Last days of Oz: Sydney and Melbourne

Well, as usual I've let time run away with me. I'm currently in New Zealand, which I'm itching to write about, but for the sake of chronology I'll resist and leave that for next time.

So, from Byron Bay (where I believe I left off last time), Becky and I went to Sydney on yet another excrutiatingly long, overnight coach - 13 hours, to be precise - where we arrived, bleary-eyed and achy from the unforgiving seats, on Sunday morning. After locating our hostel, dumping our backpacks and making ourselves look more or less presentable, we decided the best course of action was to ignore our bodies' pleas for sleep and instead struggle through the fatigue in the hope of being able to get some shut-eye that night. All we needed was something to occupy ourselves between then and bedtime.

Luckily for us, our mutual friend, Russell, has recently upped sticks and moved Down Under after accepting a job offer in Sydney, and just over three months on is now happily living in a rather attractive house in Green Square, just a stone's throw (or a short train ride - whichever you prefer) away from the world's most famous harbour. After a quick call to invite ourselves over, we hopped on a bus, followed by a train - thankfully Russell had given us step-by-step directions, because I don't think I'd have been fit to navigate a city of Sydney's scale on what little sleep I'd had - and were soon rocking up at his front door. Soon afterwards, we were curled up on his sofa enjoying the warming benefits of a good cup of tea and a heater (in case I haven't mentioned, Sydney is somewhat nippy at this time of year) while Russell's other half, if you'll excuse the terrible pun, 'rustled' us up some brunch.

Soon afterwards, we were tucking into some seriously tasty eggs benedict accompanied by a glass of chilled white wine - and it was barely past noon! What decadence! Prior to that day, I don't think I'd ever had the pleasure of trying eggs benedict, but I can wholeheartedly tesitfy that my first experience of it was a very happy one, and it (complete with homemade hollandaise sauce - we were truly spoiled) did wonders to perk me up.

Having long ago surpassed what would generally be considered reasonable levels of sustenance, we decided to detach our weary behinds from the sofa and go and explore Sydney before we slipped into a wine-and-eggs-induced coma. Russell and Nathan took us to the Botanic Gardens, which wrapped around the harbour. We got our first proper glimpse of the famous Harbour Bridge and Opera House, which didn't disappoint. It was, however, interesting to see that close up, the Opera House wasn't brilliant white as it appears in photos. The whiteness must be an illusion created when the sun reflects off it or something, because in the flesh, so to speak, it's actually a rather dull off-white, or, dare I say it, beige sort of colour. Of course its deceptive hue didn't detract from its beauty, and anyway my momentary disillusionment was pacified by Russell's explanation that it couldn't be bright white because the glare it would give off when the sun was on it would distract pilots flying planes overhead. Fair enough, I suppose.

After a quick nose inside the Opera House (handy hint: from what I saw, it's infinitely more impressive from the outside - the inside reminded me of an oversized, but nevertheless typically dreary, school hall) we did the rounds of the Botanic Gardens, walking right to the end where a stunning view of the Opera House and the bridge could be afforded from afar. This, Russell told us knowledgeably, was a prime photo-taking spot for tourists, and I could see why. As the sun slipped away behind two of the world's most esteemed and widely-recognised pieces of architecture, I was blown away by the beauty of the scene before me. In that moment, it hit me I was in Sydney and - not for the first time - a wave of excitement washed over me.

On the way to see the view, we'd stopped off at an absolutely massive tree, the branches of which seemed to spread out, somewhat proprietorially, for miles. It was the sort of tree that you stopped and looked at; not just because of its impressive size and stature, but because it was swarming with attractive white cockatiels with cute yellow plumes. Those birds might look pretty, but let me tell you their incessant squawking sounds like a mass murder is taking place right on your doorstep. Naturally, we stopped to have a look, as had many other curious tourists, who were gathered around the tree taking photos of each other feeding the birds balanced on their arms. The cockatiels were clearly unfazed by human attention - in fact, they appeared to relish in it. Sure enough, within minutes I'd been attacked by one which flew directly at my head from behind, while Russell - who'd made the schoolboy error of trying to offer one a berry - was being accosted by another three of its comrades at once. The whole ordeal did make for some highly amusing photos, but I can safely say that cockatiels are not among my favourite birds, nor was I sorry to leave them!

After that, we went for a disappointing meal in Chinatown (give me homemade eggs benedict over a bad Chinese any day!), thanked Russell and Nathan for a lovely day and went home to bed. We'd planned to stay a week in Sydney, so we passed the rest of our time in a leisurely fashion, enjoying strolls around the shops and harbour area, which I never tired of. For a different aspect of the harbour, we took a ferry to Manly, which is famous for its beach. It was lovely, but the sort of place that would've provided a lot more to do in the summertime. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the boat ride and it was a beautiful, unseasonably warm day... perhaps just not quite warm enough to strip down to our bikinis.

