Meeting old Friends

Brisbane is Australia’s third largest city and the capital of Queensland. I’d been here before and stayed in a hostel about a mile out of town. This time I was located in an apartment, with kitchen, in the Central Business District with my ‘Business Class’ buddy who never ‘slums’ it.

It was handy being so centrally located as everything we wanted to do and see was nearby. The next morning itinerary priorities were set and Anna marched off to have her nails done! This released me to find a record shop and I happily flicked through the second hand LP’s looking for treasure. I intend to write a separate blog about visiting record stores abroad. I have something to say, elsewhere. Central Brisbane is ordinarily busy with tourists and many young folk, in fact there are 100,000 students in the city at three universities. Many of the students live and study in the centre of the city. It inevitably gives it a vibe and late night buzz.

I wanted to cross the Brisbane river and visit the South Bank Parklands, it was a highlight last time I came. This is a curated area with animals, swimming pools, rainforest, restaurants and children’s play areas. It’s delightful.

You needed to have swimming pools in this area to prevent anybody going into the river. Bull sharks lurk within and are flesh eaters. The good news is that as humans are not their usual lunch they will probably break off after tasting the menu. Clearly not a game you’d want to play however. There are 3,000 up and down the river.

There was much to admire and see. The scale is big and modern. However despite the restoration of 19th Century buildings it seemed, to me, a nonsense to then bury the artefacts in the midst of glass and steel skyscrapers. Was it ‘lip service’ to the planners and conservationists whilst the developers and money makers got their way? Sadly much of this development seems similar to the Far East where there seems to be no sentimentality about architectural history and an appetite for mixing concrete in every increasing quantities. One could argue this happens everywhere, including central London, but it seems very aggressive in Brisbane.

After visiting the far river bank we got one of the free ferries back to our side and disembarked at ‘Riverside’. It was here later we met Katie and Matt for drinks and a meal. Matt is an Aussie but Katie is not! She’s a close friend of our Favourite Youngest. Katie’s been known to our family for about 25 years. She started and finished school with Sophie (and Katrina). The inevitable happened that after a year out Down Under she found someone and has decided to stay. In order to secure her visa she’s had to spend into four figures and submit endless documents and links to social media to demonstrate the veracity of her relationship and intention to stay with it. She awaiting the result about a long term residency.

One of the beauties of this climate are the evenings. Sitting outside in the warm balmy evening is a true pleasure.

We often take a city walking tour on our holidays and Anna arranged one with the ‘Brisbane Greeters’: a group of volunteers who give up their time, for free, to show tourists around. John was our guide, a mere sprog at 83 years old, and a font of all knowledge. He’d been born in England but arrived in Australia in 1948; he knew his way around. The website said no tipping was expected? This seemed hard given the four hours he led us.

What is obvious is the dramatic growth of Brisbane in terms of population and development over the last couple of decades. The ambition of the city holds no bounds and they’ve secured the 2032 Olympic Games. Quite why you’d want to host it isn’t something I can understand but I’m sure it’ll go well and be a success. Melbourne held the games in 1956, Sydney in 2000 and maybe Brisbane felt it should have a turn?

In the evening our cultural journey continued with attendance at the rugby league derby between the Dolphins and the Broncos.

The Dolphins are a newly formed team and Karl, our man in the city and much mentioned throughout my blogs organised the tickets. It was a wonderful occasion in the balmy evening in a world class stadium.

We were amongst 51,000 fans who irrespective of their allegiance sat together and roared their men on loudly. We were Dolphin fans as Karl’s daughter’s partner plays for the Dolphins (but was absent on the night with injury.) The NRL is the most competitive and highest quality league in the world and it was quite something to enjoy the aggressive rugby and match day experience with light shows, flares, dancing and trumpet solos!

It was super to meet up with Karl and he’ll be back in the UK next month before a trip to the onward flight to the USA to go down Route 66.

The next morning we got an early bus to the airport for the last of our Australian destinations, Sydney. A big shout out to the quality of public transportation in the city, easy and cheap.

