Camping with kangaroos

One of our aims for this year was to see 'the real Australia' as well as the tourist hotspots. Upon receiving an invite to spend the weekend camping in the bush at Kosciuszko National Park, we quickly accepted and set about packing the car with all the relevant parafernalia. Joining us on the trip were one of our neighbours (a postman), two teachers - one from Rachel's school - and a Danish exchange student. An eclectic band indeed. Our journey to the first campsite lasted well over three hours and took in a road notorious for kangaroo deaths. None jumped out in front of us but there were lots eating by the roadside. We arrived fairly late and put our tents up in the dark. The photo below is taken during Saturday morning breakfast, with our two-man tent sheltered by the big tree.

We set off again, told: "the roads get a bit more interesting now". Never was a truer word spoken. The 'dirt track' - which seemed to go on forever - was less like the gravel driveways which take you to posh wedding receptions (come on, we've all been there) and more accurately an uneven bed of rocks which bent round sharp corners and undulated wildly. Our car (not a 4x4) survived its ordeal but its route out of the park would involve scrabbling back up the steep, loose slopes. Our bete noire loomed large.

Our chief activity was to be a 'walk' along the creek to a waterfall several kilometres away. Minutes after leaving camp we were all knee-deep in water, crossing the creek to pick up the path on the far bank. Toes tingling, shoes squelching. Repeat several times. The natural sculpture of the towering rock on either side of us was impressive, but most eyes were fixed on the floor, scanning for snakes.

We passed a sign which told us "this route involves some scrambling" and the photo below of Rachel - plus another of our party further along the path - shows exactly how steep some sections were. I was never fussed about Duke of Edinburgh at school and this won't be an excursion I look back on through rose-tinted spectacles.

As daylight began to drain away back at camp, so kangaroos began to appear all around us. They were quite happy to nibble away at the grass just a few feet from the camp fires and groups of people. That is, until these two took on the roles of David Haye and Dereck Chisora, slugging out a few rounds before the loser slunk off into the bush. During the night, we could hear the thump of kangaroos hopping around the tent. One tripped over the guy ropes.

Rain on Sunday morning accelerated our exit. Fearing the rocky inclines would become even more treacherous, we settled for a low gear and high revs to get us out. It was bliss to glide back onto tarmac - the carpet to civilisation.

I suppose we had ticked something off our list by seeing 'the real Australia' but that's not what Saturday afternoons are for, in my book. Give me football in the freezing cold: the real England.

Return to the Harbour City

Another weekend, another trip to Sydney. Might as well call it our third home. This time, the journey was significantly quicker as we flew from Albury Airport (a hive of furious activity, as you can see) rather than tackling the six-hour drive again. Air travel is definitely the way to go over here.

We stayed at the house of an English couple, Dave and Sue Toft, who ventured to Australia on a teaching exchange in 2008 and subsequently extended their stay. Dave is a Birmingham City fan and it was refreshing to launch into a rambling football conversation which took in Morecambe, Milton Keynes Dons and Maidstone United. They were great hosts and it made our three-day stay so easy.

On Friday, Rachel and the other exchange teachers (largely from Canada, UK and USA) attended a conference at the Department of Education in the city centre, leaving the 'other-halves' and children to choose their own entertainment. There was a walk organised but I lasted only as far as the tourist information centre before changing course and catching a ferry down the Parramatta River to the Olypmic Park, where the 2000 Games were held.

The main athletics venue has since changed in appearance, and name - to ANZ Stadium. I joined a tour and we stopped off at all the usual points: corporate boxes, member suites, press area, changing-rooms, warm-up zone etc. The stadium's most impressive feature is its versatility, hosting cricket, rugby, AFL and soccer at different times during the year. As we looked down from the stands, the ground staff were treating new turf in the centre of the field, completing the transformation from a cricket oval to a rugby league pitch. All very good and a sure-fire way to recoup the money spent on building the Olympic facilities, but with so many clubs using the stadium, I don't think anyone could really call it home. Grounds like Anfield, Lord's and Twickenham have crystal-clear identities but not so ANZ. Images of Jonny Wilkinson's drop-goal and Cathy Freeman racing to 400m gold offered a tinge of sporting history but in short, the stadium had quality without character.

I walked around the rest of the park and stumbled across the Australian Olympic table tennis qualification tournament in the sports hall. I had a chat with the national fifth seed, Trent Carter, but couldn't stick around long enough to see him in action.

As Brits, we were in the minority on the harbour cruise the following day, although we did make friends with a girl from York called Rachel Dickenson (pictured). The exchange has placed her in Broken Hill, way out in the west of New South Wales - get on Google Maps - and her house is a mile from the actual desert. From her home to Sydney is a vast distance, 13 hours by road (although, wisely, she flew). Such mammoth journeys seem so alien to us. The famous Land's End to John O'Groats trek is 16 hours, but Rachel's trip home was only a fraction of the way across Australia. Mad.

