Australian Capital Territory

When we told people we were going to Canberra, the response - almost universally - was "why?" Australians are hardly in love with their capital and most foreigners probably couldn't tell you what, or where, it is. In spite of all this, we felt a year Down Under was incomplete without a trip into Australian Capital Territory (ACT).

Our travel partner on this occasion was Ben Grilli, pictured here at the top of Monument Hill in Albury. Ben and I spent many hours traversing England in the Woking FC supporters coach, so I knew he'd be ready to rise early and hit the road to Canberra.

Before entering the city itself, we headed to the outskirts, where one of Rachel's colleagues, Adrian Fury (in pink), was competing in the Queanbeyan Gift race meeting. Like lots of athletics in Australia, the event was held on grass rather than a track. However, the illusion of a school sports day vanished when we heard the 120m final carried prize money of $16,000. We left sun-drenched Queanbeyan Park with the heats still in progress.

First stop in Canberra was the War Memorial, a fine tribute to those who killed in conflicts all across the globe. It was fittingly tranquil and the tomb of the Unknown Australian Soldier in the Hall of Memory (through the doorway at the back of shot, above) was especially poignant.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

Here we are on the roof of Parliament House, the centre of Australian politics. We did have to pass through an airport-style security scanner to get in, but beyond that we were free to roam wherever we wanted...

...including right into the House of Representatives. I have zero interest in the squabblings of Julia Gillard, Tony Abbott & Co but to sit in the 'inner sanctum' was still a moment worth savouring.

Rachel liked these chairs.

Canberra is also home to the Australian Institute of Sport (AIS), where the country's elite athletes train.

We took an AIS tour, led by Australian race walker Rachel Tallent (above). She certainly knew her stuff and answered every question our group could throw at her.

From the basketball arena...

...to the volleyball courts...

...and past much more to the swimming pools, we got a glimpse of the facilities available to Australia's best.

The AIS was set up in response to a dismal showing by Australia at the 1976 Olympic Games in Montreal. As we stood poolside, I resisted the overwhelming urge to comment on their swimming performance at London 2012.

We were almost the last people to leave the AIS, a fascinating place and a decent way to end our whistle-stop tour of Canberra. Although the capital may not be in the same league as Melbourne or Sydney, that doesn't mean it's not worth visiting.

Why go? So you can make your own mind up.

Blue Mountains

Christmas songs in November are always wrong. When the temperature's edging towards 35C and there's Test cricket on the telly, they should be illegal. We may not be feeling the summer Santa vibe but we have been enjoying more of Australia.
Church camp. The Albury Show. And now the Blue Mountains.

In truth, the Blue Mountains are not mountains, but a sandstone plateau. Neither are they blue. The blue-coloured haze comes from a fine mist of oil exuded by the huge eucalyptus gum trees that cover the valleys. Fascinating facts which I just had to share...

...with Jo Vickery and her boyfriend Steve Coates (above).
Jo and I have been friends for longer than I can remember (we were born 24 days apart and our parents knew each other before that) but this was an introductory meeting with Steve. What better - and more unlikely - place to shake hands for the first time than in the shadow of the Sydney Opera House?

This was the start of Jo and Steve's holiday from England and semi-meticulous planning by both parties had ensured our itineries overlapped for the weekend. I resurrected my role as haphazard tour guide - an act which is more convincing in Melbourne - as we strolled through the Rocks, climbed the Harbour Bridge pylon and caught the ferry to Watsons Bay. Something told me all this should have felt surreal, but it didn't. Friendships spanning the globe has been a theme this year and to share time Down Under with Jo and Steve was a privilege.

We left the city behind. An interminable train journey re-united us with Rachel in Sydney's western suburbs and we drove from the foothills up to the misty heights of Medlow Bath. I harboured genuine fears of two days shrouded in cloud but the skies eventually cleared and the Blue Mountains came into focus through the port-hole window in our rented apartment.

When you visit Scenic World, you expect something pretty dramatic. And we weren't disappointed when we clambered into the front seats for a journey down the world's steepest railway.

As we prepared to plunge down a track which disappeared from view just metres away, I wondered how many other Unesco World Heritage sites could give Alton Towers a run for its money.

Scenic World has tamed the sandstone giants of the Blue Mountains through some truly impressive architecture. The Scenic Skyway (above) dangled us 270 metres above the ground.

The views were monumental, whether looking out of the window...

...or down through the electro-glass floor of the cabin.