A Trip Down Memory Lane

Day 9 saw the driving catch up with us: we were weary. So we mooched about Hervey Bay and generally chilled. Hervey Bay generally has older residents and I was pleased to bring down the average age for the time we stayed there. It looks like a retirement spot. It’s a big place with large stores, dealerships and a two lane highway through it. However, the end of the town we stayed at was residential and close to the beach. We enjoyed our first Australian stroll on the sand and along the pier. The layout at the front with showers, toilet blocks, walkways was fantastic along with outdoor gym equipment.

We’re conscious that with New Zealand coming up we’ll be eating out every night. So we used the B&B’s excellent kitchen and had some omelettes that evening. Sometimes something very plain is a welcome change. We have a cold bag and have been carrying vegetables, cheese, butter, milk etc from place to place. It also provides a useful place to stow the white wine and beer.

Refreshed we rose the next morning to find a rainy day and drove up to nearby Maryborough. This has a sad place in my heart as it is where I was told to abandon my 2020 bike ride from Melbourne to Cairns as Covid was shutting down the UK and I best get back whilst I could. I found the campsite where Trailfinders delivered the fatal blow on a late night call. At the time I had to find my way back to Brisbane to get a flight home. Not a piece of cake given that I had to quickly get back south with a bike. I couldn’t ride it and there was no rail link. One of the buses that runs up the coast came to my rescue. It was a fraught and stressful time. The problem came with packing the bike for shipment on an aeroplane. With shops shutting as part of the Lockdown and it also being the weekend I was struggling to get a box. You may find my blog at the time interesting (there again, you may not!).

So we looked around the campsite. Three years later the REO Speed Wagon is still there. A veritable trucking classic. (You may know the name from the 70s American rock band who nicked the name.) I also took a photo of the very spot my ride was ended in a phone call.

The drive to Brisbane was in the rain and the temperature plummeted to 24°C! The traffic started to build and the inevitable road works slowed our progress. We initially thought we’d swing by Noosa Heads, then Gympie but as time was lost in the traffic we only had just enough time to visit Kin Kin. I’d stopped here, sleeping on the boundary of a cricket ground in 2020. The nearby cafe/restaurant left a very favourable impression on me and so returned.

We continued and hit traffic jams on the outskirts of Brisbane. We dropped the wonderful X3 at the airport and caught a train link into the centre of Brisbane. In the early evening a rush of people came at you on the streets. It was also quite arduous wheeling and lugging our baggage in this busy place but we eventually found our apartment and settled in. I set off to find a ‘bottle shop’ or off licence for some wine. It was tomorrow we’d explore the city.

Beetroot and Hot Cross Buns – Days 7 & 8

The simple reality was that there were a lot of miles to drive before Brisbane and we needed to eat up the road. Mackay won’t live long in the memory but my early morning wander will. I dared to turn on my mobile to get the Leeds score. We won, good old Wolves saw fit to lay down and die in supporting our survival plan. This temporary agony relief should see me through to New Zealand and the resumption after the international fixtures break.

However the Sabrina Sugar Shed will live longer in the memory. It was about an hour south drive. We’d driven for hundreds of miles past sugar cane fields and Anna had found a place where it was all explained. We gave up an hour and a half to have the cultivation and sugar extraction process explained.

It all starts with an acknowledgement to the indigenous Elders before the tour begins. This is common on any public event. It seems appropriate in some instances but odd in others ie. before our flight from Melbourne to Cairns it was read out? The parallel with the USA and the native Americans seems complete. That is, the Europeans came and swept them to the margins whilst abusing or killing them. Especially in Australia there was an energetic and active campaign to have many indigenous children abandon their culture and become ‘western’ in the mid 20th Century. Despite all the kind words/acknowledgement today these people are marginalised in the economy or societal structure. It seems irretrievable and many here and in the USA are in a desperate place.

After harvesting the cane it needs to be quickly processed before it goes off and the raw cane is brought by rail to the mill on an agreed schedule with the farmer. Here it’s cut, crushed; the juice squeezed out. Then the juice is filtered to extract the bugs, bits of toads, extraneous weeds and all sorts of stuff that should ensure you now forever reduce your sugar intake. The refining continues until crystallisation and it’s then one step away from human use. That’s achieved in a controlled environment away from the mill. The vast majority is exported in bulk. This little operation made some samples up in chutneys, liqueurs, candy floss etc. using the product for us to drink or eat. The farming doesn’t involve a lot a labour and it’s not uncommon for the farmer to have another form of income. Typical of a lot of Australia the large mill behind our tour is Singaporean owned.

