Travel Biography - Week 93.

A Small World? A Pure Coincidence? Or Divine Will? You Choose.

The two days I spent at the Blue Mountains National Park left no regrets. Rather, going out on a backcountry hike whilst staying in a city added momentum to the holiday. And that wasn't all. Two other day trips were also completed whilst living in the city. One was a ferry to Manly. The other was a combined bus and ferry to Palm Beach, the filming site for the popular tea-time soap, Home and Away.

These were planned events. But another of the unexpected arose when I was at Darling Harbour. But it wasn't anything negative this time, such as encountering a smartly dressed queue jumper. Instead, I was called from behind by two casually dressed Chinese undergraduates. However, I didn't recognise them at first until one of them reminded me that we met at the hostel in Brisbane.

View of the Gearstick from Darling Harbour, Sydney.

Museum Ships moored at Darling Harbour.

 Two undergrads I met first in Brisbane, then in Sydney.

Pyrmont Bridge from the City to Darling Harbour.

With this knowledge, I greeted them warmly. They then asked me to spend the rest of the day with them. As we walked around and talked, one of them suggested a cruise around the harbour. I thought that was a good idea and having bought my own ticket, boarded the boat with them.

It was while we were cruising along that I realised how big the harbour really was. We passed the twin buildings of the Opera House and headed seawards. A circuit was completed in an hour, arriving where we started, at the Circular Quay, between the Opera House and the Harbour Bridge.

The three of us spent the rest of the day together. Somehow, I marvelled at their level of hospitality, which I saw was quite contrary to the "Englishman's home is his castle" mentality of our national culture. So who were these two? Unfortunately, I had never recorded their names. Perhaps coming from China, their names I would have found difficult to pronounce. However, their bodily physiques were each distinct. One was tall and fairly slim, and he was the friendlier of the pair. The other was shorter in height, stockier in build, yet kept more to himself. However, he still had a friendly attitude towards me as well as his companion.

Where each studied, unfortunately, I wasn't able to recall, but apparently, they were students in China but had taken leave to backpack Australia together. However, the stockier one had to leave Sydney a day earlier than his companion. Whatever the reasons, it looked to me that the taller one found pleasure accompanying me as we explored the city together. However, I was assured that their separation had nothing to do with me but was already planned from the start of their adventures. One possibility was that each had a family at a different location, even if each studied at the same university. This may have necessitated different flights at different times of the day. At least, that was the hint I have gotten from my new friend who stayed behind.

Back at the hostel, we separated, with them going to their dormitory while I returned to mine to freshen up. Sometime later, I went into the kitchen to prepare dinner, and I sat alone, as usual, in the dining room. However, I was still there when the two students also arrived and took a vacant table by the window nearby. Again, it was the taller one who called me over to join them at their meal.

The meal they had was Chinese, and that included seaweed. Having already eaten, I didn't take any of their fare, but they persuaded me to try some seaweed after I had expressed surprise. I sampled some, and it tasted good. I found that it was almost addictive as I sampled more. The atmosphere between us was wonderful. It was as if we were all one family. Finally, we made our way to our dorms.

Sydney Opera House is seen from the cruiser.

The boat leaves the city far behind.

The cruiser reaches the mouth of the natural Harbour.

The next morning, the taller friend and I saw off his companion as he made his way by bus to the airport. His companion and I stayed together throughout the day until the evening when I saw him off to the airport. During that day, we didn't go far into town. Instead, on one occasion, he invited me to join him at the rooftop sauna. After I collected my gear, I made my way to the facility. He was already there, still fully dressed, but with a change of mind. He didn't want the sauna after all. Maybe there was something about the facility which he found offputting. What it was, I didn't get to ask. So we took the lift to the ground floor. Next to the reception hall was the games room. Here, we played snooker with a couple of other backpackers, forming a foursome. As expected, I didn't win!

That evening, he vacated the hostel and we both made our way to the appropriate bus stop. When the bus to the airport arrived, he boarded it alone. However, after settling down, he waved to me until the bus disappeared out of sight. Once again, I was by myself to continue with the rest of my 1997 Round-the-World trip.

It's here that I wish to correct an error I made on Week 76 of the Biography. In the last line of the 13th paragraph, I wrote:

I spent the rest of my RTW trip on my own, as no one had stepped forward to invite me to join them, and neither had I invited anyone to accompany me.

This was written in a referral to Singapore. Not long after arriving there, two European backpackers invited me to join them for the day to enjoy the facilities on Sentosa Island, including swimming in a leisure pool. This was when I learned never to rely on memory alone but to check the records, especially in the photo album. At the time of writing, I had forgotten about these two Chinese undergrads until I checked the photo album for reference and memory refreshing.

My intention is to write this Biography as accurately as possible and I apologise for the error in week 76.

A Ferry to Manly.

During the remaining days, I stayed in the vicinity of Sydney. This included a ferry sailing to Manly, a district north of the city. This trip goes to show how I felt drawn to natural features rather than urbanisation. And despite that, I was born in London, grew up there, and always felt nostalgic about Britain's capital. From my home town of Bracknell, I wouldn't hesitate to move back to London if all circumstances had been favourable. Unfortunately, failing secondary education dealt a fatal blow to that idea, mainly due to a lack of job opportunities.

However, with Manly, I didn't have any hiking or country walks planned for this trip across the harbour. Rather, it was to experience the ferry sailing itself. The boat had a bow at both ends, hence it was able to move in both directions without the need for a turnaround at the start of each sailing. On board, I found that the interior was very basic with no buffet or comfy lounge seating.

