanoi, is much quieter, partly due to the fact that the bikes get their own lane on many of the streets. Even when our taxi knocks one of the ubiquitous bandana-wearing ladies off her motorbike, he merely hops out, wheels the bike to the side of the road and drives on.

Our tour around the city takes us to the Reunification Hall (previously the Presidential Palace) where the first communist tanks charged through the gates in their governmental overthrow. It’s a monument to the 1960’s, both in its architecture and it’s interior design of brown and yellow swirls on the carpets. It formerly housed the South Vietnamese president Diem, but he was hated so much that his own air force bombed the palace in 1962 in an attempt to kill him. The place where the two bombs were dropped has been marked and can clearly be seen from the fourth floor balcony. They might have missed, but his troops had more success and managed to kill him one year later. We’re slightly disturbed to find out that one of the pilots who bombed the palace is still a pilot, now working for Vietnam Airlines, who we’ve flown with a few times. I hope he’s calmed down a bit. Following the bombing of The Palace, it was rebuilt with a bomb shelter in the basement. These concrete tunnels also housed a cell, an impressive war room and a telecommunications centre to make Virgin Media proud, but that’s not really too much of a compliment.

The Vietnamese History Museum is housed in a gorgeous old wooden house with a beautiful courtyard in the centre. It’s located just inside the gate of the zoo so a wander around there seems like the natural thing to do. Sadly, there’s nothing natural about this zoo. The animals are at best living in cramped, dirty conditions and at worst, going out of their minds. We witness 4 elephants rocking back and forth in an area less than twice the size of our garden and an ape screeching and pulling frantically at the bars of the cage, as well as on otter scratching over and over at the same tiny piece of metal cage in a desperate attempt to get out. The various types of deer seemed to fare slightly better for space although several of these were limping.

Speaking of limping, we’re not really at all surprised by the treatment of the animals when you consider that the war veterans are seen on most streets, with one or more limbs missing, sometimes also blinded in one eye, and reduced to begging to survive. But with no other means of support (apart from their crutches), that’s the life they have been forced into. At least the zoo animals are fed and housed.

We visit Paris Square with a replica Notre Dame cathedral (from the outside. Inside it’s less impressive than my local, St Peter’s) and a post office designed by Monsieur Eiffel but with a huge portrait of Ho Chi Minh looking down on everyone. Not sure if Mr. Eiffel would have approved. Surely it’s the job of the French to look down on everyone?

Sunset drinks are imbibed on the 26th floor of the Sheraton, where a round of drinks during happy hour sets us back more than the price of a meal for 4 (including drinks) at most restaurants. Dinner at French restaurant L’en Tête ensures we’ve well and truly blown the budget once again.

Nha Trang and Captain Pugwash

2007-11-20T14:14:00.002Z

A short flight from Danang and a rainy 40 minute taxi ride along a 30km stretch of beautifully wild, undeveloped beach. There are hoardings here to suggest that some mega-resorts are going to be built and, on the opposite side of the road, some shacks have already been pulled down and are being replaced by rows of 2-storey brick buildings. We pass several cemeteries, where the bodies are encased in brick and concrete tombs and at one, we see that several of the tombs are smashed open but no bodies are inside. We’re not sure if the damage was caused by a particularly strong typhoon or something more sinister…

As we pull up to the our hotel in Nha Trang Bay….a flood, right outside our hotel!! It’s the only stretch of the whole street that’s under any water – just our luck! But the Golden Hotel provides us with a huge room with two double and one single bed, a sea view and it’s bang on budget, so it’s not all bad.

Nha Trang is the perfect spot to arrange diving at one of the 71 outlying islands and this was our original plan. Unfortunately, the diving season ended two weeks ago and visibility is currently too bad for snorkelling to even be viable. From the beach, we can see a couple of these islands, including one with a huge Hollywood-style lettering in the hills saying VINPEARL. Truly a blot on the landscape.