That Wednesday was Becky's birthday, and we'd decided to celebrate by taking a day trip to the Blue Mountains. They're about an hour's drive outside of Sydney, and despite their dizzying heights meaning they're unfortunately prone to very high winds (some of which had hit fairly recently and caused some not inconsiderable damage) there are a few small but inhabited towns up there. All I can say about the people who live up there (in the words of my dear grandfather) is: lucky beggars! The Blue Mountains are stunning, and, unsurprisingly, blue. This has something to do with the gases in the air (our tour guide did explain but sadly my ability to retain scientific information is somewhat lacking), and the way they filter through the atmosphere which creates the illusion that the mountains are blue. It's not the only place in the world where mountains can be seen like this, but in my humble opinion - and without having seen any of the rest - Australia's must be some of the finest.

Dave was our friendly and very authentic (he'd grown up in the Blue Mountains) Australian tour guide, who wore only a t-shirt despite the low temperatures and bitter winds, while the rest of us shivered under our multiple layers and nodded incredulously as he claimed cheerfully never to feel the cold. He took us first to an awe-inspiring but unnervingly high lookout point, which was perilously free of any form of protective fencing. Nothing but our own common sense stood between us and a sheer drop of what seemed like miles. Needless to say, the view was unforgettable.

Next, he took us to see the equally impressive Katoomba Falls, which tumble daintily down an apparently vertical craggy cliff face for almost as far as the eye can see, before tinkling into a green pool at the bottom. After a spot of lunch in a tiny town called Leura, which was quite classy but unashamedly geared towards tourists (it consisted primarily of a strip of equally attractive but overpriced restaurants offering all kinds of cuisines, brazenly competing for tourists' business), we moved on to another tourist hotspot, 'Scenic World'. It comprised of a glass-bottomed cable car which went across a breathtakingly steep valley, a cable car which dropped down at a 45-degree angle to the forest floor below, and an almost vertical scenic railway which shot up backwards through the trees. Unsurprisingly, all three offered amazing views of the surrounding mountains in all their splendour, as well as a proper look at one of the most iconic rock formations of the Blue Mountains: The Three Sisters. The Three Sisters are three natural columns of rock, roughly equal in size, which stand side by side at the edge of a dramatically jutting cliff, and stand out beautifully against the sky.

According to Aboriginal legend, many years ago a father who had three beautiful daughters got word that there were three men from another tribe who wanted to marry his daughters. He refused them, but they wouldn't take no for an answer and one day they came after his daughters, planning to kidnap them and take them back to their tribe to marry them. The father, knowing he had to do something to protect his daughters, decided to use his magic bone (I don't know about you, but I tittered at that bit - nevertheless, this is a legend so stick with it!) to turn his daughters to stone. It was at this point that the father realised he was right at the edge of a cliff, and had three irate men coming towards him and nowhere to go. So, in a spur of the moment decision, he turned himself into a bird so he could fly away. He planned to return when it was safe to release his daughters from the spell he'd put them under, but unfortunately that was scuppered when his talons lost grip of the magic bone and it went plummeting into the rainforest below, never to be seen again. To this day, the father (or bird, I should say) is still scrabbling around in the rainforest looking for his magic bone, while his poor stone daughters are still stood at the edge of the cliff.

After our day at the Blue Mountains, we went in search of a BYO (that's Bring Your Own booze) restaurant to celebrate Becky's birthday. We stumbled upon a gorgeous Japanese place, where we feasted on all kinds of delicious sushi, as well as three bottles of wine. It was a lovely evening but perhaps three bottles of wine between two of us was going a bit overboard... for me, at least, the next day was a bit of a write-off.

On Friday, we spent the whole day at Russell's house, watching daytime TV (Becky) and doing Spanish assignments that should've been finished ages ago (me). It was a productive but nondescript day all round, so when Russell and Nathan came home from work we were all more than ready for the consumption of homemade pizzas and wine that ensued. Three boxes of wine, a bottle of tequila and a bottle of vodka later, we attempted to go out on the town but were considered by Sydney's - frankly, overzealous, if you ask me - bouncers to be a touch too merry to enter their establishments, and found ourselves rather prematurely getting into taxis and heading home for our much-needed beds. As a result, sadly I can't comment on Sydney's nightlife, but I'm sure it's great!

On Sunday morning, we boarded yet another 12-hour coach to take us to Melbourne. Although we only had three days there, we managed to squeeze a lot in, including a trip to Melbourne Museum, which was a proverbial Santa's grotto of dinosaurs, geodes and all things creepy-crawly. It had been years since I'd been in such a well-executed and genuinely fun museum, so it was the perfect way to occupy a drizzly afternoon.

Other than that, we made great use of Melbourne's City Circular tram, which is free to ride and even has a commentary for tourists, informing you of all the sights and attractions as you pass them. It was a good way to see the city, even if the tram was so old and rickety that it felt as if it would grind to a halt and crumble into a heap at any moment! I also went up a very tall building - the highest public vantage point in the southern hemisphere, to be precise - called the Eureka Skydeck. From the 88th floor, the view over the city was magnificent and, I thought, reminiscent of somewhere like Manhattan with all its water and  modern high-rises. In fact, I really liked the feel of Melbourne; although admittedly lacking in the glitz and glamour of Brisbane, and attractive to tourists in a less obvious way than Sydney, it had a lived-in, cultured feel to it and I would love to have had more time to explore it.