Soon back on the road we were headed for Rockhampton, or as our colonial cousins call it….. Rocky. As we left the Shed we innocently enquired as to a good place to take a break and have a coffee on our drive. ‘Nah, that’s one long boring drive I dread’ she encouragingly replied. Excellent news.

The drive down The Bruce Highway was tedious but had to be done. We did pull into Marlborough where the local general store was doing great business in sandwiches and drinks. A steely elderly lady was running the show and here in the middle of literally nowhere she didn’t roll her eyes when the present Mrs Ives requested oat milk in her coffee. This reprieve was followed by that other Australian idiosyncrasy of putting sliced pickled beetroot into sandwiches. Strange but very common down the coast. Positively weird in a burger and bun but I have adapted with good grace.

The only other excitement came by being pulled over by a traffic cop to blow into a breathalyser. Obviously I was clear but the roads are full of signs urging people to rest up and seldom does the speed limit exceed 100kph (60mph). I think road crashes and high death rates and drinking must have historically been high on these long dull roads.

Rocky came into view and we found our hotel. Being Sunday night the dining choice was limited but a pizza and halloumi salad was found and then a long walk along the Fitzroy River to settle it before lights out.

Back into the car I’d persuaded the Tour Guide to abandon the A1 to take the A3 south. This less direct route offered more of ‘Australia’. Our first stop was Mount Gordon and it’s historic railway.

Whilst now an attractive but small town it had been important for much of the 20th Century as a town at the bottom of a railway route to the top of a mountain. The mountain contained gold, silver and a lot of copper. The railway excitement came via the need for it to ascend a 20% gradient. There was a video and exhibits explaining how it was done. That is a rack and pinion addition to the steam engine and railway line. I could explain more but I’m sure it would have you all slumped across your mobile/PC or tablet by the end of several paragraphs. I found it very interesting!

So back in the car we got to Bileola or as they say in Queensland ‘Bilo’. (I bet you never saw that coming.) Or ‘Bilewaya’ to use it’s Sunday name. Here we found a brilliant bakery and coffee shop. Given it’s location amongst tractor dealerships, farming supplies outlets, petrol stations and veterinary practices it was a delightful find. After coffee and hot cross buns it was time for more culture and we visited a heritage museum.

The exhibits were a little tired but the grounds contained kangaroos. Yippee my first ‘Roos in the wild. Entrance was AS$5 each (£2.80). Anna took pity and bought some coasters with aboriginal art on them. Predictably they were made in the People’s Republic of China. The lady manning this centre helped us find a route to our next night stop that didn’t involve driving on a gravel road. I didn’t fancy getting stone chips on the Beamer. The car had been a terrific boon and I stepped out of it in Hervey Bay after 351 miles fairly fresh.

On the latter stages of the country road drive we saw one car in a hour. This wasn’t early morning it was mid afternoon! The whole day had been driving in rolling wooded countryside. The trees were different to Europe but it could have been France.

Back on the A1 roadworks were regular features including wild kangaroos to our left and right grazing at dusk. After a long day driving and a desire to get the drive complete lots of restricted speed limits and traffic lights were not welcome. At about 6.30pm we pulled up at our B&B in the rain.

Southbound – Days 5 and 6

With a ceiling and standing fan we survived the night and emerged sort of refreshed the next day. The jet lag is finally receding.

The accommodation in daylight was commendable and alongside our room were guests from Germany and French speaking Canada. The latter were impressed with my language skills after all you never know when ‘le stylo de ma tante’ can come in useful. Breakfast was superb up on the verandah and we talked with the landlady, Dawn, originally from County Durham. With all that travel she was very interesting and helpful and we were sorry to say goodbye and head south.

The night before we’d seen some wallabies or small kangaroos in the wild on the grass at dusk. This morning there was one in the undergrowth. Sadly it didn’t photograph well as Mother Nature had enabled the small animal to merge into the trees it was sat amongst.

We set off south for Townsville stopping at Ingham for a coffee. Here we strolled along the parade of shops to stretch our legs.