There’s quite a European feel to this place with beautifully manicured gardens and children’s playgrounds set directly behind the beach and before long, we find the equally European Sailing Club where we settle back for sunset drinks. Ruby and Harley are playing at the waters edge when some particularly wild waves come crashing down, taking Harley with them. Before we can reach him, Ruby’s turned into Pamela Anderson (without the plastic surgery) and pulled him up and out by the back of his shirt. This must have (finally) given her an appetite as she devours 18 pieces of tuna sashimi like a woman possessed.

Next day, we’re heading over to the harbour to charter a boat and notice a cable car stretching across the sea, out to one of the islands, so we make for that instead. Only as I’m buying 4 tickets do I see that there’s an option to buy a package to include “all attractions”. It seems the cable car will take us over to the afore-mentioned Vinpearl, where the Vietnamese equivalent of Disneyland awaits. Unfinished and unsafe it’s a bit of a tacky affair owned by Sofitel (who owned the gorgeous beachfront hotel we stayed at in Bali earlier this year), the normally classy French hotel group. I don’t know whose idea it was to be associated with this venture, but I will forever now associate them with tack. Still, the kids had a great time and are now itching to get to Hong Kong where they will visit the real Disneyland.

Chartering a boat the next day, we get Captain Pugwash to take us on an island-hop. First stop is a fish farm on Hon Mieu which also boasts an aquarium. Housed in a huge concrete boat, I’m hoping Johnny Depp might be aboard but I have to make do with the cast of Finding Nemo instead. Next stop Tam Island for a spot of swimming and lunch. Will orders up some fresh crab for lunch and at £1.50 for 3, I think I might be curbing his extravagant taste. Ole Pugwash beckons us back onto the boat where he’s got a couple of totty sitting with him and tries to convince us it’s time to head back to port. We’re more convinced that he wants to turn into Seaman Stains, so Will puts his foot down and insists he take us to the nearby fishing village, as planned. This proves to be the highlight of the day as we hop onto a raft, pulled into shore by rope and watch the comings and goings of the fishermen in their gaily-painted boats. They’re moving from shore to boat via round, bamboo coracles, one of which we see destroyed by the local machete-wielding coconut picker who has failed to properly secure the rope used to drop them gently to the ground and instead they drop from 30 feet onto the boat and ruin some poor fisherman’s week. Not sure he’ll take a coconut as compensation.

Our evening foray takes us to a seafood restaurant called Truc Linh 3, where, not only is every single waitress in the place fawning over Harley, but Will is fawning over the selection of live seafood. Only Harley asking Will if he could go to see where someone’s chosen lobster was going (to the kitchen to be murdered) deterred him from choosing the same and he made do with a pile of prawns, each one as big as your hand.

There’s a photo gallery some way out of town where the owner Long Thanh (if he was Thai, would he be called Love You Long Thanh?) displays his black and white pictures of rural Vietnamese life for which he’s won several awards. He is a lovely man, easy to talk to and his equally lovely wife sits the kids down with a plate of fresh pomegranate so we can have a good look around. I particularly like the picture of a young boy running over the backs of wallowing water buffalos, whilst Harley appreciates the slightly more obvious qualities of the bare-breasted hill tribe women.

The kids are worried about missing out on Halloween and I fortuitously stumble across a bar (unfortunate turn of phrase there) hosting a Halloween party that night. I manage to beg, borrow and steal some black bin-liners and a broom and before you can say Blue Peter, Will and I have whipped up a rather fabulous outfit for each of them, turning them into a witch and her cat, for which, at the party, we’re rewarded with a free shot of something alcoholic and yummy.

We change our plans to head west overland to Dalat, home to the country’s vineyards and decide to continue south in our seemingly never-ending quest to find the sun. After the laidback, European feel here, we’re wondering how we’re going to cope with the onslaught of Ho Chi Minh City. But there’s only one way to find out….