We were blessed with brilliant weather again. Loads of sailing boats were out in the harbour as we made our way back to Circular Quay - between the Harbour Bridge and Opera House.

On Sunday we crossed the city to visit Amy Lamont, who we had met on our first Sunday in Albury. Amy is studying and living at Moore Theological College, south of the water, so our paths had only just crossed before she moved out of town. We convened at Erskineville Village Anglican Church, whose name is shortened to 'Erko' on the church's website. This seems common practice in Australia. Paramedics are 'ambos', bin men are 'garbos and I am now 'Stevo'.

It was great spending time with new friends and a privilege to be back in Sydney. On arrival back in Albury, we hit Skype and caught up with several of you lovely people back home. Keep your comments, letters, pictures and postcards coming.

Rachel has already got herself into our local paper, the Border Mail. Click the photo to enlarge and read the story.


JOB UPDATE: Rachel is enjoying life at Albury North Public School, who held their swimming carnival last week. I have been writing for myfootballclub.co.uk and conducting interviews with players and managers via Twitter (SEE HERE). I also had a constructive meeting with the editor of the Border Mail last week. They are happy for me to do sports writing for them, although initially it will be on a work experience basis. I expect to pick up temping work to off-set these other ventures.

Bomb scare at Albury trots

Our first Saturday night out in Albury threw up more drama than we had bargained for. A light-hearted trip to watch harness racing at the Albury Showground was suddenly disrupted when stewards and police appeared, telling everyone to evacuate the viewing areas and to head back to the car park. With lightning bolts cracking the charcoal-black stormy skies overhead, rumours sprung up as to why racing had been halted. Soon, though, it emerged police had been told there was a bomb on the roof of the grandstand.

Bookmakers, spectators, horses, drivers and staff all stood and waited while police officers combed the grandstand. There was no evident panic and with children continuing to enjoy the funfair behind us, there was a somewhat surreal atmosphere. The storm clouds hovered, but never broke, meaning most of the crowd were still on site when it was declared safe to return to the race track.

At first, the grandstand remained out of bounds, with people's eskies (cool boxes) and picnic chairs sitting untouched. Racing restarted and eventually the punters were allowed back to their seats. You can see the local TV guys setting up for a report. This was big news for them and the local paper, and a surprise to everyone generally, given the relatively low-profile nature of the event. Fortunately, there appeared to be nothing more sinister than the hoax call itself.

The trots (racing) was almost a sideshow after that, but it was good fun watching the eight races which went on pretty late into the night, thanks to the interruption. My only gamble was on a steak sandwich from the snack bar, which came up trumps. There was loads of good banter and we met plenty of new people: lads at the bookies window and girls around the esky. After briefly threatening to mirror the 1997 Grand National, when an IRA terrorist threat forced the race to be postponed, we saw the harness programme through to the end without having to return on a weeknight.

On Saturday we drove out to the west of Albury, first stopping in the small town of Rutherglen, best known for its 23 wineries. I must also flag up the excellent 'Parker Pies', though, having chomped through a delicious steak and onion number. I could have paid several dollars more for a kangaroo or crocodile pie but why take a risk when there is perfectly good steak on offer? Anyway, you could sling anything in a pie and call it crocodile, the customers wouldn't know any different.

Despite knowing very little about wine, we did stop off at Campbell's Winery for a quick tour. The towering stacks of huge barrels reminded me of the Midsomer Murders episode when a man was found drowned in a vat of cider. There was no sign of John Nettles so we didn't hang around. On we drove to Yarrawonga, bordered by Luke Mulwala (see picture). It was an eerie sight, with the dead tree trunks spiking out of the lake. A watery desert.

On a brighter note, we stopped off for a round of mini-golf on the way home. Normally, the best courses are found at seaside resorts, but this one had some real testing holes and it's fair to say we underestimated it. I sneaked home in 54, with Rachel carding 56. We were both under-par but knew we could have played better. We may return before the year is out.

Picture special - Matt's Sydney album

Thanks again to Matt and Michelle Wright - and their beautiful baby daughter Sierra - for guiding us around Sydney last weekend. We saw all the best spots and had plenty of time to chill and take in the city, the beach, the harbour. You really can't beat local knowledge.

Matt also had his camera with him and the pictures he took are too good for me not to share them with you. Good work, mate.

Remember, you can enlarge any of the photos by clicking on them. Enjoy...

On the boat back from Manly

Good point

Look left

Click

That good opera place

Sierra and Michelle

Just be natural

Massive

The Famous Five (not famous)

Good times - and great camera work by Sierra

Top city

On the road to Sydney

Sometimes, very occasionally, you'll have a day which you never want to end. You know, when everything seems easy and you end up with a stupidly big grin across your face. Well, Saturday was one of those. Picture the scene, I'm in Sydney and it's warming up after weeks of cloud and rain on the south-east Australian coast. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin...