As it was, however, we had a flight to Auckland - which left from Sydney - to catch in a couple of days, and our hearts were set on a full day-trip to nearby Phillip Island. We went primarily to watch the Penguin Parade, which was as delightful as it sounds. Shortly after sunset, hundreds of the world's smallest penguins (aptly named the Little Penguin) emerge from the sea after a hard day's fishing, waddling up the beach and into their burrows in the grassy banks beyond to nest for the night. At just 33cm (12 inches) tall, they really are miniature and undeniably adorable. If it weren't for the likelihood of being arrested and thrown into Australian prison, I'd have been sorely tempted to pluck one from the ground, pop it in my coat and trundle home with it to keep it as my new pet.

But more about that later. As the Penguin Parade doesn't happen till dusk, we had a whole day to fill up before that. First, our tour guide, Katie, took us to Phillip Island's very own chocolate factory, where we happily filled our bellies with lots of free samples and then guiltily declined to purchase anything from the beaming sales assistants in the gift shop at the end - standard backpacker practice, in other words!

Next, was one of my favourite parts of the day (second only to the penguins) - a visit to the Koala Conservation Centre. Since arriving in Australia I've developed a rather obsessive fixation with the cuddly creatures. Seeing one in Magnetic Island just wasn't enough for me, so you can imagine my juvenile delight when I was let loose in a place where 40 of them lived, under supervision, in the wild. We saw about 6 of them, and each one was more exciting than the last. All but one of them was asleep, but that's hardly surprising when you take into account that koalas sleep 20 hours per day. Although some might - quite understandably - view this as laziness, I feel I must jump to my Antipodean friends' defence here by explaining that they need that much sleep as a result of their low-energy diet. I mean, if all you ate day in, day out, was eucalyptus leaves, wouldn't you be exhausted too?

I was particularly amused by the furry friends whom I spotted on the very high up, thin branches of the eucalypt trees; they swayed so violently in the breeze that they seemed worryingly close to being catapulted through the air at high speed. My all-time favourite koala moment, however, had to be getting within a couple of feet of one of my marsupial mates, who was curled up in a ball and comfortably tucked into the crook of a tree branch - dozing, of course. It was a thrill to be so close to one and I could hardly wipe the stupid grin off my face for the rest of the day!

After cosying up to the koalas, we went to a winery where we sampled six different wines and a delectable selection of cheeses. Although I'm not much of a red wine drinker, I surprised myself by being utterly indiscriminate when it came to tasting the different colours of wine... it's amazing how good things can taste when they're free! Despite being shown by the staff at the winery how to taste wine properly (swill it around in your glass, take a good old sniff of it, sip a little and suck it through your teeth in order to oxidise it and release all the flavours), Becky and I found we couldn't do the slurpy, through-the-teeth bit without looking at each other and bursting out laughing, thus risking showering our fellow drinkers with a fine spray of fine wine. We are the true definition of classy birds.

Suitably warmed by the wine and sated by the cheese, we went on a brisk walk along the coast, which was ruggedly beautiful but would've been a lot more enjoyable on a warmer day. The best bit was finding two Little Penguins huddled up together underneath the boardwalk we'd been strolling on, for glimpses (and photos) of which we all took it in turns to lie on our stomachs and crane our necks in awkward angles. After that, it was almost time to go and watch their buddies star in their own show down at the beach, but not before spotting a few wallabies and - even better - kangaroos on the way. I could barely contain my glee when we saw the latter, as we had, until that point, been somewhat preoccupied by the fact that we'd manage to spend almost a month in Australia without seeing a single kangaroo. We were all too aware that in little more than 24 hours we'd be leaving the country and were mortified by the prospect of having to face our friends and families and confess that we'd spent a month in Australia - the country where kangaroos outnumber humans 2.5-1 - without seeing a single one of the native animals. We'd be laughing stocks! Thankfully, though, we didn't have to live out that trauma, as our lovely tour guide took pity on us when she heard our predicament, and duly came to the rescue by showing us the spot where the only kangaroos on Phillip Island live. Result!

So, that just leaves the penguins. I won't go into too much detail as I've already rattled on about them a fair bit, but I will say this: if you're ever in Australia, you must go and see them! The way they waddle on their little webbed penguin feet is enough to make your heart melt, especially if you happen to have a soft spot for small, cute things as I do. Seeing them in the wild, in their natural habitat, just makes the experience all the more special (even if you do have to share it with about a million other eager tourists, all of them elbowing each other out of the way to catch a glimpse of the penguins before they duck into their burrows).

It was an ideal way to wrap up my time in Australia, and made the 12-hour bus journey back to Sydney - followed by a sleepless overnight wait in Sydney airport - seem inifinitely more worthwhile.

So, without further ado: Australia, it's been a pleasure - New Zealand, get ready!

The Deep Cold South: Gladstone, Fraser Island, Brisbane and Byron Bay

So, in the time that's passed since my last post, I've travelled roughly 1,150 miles of Australia's east coast. Let's put that into perspective: the distance from Lands End to John O'Groats is just 603 miles, and that's as far as you can drive in our modest country without plopping into the sea. Australia, on the other hand, is gargantuan; the true scale of its hugeness is only just beginning to dawn on me. I've barely begun to make a dent!