After arriving at Manly, I saw that the town was not unlike the 3rd Parade at Santa Monica, as this street, named the Corso, was also fully pedestrianised with decorative palm trees and artistic sculpture throughout its length. The Corso was the town's main shopping precinct and it was a through street from Manly Cove, where our boat docked at the wharf located there, to Manly Beach, on the other side of the peninsula and facing into the open ocean. Manly Beach was a favourite location for wetsuit-clad surfers. When I arrived at Manly Beach, I saw what appeared to be a surfing club in full swing. With the coolness of the June/July midwinter weather, the sea looked uninviting for a swimmer, and I had no regrets about leaving my gear at the hostel.

Instead, I saw what looked like a clifftop walk further south along the coast. This was North Head, a stubby headland, and from the air, forming a prominent upper lip of the harbour mouth. I wanted to see whether a footpath ran along the clifftop with the hope of a captivating view into the natural harbour.

I started to walk along the beach towards the headland. Sure enough, the path did ascend the hill, and pretty soon I was on the clifftop. However, the path carried on for some distance along the clifftop before it gradually petered out. Hoping to have completed a circuit, taking in some fantastic views and eventually ending up back at Manly, instead, I had no option but to turn back. Just as well. The ground ahead was covered in thick vegetation such as ferns. Could I prove that no venomous snakes or other harmful nasties were lurking in those bushes? And so, I returned to town in the same way I came out, a potentially picturesque hike ending in failure.

View of the opera House from the Manly Ferry.

Cruise ship view of the famous icon.

Meanwhile, in China...

Meanwhile, while I was staying in Sydney, another piece of the old British Empire was about to fall into the sea, so to speak. After all, Australia itself was once a British colony before it became independent in 1901, although it has remained in the Commonwealth to this day. This time it will be Hong Kong. On July 1st, 1997, this former British outpost was handed back to China after 156 years of British colonialism. I remember the occasion well. I was sitting in the hostel TV room with many other backpackers. The UK was under Tony Blair's New Labour administration which had only recently been elected into power, defeating John Major's Conservatives a mere several weeks earlier. And there he was, with Charles Prince of Wales, signing away over a century and a half of history to the Chinese President, Jiang Zemin. Why am I detailing this? This is another wonder with world travel. I was 10,620 miles from home, in the heart of Sydney City Centre whilst watching the world historic event happening on TV.

After the programme, preparing supper in its superb kitchen as the hostel routine continues.

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Next Week: a day trip to Palm Beach and the city itself before take off.

Also, the photos of Manly will appear in next week's blog. This was due to a lack of foresight during preparation.

Travel Biography - Week 92.

Sydney's Superlatives.

Sydney remains the furthest point I have ever travelled to from home in the UK. It's just over 10,620 miles or 17,092 km from London, eleven hours ahead of Greenwich Mean Time. It's 33.68 degrees S. and 151.12 degrees E. Hence, Sydney was not only the most distant destination I have ever travelled to but also the furthest south. However, the furthest east I have been to was Byron Bay, New South Wales, which is 153.61 degrees E. For comparison, Sydney's latitude South has roughly the same equivalence on the Northern latitude as Pheonix, Arizona, Casablanca in Morocco, and Damascus in Syria, each of these cities close to 33 degrees North.

However, throughout my life's travels, there has been a contest on where the most westerly point I stayed. Checking between Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Vancouver, it looks to be in Vancouver, where I stayed in 1977, which lies 123.11 degrees W. In turn, San Francisco is 122.43 W, and Los Angeles is 118.24 degrees W. I stayed in both Californian cities in 1977, 1978, and again in 1995.

The only remaining record for the furthest North I have ever visited in 1990, for the matter of interest, is much closer to home. It's in the United Kingdom, the Scottish Highland village and port of John O'Groats, which is 58.64 degrees N. and just over 503 miles or 815 km from London.

Hence, despite being midwinter when I was in Sydney in 1997, I didn't feel cold. Instead, palm trees and other subtropical vegetation thrived. However, I still had to wear heavier clothing than those I wore in Singapore, and at the tropical regions of Australia's Pacific coast.

Preparing to visit the Blue Mountains National Park.

Soon after arriving at the YHA City Hostel, I found out about the Blue Mountains N.P. It wasn't far from Sydney compared to the rest of Australia, just a sixty-mile, two-hour train journey from Sydney Central. If any photo of the Blue Mountains N.P. was advertised, they would always show a picture of the Three Sisters, three pinnacles which make these rock formations the most important vista of the whole park, the central theme for advertising. Therefore, by the time I arrived there, I was already familiar with this geological feature.

The Three Sisters, Blue Mountains N.P.

General view of Blue Mountains from the rim.

Cliff formation.

The Hiking Trail

Another view of the trail with a safety rail.

As already mentioned last week, I reserved a bed at the YHA Katoomba Hostel for one night, allowing me ample time to explore the area, at least the most popular areas, and maybe do some trail hiking which comes naturally.

Blue Mountains N.P. has gotten its name from the blue haze that, on a calm day, hovers over the valley forested with eucalyptus trees. After arrival, I began to compare this valley with the Grand Canyon. As I have recently found out, there is a trail leading into the valley which is called the Grand Canyon Trail. However, back in 1997, the name of that trail may not have existed, as nothing about it was mentioned at the park or in any literature published at that time.

There is a resemblance between the Blue Mountains and the Grand Canyon. That was what I was thinking as I looked around. Each is a valley cutting into a plateau. But there were some striking differences too. While the Canyon is a sparsely vegetated desert cutting deeply through northern Arizona, the Blue Mountains is covered in forest and features waterfalls here and there. The Blue Mountains are not as deep as the Canyon, hence trail hiking is far less strenuous than the Arizonian equivalent. Also, here in Australia, the Park authorities have installed both a funicular railway (originally for industrial use) and a cable car, both of these too impractical at the Canyon.