Peering in the windows and ambling slowly we must have appeared lost as a chap asked us if we needed directions. In the brief exchange I told him we were from England. ‘Oh, where abouts?’ I duly told him and enquired if he had relatives over there or had visited? ‘Nope, I’m 67 years old and I’ve been abroad to Tasmania and New Zealand!’ Clearly not nomadic. We found a cafe, had a coffee and then set sail again.

Over the next few days we have to drive long distances every day. This means less notable attractions but lots of The Bruce Highway. This is a single carriageway with light traffic but a large number of roadworks. It’s an easy if not interesting drive unless you turn off. I cruise at just over 60mph. I spent some time changing all the units of measure on the car to imperial instead of metric. This should cheer the car rental company when they get it back. As we drive we listen to podcasts, my music, the BBC or my moaning about other drivers.

Townsville is Queensland’s second largest town after Brisbane. We got there in 33°C and after checking in I departed to find some trainers. I’d brought a pair from Blighty but found that they were strangling my instep. I needed to be able to walk! Given the adidas discount I can obtain from the Favourite Youngest Daughter the thought of buying any trainers away from England (and the discount) indicated how much discomfort I was in. I ended up in Athlete’s Foot where I was measured, assessed and found some shoes from the Sale! They fitted like Cinderella’s slipper. It was memorably great service. I skipped home a free man.

That night Mrs Ives fancied a curry and across the road we sat outside on the street at a restaurant in the delicious heat consuming a tasty meal before a long stroll to jostle the bhajis, rice and, in my case, Rogan Josh to the bottom of my stomach.

Readers of my previous Australian adventure will recollect that I temporarily lost my passport for a night. This time it remained in my pocket. Unfortunately it was not extracted prior to going into the wash. It is now a sorry sight. If I don’t return or get out of Australia it’ll be down to a non too ‘delicate’ wash.

The next town to reach was Mackay. This we achieved after detours into Bowen, a one horse town without the horse, and Airlie Beach, a grim resort with much residential housing a bustling marina. Bowen was founded in 1861 by the British after they landed, threatened and dispersed the aborigines (who had probably been in this area for centuries.) The town has a mixed economy but I suggest it houses many workers operating a deep water port for the export of coal about 19 miles north of the town. On a sleepy and fiercely hot Saturday afternoon there was little life on the streets. I did however love the murals and my first pie on this trip.

Airlie Beach is further south and is a more bustling prosperous place. It’s a jumping off point for Great Barrier Reef cruises and looks a lively, noisy place with bars and restaurants. There’s a lot of nice houses further out and tourism seems the ticket. Whilst there a bus pulled in and bedraggled millennials staggered off with rucksacks so large and heavy that I couldn’t lift them let alone carry them. One had a Canada patch on his luggage: he’d come a long way.

Eventually Mackay was reached and we checked into another hotel. Again it had a gym and I donned my cycling shorts to spin, and listen to Radio Four on my Air Pods, and Anna took a swim. It’s a great life if you don’t weaken.

In the Mountains and Down The Coast – Day 4

It was goodbye to the serene and manicured Port Douglas as the sun was starting to heat up the day at 7.30am. As is the way in these parts the trades were all hard at work trying to get a head start on their jobs before the real heat kicked in. The ‘council’ workers were trimming, mowing and cutting: their work looked terrific.

The drive was slow as we hugged the coast line on a treacherously windy road. The sea was mill pond flat and the sun was glinting off the surface looking alluring and exquisite. The destination was Freshwater Station, on the outskirts of Cairns. We were catching a ‘scenic’ train that ascended 327 metres up to Kuranda. This town was historically important at the top of the mountain for bringing supplies to the many gold mines there. Latterly it was important for the Australian Armed Forces during WW2. The construction of this epic climb started in 1877 and it was initiated because there was starvation in these communities due to being cut off with harsh weather. The access to these settlements otherwise was tortuous. The railway was a solution. The epic feat of engineering came at a price. It resulted in 32 deaths from the construction and many more from disease. The length was 33 kilometres; involved 15 tunnels and 55 bridges.

The workers were mainly Irish or Italian and the days terribly hard. I can’t imagine working in such perilous sheer conditions in over 30°C heat with mosquitos draining you. In fact, despite it being the wrong era and country, it all seemed redolent of ‘Bridge Over The River Kwai’. We wended our way up slowly, and later, down the climb. We were hauled by two diesels from the 1970s.