I write from Sydney, home of the iconic Opera House and Harbour Bridge. When most people think of Australia, I think it's safe to say that these impressive examples of architecture are what come to mind first (either them or kangaroos!). I must admit, at times I've found it hard to grasp that I'm actually in Australia; it may sound absurd considering I've been here for more than 3 weeks, but it's easy to forget just how far away from the UK I actually am. I blame this partly on the fact that the huge, earth-shattering culture shock that is commonly experienced when one finds oneself several thousand miles away from home doesn't really happen with Australia. Everybody speaks English, the public transport works the same and there are even Heinz Baked Beans on the supermarket shelves. In other words, it's a home away from home - just a much bigger, more exotic and far more expensive version of home. I can see why so many Brits choose to emigrate!

Anyway, since I only arrived here a couple of days ago and have plenty of other places to talk about first, I'll leave Sydney for the next post. Now to cast my mind back to our departure from Airlie Beach...

So, from Airlie Beach we took a somewhat pointless detour to a little place called Gladstone. Tom, who we were travelling with for a while, had a guidebook which dedicated at least two pages to the place and told enthusiastically of its lovely waterfalls, so we thought it must be worth a visit. We were wrong. I won't dedicate too many more inches to Gladstone, because - bless its heart - there's really not a lot to say. When we arrived, we were picked up by a kindly lady who owned the hostel we were staying at (the only hostel in Gladstone, I might add... alarm bells were already ringing). During the short drive back to the hostel, we asked her if there was much to do in Gladstone. "Not a lot," she replied almost instantly. On hearing our doubtful silence, she added cheerfully: "It's a good place to relax!" Fabulous. "Are there any waterfalls?" Becky tried, tentatively. "Waterfalls?" The woman, sounding confused. "No, no waterfalls. There used to be a waterfall down at the harbour but they turned it off years ago." Needless to say, that last comment baffles me to this day. How does one turn off waterfalls?, I wanted to ask. I can only assume she was talking about a fountain (not exactly something I'd make a special trip to see). Either way, it was painfully clear there were no waterfalls in Gladstone. Or anything else to do, for that matter.

To cut a not very long and rather boring story short, we stayed in Gladstone for 2 nights and did... well, nothing. It was indeed a good place to relax, and relax we did. We at least had the sunshine on our side, so we went wandering around the town. The harbour was pretty but everywhere else was like a ghost town. A pleasant, suburban ghost town where you could moor your yacht if you were so inclined, but nonetheless a ghost town. After two days of sleeping, reading, watching DVDs and painting our nails (Becky and me, that is - not Tom!) we were more than ready to see the back of Gladstone, and gratefully headed for Hervey Bay.

Now, I can't tell you much about Hervey Bay other than it has a cracking beach (as do most places on the East coast of Australia). This is not because it was void of activity like Gladstone, but because we only stayed there for one night. The reason we - and most people - went to Hervey Bay was because it is where you catch the ferry to Fraser Island from. And so we did.

Fraser Island is the world's largest sand island. If that doesn't mean much to you, then think of it this way: Fraser Island is an island twice the size of Hong Kong and three times the size of Singapore, and is entirely made of sand. There are no roads, so the only way to get around is in a 4 Wheel Drive. We booked a 2 day, 1 night tour of the island. We were picked up at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning and bundled onto a ferry (incidentally, Australians call ferries 'barges' - I think Becky was a bit disappointed when we didn't board the Rosie-and-Jim-style boat she'd had in mind) which took about 40 minutes to get to the island. Once there, we met our tour guide and, with the other 20 people in our group, piled onto the 4x4 bus we'd be navigating the island in.

Our tour guide, Graham, was one of the most interesting people I've ever met and full of information about the island. The first place he took us was a beautiful green lake called Lake Basin. It was a perched lake, which meant we actually had to climb to get to it, and, like all the lakes on Fraser Island, it was freshwater. They are essentially formed by a build-up of rainwater, and somehow (now this is the scientific bit, so don't expect me to be able to explain) the the water, rather than sinking straight through the sand, sits on top to make a lake. Unfortuanately, we weren't allowed to swim in this one as - according to Graham - years of people putting on sun cream straight before going into the water and even, unbelievably, doing their laundry in there had taken their toll on the water and killed off almost all of the wildlife in the lake.

After a lovely walk through the rainforest, in which we encountered our first snake (a carpet python - thankfully harmless) and a stop for lunch, we headed for Lake Mackenzie, the most scenic of all the lakes on the island. It's known as the Blue Lake because when the sun shines on it you can clearly see three shades of blue. It was beautiful, especially as the sand surrounding it was pure white. Graham told us sand like this was in its final stage of development (that man knew an awful lot about sand, believe me) and the reason it was white was that all the colour that you see in younger, golden sand had been leeched out of the grains by years of weathering. What's left after this process is called silicon sand, and it's gorgeous stuff: on Graham's advice, I exfoliated my entire body with it and cleaned my jewellery in it too! Soft skin and shinier silver - double whammy!

The next day of the tour was even better. After the uneven sand tracks, over which we'd bumped and jolted for much of the day before, it was a treat to find ourselves whizzing along literally miles and miles of untouched, pristine beaches with beautifully smooth sand. Our first stop was Eli Creek, an idyllic little freshwater river down which I waded - unfortunately I misjudged its depth and thought rolling up my trousers would suffice, but unsurprisingly I was wrong and ended up with rather wet clothes - in which we spotted a water eel. I also took a scenic flight in a dinky little plane (which looked too small to hold more than a couple of people, but actually held about seven) over the island. From the sky, the lakes looked like mirrors in among masses of broccoli-like rainforest, and I got an excellent view of the sand blows and coastline too.