That morning, from the hostel, I made my way over the short distance to the Central Station. It was the moment when I couldn't get the name of the destination station right. Instead of Katoomba, I was thinking of Kathmandu. When I approached the ticket office that deals with Cross Country Services, I tried to get the name across to the female teller at the counter. When I explained that I wanted to visit the Blue Mountains National Park, she kindly explained that the station I wanted was Katoomba and not the capital of Nepal! She then directed me to the Intercity Services ticket office. When I got there, I saw that the male teller was having a disagreement with a couple at the window.

I stood behind them and waited for my turn. How this couple got into a tussle with the teller, I will never know, but he refused point blank to sell any tickets to the couple. Both the young man and his girlfriend ended up pleading, but the teller was obstinate. He wouldn't sell the tickets to them. That means they were unable to board their train, as to get onto the platform, they would have to pass through the electronic ticket barrier. The typical laid-back temperament of the Aussie ticket officer has ruined the day's plans for the twosome.

Rock feature, Blue Mountains NP.

Cliff face Detail.

Waterfalls like this one were frequent.

Look Closely. Is that a Panther ahead?

The scene made me nervous as my turn came around. I nearly dropped myself in it when I asked, 

I wish to visit the Blue Mountains National Park. Is the station I need to get to Kath-?

"It's Katoomba." He cut in as he intervened. 

That's right, Katoomba. Do you sell return tickets?

"No, we don't. Singles only. Five dollars."

I thought that just five dollars for a two-hour journey was incredibly cheap when compared to our fares in the UK. I felt relief when the transaction was completed and walked away with the ticket in my hand.

I passed through the electronic barriers and boarded the train. It was an Intercity express bound for Katoomba and beyond, and I was rather surprised when I saw that not many were boarding. I almost had the whole carriage to myself. Furthermore, I was impressed with the seats. The backrest of each seat was moveable, and I could just either sit facing forward or sit facing backwards without the need to change seats. This was a feature I had never seen in trains elsewhere.

The train flew through one station after another non-stop until we were out of the city suburbs. After that, the train stopped at most stations until it pulled into Katoomba Station, where I alighted. The YHA hostel wasn't far from the station, and with the Book-a-Bed-Ahead scheme activated, I entered, expecting to claim a bed for the night. But shortly afterwards, the receptionist called me over (I was waiting in the games room) and apologised, saying that a group of students had booked in for that night. I was then told to find another hostel, as there were others in town.

Dismayed at the failure of the advance bed-booking scheme for the first time, I had to set out bed-hunting. Presently, I came across a private unaffiliated backpackers hostel and went in to ask if a bed was available. To my relief, I was offered one for the coming night.

The rest of the day I spent in the local area of the park. This included watching the afternoon sun shining on the Three Sisters, and even watching an Aborigene, naked except for his waist, playing the flute at the Three Sisters lookout. I did a bit of walking but decided to leave any serious hiking for the next day when I could take a late train back to Sydney.

Along the rim of the canyon, I watched climbers scramble around one of the Three Sisters, a cable car carrying passengers to the most startling views of the valley, and a fully functioning funicular railway. I was on a walk to the bottom of the valley when I decided to ride the funicular car back up to the rim just for the sake of the experience.

The Second Day Hike.

On the evening of the first day at Blue Mountains National Park, I followed the normal hostel procedure, shopping for groceries, followed by preparing and enjoying supper at the hostel dining room. This, I think, is the main difference between a hostel and a hotel. Hostel self-catering does wonders for the budget, and friendships could be made. The downside is the lack of privacy of sleeping in a dormitory and risking a night spoilt by someone's persistent snore. 

Leura Falls, Blue Mountains NP.

Parts of the Trail have safety rails.

Katoomba Falls

Empress Falls.

The next morning, I prepared breakfast and afterwards, prepared to vacate the hostel. With the main rucksack over my shoulders, I made my way along Katoomba Street to the Three Sisters. From there there was a trailhead, and I set off to do some serious hiking. I made my way down to the bottom of the valley and followed the trail. The forest around me became more dense as I walked further into the Park.

However, further along the trail, I saw a suspicious object some distance ahead. It looked like a panther or a bear. I slowed down as I felt my hair stand on end and my skin crawl. I was totally alone, no one was anywhere near me. I watched the object carefully for any sign of movement. There was no movement. Cautiously, I approached the object. It still didn't move. But as I drew closer, ready to sprint back if any movement was seen, I then realised that the object was a log. Just a log, an inanimate dead bit of tree. As I walked past it, I gazed at it, knowing that this was a classic example of pareidolia - like seeing a face in a curtain pattern in the middle of the night.

I hiked on, alone, on and on. I arrived at the first of the three waterfalls. This one was Katoomba Falls. Watching the water tumble down the cliff above me was the pinnacle of the visit to Sydney, perhaps more so than the splendour of the Opera House. After a while, I hiked on and on along the trail, until I arrived at the second waterfall, Leura Falls. Again, how wonderful it was to stand at the foot of a waterfall like these two, in solitariness in a wilderness just outside a major city. There was no other sound other than the warbling of the cockatoos echoing across the valley. I kept along the trail until I arrived at Empress Falls. From there, I decided to turn back.

How many miles I hiked on that day I couldn't tell, unlike that of the Grand Canyon where the Bright Angel Trail was well measured. But one big difference between New South Wales and Arizona was that here in the Blue Mountains National Park, I was totally alone on the trail. As far as I remember, I didn't pass by anyone else.