There were some dramatic sights on the journey.

At the top there were no gold mines but something much better: koalas. I’d long wanted to see these sleepy fellows. There was a sanctuary.

Thrown into this cornucopia of native wildlife were crocodiles, a cassowary, geckos, birds, frogs and some wallabies. A parrot befriended Mrs Ives.

There were lots of arts and crafts on displays and some of it was very pleasing not least the aboriginal art.

The return train ride was a little painful as the open windows of the early 20th Century carriages invited the mosquitos in and they dined royally on my legs. On arrival back at the station we turned the BMW south and hit the Cairns rush hour. We worked our way through that and were soon turning off the Bruce Highway for our B&B at Mission Beach.

The accommodation was fine and run by some Brits who seemed peripatetic judging by their time living in various parts of Oz, Texas and the Middle East. The room was delightful, as were the other facilities, but without air conditioning it was a hot little oven.

After checking in we did a quick turn round and went out to find some food. The B&B recommended a few spots and in the dark they were hard to find. However, we decided by default to go to the Mission Bay Tavern. We had no idea what it was like but from the road it was brightly lit and seemed a bit ordinary. However inside we truly fell on our feet. It was the classic Australian pub. By this time the temperature had plummeted to 27°C.

We had standard pub fayre along with some Castlemaine XXXX. It was grand! Any way after this it was back to sweat off the drink and food at the B&B room (sauna).

Rain Forests and Coral Reefs – Days 2 & 3

Australia has a fearsome reputation as regards customs. Television programmes on British TV have ‘fly on the wall’ coverage of passengers opening their bags to divulge a pig’s head in aspic or snake testicle powder being confiscated as a health risk. With some excitement we were advised about a camera crew from Channel Seven filming another episode on landing at Melbourne. We did actually see the cameraman shooting and a customs officer wading through the suitcases of a traveller. He was probably in the process of giving up various body parts of pickled goat for the bin and receiving a large fine.

The journey continued as we had a further flight up to Cairns. This was a c1,500 mile domestic shuttle with Australian holiday makers heading north. At Cairns was the collection of the hire car. Previous experience has taught me not to select the smallest, cheapest car. It took a few missteps to learn this. I’d plumped for a Nissan Duke or equivalent. Imagine unalloyed joy when the key fob bore the BMW logo. Due to a shortage of motors I got an upgrade to an X3. Anna was less excited by my good fortune as I kept minimal attention on the road as I paired the iPhone with the car’s Bluetooth and looked for Car Play. This latter facility immediately enables the phone’s Sat Nav, music, UK radio and telephone. The first stop was to buy a SIM card for our stay. For $30 (£17) I got 40GB of data and free calls back to the UK. From here it was a drive of about an hour up to Port Douglas.

We let ourselves into the flat and attempted to stave off going to bed until, in my case, 7pm! The next morning started at some time after 4am and shortly thereafter Anna revealed the day’s itinerary. It was heading north to the Daintree National Park. To get to there we had to take a ferry for 150 metres crossing of an estuary. For this we paid $45 (£25) for a return ticket! Clearly there must have been an error as I never meant to buy a share of the ferry company.

At the Daintree Discovery Centre we had a long conversation with a native (disappointingly not wearing a wide brimmed hat with corks on strings hanging down) about his move from Melbourne, his fireman grandfather from Hackney and his inexplicable enthusiasm for Arsenal. We ascended to walk a steel platform in the rain forest canopy. The graphics and accompanying audio explained the plants and animals that grew or lived here. It was very educational and thought provoking. The threat to cut down these forests globally is heartbreaking. (Australia would never contemplate such a thing.) The forests helpfully absorb CO2, have unknown, as of yet, medicinal properties in the plants and many unique species of animal. If the alternative is logging back to bare ground for cereal farming and cattle ranching it’s a terrible, irreversible, waste.

However, as with all these natural world plights there are people involved. The average life span of an indigenous native in a rain forest is probably 20 or 30 years short of those in ‘civilisation’ and in those years they receive poor health care, little education and live in difficult environments of flooding, cyclones and diminishing stocks of food and space. The possibly patronising misty eyed view of their being ‘one with nature’ and ‘living the dream’ doesn’t wash. Imagine living in the 13th Century in your current location knowing what the 21st offers despite it’s tribulations? Clutching my hurting head with such profound thoughts we visited the beaches nearby and they looked like film sets for ‘Castaway’.

