Van Morrison: Lonesome Road

The long and lonely Nullarbor.

A road famous for it's length (some 1,200 or so kilometres) and not much more.

Starting at Ceduna - in South Australia and going all the way through to Norseman, some 700 kilometres into Western Australian, this is one trip across the centre that we made with haste.
We were across it in two days.

If we had to endure more days, it's possible we'd have gone a little but nuts. We were already playing the worlds most ridiculous car games to keep ourselves amused and awake, having forgotten to load the audio books onto our ipod's.

You can't pick up any radio station and you can't pick up any phone coverage.

I had grand hopes of seing some fabulous wildlife running about freely, after the promise held in this sign:

But it was a big fat lie. Some sort of trickery designed to help keep you awake.

It feels like you're just looking at the same piece of road and that you're not actually getting anywhere the whole time.
You feel like you're a mouse on a spinning wheel.

Here's a little taster I snapped along the way especially for you.

To spice it up they've removed any need to turn the wheel for a while...

I got to drive that whole straight myself telling Husband man every few kilometres that we're still going straight. He did not laugh.

And then:

You get the idea, yes?

We actually met some grey nomads at the beginning that were taking a slow month to do it.
They're literally going to be staying out the back of road houses and on free parking areas at the side of the road for a month to look at Blue Bush shrubs and red dirt.
I find this very odd.

But it's not all bad.

What's amazing is that you get what I call the 'snow globe' feeling - one of my all time favourite things about the Australian outback.
The sky goes all the way to the horizon that you can see laying out flat at 360 degrees around you. You feel like you're in the centre of a store bought snowglobe of Australia.

And there are a number of stop offs that you can take to look over the edge of the 80 metre cliff drops down into the Great Australian Bight.

And every 200 kilometres or so, you get to pull into dusty old roadhouses, filled with truck drivers looking exactly what you imagine a truck driver looks like (faded blue wife-beater singlet, stubbies, tatts and beards), European backpackers cramming themselves into small vans and caravaners like us.

We're all paying for overpriced petrol and stretching our legs.

The LEAST awesome pull-up was at Madura - where upon heading to the bathroom - I encountered this sign at the door:

At first I spun on my heel and walked back to the car.

There is no freekin way I was going to be walking into a bathroom where there is the possibility that I will be sharing it with a snake.

Snakes have ZERO legs and MULTIPLE fangs and that is an unnacceptable combination as far as I'm concerned. 

I've been reading in all theses national park brochures lately that 'snakes are misunderstood, don't kill them'.
I fail to see how alive snakes are serving any purpose alive and I fail to see how they're 'misunderstood' when they slide around biting people.

They only acceptable form of fangs piercing the flesh of unsuspecting humans is when they are the fangs of Eric from True Blood.
Hot vampires are good. Snakes are evil.

But then unfortunately for me, there isn't another toilet for 300 kilometres.

It took me about 5 minutes to convince myself to go in there.

It was the quickest pee of my life.

Our one night stop over was at Mundrabilla where we camped out on the side of the road behind the service centre.

It provided a fabulous bush sunset, a great end to a long first day.



It really is very far away as this sign at the WA border points out:

If you add another couple hunfred kilometres, you can work out jsut how far we are from home. It's weird really.

And now we find ourselves in sunny Western Australia. Ready to 'experience extraordinary' - as the ad campaign entices.

I spent a whole year at the ad agency Host in Sydney watching all the stunning videos and the gorgeous stories from the extraordinary taxi ride campaign that Host created for Western Australia.

Just look at the awesome on the website: http://www.westernaustralia.com/au/

I've got high hopes for this state and am partocularly looking forward to the weeks ahead.

Will be kicking off in Esperance - soaking up the sun and drinking spritzers!

Van Morrison: Bit by Bit

Where are all the people. 
If you can get past South Australia's reputation for breeding serial killers and boasting the most deaths by shark attack in the country - facts that do wonders for keeping awful tourists away - you can pretty much make your way around visiting pristine beaches and bays via a series of amazing vineyard epicentres.

Win.

After a week away from Van Morrison we're back on the road, fast-tracking our way round the coastline of the Eyre Peninsula, South Australia to get to the start of the Nullarbor.

Leaving Adelaide on Tuesday morning - we headed straight to the top tip of the peninsula at Port Augusta, stayed a night and headed on down to the bottom tip of the peninsula - to Port Lincoln.

Now I'm going to put it out there and say that I just don't think I am a fan of destinations beginning with 'Port'. They've so far not been our friend - bringing only wind, overcast skies and a chill that has caused me to bring out the winter pj's in the evening.

This is clearly not island living.

There was a lovely national park with beautiful views just out of Port Lincoln however - a worthy visit.

The journey to both these Port's were each about 4 hours or so and it allowed us to get back into the whole caravanning thing again.

Towing Van Morrison instantly gets us into this weird hand waving club.
It's expected that you wave to anyone towing a van on the opposite side of the road.