That evening, I boarded the train for the return journey to Sydney. At least, this time there were a lot more passengers occupying the carriage. Back at the City hostel, my bed awaits.

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Next Week: It's a Small World. Disneyland? No, Sydney.  

Travel Biography - Week 91.

Arrival and Some Highlights in Sydney.

After an overnight bus journey from Coffs Harbour to Sydney, I finally settled at the City YHA, a converted Victorian office block across the street from Sydney Central Railway Station.

This stop was the final one in Australia before the trans-Pacific flight to Los Angeles. It also marked the end of a nearly four-week journey from Cairns, covering a total of 2,630 km or 1,634 miles.

Sydney Station with YHA City Hostel on the right.

Wall Mural in the Hostel's Dining Room.

Sydney is the largest city in Australia, with Melbourne a close second. Although the capital of New South Wales, it isn't the nation's capital. This honour goes to Canberra, a smaller city south of NSW. As I discovered on foot, Sydney has similar architecture to London. Even Hyde Park, a vertical finger of greenery in the city's heart, is flanked by College Street bordering the east side of the park, and Elizabeth Street on the west side. On the first day after arrival, I walked through Hyde Park, heading north towards the harbour and the Opera House. As I looked towards College Street, I couldn't help believing that it could have easily passed as Kensington Road that flanks the south side of London's Hyde Park.

Sydney's Hyde Park has no dominant pond in the middle as the London equivalent with its Serpentine. Instead, a hexagonal Memorial Fountain dominates the northern half of the park. At the southern end, the Anzak Military Memorial is the main feature, along with the Pool of Reflection just north of the Memorial. A main road, Park Street, bisects the greenery into two halves, north and south, just as West Carriage Drive cuts across the London equivalent, separating Hyde Park to the east of the road from Kensington Gardens to the west. The Anzak Military Memorial housed a small museum where I spent some time before moving on.

These details show how British-based Sydney really is. I have affectionately called Coffs Harbour, "Bracknell-with-Palm-Trees" - to me, Sydney is "London-by-the-Harbour." Fed by the Parramatta River and its tributary, Duck River, Sydney Harbour is the largest natural harbour in the world, followed by Poole Harbour in Dorset, UK. 

Another feature worth mentioning is the Central Station, the first building I looked at after alighting from the Greyhound Bus. It too, has a British characteristic by taking after London Bridge Station on the South Bank of the River Thames. Both consist of the main terminus alongside some through platforms. The terminus at London Bridge Station serves the line to Brighton and the Sussex coast, and the through platforms serve trains coming out of Charing Cross and Cannon Street Stations, both on the north bank of the River Thames, to Dover and other Kent stations. Similarly, the larger terminus at Sydney Central has cross-country trains from Perth, Brisbane, and Cairns feeding into its bay platforms along with Intercity services. The through platforms serve the City Line to the Sydney suburbs. I have used the Intercity and the suburbian trains several times whilst staying in Sydney.

Walking further north, I came to the Harbour. It was a lively, bustling place, convincing me that humans live in Australia after all! And that, after visiting some deserted venues elsewhere. Harbour Station provided a short underground train ride back to the Central Station and beyond, as all trains from here pass through rather than terminate. I also noticed that the "Sydney Underground" have the same trains stopping at its stations as those on the main Intercity lines. Imagine a cross-country mainline express approaching South Kensington Station on the Transport for London District Line, and you get the gist!

Facing north across the harbour, the Harbour Bridge with its four turrets, was on my left, and the Opera House on my right. The Opera House was the first significant building I saw from the bridge when we entered Sydney on the bus from Coffs Harbour. An opportunity to look inside the vast auditorium came later. When I arrived at the Opera House for the first time, its doors were closed, but sitting on the steps leading to the entrance, people, mostly of the younger set, were sitting, as if meditating, or simply soaking in the experience, and creating an air of laid-back tranquillity. Others were strolling casually around, taking everything easy, as the weather on that day was pretty good. And just to complicate matters a little, on the same site are two buildings of identical architecture, but one is larger than the other. The larger one is the Concert Hall. The other is the Opera House proper. Each is built on a platform which juts out into the estuary.

Opera House and Manly Ferry, from Harbour Bridge.  

Harbour Bridge.

Ferries plied the estuary, including the double-bow Manly ferry. This unusual boat was able to sail in both directions without the need to reverse whilst in dock. Other boats offered cruises around the harbour estuary, and apparently, they were enjoying good custom, enhancing their business.

Sydney was my final stop in Australia before taking off for Los Angeles. Although the city was meant to be the climax of Australia, I ranked it below Cairns, perhaps my favourite of all Australian stops for its easy access to the Great Barrier Reef and its tropical setting. As I saw it, Sydney was too much like London, not only in its architecture and street layout but many in its infrastructure reminded me of London. However, In Hyde Park and elsewhere in the city, palm trees flourished. Its abundance of palm trees was the only clue that I wasn't in Britain.

At the Hostel.

Sydney YHA was a different hostel from all the others I attended. It was well patronised by backpackers, mostly international, but some from home too. On one of the upper floors, above my dormitory but below the roof, was the large dining room served by two member's kitchens. On the main wall of the dining room, a mural covered the entire wall. It was a painting of the dining room as if the mural was reflecting the interior of the dining room like a mirror. So realistic the image was!

The rooftop floor boasted a sauna suite, consisting of a sauna cabin and a plunge pool. With an extractor fan whirring above our heads, the heat in the sauna was rather mediocre. By comparison, the suite in the basement of the YMCA building in San Diego might have looked tattier, but the heat delivered was one of the hottest, hence the best sauna cabin I visited outside the UK, along with the poolside sauna at the Technion, in the Israeli city of Haifa.