On our way to the next stop, we spotted two dingoes on the beach. Graham stopped the bus and we all got out to take photos and stare at the creatures, who didn't seem in the least bit fazed by the attention, despite being wild animals. They are deceptively cute and cuddly-looking things; they reminded me of a cross between a domestic dog and a fox, with big innocent eyes and a calm demeanour about them. In fact, if I didn't happen to know about their penchant for eating small children, I might have been inclined to try to stroke one. Instead, I kept my distance and hastily backed away as soon as one starting ambling in my direction!

Next, we stopped at the enticingly-named Champagne Pools, which are the only place on the island where you can safely swim in salt water. You see, although Fraser Island is surrounded by lovely blue ocean for as far as the eye can see, you would have to be a raving lunatic to venture in there for a swim. A combination of very deep water and plenty of juicy fish make the waters surrounding Fraser Island very popular with sharks. It's infested with them: about 13 species, to be precise, each one deadly and just waiting for some human flesh to sup on. Graham also kindly informed us that the majority of shark attacks happen in waist deep water, so you'd be pushing your luck even if you went in for a casual paddle. In fact, if you did have a death wish, the sea around Fraser would be a perfect place to go; if, by some mercy, you weren't mauled by sharks, you could count on being swept away by a violent rip and swallowed up limb for limb by the water itself.

But I digress. The Champagne Pools are natural pools created by a barrier of rocks on the beach, onto which the waves crash and the water seeps over onto the other side, dribbling into the pools on the other side and creating a champagne-like effect by fizzing and bubbling in the water below. I went swimming in them and can vouch that they were delightful - just make sure you don't stray over the other side of the rocks into open water... you have been warned!

After lunch, we climbed Indian Head, a big rocky outcrop and the only place on Fraser Island where there is grass (that might not sound very exciting, but that anything can grow on an island made entirely of sand is an achievement, I feel). We'd been told that from the top we could look down into the water below and spot dolphins and turtles, but the water was too murky. We did, however, see several whale spouts which was undeniably thrilling, even if they were so far away you could hardly make them out.

Our final stop on Fraser Island was to see the Maheno shipwreck, a huge, rusty shipwrecked boat that has sat on the beach since 1935.From the sky, during my scenic flight, it had looked positively miniscule, but down at ground level it was really quite impressive. Against the natural backdrop of the empty beach, crashing waves and blue sky, it looked almost contrived, like a work of art.

I could've happily stayed on Fraser Island for several more days, but with time constraints that wouldn't have been practical, so instead we found ourselves on an overnight bus to Brisbane on  Sunday. We arrived in a sleep-deprived daze at 6.30am, fantasising about sleeping for several hours in an actual bed - as opposed to contorted into a ridiculously uncomfortable position on an upright seat in a moving vehicle - only to be told that we couldn't have our beds until 2pm. Grumpily, we trudged upstairs and found the cinema room - which was mercifully warm and dark, as well as having relatively comfortable seats to sprawl across - and duly crashed out for 5 hours.

When we'd rested and showered ourselves back into a state that almost resembled human beings, we went wandering around the city. I can't say we did much of note while we were in Brisbane, but despite that I really, really liked it. With its shiny sky-scrapers, upmarket river front and scores of trendy bars, restaurants and coffee shops, it was the sort of place that made me want to while away the days sitting outside a cafe sipping hot chocolate and people-watching. In fact, it reminded me a lot of London (only with a tad more sunshine), which I suppose was part of the reason why I grew such a fondness for it. Becky and I spent a gloriously warm, sunny day lying on the grass in the pretty botanic gardens which run alongside the yacht-studded river, dozing and reading. Australia may be expensive - and believe me, it is expensive - but sometimes it's the free things you can't beat.

We also got along really well with our roommates at the hostel, who consisted of a Dutchman, an American, three other Brits and ourselves. The only problem was, the dorm was like an infirmary, with a constant rhythmic cacophony of coughs, sneezes and sniffles filling the air. Everyone, but everyone, was ill, and as soon as I walked into the room I knew we'd be leaving spluttering too. I caught a cold almost immediately (amazing what a few evil little germs can do when they've got a confined space to operate in and a load of backpackers to target), as did Becky, but that didn't stop us from joining the others in going to the Irish pub up the road and dancing like maniacs. I may have been off the booze and downing pints of tap water like nobody's business, but it was still a great night.

The next morning, we departed for Byron Bay, which is a small seaside town popular with surfers. The town itself is fairly nondescript, with lots of shops selling things like postcards, flip-flops (or 'thongs', if you're Australian), and overpriced nick-nacks. The main attraction is the beach itself: miles of flawless white sand, bright blue sea and the kind of waves that surfer dudes get excited about. Speaking of surfer dudes, the place was heaving with them, easily identifiable by their long, slightly matted, golden hair, tanned skin and armfuls of friendship bracelets (don't ask me why, but if you see a man with several different coloured threads around his wrist, chances are he's a surfer). Although I've never found surfers particularly attractive, I must admit I got somewhat swept up in the apparent 'coolness' of it all, and even briefly toyed with the idea of giving surfing a shot myself. I quickly abandoned that thought, however, when I found out how much I'd have to pay just for one lesson, and my mind was flooded with images of my disappointed self after having spent a week's budget on repeatedly falling off a board and doing belly flops into the sea.