To begin with (and largely in the eastern states) it appeared that one must wave to all towing a caravan.
Buses, campervans and winebago type rigs do not count - you be hatin on them.

There are many types of wave.

Most just do the 'Raise 4' - 4 fingers raised, keeping thumb on the steering wheel.
The cool cats do the 'Point' - raising only 1 or two fingers and a few kind of point at you with their index finger.

There's alot of nodding.

And very rarely you'll get a full - 'hand free' full hand off the wheel wave.

How there aren't more caravan swervy crashes while everyone reviews the type of wave going on, I don't know.

But as we've progressed into SA, all folk are now included in the waving.

This permission sent us into a waving frenzy and Husband man has even introduced his own new wave to the line-up, the 'Jazz Hands' - all fingers waving about, only thumbs on the wheel.
It has so far not been returned by the drivers passing by. Rude.

So after much waving and car journeys, we found oursleves another idyllic little spot called Elliston.
It's on the eastern side of the Great Australian Bight about a halfway up the Eyre Peninsula.

There's all the holiday town essentials - a bakery, corner store overpriced petrol station, a few houses scattered about and a pub where you get change from $10 for 2 drinks and the old local men are tracked down by phoning the pub's landline.

Nearby is a place called Locks Well.

It's a beach that is at the bottom of a cliff -to get down, there are 300 steps. And loads of people do it which makes for an amazing daily artwork of footprints along the beach.

It's the most reliable place to fish for salmon as it travels along the beach - and we saw a shark chasing them along when we first arrived at the cliff top.
Not for swimming, clearly.

We went down at sunset and Husband man found himself running along the beach with all the other keen fishermen, chasing the salmon as it swam along and fighting them into the beach.

And Husband man successfully caught us dinner!

Delicious.

Time now to head west and embark on 1,200 kilometres of Nullarbor.

Van Morrison: Beautiful vision

As far as I am concerned, one of life's most precious of gifts is being invited to witness when two people declare their love and committment for one another.

I love weddings.

The bride walking into a space filled with family and friends.
The proud parents.
The dress. The dressing up.
The groom's face when the bride enters the room.
The readings. The promises made.
The flowers. The laughter.

All of life's good bits, in one day.

I've known Alison since we were babies.

Here we are 5 months old, that's her on the left, me on the right - propped up by our dad's.

On this last weekend gone by my oldest friend Alison married her long time love - Wayne.

And they gave me the gift of being there at their happy union, getting all my forementioned favourite wedding moments and my heels stuck in the mud.

Van Morrison had rest time  in Adelaide while we flew to the mid-north coast of NSW.
Most people have heard of Coffs Harbour, but the magic happens at the sleepy beachside town of Woolgoolga - about a half hour further north.

It's Woolgoolga where we grew up and this is where we returned for the celebration.

Since the nappy times, Alison has been quietly keeping me in order as i've gone about my life. A fellow virgo, this is one lady that while I am a blubbering mess, knows how to tidy up my rough edges.

It was Alison, who on my first day of kindergarten, approached me as I was whaling my face off about my mother leaving me at the school grounds with a bunch of strange kids in a horribly uncomfortable uniform.
She quickly informed me that there was no use in crying, the teacher doesn't care and then proceeded to put her school bag with mine, grab my hand and take me into the classroom.
And that was that.

It was Alison who came to find me in the playground having run away from my teacher in year two because I was being dropped down a class for the math lessons.
She gave me a hug and promptly informed me that is was much better being in her class for maths anyway, because her teacher Mrs Cheers gave you fairy lollies for getting anwers right.
And that was that.

And it was Alison who got on a plane with me to London, where I was somewhat nervous about going to meet a man I had known for 6 months to see if we might love each other. She informed me that we should drink gin and tonic to help us settle in for the flight and tapped my arm with excitement. I ended up marrying that man.
And that was that.

So I find myself back in my childhood town for Alison getting married, surrounded by a selection of friends from the school years feeling more than a little sentimental.

It rained all week leading up to the wedding - making for soggy ground and and lapsed schedules.
But I am sure that Alison promptly informed the weather that is was her wedding day, because the sun came right on out to blast us with light and heat.

I got very snap happy, finally having some beautiful subject matter to photograph aside from birds.

Here are just a few of the pics - starting with our bride walking down her aisle, again propped up by her dad...

Sincere congratulations to Alison and Wayne.

I think I can speak for all of my school friends who were at the wedding when I say that there was certainly something extra special about being back in the old hood for this beautiful marriage.

And as Alison's sister eloquently through her tears said in her speech 

"not only have you always been the perfect big sister, today you're also the perfect bride".

Awwww.
Princess moment complete.

I sign off on this Tuesday very happy.

Van Morrison: Little Village

Our fourth Tuesday and we're in rAdelaide.
It's rad.

