Day 84: We cross the seventh border to get home (24/08/12)

[PICTURES TO FOLLOW SOON]

Actually, technically the border between Victoria and Tasmania lies somewhere in the northern part of Bass Strait, so the border crossing probably took place while we were fast and innocently asleep. But for us it was made real by descending from the stern of the Ferry – being excreted, so to speak, onto the shore of Tasmania.

The fast and innocent sleep had not been all that successful, as a neighbouring passenger had managed to wake us at regular intervals with cries of distress. After the build-up of weather and wind, and the services of our own weather prophet, Niels, we had expected an exceptionally rough ride across the Strait, but it had turned into quite an anti-climax. There was some bumping and grinding, but it was not even as bad as on the way north three months ago. Well before we were woken by the saccharine tones of the stewardess at 10 to 6 in the morning we had been sailing in very calm waters.

Saccharine or not, the wake-up call could not be ignored, so we stumbled about in the unfamiliar surroundings ( the cabin did not look at all like our familiar caravan), trying to get our sleepy heads into gear. Up on deck we looked out on a sleepy Devonport under a grey dawn with rain pelting down. “Should we have come here at this time of year?” Joke asked. “Yeah, perhaps we should have gone to Queensland, instead,” I replied. But hang on a minute! We live here, we are home! We gave ourselves a good shake, fanned away the rose-coloured fog that surrounded us, and let in some of the cold hard reality. This was the end of the holiday. Or would be when we had done the last 100 kms to Launceston.

We descended, went through another quarantine inspection (that’s 2 in Melbourne and 1 in Devonport!) and drove out into the quiet streets of early-morning East Devonport. Thankfully, the rain seemed to be coastal and the sky gradually cleared as we drove inland. As has been the case before when we returned from the mainland, everything looked new and different to us, very green and very clear. As if to welcome us, the sun broke through to light up the whole side of Mount Roland. What a great place this island is!

A short drive and we were ready to leave the highway and drive through the quiet streets to reach home. The sun was out. We were home. 

Home!

We had done almost exactly 15000 kms around half the country without any major mishaps, without injury, with great enjoyment. 

It wouldn't be me without a few stats, would it? Had much fun with these on the way. They will be useful for planning the next trip!

We had seen a lot and learnt a lot. We could thank our heavenly Father for his protection and care, for allowing us to experience this great journey.

Day 83: An eventful drive to the ferry in Port Melbourne (23/08/12)

Morning dawned on our last night in the caravan. It was not too cold, and the sun was about somewhere. We felt we did not have to rush off, as we only had a modest distance to cover, but we did not want to start too late. We packed up and left, aiming to have a cup of coffee in Anglesea. 

Oops! No indicator lights on the caravan. Only happened twice on the trip.

We soon found out that this was not going to be a ride in the park. The road between Apollo Bay and Anglesea (which we have driven before) sort of hugs the cliff, is none too wide despite being one of Victoria’s main tourism routes, and has 2543 bends in it. (We didn’t really count the bends, but this was our unanimous estimate when we were sitting in Anglesea having a coffee.)

This is where we came from...

...and this is where we were going!

We survived this road, however, had that coffee in Anglesea, and then went on to Geelong to find a place to have lunch. The idea was not to arrive too early in Port Melbourne because we knew the parking there is pretty tight, so having a leisurely lunch in Geelong seemed to be a good idea. So, fighting Serena on the TomTom, who wanted us on the freeway after Torquay, we tootled into Geelong, found a parking spot overlooking the foreshore and the bay and had our lunch. 

Windy Geelong

There was a stiff wind blowing, which had not been in our favour and was now coming at us straight off the bay. As we sat in the caravan , the wind freshened considerably, until the caravan was rocking with the gusts. Joke did not like the implications of this deteriorating weather for our trip tonight.

We drove on, joining the Melbourne road and tanking our last petrol on the mainland. As we drove east, the wind swung around behind us, straight from the darkest sky we had seen for a long time. We thought at first that outrunning the inevitable rain was going to be a doddle, but we were surprised at how fast the storm front, for that is what it was, was approaching us. The wind was incredibly strong and becoming very gusty, so, remembering some stories about caravans in distress on the Westgate Bridge in windy conditions, we decided to take the Ballarat Road into town.