I did, however, take advantage of the hostel's free body boards, and hit the waves that way. It's so much easier than surfing and, I can almost guarantee, lots more fun. Or that's certainly how I felt when I came skimming effortlessly into the beach on huge waves over and over again, anyway.

The other highlight of my time in Byron Bay was sea kayaking. I've always enjoyed kayaking, but only ever done it in lakes and rivers, so I decided to give it a go. Luckily, there were only four of us in the group so we had an instructor to ourselves. I was sharing my kayak with a Japanese girl, and there were two other girls in another kayak. The sun was beating down from a cloudless blue sky, the sea was sparkling blue and blissfully calm (a blessing for novice sea kayakers) and I thoroughly enjoyed the whole experience. Especially when we spotted two dolphins only about 10 feet away from our boats and nearly wet ourselves with excitement. Amazing!

And that takes me up to Sydney, which I've said I'll leave for another post because this one has already taken me over a week to write. What with restricitons on how long I can use the internet in most hostels (either that or extortionate rates to use it for a long time) I've been writing bits and pieces whenever I can. In fact, it's taken me so long to write that I'm not even in Sydney anymore; I'm in Melbourne, our last official stop in Australia. On Wednesday, we'll be making our way back to Sydney to spend (probably) sleepless and very uncomfortable night on the airport floor, before jetting off to New Zealand on Thursday morning. It's hard to believe I'm almost halfway through my trip already...

The Adventure Begins: Cairns, Magnetic Island and Airlie Beach

Finally, after nearly 10 days Down Under, an opportunity has presented itself for me to sit down and start my blog. Unfortunately that opportunity has come in the form of uncooperative weather which is discouraging me from venturing too far out of my hostel, but c'est la vie, I suppose.

Still, time is a precious thing when you're a backpacker so I won't waste it; instead, I'll start at the very beginning ('a very good place to start', as Julie Andrews would say). Needless to say, the journey to get here was fairly hellish. It comprised nearly 13 hours cooped up inside a dry, airless but not altogether unpleasant British Airways plane winging its way to Singapore, followed by a 5 hour wait in Singapore airport - which admittedly wasn't much of a chore because it's the nicest airport I've ever come across - and another flight to Cairns which took about 9 hours excluding a 2 hour wait in Darwin airport while the plane was refuelling or something. On the first flight I barely slept a wink: a combination of excitement and anxiety, I assume. Instead, I passed the time by watching 3 films, staring listlessly at the ceiling and drinking glass after glass of warmish water in an attempt to stop myself shrivelling up and dying from the lack of moisture in the synthetic plane air.

By the time I finally arrived in Cairns, it was, much to my confusion, 9.20am on Sunday, two days after I'd left England. Somewhere in the atmosphere I'd lost an entire day of my life. And I don't mean I'd wasted an entire day of my life sitting on a plane; no, I mean literally lost. Saturday the 18th of June ceased to exist in my life in 2011, and all because I was flying through strange time zones into the future. As you can imagine, I was somewhat befuddled and disorientated.

Despite not having slept more than about 4 hours in the last 27, I was adamant that the sensible thing to do was to 'power through' my jet-lag (which, at this point, seemed almost conceivable thanks to a healthy dose of adrenaline) and not allow myself to sleep until that evening. The weather was beautiful - 26 degrees and sunny - and I was in Australia, I reasoned with myself. Of course I could stay awake!

Unsurprisingly, this resolve didn't last much longer than it took for the adrenaline to wear off. Which happened almost as soon as I saw my bed in the cosy 3-bed dorm in Tropic Days, the idyllic family-run hostel (complete with hammocks in the garden and (best of all) free tea and coffee!) I'd booked myself into for my first couple of nights in Oz. Unwilling to give up the fight so soon, however, I got talking to Cecile, a French girl who was also in my dorm and had been working in Australia for several months. Apart from the fact that I was jealous of her impressive tan (her skin was roughly the colour of deep chestnut while mine was roughly the colour of sour cream) we got on really well and decided to have a wander around Cairns. Keeping myself occupied, I decided, was the way to stave off the overwhelming urge to crash out.

I soon fell in love with Cairns; it's a lovely city with an extremely laid-back vibe and some of the friendliest, warmest people I've ever had the fortune to meet. And why shouldn't they be happy? They live in a semi-tropical paradise where it's sunny practically every day and wintertime temperatures rarely dip below the early- to mid-twenties. They're surrounded on a daily basis by tall, slender palm trees swaying gently in the just-right (not too hot, not too cold) breeze, the sparkling blue sea, the rainforest and even a few picturesque mountains for good measure. The Great Barrier Reef is on these people's doorstep, for goodness' sake! They'd have every right to be smug but instead they just seem really relaxed, carefree and genuine. After a couple of hours I was already fantasising about what my life would be like if I lived here...