The next day saw us take to the water. We set sail for an hour and a half from Port Douglas to see the coral off the beach of Low Isles, so named by Captain James Cook. The catamaran had over 50 tourists on board. It was a brilliant day. The boat was luxurious and the crew fabulous. It appeared nothing was too much trouble and customer service was the name of the game. When we got there we were fitted out with snorkel, flippers, lycra suit, mask and in my case a life jacket. (Tony’s a poor swimmer and the crew decided in the sea I’d be best to have some buoyancy! By comparison Anna is part fish.) The lycra suit was mandatory to avoid jellyfish stings: ‘tis the season apparently.

The coral was beautiful as we hovered above it. I drank probably as much sea water as the fish as I took some time to work out the top of the snorkel pipe should not be put in the water. There were many different types of coral and lots of tropical fish of many varied colours and sizes. I have to say it was just like the many documentaries I’m sure you’ve seen. Wonderful.

When we got back to boat we had a splendid buffet lunch and then went out again on the sea in a glass bottomed boat to see more coral and fish. Amongst the party were Americans and the question was asked ‘what species was Nemo?’ Other questions included ‘could you hunt any of the turtles?’ At this point I felt I could have made a living selling tickets for this dialogue.

Anyway to the accompaniment of live music we returned to shore. That’s another ambition ticked off.

Getting there…

So as I’m sat here in Emirates Economy I thought I’d start to scribe. This is a 12 hour and 40 minute flight from Dubai to Melbourne and I’ve reckoned, in my jet lagged fog, that I should have enough time to pull together a few words. I’m sat in ‘stowage’ and the present Mrs Ives is sat about 8 yards above me in Business Class, no doubt quaffing champagne and perusing her sumptuous menu whilst luxuriating in enough space to park a double decker bus. Strange our estrangement, n’est pas?

By way of a stark contrast the bearded, tattooed millennial in shorts in the seat in front me shoved his seat into recline when the Fasten Seat belt light went out. As a consequence I’m about a foot away from the back of his seat. Clubbing him to death crossed my mind and I did recollect that historically entry into Australia for an Englishman necessitated a criminal record. I say club as we weren’t allowed to take on board anything sharp. However, as we’ve planned to be away for 5 weeks it’d likely make a mess of my availability for the duration.

The trip involves flying to near the top of Queensland (Port Douglas) and driving down to Brisbane. From here we fly to Sydney. After a few days here we join a G Adventures tour in New Zealand where we’ll discover both islands. Overall a total of nine flights: Greta please forgive me. Quite an adventure. I was in Australia in 2020 when in a difficult conversation in the washroom at a campsite in Maryborough I was told by the travel agent to get back to Brisbane to fly out immediately. Delay might have led to my being in difficulty escaping during the Covid pandemic. It was not an easy project to return 150 miles south to catch a flight and organise a cardboard box for my bike whilst all the shops were shutting down and it was a weekend.

Yes, I know we need to address the elephant in the room or 8 yards above me downing Veuve Clicqout. I was scheduled to come out three weeks earlier and cycle from Brisbane to Cairns. Anna would join me after this 1,000 mile spin. A leg injury put paid to that and so I abandoned and rescheduled to fly out with Anna. As I was initially flying Economy and it also cost several nearly £700 to rebook the flights I stayed with Economy. Anna’s living the dream and spending some of her father’s inheritance to reach the colonies in comfort and indulging in that elusive blessing of sleep. When we meet at various airports I urge her not to worry and go into the executive lounges to enjoy the comfort, hot food and drinks. Frankly folks we can all agree that this magnanimous attitude makes me one helluva guy doesn’t it. (She never reads my blogs and so I can type what I like!)

(The leg injury has much improved although a hospital appointment is ahead. I want to be fit for some cycling in France in July and also to have the facility to burn some calories so that I can eat biscuits and sweets without feeling naughty.)