At the Ring Road we turned north, giving the storm more time to catch up. We took the wrong exit, but recouped with a road leading east which was good for quite a few kms, and which dumped us on to the Ballarat Road anyway. About the time we were nearly north of the CBD, the storm finally caught up and we were awash in very heavy rain along Racecourse Road and through Royal Park. We had to do a stretch of road uphill, merging from 2 lanes into 1, and the stop-starting made the clutch sort of mushy. Fortunately we got through all that and drove south down Royal Parade, through the edge of central Melbourne, across the river and into City Road towards Port Melbourne.

We pulled up in sight of the ferry bathed in sunlight after the storm. 

Well.... the sunlight came and went. But it was definitely the Spirit of Tasmania, and we had a ticket for it!

Now to wait for boarding time, get our stuff in order for the ferry and let the stress of the very difficult finale of our trip bleed away. Soon enough we could line up for boarding, only to sit and wait again for at least another half an hour. Then it was our turn to board, and with Joke urging me to wait at the bottom of the ramp until the van ahead was at the top, we finally got on to the ferry.

We got ourselves settled in the cabin, went out to have a celebratory meal and settled down in the lounge for a bit of a read and relax. But it had been a full day and soon we decided to retire to the cabin to have a smuggled-up port and go to sleep.

We were a little surprised at how calmly we took the whole going-home thing. I think it was a measure of how much we had enjoyed every aspect of this trip, and how we were now ready to go home again.

Day 82: From Killarney to Apollo Bay (22/08/12)

After a very good night’s sleep we woke up to a pleasant sunny morning. We had our showers in the sports ground facilities. They used bore water and it was as if we were back in the parts of Australia we had travelled through where artesian water was used. The water had that faint farty pong which we had often encountered ever since leaving Cairns. It was more noticeable in some places than others, with Normanton standing out in my recollection as having the smelliest water. Other places like Yulara and Coober Pedy had expensive water treatment plants using reverse osmosis where the water was (almost) as good as Launceston’s water. But if you had showered in bore water, it always took a day or two before you were absolutely rid of that water whiff.

Before Warrnambool we stopped at Tower Hill, a complex of volcanic crater lakes

The layers of ash in the wall of the crater.

We drove off into Warrnambool in search of petrol and morning tea. I got the former and Joke got the latter. When I was finished, I decided for some reason to have a senior moment and tried to wipe out a petrol pump. Luckily Joke was at hand to stop me and no damage was done except to my self-esteem.

After Warrnambool, the road led us through that quaint series of right-angle bends to the coast where we stopped at the Bay of Islands. 

This is how the sea erodes the land, bit by bit.

Stacks in the Bay of Islands

More stacks in the Bay of Islands (or a different view of the same stacks..)

Lots of birds nest on the stacks, safe from foxes and man!

This proud-looking stack does not have the firmest of foundations. I think this is a case of pride goes before a fall!

This headland looks like a petrified crocodile.

Ahhh! Another beach!

Beautiful colours

The Grotto (I think..)

We had now entered Great Ocean Road territory, and we would find ourselves once more among the tourist masses. Many of them were overseas tourists and of them, many were Asian. Doing our Grey Nomad greet-everybody-and-sundry thing, we noticed that we had much more chance of a smile and a return greeting with the Chinese tourists than with the Indonesian/Malaysian tourists. One such party of the latter kind had particularly sullen male members, and we kept bumping into them from one stop to another as we made our way to our lunch stop at Port Campbell.

First, though, we stopped at London Bridge (fallen down in 1991) and other viewable bits of coastline. 

London Bridge has fallen down!

Then we glided into Port Campbell and found a parking spot on the foreshore. Suddenly Joke was giggling away as she espied the young male in charge of our party described above walking around between minibus and picnic table carrying a small green plastic indoor watering can. The men of the party had spread themselves a lunch-feast while the women had disappeared or were hovering around in the background. Finally Mohammed al Gieter, as we had dubbed him (gieter = Dutch for watering can) went off to the toilets and came back with a full can of water. The men then washed their right hands with water from the can (no soap) and tucked heartily into the table full of goodies. Finally, the men’s first hunger sated, the women in the party approached and picked out some food to eat (with unwashed hand). We were duly impressed with what we had seen and were thankful to Mr al Gieter and his party for having given us insight into cultural practices which were so different to our own.