I visited the rooftop floor sauna three times throughout my stay in Sydney. One was a morning visit. When I was ready to sit inside the cabin, I found it cold inside with both the stove and the fan switched off. I was alone in the suite and therefore looked around. On one side of the exterior and facing the wall, was a starter button. I pressed it, and the heater came on and the fan also started to extract the air. I had to wait for the sauna to reach a temperature that would draw out a sweat, but boosting the rising temperature by splashing warm water from the shower onto the coals speeded up the heat. A short while later, a couple of young men entered the sauna to enjoy the benefits I had to wait for.

As with all the other stops, both in America and Australia, there was a need to shop for groceries. In Sydney, there was a small grocery store a short distance from the hostel entrance, but after trying it out for the first time, I found the choice limited and dearer in price. So I went to search further afield, and I came across a larger store with a greater choice and more reasonable price. In the evenings, the kitchens were busy with members cooking their meals, but I always found a free stove to cook my own meals without infringing on anyone else. On one occasion, I watched an oriental female, either Chinese or Japanese, carry her plate into the dining room. On it was a cooked crab, fully intact with its shell. How she was to tuck into such a meal, beats me, but the sight of the crab didn't stir my appetite!

In all, I stayed in the Sydney area for eleven days and ten nights. However, two days and a night was spent at a privately owned unaffiliated hostel in Katoomba, a town that served as the base of the Blue Mountains National Park. Therefore I needed to vacate the City hostel for that night and ensure that a bed would await me when I return to resume my stay in the city.

When I write a Travel Biography like this one, my attention should remain on travel, the places I have seen and experienced and everything associated with it. But there may be occasions which could arise in circumstances that are beyond control and without any expectation, yet, since such an occasion was directly connected with Travel, I felt the need to include it. It goes to show that no matter what circumstances you or I may find ourselves in, the unexpected happens.

As already mentioned, I had to make arrangements at the hostel reception for the one night away and a safe return. So one morning, the day before departure, just after I had breakfast, I made my way downstairs to the reception hall. There was only one teller, the other two were absent, and she was serving another customer. So, like any decent citizen, I lined up behind the one being served and waited for my turn.

At Darling Harbour, Sydney.

At the Viewing Turret, Harbour Bridge.

Presently, a man in his thirties, smartly dressed in a business suit and tie, suddenly appeared from behind, and instead of standing behind me, he leaned on the counter in front of me and next to the served customer. I paused to see the outcome. In the meantime, I couldn't help thinking how out of place this guy looked, a sore thumb sticking out of a crowd of casually dressed backpackers bringing heartbeat life to this Victorian building.

When the service to the man in front was complete, the satisfied customer left for the exit. Immediately, the businessman moved in front of me, disregarding my presence in his want for quick attention. His ploy would have worked. The assistant looked coyed as if reverence was shown to this smartly dressed fellow. She was about to serve him.

Immediately, I stepped forward and with a loud voice, reminded the assistant that I was next in line. Knowing that I was right, she turned to my attention. The smartly dressed man's face went red with rage, a pathetic sight to behold. He then exploded with explicit, but he was forced to wait while I made sure my bed reservation was guaranteed. She also reserved a bed for me for that night on the YHA Katoomba Book-a-Bed-Ahead scheme. As for his temper, I didn't retaliate or even respond verbally. Sure, with one punch, I could have forced him to swallow his own teeth. But what's the point? Not only would I be thrown out of the hostel, but into the arms of the Law, and I could end up in custody until deportation. No, the price I would have paid for a moment's satisfaction was way too high. Instead, I went back upstairs for a coffee in the dining room to relax and calm down.

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Next Week: A Pareidolia or a Fright? Hiking at Blue Mountains National Park.

Travel Biography - Week 90.

 Continuing in Coffs Harbour.

The last-but-one stop in Australia before arriving in Sydney remains a haven for nature lovers, especially when seeing species not found in my home country of Britain. In these cases, I include the Traveller's Palm, the Mangrove and its varieties of species, and the Banana plantation. As I travelled further south along the East Coast and deeper into the Australian winter, I came across tropical vegetation rather unexpectedly, adding what I consider a bonus.

As I had already mentioned and focused on last week, my highlight in the New South Wales town of Coffs Harbour was the Mangrove Boardwalk. Beneath the wooden platform, the breathing stems, or the pneumatophores jutting out of the root system formed a spikey carpet covering the riverbank. I include an extra photo I took from the boardwalk after accidentally leaving it out from the previous week's blog. Along the boardwalk, I followed the Creek until it emptied out without any fanfare into the Southern Pacific some distance north of the harbour.

Pneumatophoras form a spikey carpet.

Coffs Creek empties into the Ocean.

Muttonbird Island.

The town was located about two miles inland from the coast from where the harbour, whose breakwater connects Muttonbird Island to the mainland. The island itself was designated a nature reserve, and it's accessible to the public. One afternoon or early evening, I stood above a rocky cove at the seaward end of the island and watched the waves dash against the bare rocks. Further out, I saw a pod of whales emerge from the surface playfully as they swam on their annual migration northward from the Antarctic region to the tropics.

Watching the waves of the ocean crash against the immovable headland demonstrates the powerful force of nature and how small and insignificant we humans are, along with our achievements. Indeed, in this part of the world, the huge island Continent might have been colonised by the British a few centuries ago and is now part of the Commonwealth, but as I watched the waves crash against the rocks, I knew that this power of nature could never be conquered. On the contrary, the number of shipwrecks the ocean has claimed throughout the history of marine navigation is without number.