Cecile and I, neither of us in the most active of moods, headed straight for the Lagoon, a gorgeous - and massive - outdoor swimming pool in the middle of the city, which overlooks the sea and is surrounded by wooden decking and grass for sunbathers to gather on, as well as a brilliant sheltered barbecue area and lots of picnic seating. Best of all, it's all free to use and open all day every day. We found ourselves a spot on the grass and I let myself doze lightly for a while before deciding to venture to the supermarket for some sustinence. After walking zombie-style up and down the aisles for a few minutes, occasionally stopping to gawp disbelievingly at the ridiculous price of Australian food (who in their right minds would pay $5 for a carton of orange juice?!) I soon admitted defeat, picked up some noodles, a pepper and an onion - the only things I could really afford - and traipsed out into the heat again. Time seemed to be passing painfully slowly as all I wanted to do was sleep, and since I couldn't think of anything else to do I headed back to the hostel.

Big mistake. By 4pm, I was sound asleep. I'd dutifully set an alarm for 5pm, telling myself a little hour-long nap would do me good, but when it sounded I promptly switched it off and rolled over, drifting once again into a deep slumber. So far, the jet-lag was winning...

The next day, after waking up several times during the night, I decided I really would have to keep myself busy ALL day if I was to have any chance of going to bed at a normal time. In this vein, Cecile and I decided to take a day trip by boat to Green Island, a small but stunning tropical island on the Great Barrier Reef. After an invigorating 50-minute boat journey we arrived, to my delight, at an island that looked as though it should be on Shipwrecked or some similar TV programme: white sand, crystal clear water and lush green rainforest. Although undeniably modest in size (just 37 acres) it has its own hotel, swimming pool, snorkel-hire kiosk and various other small touristy outlets, and even its own helipad! As we'd neglected to bring our helicopter that day - what were we thinking?! - we went for the next best thing and hired snorkelling equipment. Cecile decided to stay on the beach and watch while I braved the waters alone (despite several slightly unnerving signs warning me to 'snorkel with a buddy'). I'm glad I did; the Great Barrier Reef really is as amazing as people say. Even though I wasn't out there for very long (the possibility of encountering a shark, however remote, was always in the back of my mind) I saw all kinds of brightly coloured coral and fish, as well as - rather unexpectedly - a big white sting ray! It lay languidly in the shallows doing such a good job of blending in with the seabed that I almost didn't see it at all, but when I did it gave me quite a shock! As pretty as it was, I swam away pretty hastily.

All too soon we were back on the boat and cruising back to Cairns. I'd recommend Green Island to anyone; I only wish I'd had the opportunity to stay a bit longer myself.

That evening, the hostel put on a big Aussie BBQ. For $12 I had the pleasure of sampling crocodile, emu, kangaroo, barramundi (a popular Australian white fish), sausages and 5 different types of salad. It was all delicious, especially, I'm sorry to say, the poor old kangaroo. Yummy!

That night I slept a little better, while still randomly waking up at least twice during the night, and was thus a little better prepared to greet a very tanned, well-travelled Becky when she arrived at the hostel the next morning fresh from Bali. As soon as she got there the realisation that I was in Australia and would be backpacking for the next two months began to sink in and I felt a surge of excitement. We immediately started planning what we'd be doing over the next few days, and booked some more nights at the hostel.

After relaxing by the Lagoon for the rest of the day, we decided to hire bicycles the following day. Gabe, the very friendly and helpful owner of the hostel, marked out a good route for us on a map and off we set (me armed with my factor 30+ suncream). We rode along the seafront and all the way to Cairns Botanical Garden, which was like no other botanical garden I've ever seen, let me tell you. It was more like a rainforest. A very well cared-for, if not pristine, rainforest, you understand, but nevertheless a rainforest. I was fascinated by all the foreign flora. Everything was so colourful and obscure; a far cry from daisies and dandelions. Afterwards, we did a hearty 1.2km walk through the nearby rainforest on a circuit called the Red Arrow, which turned out to be rather steep but was worth it for the views over the sea and saltwater creeks when you reached the top. As I gazed at the saltwater creeks, I mused that the one lone saltwater crocodile said to inhabit the creeks must be a bit lonely - and, God forbid, hungry - even if his solitude did make him something of a local celebrity. Either way, I wasn't about to go looking for him.

That evening we felt weary but exhilirated from the day's exercise, and aside from rather bruised bums (neither of us were used to sitting on bike saddles for any length of time) we agreed it had been an excellent day. After such an active day it would be time for a rest, you might assume. On the contrary, we decided that the next day we would quite literally take the plunge. Yes, Thursday 23rd June 2011 would be the day I would do my first - and possibly last - sky dive. I could scarcely believe it, even though I'd come up with the idea myself. Evidently something in the Australian water was already affecting my santiy...

Jokes aside, I was surprisingly calm when I woke up on The Morning of The Sky Dive. I remained calm while I was eating my breakfast, and even on the hour-long bus journey to the place where the jumps take place. Even when we entered the Tandem Cairns centre I was still in an uncharacteristic state of tranquility. In fact, it was only when we were paired up with our instructors (who swiftly began strapping us into our harnesses while cheerfully quipping that we were all going to die) that it hit me that I was about to throw myself out of a plane 14,000 feet in the air. Subsequently, when my instructor began waving a video camera in my face (I should point out he was more than within his rights to do this as I had indeed paid $99 extra for the privilege of having photographic and DVD evidence with which I could relive my terrifying plunge forever more) I found myself not only camera-shy as I always am in front of video cameras, but also almost completely tongue-tied. My nerves had really kicked in and I didn't want to talk to anyone.

