After the heat, the rain. Our two nights in Sydney were intended to check it out and see what we might do there on the way back from Brisbane to Melbourne. We had booked a hotel about 4 km from the centre in Glebe Road – small, friendly and not too pricey, and arrived about mid-day. The temperature had dropped too a really pleasant level and we walked into the city, around and around to get a feel for the place. Eventually we ended up at Circular Key. The setting is just stunning and in the evening sunshine, sitting in a cafe overlooking the harbour and the Harbour Bridge, it was hard to imagine anything much better.
Cafe Culture – Sydney Style
We eventually returned to our hotel, the next day full of promise.
You can buy a day ticket for A$17 that covers all bus, train and ferry rides for 24 hours. Meg, ever with an eye for a bargain, snapped up a couple the next morning and we set off for the city again to see our cargo ship agent and sort out some paperwork. It was nearly noon and we needed to work hard to use the full $17 so we set off on the ferry to Manly which gives a good view of the harbour and is an interesting suburb to explore.
Sydney Harbour
And then a mystery tour using the buses and trains. This involves hopping on the first bus you see and then switching buses at random intervals until you are completely lost. The challenge then is to find your way back.
By the late afternoon the rain had set in, and this was the first of the rain that plagued us all the way to Brisbane. The next day we set off northwards towards Brisbane. We had arranged a couple of stops at Dorrigo and later at Byron Bay so it was a weeks journey. We somehow had not expected poor weather and dull rainy days, very reminiscent of an English summer , were not part of our plans.. Enthusiasm for camping in a tent disappeared and how to 'amuse' ourselves became an issue. Walking is not much fun in the rain and exploring small Australian towns only holds so much interest (which has largely expired now).
Meg – ever resourceful – noticed Stroud on the map, almost on our planned route, and announced that we must go there. So we did. Jeff was much enthused by the fantasy that we would somehow pass through a hole in the space-time continuum and arrive outside the Subscription Rooms.
A short cut home?
It is hard to imagine two towns that are more different. Linked only by the name and, apparently, an annual brick-throwing competition, they are at different ends of the spectrum on almost every other parameter. One is politically left wing and the other very right wing. (Guess which way round they are).
Brick throwing – a local sport
The NSW Stroud has a population of 551 and is at an altitude of 500m. We decided to sample the “cafe culture” proudly promoted in the tourist literature.
Meg samples 'Cafe Culture' Stroud Style
We announced to the locals that we came from “near Stroud” and they looked at us with mild interest – sort of half way to us being Martians. Boldly going where no man has trod, we decided to stay the night in the Stroud Hotel. Its not one we would recommend to friends in search of a luxury resort break, (no en suite rooms, no breakfast, an outside staircase and a remarkable bathroom), but for only one night...
Stroud Hotel
...and its shared bathroom
We hastily moved on the next morning to Gloucester. This is a pleasant small town; we checked out some walks in the nearby national park, but still did not feel inspired to go for long walks in the rain, so headed north once more. Given that rain usually swells waterfalls, something which are not necessarily inspiring at the end of a three-year drought, we confidently headed up to Dorrigo, a small town with a World Heritage National Park on the “Waterfall Way”. Our host, Susan, was a mine of knowledge about local activities as well as a good cook, so next day we headed off to the said national park where we had a (dry) walk through some of the most magnificent sub tropical rain forest ever, including a visit to two waterfalls.
Trianna Falls
Ebor Falls
The trail actually went behind the curtain of water for the Crystal Falls. In the afternoon we set of to see two more sets of falls - one at Ebor, and a second one at Dangar. There were others, but it had started to rain yet again, so we called it a day.
The rain seemed to be unrelenting, so we decided to try out a few of the scenic rural towns in this part of Australia, which is called New England. It certainly felt that the weather was English for us. We got to Grafton which boasts the largest colony of fruit bats in the southern hemisphere (how do they know?) but there was little else of cultural, social or any other interest, so we pushed on again to Lismore. This is a town of 40,000 people where we felt there would be something to stimulate and engage us. I think we misjudged it.
Staying in a cabin here we had to take some remedial action on the car. Whilst the engine seemed fine and had powered up many a mountain, the boot let in water, and we had to do some running repairs to avoid travelling with a mobile plunge pool. And still it rained.
Byron Bay is described in the Lonely Planet as “God's Own Country”; actually the description of it being an ex-hippy town with magnificent beaches and crashing surf makes it sound like Stroud-on-Sea. We had made contact with friends of Australian friends who had graciously invited us to stay with them. And we instantly felt at home. We joined them and friends for morning coffee, which stretched through lunch until about 5 p.m. The conversation flowed non stop, but so did the rain. Phil, our host, said that occasionally in summer there were days of heavy rain. He described the rain falling at night : “You hear the rain thundering on the tin roof and think 'My god, that's heavy'. But after about half an hour the sound goes up a whole level and just as you think that surely there cannot be any more rain up there, it seems to get heavier still and the drumming on the roof becomes unbearably loud”. We can testify to the veracity of that statement.
But on the Sunday morning the skies had cleared and we set of with our hosts and other friends of theirs for a wonderful walk to the lighthouse, the most easterly point in Australia. But so did hundreds of others, we saw more people walking that day than at any other time since the fashionable board walk in Cottesloe, Perth. It really is a spectacular walk to the lighthouse and then back along a broad, flat surfing beach.
After brunch Jeff and I set of to explore the northern beaches in the town and the town itself. Because of the surf and lovely location, Byron attracts a lot of backpackers in their early twenties as well as young tourists from other parts of Australia. The ratio of people in the twenties to oldies in their fifties must be about 200:1. The main implication of this is that there are a lot of very beautiful, lean, tanned bodies on the beach. We looked for the sign which said “Oldies this way” convinced that there must be some sort of local regulation which prohibits elderly people exposing white flabby bodies in public. (We did not expose ours just in case there was).
Byron Bay
The spider – playing dead
The small red mark on Jeff's neck was surely the precursor to an eventual death by poison. However, on awaking the next morning it had vanished and, after unsuccessfully trying a few Spiderman moves, we hit the road once again.