It was on one of these coastal walks when, once again, the heavens opened. Like at Byron Bay, this was no light drizzle but a heavy downpour. In Britain, a heavy downpour usually is of short duration, and it's classed as a shower by the Meteorological Office. Here in NSW, the heavy rain continued on and on, with no sign of letting up. With a desire to return to the hostel, I stood under a shelter and waited for the rain to ease. But it didn't. The downpour continued without any lightning or thunder.

After sheltering for a considerable while, I knew that I would have to accept that I was in for another soaking as I walked the 45 minutes back to the hostel. And so, I took the quickest route along Harbour Drive back into town and to the place of clean clothes, warmth and comfort.

A Visit to a Banana Theme Park and Plantation.

Although I affectionately refer to the town centre of Coffs Harbour as "Bracknell-With-Palm-Trees" for its near-identical development and precinct architecture to that of my home town, Coffs Harbour still had much more than Bracknell could ever offer! My home town of Bracknell began as a rest stop inn for horse-drawn travellers on the road from London to Reading and beyond. The original inn is still there after several centuries - The Old Manor Inn. The road, now the A329, passed through forest and open fields before any development. There never was a major river around the Bracknell area, but a stream, or creek, known as Bull Brook flows northward to this day to eventually join the River Thames at Bray, near the Maidenhead area. Today, Bracknell is a New Town, one of several of the New Town Scheme to relieve London of its residential population. Yet, as I walked through the Coffs Harbour shopping precinct, I couldn't help but feel that I was back at home. The two town centres being so identical at the time yet so far apart geographically was remarkable.

Coffs Harbour from Muttonbird Island.

From Muttonbird Island, a view of the Great Divide.

The Seaward end of Muttonbird Island

Coffs Harbour not only has a river passing nearby, but it's close to the coast, it's the home of mangroves and other tropical vegetation. It also boasts a theme park, known as The Big Banana, and it's located next to a banana plantation. I thought it was worth spending a few hours there on a dry day.

In 1997, the Big Banana was supposed to be "the exciting, unmissable venue" as our hostel once promoted the site. Instead, visitors before me dubbed it as a let-down, a waste of time and money. When I arrived there after a long walk from the hostel, indeed, all I saw was the entrance gate, over it was a giant, five-metre-long banana, hence the name of the park. Within was an open field, some stalls, and a roller coaster at one end.

Earlier this week, I checked out the Big Banana theme park on the internet to refresh memories. I saw that, like at Sentosa Island, the Big Banana had undergone some big changes throughout the last 26 years since my visit. At present, there is a toboggan ride, an ice skating rink, an XD theatre, a giant slide, mini golf, and a water park. None of these facilities existed in 1997. Indeed, The Big Banana could now be seen as "the exciting, unmissable venue" in Coffs Harbour. It has become a smaller version of Singapore's Sentosa Island.

One issue I noticed was the present absence of the roller coaster. Apparently, it was dismantled since my visit. After all, it was rather small and "tame" compared to the modern versions found in the USA. During my time at the Big Banana, there were so few people there that when I boarded a car on the roller coaster, I was offered a second ride for free. Even after the second ride, I was asked by the staff member whether I would like a third ride, also free. This time I declined.

I couldn't help but compare this place with Disneyland, the yardstick of all theme parks. I felt that the Aussies needed to visit America to learn all about theme parks, what they were about, what facilities would draw the crowds, and how to lay on inspiring entertainment that would delight children and adults alike - while making a profit and keeping the business running smoothly. Before the redevelopment, during my visit, the whole site was insipid and practically deserted. For example, mine was the only moving car on the roller coaster, and as if in desperation, I was offered multiple rides. Its modern redevelopment has got me to ask where its owners received such a vision for improvement. Judging by what I read on the Internet, they might have visited Sentosa Island rather than California.

Next to the theme park was a proper banana plantation. Also according to the Internet, the same plantation is thriving to this day, and the public now has access to its grounds. But not in 1997. I was alone back then, and the only one who could see into the plantation as I stood just outside, looking in. The trees had a strong resemblance to the Traveller's Palm, and who knows, the two species might have been related. For some reason, special plastic bags were placed over the green bunch of banana fruit, but with no one around I could talk to, my journalistic instinct remained idle.

Overall, I was impressed with Coffs Harbour, perhaps even more than with Byron Bay. This, I believe was due to the presence of Mangroves and the long boardwalk which gave the visitor a first-hand view of this fascinating vegetive phenomenon. According to my observations, there were no mangrove trees in the Byron Bay area, although I did see a variety of pineapple trees. But, having seen different species of mangroves off Arlie Beach, Brisbane, and Coffs Harbour, along with a hint also at Port Douglas, so far, together with an insight of a banana plantation, this backpacking trip to Australia proved to be educational as well as enjoyable.

A Traveller's Palm, Coffs Harbour.

Approaching the Banana Plantation.

Looking into the Banana Plantation.

Preparing for Sydney.

After three or four days in Coffs Harbour, it was time to move on again. The Greyhound Bus Pass was still valid, but its time was running out. I had to get to Sydney before it expired, as I would be taking off from there for Los Angeles.

Therefore, after three nights spent at YHA Coffs Harbour, I made an advanced booking for a bed at the YHA City Hostel in the heart of Sydney. The journey to get there was an overnight trip, 532 km or just over 330 miles over approximately seven or eight hours including service stops. 

And so, after vacating the YHA Coffs Harbour, I made my way to the rather small bus station which was nearby. That evening, I boarded the bus for the final leg of the journey on the Indo-Pacific Highway.