Time plodded on and before I knew it we were all on the tiny plane (about 16 of us, all strapped to our respective instructors and straddling a bench in single file, neatly slotted in between each other's legs) and propelling skyward at an alarming speed.

As fate and the law of sod would have it, I was last out of the plane so I had even more time to get nervous about it. As I watched my companions plop dramatically out of the plane one by one, sliding ever further forward on my bench, I began to wonder what it would be like if I died doing a sky dive. Luckily, I didn't have too much more time to think about it because all of a sudden I was sitting on the very edge of the plane's open doorway, the air whistling around my ears, with my head tipped back and my arms crossed over my chest as instructed, and then.... whoosh! I had just thrown myself out of a plane (with a little help from my instructor, who mercifully had 15 years' experience and around 2600 sky dives under his belt) and was plummeting boundlessly through thin air. The free fall lasted about 60 seconds, and was honestly the most surreal experience of my life so far. When I say surreal, I mean it as the highest possible praise; it was utterly exhilirating. Even though I could hardly breathe (odd, considering I was surrounded by endless supplies of air and nothing else) and my mouth was so dry it felt like my tongue might stick to the roof of it and never come off again, I didn't care. I was doing a sky dive and it was brilliant! When the parachute finally popped out after what seemed like an eternity of adrenaline-fuelled bliss, I was more than happy to hang there limply and admire the views while my instructor did all the hard work above me. And what views they were! Cairns has to be one of the most beautiful places to do a sky dive ever.

When we landed, I was so emotionally exhausted and overwhelmed I just slumped onto the floor in a clumsy heap. I was shaking all over but couldn't stop grinning.

A couple of days later (at this point I'd spent 6 happy nights in the Tropic Days hostel, including 3 in a tent in the back garden when they didn't have any space indoors for me and Becky) we reluctantly dragged ourselves away from Cairns. I could've stayed there forever but the East coast was beckoning and after a 6-hour bus ride shortly followed by a short ferry journey we found ourselves on the charmingly named Magnetic Island.

Sadly the weather on Magnetic left something to be desired, but then we'd expected the weather to worsen as we moved further south. Nevertheless, it wasn't completely awful - just a bit drizzly and humid - so we passed our time exploring the island's many secluded bays and going for long walks. One of the walks we went on was a koala-spotting trail and suffice to say I was almost wetting myself with excitement at the prospect of spotting one of my furry friends. I'd never seen a real koala bear in the zoo, let alone in the wild, so I was keeping everything crossed for a sighting.

We'd been walking for ages, and just as I was beginning to lose hope I saw a small cluster of people with their necks craned towards a nearby tree. I made a beeline for them and was absolutely ecstatic to see none other than a koala bear lounging lazily on one of the lower branches of the tree. Unfortunately he was asleep but that didn't matter to me. Despite his sizeable frame, he balanced effortlessly on the slim branch in a position that would've been frankly very uncomfortable for any other animal but a koala bear. His cushiony flanks spilled over the sides of the branch in such a way that his balancing there at all seemed almost to defy scientific reason, yet he couldn't have looked more content and less in danger of toppling off. After staring at him in childlike awe for at least 10 minutes - at one point, when Becky accidentally made a loud crash by dropping her bag he stirred, lifted his head, opened his eyes and glared at her indignantly - we tore ourselves away and completed our walk. Although we didn't spot another koala the excitement of seeing just one will probably last me the rest of the trip.

Another animal-related highlight while we were on Magnetic Island was when we purchased a little pot of wallaby food from our hostel for $1 and went in search of a well-known spot where roamed an abundance of cute little rock wallabies. Although wild, they were said to be used to people enough that they would eat from your hand, and sure enough, when we found them we weren't disappointed. They were adorable, even when one of them did nip my hand in its attempt to gobble the food out of it. At one point I had about 5 of them surrounding me. It was all hugely novel and when I finally ran out of food I was sad to leave them behind!

And that brings me up to the present. I'm currently in Airlie Beach, which I'm sure would be gorgeous only I haven't had the chance to see it in its usual glory as it has been absolutely chucking it down all day. It's definitely true what they say that the weather gets worse as you go south! I'm a bit disappointed to say the least, as the main purpose of our trip here was so that we could do a sailing tour of the beautiful Whitsunday Islands. Sadly that won't be possible because the weather forecast for tomorrow is just as unpromising as today's and all the boat trips have been cancelled. Since the weather isn't set to improve here till Saturday and there's really not a lot to do in Airlie in the rain apart from drink 'goon' (the amusing Australian name for boxed wine) and play cards, we've decided to cut our losses and make a swift exit tomorrow. Since Magnetic Island, we've been travelling with Tom, a lovely guy from Suffolk who we met in Cairns and bumped into again on Magnetic Island. Since he's taking more or less exactly the same route as us it made sense to join up! Next stop: Gladstone, which I'm told has some pretty waterfalls. Fingers crossed for some sunshine...