My obsession with Robe lasted another few days after the last post. We eventually managed to drag ourselves away from it. Either because it was overcast or because our new found van park friends, Greg and Kath were leaving as well. Or maybe we'd been there for six days so it was time to get moving.

In any case, the last few days were an adventure. Not only did we talk to people that were our van neighbours - we went places with them!

Greg and Kath from Wonthaggi are fabulous company and we decided we'd go on a little 4 wheel drive tour in the surrounds of Robe.
In Greg's 4WD.
With him driving.
We are not qualified for such driving. We barely qualify for towing a van.

Greg tells us that there is a place down the road, about 30kms that we'll spin wheels on sand dunes and drive with the car on it's side etc etc - as one does when being 'off-road'.
Perhaps we'll find a fishing spot along the way.

So after an hour or so of sand dunes and the discovery of a series of awful beaches - we end up driving toward an apparent beautiful bay area at a place called Nora Creina. I am thinking that the name of it works with my theory of picking destinations based on things sounding lovely and so husband man and I happily sit in the car and let Greg drive us to this.... village(I suppose it would be called).

We arrived at Nora Creina and were greeted with a big fat gate that says 'Private Property'.

This sign was ignored, and we unlocked the gate and drove down the 'main road'.

And it's here we entered creepyville.

All the houses were made of thin weatherboard and they are kind of scattered about, as though they're taking random bits of grass on someone's lawn.
We drive through and there is no sign of life at all - aside from a few curtains swinging where the freaks behind them were watching us (I am certain).

It's about now that I am thinking that our new friends Greg and Kath are actually some sort of axe-murdering hippies who have tricked us into going to a weird community camp and we're never going to see our normal folk again.

I soon realised that Kath and Greg (not that Greg will admit it) are equally as freaked out by this creepy village, so they haven't actually kidnapped us - we're just all accidenally stuck here together.

After driving for what seemed like a half hour (but was really a half minute) we get to the bay and it's beautiful.
But there's seaweed everywhere.
The men decide to do a spot of fishing and Kath and I stake out the surrounds, looking for any signs of freakish peeps in the sand dunes. We tire of this after about 10 minutes and read gossip magazines for the rest of the hour.

When we get back to the gate to leave, Husband man is put in charge of opening up the gate for us to get out. we collectively decide this because we're all too scared to get out of the car ourselves - husband man is obviously keen to redeem himself after the Seaspray incident.

But the gate is locked.

Locked.

And we're stuck inside the freak town.

And the panic starts to rise.

We're looking around and wondering which tree or house the freaks are going to descend upon us from  and Kath and I are madly locking the car doors.

Husband man has a little chuckle to himself and opens the gate.
April fools.

We chill out with Greg and Kath for the rest of the day, fishing at the wharf in Robe, having a few bevvies and enjoying a counter meal at the local public house.
We even paused to take a self-timed dorky photo of ourselves and our view:

But as I said, we did manage to leave Robe.

We left and headed north to Meningie - which clearly sounds like a disease. Like pimples or templates, you think you're going to be stuck with some sort of rash after encountering this place.

It was very overcast and we had a great camp spot, right on the river. But it was very cold.

We only stayed a night - but I got to continue with my two photographic obsessions - birds and sunrise/ sunsets over water.

We left Meningie's cold cold lakeside and headed to Victor Harbor, which is about an hour south of Adelaide.

Having never put up Van Morrison's Annexe before, we desided to give it a burl.

Husband man enlisted the help of a few unsuspecting casual campers nearby and they all had a man-off to put the bright orange canvas hoo haa together.

The result was beautiful, but i'm not convinced it's necessary for two people to struggle through. I'd have to trouble myself with all sorts of holding canvas up and nail-breaking and really - Morrie is quite big enough for the two of us anyway.
Something best left for when we have many a guest and are staying a long time at one place.

The rest of the time it can live folded up and under the couch in Morrie.

We hung out at Victor Harbor and visited the surrounds. We walked along the beach at Port Elliot and went to the markets at Goolwa.

This little pocket of of the world is fabulous and is really reinforcing the fact that South Australia is for the win.

If you've not been down here before (due to fear of alleged serial killers and general southern-ness) then you're missing out. The state is all about good wine and awesome beaches.
And the people are super friendly.
Aside from weird Nora Creina, the whole of South Australia has been a highlight (especially Robe, obviously).

And then we got to have our good friends Eddie and Sally - Adelaide dwellers and most fabulous friends come to stay with Van Morrison At Victor Harbor.
They even tested Morrie's bunk beds for us:

And now we find ourselves now in Adelaide, visiting the surrounds - Glenelg, Brighton and over the hill to the McLaren Vale wine region.

We'll be taking a short hiatus from Van Morrison to head north by plane - we've got a wedding to go to, so we'll be in sunny Woolgoolga on the NSW mid-north coast.

Here's to a week of not having to shower with flip-flops on!