Dawn was breaking when the bus stopped at Newcastle for a service stop. It seemed strange to me, as I always associate Newcastle, Tyne and Wear, with the North. But where we are, Newcastle NSW is in the south, a city blessed not so much with heavy industry as with the UK's version, but with palm trees. However, it does feature a major port accommodating cruise ships within the River Hunter estuary, according to Google Maps. However, I didn't alight to see the city. Instead, I felt hard-pressed to arrive in Sydney.

Later that morning, the Australian countryside gave way to urbanisation, and it wasn't long before the bus crossed over on Sydney Harbour Bridge. I gasped as we passed the famous Opera House, reflecting a culture of arts which seemed at odds with the classic image of the masculine outback rancher.

Where the bus journey ended in Sydney was something of an anticlimax. I was expecting a huge city bus station. Instead, the bus pulled kerbside on one of the streets, its journey completed, and we all alighted, collecting our luggage and rucksacks.

What I quickly realised was that the bus stopped at a very convenient spot. It was right outside Sydney Central Station. And just across the road from the station was an old office block. Although its exterior looked to be one of many Victorian buildings, its interior was thoroughly modernised and converted into the City YHA. It was here that I had a bed booked already for the next ten nights before heading for the international airport.

I entered the building and arrived at the newly installed reception. The popularity of the hostel was hinted at by the three or four receptionists serving and meeting the needs of all the guests. There was no queue, so I approached one of the receptionists and after submitting my name, I was assigned a bed in a dormitory on one of the upper floors. From the dorm window, I had a good view of the Central Station with its supply of trains from across the continent feeding it.

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Next Week: I burst an inflated ego as I prepare to visit Blue Mountains National Park.

Travel Biography - Week 89.

The Journey to and Arrival at Coffs Harbour.

Byron Bay, my first stop in New South Wales, was remarkably different from the venues I called in Queensland. The latter represented warm sunshine and tropical vegetation along with the corals of the Great Barrier Reef to add to the other-worldly feel of the environment. Although the coastline around Cape Byron was spectacular (in my view), the weather was different - cooler, a lot wetter, and a feel for the Australian winter in June was becoming more of a reality the further south I travelled.

When caught in heavy rain whilst cycling along the coastal road towards Byron Bay, I wore shorts and a button-up shirt, the same garment I wore during the Low Isles snorkelling swim. This was an advantage with hostelling, whether the hostel was YHA-affiliated or not. Nearly every hostel I called had its own launderette. Indeed, although the weather became unsettled, the air remained comfortably mild.

After three or four days at Byron Bay, I boarded a Greyhound Bus for the 233 km or 145-mile journey to Coffs Harbour. This day trip enabled me to arrive at my destination around tea time.

At Byron Bay Bus Station, I had to take special care when choosing when to board Sydney-bound buses. Some buses didn't stop at Coffs Harbour but carried on cruising along the highway, bypassing the town centre. In 1997, Coffs Harbour was not particularly an international tourist venue, and the majority of backpackers ignored its presence while they journeyed to Sydney. And that was a shame. For someone like me who enjoys the natural environment unfamiliar at home, there are some sites of special interest around the town. 

The bus halted for a service stop at the small bus station and here I alighted to search for the YHA-affiliated hostel in town, which wasn't far from the bus station. At least I already had a bed pre-booked.

I found the hostel and checked in. The receptionist, a young Englishman who had decided to spend a gap year in Australia, greeted me with friendliness at the reception, and I was assigned a bed. This time, no choice of dollar or duty was offered. I just paid the set price per night with no questions asked. I chose a bed in one of the dormitories.

The crown of Coffs Harbour - Mangrove Boardwalk.

Coffs Harbour town centre shopping precinct.

The town centre of Coffs Harbour was about two miles or three km or so inland from the coast, but it was built along Coffs Creek, a river winding through mangrove banks to the sea. Near the mouth of the river, Muttonbird Island Nature Reserve sits around 400 metres off the mainland coast. However, a breakwater connecting the island to the mainland, along with a jetty just south of it, encloses a marina which gives the town its name. A natural peninsula which looked to have been quarried, known as Corambirra Point, juts out south of the harbour, from the air, giving the entire harbour area the appearance of an open mouth with wide lips.

But what has delighted me above everything else was the boardwalk over Black Mangroves. The breathing roots, or pneumatophores, cover the beach with a dense spikey carpet, even more widespread than its counterpart at the River Brisbane. The boardwalk was longer, between five to six hundred metres, and without guide rails. Although I heard this through the grapevine, apparently, the boardwalk was built by convicts. My only regret, if I could call it that, was that during my stay at Coffs Harbour, the neap tides made little difference in submerging the carpet. On the other hand, a full king tide would have submerged the board itself, making it almost impassable.

At The Hostel.

As I have expressed earlier in this Travel Biography, a mountainous landscape consists of both high ground and low valleys. As anyone would agree, a mountainous landscape is far more spectacular than acres of flat fields stretching to the horizon. And so, with Travel, the full experience involves both emotional highs and lows, hence bringing out the full spirit of adventure.

As I travel further South, I need winter clothing.

General view of Coffs Creek

Boardwalk detail at high neap tide.

After buying groceries in town and preparing the evening meal, as was the custom, I was invited by the receptionist for a game of snooker outside in the hostel garden. There were several tables, perhaps three or four in all, arranged under a canopy to protect them from the weather. There were a number of us, but dominating the group was a young aggressive female, chubby, about my height, and with an apparent unhealthy dislike or envy of men.

Not only did she remind me of Josephine of Stella Carmel in Israel when I was a volunteer there three years earlier in 1994,* but she looked a little like her too. At least Josephine knew how to have a laugh at the right occasion. The best this one could do was sneer at our failures. Worst of luck, it turns out that she was a champion snooker player.