The final leg of the Scenic World triumvirate was this Scenic Cableway (above), a sardine tin of tourists which transported us from the foot of the railway to its summit - at a more sedate pace.

A short clifftop walk led us round to Echo Point, where the steady stream of tourists coagulated into a seething mass of amateur photographers pointing their lenses at the Three Sisters (above, with the girls). Yes, the backdrop was spectacular, but the sheer number of people scrabbling for position on the viewing platform rather tainted the experience.

We found greater solace at Wentworth Falls, a few minutes' drive along the Great Western Highway. Photos never do these places justice, but I can tell you the water in this picture is cascading 300 metres onto the rocks.

We'd hurtled down a train line, been squashed into a giant cable car and climbed endless stone steps. A tiring day for the touring quartet was nearing its end and the Blue Mountains had lived up to their billing. We took a minute to survey the magnitude of what lay before us - eucalyptus gums sprawling as far as the eye could see.

Back at the apartment, there was absolutely no evidence of the mist which had lingered only hours earlier. We felt thankful.

Facing a seven-hour drive back to Albury on Sunday, we didn't hang around, although there was time for a visit to the Everglades heritage gardens at Leura. Pleasant enough but certainly not in the same league as RHS Garden Wisley.

Our final Blue Mountains soundtrack was provided by The Jumping Fleas (above). The Everglades was hosting a special Retro Fair on that day and quite a few people had come in costume. Generally speaking the women had put in the effort but a few blokes were just wearing trainers with their work trousers.

Snow in the High Country

The temperature in Albury is rising. The school year is into its final term. It is exactly two months until we fly home to England. In short, we're entering the home straight of our time in Australia.

But far from winding down and taking things easy, we're determined to fit in as much as we can before then - and not wish the time away. With one of the country's favourite ski resorts, Falls Creek, just two hours away from us, we packed the car for our latest expedition.

The Kiewa Valley Highway took us south, into Victoria, and through a picturesque town called Mount Beauty.

This was a tranquil place, boasting the last petrol station for 110 kilometres and a bakery which sold jam doughnuts. As a pit-stop, it met all the key criteria.

We got back in the car. The road climbed sharply and then fell away before starting its next ascent. The trees on both sides were immensely tall and arrow-straight. This was a lonely, challenging road. We snaked around hairpin bends, one after another, taking each one more slowly than the last. Up and up and up we drove.

Further up the road, we pulled over, having spied the Fainter Falls Walk - recommended by Lonely Planet, our ever-present travelling companion. This led us to a pretty waterfall and the walk helped settle stomachs that had been disturbed by braking and accelerating around a never-ending succession of tight corners.

Knowing there was still snow on the top of the mountains at Falls Creek, I foolishly surmised that conditions at altitude would be wintry. However, as we completed our walk in heat of at least 20C, my decision to wear a jumper and jeans, and to stuff an extra hoodie and scarf into my rucksack, was looking increasingly like lunacy.

Falls Creek, even in the off-season, is quite spectacular. Not that many people were there to acknowledge it. The place billed as an 'All Season Alpine Resort' was almost deserted. Glossy restaurants and apartments gleamed in the sunlight but no-one walked in or out. Tourist Information resembled the Mary Celeste. Our fellow diners at lunch were two police motorcyclists.

Of course, several clues reminded us that we were in a ski resort. Yellow road markings told of the transformation which occurs here when Falls Creek disappears under a thick white blanket.

We weren't unhappy to see the resort in hibernation mode, though. The stillness added to the natural grandeur all around us. Another remarkable string to this diverse nation's bow.

The scenic route back towards Albury lent us a panoramic view over Mount Beauty. As we coasted homeward, cyclists passed us in the opposite direction, straining at their pedals. I doffed a hypothetical hat to them as they climbed towards the snow.

Cairns to Sydney in a camper van

There's no getting away from it. Australia is a big place. And, on the morning we arrived at a motorhome depot in one of the shabbier corners of Cairns, it had never seemed larger. In front of us stood the camper van in which we would traverse almost 3,000 kilometres before catching a flight out of Sydney. To give a sense of perspective, this equated to driving from London to Moscow - but where that journey would take in eight countries, just a single state border lay ahead of us. Did I mention Australia was big?

Before we had even left Cairns behind, we were dealt a shattering blow when it was discovered that all music and podcasts had been wiped from my iPod. The horrible realisation dawned that we were at the mercy of Australian local radio for the best part of 32 hours on the road. I swigged deeply from the bottle of iced coffee beside me as the bitumen raced beneath us.