I’ve lost track of time on the flights through different time zones. I think it’s about 9am in York and early afternoon wherever I am! My night’s sleep the night before the flight was on the floor of a very cold room in Whitby. Copious revelry with pals, lots of beer and red wine the night before around the harbour’s hostelries wasn’t the best preparation for a gazillion hour set of three flights. However, I’m told I’ll get more sensible as I get older and grow up.

I think I’ve now had three meals. I won’t forget the last one, it brought on an unwelcome bout of nostalgia. The chicken and rice came in a thick sauce that had the pungency and taste of the spent gun powder you got on a strip from a cap gun. I appreciate that for younger readers this may mean little as they probably stopped selling cap guns in 1967. (Google will help.) If you’re none the wiser I think the clue lies in the words ‘gun powder’. Despite my 1960s and 70s boarding school mentality to finish up any food that gets put in front of you I had to admit Guy Fawkes would have been enormously disappointed at my abandonment.

The millennial girl next to me is a stone mason from Frankfurt. (Oh be fair no one could make this up). Her English is limited and my German non-existent. Had I known the German for chisel I’m sure the conversation would have flourished. She’s quietly impressive in that for the whole duration of the flight she hasn’t needed to visit the toilet once. On the other side of the aisle is a South African woman who is the regional manager for Massey Ferguson tractors in Africa. She’s heading to Melbourne for a conference. Some of you may know I once worked for Ford Tractors. So from here we gaily chatted about Power Take Off drives, the merits of four wheel drive and the regional peculiarities for homologation. I suspect disembarkation can’t come soon enough for her. The other passenger of note was a Brummie living in Adelaide who was returning back after having seen two home games for ‘the Villa’. We bonded over the frailties of our respective football teams.

I think I’ve got the measure of the Aussies and so future blogs may be salty. Then there’s the Kiwis to pick on. Fasten your seat belts….

Holiday Notes

Just a quick tidy up of some of the mundane, but maybe interesting, aspects of our time in the USA.

Anna struggles with me carrying a kettle and a stove to boil water. (Once a camper always a camper.) It came in useful. We ate out a lot but the food is very similar around the States and weariness set in or we couldn’t cope with two full meals a day. Anna has some food intolerances and some restaurant menus didn’t offer anything. In the room we made sandwiches or added hot water to stuff such as porridge. It worked well. Hotel breakfasts were entertaining as we watched Americans put eggs, bacon, melon/fruits and pastries on the same plate. Is it to avoid the need to revisit the buffet again or destroyed taste buds?

The distances between towns in the USA does mean that food tends toward being processed and I think, despite the supposed love of fishing, that I hear of in Country music, I could win a quiz, with a selection on Americans, asking what a tuna, salmon, trout, shrimp etc looked like before being filleted or frozen such is the rare sighting for most who live a long way from the coast.

Even I was knocked out by the convenience of Apple Play in the rented car. We switched on the phone in the car and the system wanted to pair. After this we were able to have in-car music, satellite navigation and could pick up either the BBC or Talksport. Listening live to Leeds United vs. Barnsley in the Carabao Cup driving through Wyoming was genuinely surreal. Some times you could receive live BBC football coverage but not the cricket. Somebody somewhere understands these exclusions?

We were here in 2016 and the exchange rate was a lot more favourable. Our trip coincided with the pound being at record lows against the dollar (£1 = $1.13) We found the USA expensive. However, even compensating for the dollar then prices appear to have risen dramatically. Salaries have risen as well but with these prices you need to earn a lot! Obviously we were often travelling in tourist areas and some prices were criminal. I bought six peaches in Colorado and the vendor is probably still telling his friends how much he charged…. and they paid!! Over and above Colorado then nothing was cheap. I used to have a shopping list when I came to the States but much of what I desired was cheaper back in Blighty. Beware.

It seems there is a shortage of workers all over the western world. In the USA trucks that passed us advised us of ‘hiring’. At any retailer, food or clothing, interviews could be done on the spot for new recruits and on occasion the service was slow because of ‘staff shortages’. The reason is that Covid took a large number of people out of the workforce and the shortage is evident. The UK has this plus Brexit. I imagine all the EU workers who went home no longer needed to come back to the UK because geographically closer countries like Germany, Poland etc had to fill their Covid departed.