Joke providing commentary on Mr al Gieter

Port Campbell harbour

Culturally enriched we drove on to the Twelve Apostles, our next stop after Port Campbell. Now, we know that there aren’t twelve apostles in the sea off the Great Ocean Road. In fact, I counted 7½ apostles, and that’s generous because 1½ of those are just stumps. Yet the spiel for tourists fudges this marvellously, even claiming other stacks outside the Twelve Apostle area as being part of the group. I think they would not have had any loss of tourist numbers if they had stuck to the original name for the group: The Sow and Piglets. On our last visit to this area, we had been able to descend to the beach. However, tourism has dictated that a huge car park, helipad, kiosk etc should be built on the landward side of the road, with an underpass to a series of strategically placed lookouts, all along tiled, paved or board-walked paths. To walk to these lookouts was about the same as walking down Swanston Street in Melbourne, jostled by crowds of people. At the lookouts the available space was hogged by dozens of people taking pictures of natural beauty successfully obscured by smirking and gawping family members. The view was great, but we very quickly tired of the company. Just as there was a lull in the crowd and we could appreciate the view, chukka! chukka! chukka!, the next red helicopter roared past to give tourists their quick five-minute look at the rocks from the sky.

The action of the waves at the Twelve Apostles was impressive. So it should be. They were, after all, winning.

Standard tourist shot of the 12-ish Apostles, or Sow and Piglets.

Then you turn around to get some more of the 12-ish apostles in the frame.

No 12 Apostles, but definitely 1200 tourists!

Before this Grey Nomad could become a complete Grey Curmudgeon, Joke whisked me back to the car and we forged on towards Apollo Bay. Ahead of us was the stretch of the Great Ocean Road which winds through the Otways. We negotiated this section at leisure, finally descending into Apollo Bay in the late afternoon. 

Looking down the valley towards Apollo Bay. Out of the Otways at last!

For our last night in the caravan we were not going to find a free camp, but enjoy the comfort of electricity and hot showers. So we checked in at the Big4 Pisces Caravan Park, which was a series of terraces on a fairly steep hill. Three months ago I would have taken one look and told Joke we would go elsewhere – too steep and narrow, but now we just drove in, booked a spot and set the caravan down right where we wanted it. We had learnt a lot about handling the caravan in the last three months.....

Our last caravan spot for this trip was in Salmon Street.

Day 81: Mount Gambier to Killarney (21/08/12)

It was not raining when we got up at Mount Gambier in the morning. Having said that, it was going to, that was clear. Would we get away before the next deluge? Well, we did, although rain was never far away. We drove to Nelson, just inside the Victorian border, then drove the Portland-Nelson Road to Portland. This road winds through fairly hilly country covered in pine plantations. We should have known: pine plantations mean log trucks! Sure enough, we passed many of them – or rather they passed us, both ways. As the road was only about 1.8 truck-widths wide in places this meant a tight squeeze from time to time, with the driver of our vehicle closing his eyes and only opening them when it was clear that we had not touched the truck thundering past. Not only was this narrow, winding, rain-plagued road a favourite with the log trucks, but the general freight semi-trailers were also present in large numbers. After weeks of road trains they looked so puny and small, but they were big enough to bump us off the narrow road if we were not careful. So we minded our p’s and q’s  and wended our way carefully until we broke out into agricultural land and wider roads near Portland.

By now it was clear that we were travelling the same way as the weather, and were stuck in a particularly bad part of it. We hatched a plan to stop in Portland and have lunch there, tricking the cloud front into moving on, and leaving us behind. 

Portland harbour: yachts and woodchips

That may well not have worked – it was still raining when we left the Portland Information Centre – had we not refined our plan by doubling back to the west to visit Cape Bridgewater, 15 kms away. 

Bridgewater Beach - note how we are now behind the clouds!!

The very pretty settlement at Bridgewater Beach

This fooled the clouds completely and we broke into sunshine at the Cape. We visited the petrified forest (which were not really petrified trees) and the blowhole (which was not really blowing). 

The Petrified Forest which wasn't

The Blowhole which didn't

But the area was pretty and in the sun, and we had a bracing walk across the cliffs. Then we had lunch in the caravan. These points of interest are on the coast and are next to an enormous wind farm. If the fairy tales we heard in Queensland are right there will not be a single chicken in the area who does not lay yolkless eggs.

The next cloud front was looming closer, having been called in as backup by the one whose grip we had evaded, 

Looming cloud front

so reluctantly we moved on, back through Portland and on towards Warrnambool. The whole area around Portland is extremely pretty and well worth another visit in the future. We drove through Port Fairy (now there’s a place name to conjure up word associations with!) and on a little way to the Victorian/Irish town of Killarney. They have a municipal caravan park there next to the local sports field which is nestled against the dunes. Low cost, pick your own spot, power for our little heater, working showers and toilets. What more did we want? 

Killarney Caravan Park

Oh yes, and a beach to walk on as well!

Why is the little woman smiling? Why, because there is a beach to walk on, of course!