Cane fields continued to dominate the landscape until we turned off the Bruce Highway for a stroll along Mission Beach. A myriad of pinpricks in the sand told us we were massively outnumbered by tiny crabs, who occasionally popped up for air. We sidestepped several electric blue jellyfish, washed up on the beach, as we took our leave.

Our first campsite was on an industrial estate in Townsville, although the city was larger and more attractive than first impressions suggested.

I liked Townsville - what we saw of it, at least. The esplanade has been modernised and seems to be a haven for joggers and cyclists, although the unfriendly skyline of cranes at work in the docks spoils the laid-back ambience somewhat.

Airlie Beach (above) was more picturesque, tempting in tourists like bees to a honey pot. Look closely and you'll see this sand-sculpted dragon actually was breathing fire - fairly apt on a day when the sun beat down on our backs with real intensity.

Just down the road, Mount Rooper loomed large and Lonely Planet recommended a 2.4km walk up to the lookout. An interminable climb to the summit did offer views of the Whitsunday Islands but by the halfway point (above), we were red-faced, over-heated and short-tempered. Was it worth it? Probably not.

I can't say that Mackay stands out as a particularly memorable stop on our journey, except for abundant birdlife at the caravan park. There were rainbow lorikeets having the time of their life in a giant hamster wheel as we collected keys for the amenities block.

Often, there was nothing more between towns than one of these primitive petrol stations. Dotted all along the highway are signs urging you not to drive tired and ushering you to rest areas. Such are the distances involved and so few are the visual stimuli for drivers. Turning into a driver reviver site, finding it open (rare), and sipping a free cup of coffee felt like being handed a glass of water in the desert.

Most days in the van were an adventure but the one which began in Mackay was more of an endurance event. Lunch by the side of the road in Rockhampton followed almost four hours of incredibly bland scenery and the lady in Tourist Information forecast roadworks and heavy traffic for the afternoon. She was right.

A near-empty fuel gauge meant we took a detour through Gladstone, which turned out to be one of the most depressing places we've seen in the whole of Australia. Mining blackened the landscape as we approached and barely a soul walked the streets when we entered the town. We were thankful to be on our way.

Even then, we were still a long way from our destination. Leaving the congested Bruce Highway was a relief but the quiet country roads did little to help keep me alert. Rachel's directions were spot-on, though, and at least spared us a wrong turn on the way to Bundaberg. After an exhausting 630km, we slept well that night.

Those exertions did ensure a shorter run into Brisbane the following day, where familiar figures were waiting to greet us.

Rachel has family scattered around Australia and this was the second time Guy & Carolyn (above) had hosted us. It was a treat to sleep in a 'proper bed' and sit round a 'proper table' to eat our meals! After days of navigating unchartered waters (for me, at least), Brisbane felt familiar and welcoming. That may sound odd when I'd never visited the city until four months earlier, but that's the kind of crazy year it's been. Most welcoming of all were the friendly faces, and the chance to share our travel tales.

Having scheduled a day without driving, we made the most of our time in Brisbane by watching cricket at The Gabba. Two entertaining sessions of play between Queensland and South Australia in the Sheffield Shield (state championship) took place in front of approximately 200 spectators...

...including my former colleague Tom Howard and his girlfriend Chelsea Woods (above). Both were in Australia to cover the Bathurst 1000 race that weekend and the cricket served as a low-key sporting aperitif. Catching up with Tom in such circumstances should have felt a little surreal but good friends simply pick up where they left off and that's how it was. The action out in the middle was almost an aside to our chatter beyond the boundary, but we were entertained by the batting of Queensland's Ben Cutting, who smashed 109 off 78 balls.

We left Brisbane behind and swung inland. Now, the roads - and what lay on either side - became interesting. The contours and curves of the New England Highway carried us into Stanthorpe and then over the border into New South Wales. Wineries abounded in the approach to Tenterfield, our lunch stop, before we plunged further south to Glen Innes. Here we discovered the Australian Standing Stones (above) and a small town where time stood still.

The road trip was fun once more.
An adventure, not an assignment.

We read that Armidale had 'excellent delis and coffee shops', so it seemed only right to examine these claims. The town was peaceful and pretty and its food didn't disappoint, even catering for Rachel's recently-discovered wheat and yeast intolerances.

There is probably an old by-law somewhere which says you must have your photo taken with the Big Golden Guitar if you pass through Tamworth. The self-styled 'country music capital of Australia' had little else to offer us but it was a handy stop as we continued to tackle the terrific New England Highway.