And so, I played the first round with another male backpacker, a fellow roughly half my age, and believe it or not, I won that round - but only just. But rather than listen to this female's tirade, I returned to the hostel and sat alone in the TV room. Here, I found a cassette video of Superman the Movie. I set up the system and started watching.

A short while later, the receptionist came for me and since I won the first round, I had to play the second round. This time, I played the receptionist himself. He allowed me the first shot to break up the triangle. No ball was pocketed. So it was his turn. At each and every shot, he pocketed a ball. I just stood there and watched as one ball after another disappeared. With the black ball finally shot, I was free to return to the hostel without scoring a single point and to endure the mockery thrown at me by the chubby Aussie woman for my poor performance.

Sitting alone in the TV room, I resumed watching the video after being set on Pause for the duration of the second round of the snooker. As I watched the movie, a tear rolled down my cheek. I was alone. From outside, I could hear the social chatter surrounding the final round of the snooker competition. Here, my full character is revealed. Big boys don't cry. So says the lyrics of the 10cc song, I'm Not In Love, released in 1975. But according to Eden Kane in 1964, Boys cry when no one can see them. And no one saw me. Instead, I put on a painted smile for the benefit of my fellow hostellers and never gave our chubby friend the type of satisfaction she was craving. She has all the satisfaction she wants, as she wins the snooker competition outright, beating all the men. Much to my relief, the following morning she moved on. Yet, I had time to think of her after she had gone.

I have wondered what man would fall in love with her and take her as his wife? And why her dislike of the male gender? Could it be that she wanted to be born a man herself? Therefore taking on a masculine attitude, especially here in Australia, a country reputed for its tough-skinned, ranch-owning outbackers? I wonder how she really would have thought of me, one who was poor at school games, hardly watched a football match, let alone played, couldn't box out of a paper bag, lousy at snooker, yet loved the natural world with its tropical vegetation, dynamic cliffs, rivers, marine life, and starry sky? Would she see me as a cissy? Quite a point, that! Except whether she would accept the challenge of a cycling contest. 

And such natural wonders I set off to see - the mangrove shores of Coffs Creek from a boardwalk. How I would have loved to see the trees partly submerged in high tide. But I considered myself fortunate enough just to be there, walking along a raised wooden pathway as it twists and turns as it flies over the vegetated river bank.

Like in Brisbane, I visited the boardwalk more than once. I recall one early morning at the hostel when a radio was broadcasting the local news and other useful information, including the weather and tidal times. It was announced that high tide would be around eight in the morning. Around 7.00 am, I got up, washed and shaved, had breakfast, and then made my way quickly to the Mangrove boardwalk in time to see the full tide. I expected a flood to reach the level of the boardwalk if not actually submerge it. After all, I would have been keen to remove all footwear and paddle ankle-deep along the boardwalk if it meant taking dynamic photos of this fascinating phenomenon.

But it was a neap tide, with the platform at least half a metre above the surface of the river. It was a bit of a disappointment. Yet, much of the carpeted riverbank was underwater, leaving only the trunk and branches of all the trees above the surface. As I strolled along the boardwalk, I was alone, having the platform to myself. It rounded a clearing as it went out to the river itself. Nearby, the boardwalk widened for a few metres and a safety rail allowed for an overlook, leaning to peer into the water beneath. The platform was also probably used for rod fishing, as this was allowed here.

A school of fish was swimming happily beneath me, undisturbed by my presence. Whether they were expecting to be fed by the human standing above them, I couldn't say, but the peace was suddenly disturbed when a pelican flew in and landed on the water directly above the school. Instantly, the entire school of fish vanished, leaving the bird all alone and hungry on a stretch of water devoid of any life.

When the pelican realised that he wouldn't succeed in feeding its stomach, it took off and flew away. I then watched as the school of fish gradually returned to its favourite spot in the river when they saw that all was clear.

The boardwalk became a normal path as it made its way towards the beach where the river passed under a road bridge, then a rail bridge, before emptying out into the Pacific Ocean. The estuary was a short distance north of the harbour itself, and totally separate. Unlike at European ports, the harbour was not at the mouth of Coffs Creek.

More Boardwalk details.

The Boardwalk takes a turn into the Creek.

Pneumatophoras exposed at low tide.

The Town of Coffs Harbour.

The town is about two miles inland from the coast, hence a 45-minute walk from the harbour or beach. Therefore, throughout my stay at Coffs Harbour, I'm either in town or at the coast (or on the boardwalk.) Hence, going from town to the harbour more than once a day was unlikely.

The main shopping street of Coffs Harbour town centre is Harbour Drive. It's a traffic thoroughfare leading to the harbour, flanked by a wide walkway on each side of the road. The shopping precinct had a strong resemblance to the Broadway in my home town of Bracknell. At that, I affectionately refer to this Australian town centre as "Bracknell-with-palm-trees". Before our town centre in the UK was demolished and a new centre was built in its place, the Broadway featured two-storey buildings on each side, each with shops facing into the street. Coffs Harbour's development took the same form of architecture, except that Harbour Drive is open to motorised traffic. Bracknell's Broadway was, and is, fully pedestrianised. The hostel I was staying in was just a block away from the precinct, at Albany Street.

Thus, I set a day aside to check out the town. But without any historical venue of special interest, at least to my knowledge, it was basically a New Town, hence this could have been the reason why the majority of international backpackers skip Coffs Harbour. Yet, it still attracts the indigenous, like our Aussie lady friend who succeeded in rolling a teardrop down my cheek. Like her, I too like to hostel around the UK, and I have done so. She was no different.

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*For details of my reaction with Josephine in Israel, 1994, it's on Week 54. Click here.

Next Week: The Big Banana, Whale Migration, preparing for Sydney.