It was Friday afternoon when Rachel and I loaded up the car and strapped ourselves in for our first proper road trip Down Under. Albury to Sydney is a six-hour drive on the Hume Highway, a near-deserted duel carriageway spearing through New South Wales. Because there's so little traffic, it's a very easy journey despite sounding a bit epic. The rain lashed down for the last couple of hours as we approached Sydney but I had prepared an iPod playlist and we sang along to Tony Christie 'Is This The Way To Amarillo' to keep the mood light in the deepening gloom.

We spent the weekend with Matt and Michelle Wright - staying at the home of Michelle's parents. Rachel knew Michelle from a previous visit to England and although they are now based in California, the girls have kept in contact. Matt and Michelle had flown back to Oz for the birth of their daughter Sierra and it was brilliant to spend time with the three of them. They made terrific tour guides, as had Rob & Jan in Melbourne. As soon as we stepped off the train in the city on Saturday morning, the Sydney Harbour Bridge loomed large in front of us. There is a photo with us all looking more sociable but this one has a handy gap to show the bridge. As I recall, the camera was balanced precariously on Sierra's stroller.

Plenty of people were paying big bucks to climb to the very top of the bridge but we took a different option. Nudging into view above Michelle's right shoulder (see previous pic) is one of the pylons at the edge of the bridge. We lugged the stroller up the steps inside and emerged on a viewing platform which gave brilliant views of the harbour and city, now bathed in glorious sunshine. Of course, the Opera House was the focus of everyone's attention - although the Wrights pointed out loads of other good stuff including Taronga Zoo, Fort Denison and the Prime Minister's Sydney residence.

Back on terra firma, we walked around the water's edge and boarded a ferry to Manly ("grrr"). Midway through the voyage, we passed the entrance to the harbour, which opens out onto the Pacific Ocean. It would be quite daunting to float out into such a vast expanse of water. Next stop America... The beach at Manly was pretty packed with surfer dudes. We played a quick game of 'spot the European tourists' and noted that no-one was playing the bat-and-ball game at the water's edge, or anywhere for that matter. They can't get enough of it in France and Spain.

One of Matt's mottos is "if you can't see the ocean, don't eat the seafood", so we walked no more than 200m down the main street before stopping for fish and chips. The food was tops although I was caught out by a smoothie made almost entirely of yoghurt and milk (see photo). I did make amends the following day by ordering an ice-based fruit drink. There were tons of people on skateboards although this picture offers no evidence of that. Manly felt like a holiday resort compared to the city, despite being so close.

Our return boat journey was lent a phenomenal backdrop as the daylight started to drain away behind the towering office blocks of Sydney's financial district. Riding the waves back through the harbour with such artistry all around was quite magical. Melbourne may be the sporting capital of Australia but it doesn't touch Sydney for beauty.

There was another extraordinary episode still to play out. All day, the monstrous cruise ship 'Diamond Princess' had been docked in the harbour, dwarfing the ferries and looking more at home next to the glistening skyscrapers. While we stood next to the bustling outdoor Opera House bars, the captain gave three massive toots and slowly maneuvered her around before stealing away into the night. Cameras flashed around us and on the towering cruiser decks. The atmosphere was electric - we truly had been in the right places at the right times.

Before heading home on Sunday, we drove to the beach at Cronulla. Like Manly, it was really busy - even more so because of the 'nippers' surfing club for kids and a big surf competition in the afternoon. It could have been super-hectic but Matt and Michelle walked us along the coast to a quieter spot for our picnic. We shared the driving on the way home and were treated to another spectacular sunset. For the first time, it felt like we were coming 'home' to Albury.

I have one other story to share. Our lawn/back yard is a decent size and we have a petrol mower, which I attempted to use for the first time the other day. You can set the length you want to trim the grass to and I notched it straight down to the lowest setting. Seconds later, there was a crunching noise and the mower turned itself off. I had obviously set it low enough to maintain the wicket at Lord's, taking all the grass off the ground and some of the soil as well (note: it is fine). I did take a picture but thought you might instead enjoy this - taken in the back garden of our university house in Chichester when we went the whole hog and varnished a proper wicket, complete with nets and covers.

Plenty of you have commented on the blog so far, which has been amazing. It's good fun writing it and seemingly it is being read around the clock - not only because of different time zones, but parents waking in the night to look after kids and needing something to read in those small hours. Keep getting in touch, we love it.

It's hard to comprehend the images of snow in the UK and across Europe given the summery conditions here, but I remember all too vividly the chaos of driving too and from work in treacherous conditions over the last couple of winters. Take care and here's hoping the full football programme resumes asap. Snow news and snow pics both welcome.