Sandy Hollow was somewhat off the beaten track and we almost hit a blundering wombat on the quiet back roads. Our final compsite was humble and near-deserted but these were no bad things. Dinner was 20 yards down the road at a wonderfully unpretentious jack-of-all-trades emporium which served as a petrol station, post office, chip shop, cafe and general store.

An overwhelming reluctance to join the masses on the Pacific Highway meant we stayed inland for as long as possible on our descent towards Sydney. Wineries and chocolate shops may be plentiful in the Hunter Valley but what we didn't expect was large-scale mining. The juxtaposition of fertile vineyards and harsh coal pits made for another interesting day on the road.

The Great North Road was built by convicts and they did a magnificent job. If Top Gear have never been here, someone should get on the phone to Jeremy Clarkson. The road soared and dipped alongside vast fields of cattle and tip-toed through hamlets. It dragged us up steep hills, squeezed us round hairpin bends and sent us flying down the other side. Finally, it spat us out onto the freeway, where the glut of traffic told us we were closing in on Sydney.

We'd made it. Stepping out of the van for the last time, it felt like we had conquered something huge, achieved something really significant. Our guide book was full of yellow felt-tip pen and the memory card in our camera was digesting around 400 images.

On the wall of the depot office was a gigantic map of Australia. In an instant, our escapades were shrunk into proportion. We can tell ourselves we've worked out this great southern land, but the reality is we've only tickled the edges.

All over croc country

Welcome to Far North Queensland, where crocodiles rule the waterways and cassowaries roam the rainforest.

This wild corner of Australia supports so many species, including the sun-seeking holidaymaker. With so much exploring to be done, there was no time to waste and we headed straight from Cairns Airport to Port Douglas in our hire car.

The proximity of Four Mile Beach (above) to our apartment meant only the shortest of expeditions was required before we were splashing in the shallows and playing the bat-and-ball game at the water's edge. Everything here was as idyllic as the guide books suggested. The discovery of a coconut on the white sand led to an impromptu tug-of-war as we grappled to remove its outer husk.

Planes, trains and automobiles will get you so far in Australia but only the Kuranda Skyrail cable car dangles you just a few metres above the treetops in the Atherton Tableland. We surveyed the rainforest from the comfort and quiet of our small pod - but to construct something as monstrous as this, over mountains and overlooking gorges, must have been a gigantic effort. Well done to all involved.

Peering down from our lofty, mobile vantage point, we started to get some idea of how vast these rainforests are. We could just make out sounds beneath us, under the canopy in a green, mysterious world.

Kuranda's Birdworld was jam-packed with feathered creatures of all shapes and sizes. I won't embarrass myself by guessing which species this little chap belongs to, but he loved those seeds.

One journey on the cable car was sufficient and we travelled back to Cairns on the scenic railway. When the 15.30 pulls out of Kuranda station, the village empties - almost everyone pounding the streets during the day is a tourist.

The train's design and decor reminded me of an episode of Agatha Christie's Poirot - but fortunately David Suchet was nowhere to be seen. "Get your cameras ready" called the guard as we approached this towering gorge. Another great engineering feat.

Lots of road signs in this part of the world hint at the proximity of cassowaries, but the only ones we saw were in wildlife parks. To my eyes, it seems to be a hybrid of body parts from other animals: the torso of an ostrich, the neck of a turkey and the feet of an eagle. As for the top of the head, I don't know where to begin. Could it be that Karl Pilkington's otherwise nonsensical evolutionary theory, featuring a giant toenail to protect the skull, orginated here?

At Cape Tribulation, we reached the northernmost point of our Australian adventure. Only four-wheel-drive vehicles can negotiate the dirt road which clambers further up the coast. The undergrowth all around us was thick and wild - perfect for crocodiles when the wet season comes. They can't get enough of those mangroves.

Down came the rain at Mossman Gorge. To say the water here was chilly would be an understatement, but it was so refreshing to jump in among the huge boulders after trekking through the trees in temperatures approaching 30C.

After getting to grips with Far North Queensland and experiencing all sorts of wildlife at very close quarters, we brought the week to an end in a rather more civilised fashion. Salsa Bar & Grill Restaurant (above) is well worth a visit if you make it to Port Douglas and the presence of crocodile sausage in the Seafood Jambalaya made it a stand-out choice for Ed and I.

Port Douglas was a terrific holiday location, not 'too touristy' as some had suggested, and certainly far more classy than 'party central' Cairns, which seemed totally devoid of character.