So much of our commentary in the media is about diversity and equality. You would expect America with its wider diversity to be more self evident. Not a piece of it. We saw few African Americans on our road trip around Colorado, Utah, Wyoming and South Dakota. In Salt Lake City we saw a few Latinos and Indians (South Asians). If there was any ethnic group in profusion it was folk who lived or originated in the Far East, especially in the National Parks. I think most of these were tourists from out of State or country. You can see how different ethnic groups easily maintain their separation as they never mingle outside of the large cities in the USA.

The message in Europe about reducing packaging and waste has been received. Not here really. Parking up leaving the engine running, with the windows open but the A/C on is one of my favourite crimes. In Walmart you still walk out with a lot of plastic carrier bags, in Europe having a bag to carry away your purchases is your problem. Buy sliced cheese and you get each slice separated by pieces of paper. Plastic cutlery at hotel breakfasts and disposable plates, bowls and cups made of polystyrene should be banned. Wake up! Don’t waste stuff we don’t really need. None of this is a good reason to process crude oil or chop down a tree.

However for all my curmudgeonly xenophobic comments I love the USA. Being in these States where ‘woke’ never gets the time of day I was very comfortable, whether I am a dinosaur or not. I adore the space: wide roads, big rooms, enormous skies and landscapes that you can’t fully absorb due to their size. Surprisingly the Americans are very disciplined. If the sign says drive at 25mph, they do. If the road sign says ‘Stop’ even though there is no traffic, they stop. They don’t jump queues, they let you go first if you both meet at the same point and avoidance of aggravation is paramount. Through the centre of Cheyenne, the State capitol of Wyoming, the speed limit is 20mph. Often I was ready to cross swords but eventually I got the message and chilled (a little!)

In Britain parking is a pain. You never can. You have to drive some distance from where you want to be, pay a lot of money to do so and then, often, have to sandwich your car into a tight spot. In the States, we passed through, there were no challenges. To accumulate steps we voluntarily parked a distance from the intended destination but there was always easy parking wherever. Bliss. In parts of Yellowstone we came across poor road surfaces. That was an exception. Most roads were smooth and well maintained. Heaven help the US visitor who drives in Britain!

Passing through Manchester and London Heathrow Airport the old, battered and dirty nature of the facilities is there for all to see. In any public building here if you visit the toilet/washrooms the quality of the facilities and the cleanliness is superb and puts us to shame.

Some of the Americans we met were quick to decry the depth of their history compared to Europe. True, we have castles, monarchy and it’s older but there is lots to see here. Native Americans, the War of Independence, a Civil War, the opening up of the West, Civil Rights, Vietnam and the importance on all our lives of the USA during the 20th Century. That’s before we get to the art culture of Hollywood, Elvis and Tamla Motown. Chill, there’s a lot to see and learn. I am engrossed by it all.

Lastly, as much I admire and feel attached to my Antipodean friends I am not Australian. I can think of three separate occasions, on this and other trips, when an American has ‘guessed’ my nationality and plumped for Crocodile Dundee. Stop it, it’s not funny any more.

John and Peggy hailed from North Carolina (NC) and they were sat behind us at the Cody Rodeo in Wyoming. The rodeo was great fun consisting of various competitions including trying to ride young angry bulls for at least 8 seconds. For the record none of the young men who embarked on this potentially bone shattering project succeeded.

They were away for 85 days. John, a burly former engineer, at least 75 years old had planned a schedule of stops all the way up north; this wasn’t their first visit to Cody or its rodeo. They had perfected their retirement plans by spending time in their Recreational Vehicle (RV) many weeks of the year. After this jaunt it’d be hauled out again to join the ‘snowbirds’, as the migrating pensioners are called, in Florida. Anna talked to Peggy and I to John. Surprisingly for his age John was adeptly flicking screens on his mobile phone to show me spreadsheets, Google Maps and a selection of photos of his RV and luxurious home back in NC. For his years he was active and organised. I felt that the ‘down time’ in North Carolina was spent poring over maps, checking out camp sites across the country and working out new routes.

I admire the spirit of older Americans who take to the road. It seems that they probably pack their medicine cabinets with their pills, stuff the RV with every convenience to cope with failing joints and then head for the sun or, maybe, somewhere cooler. The only time I had less admiration was in 2014 as I cycled through Colorado and had large RV’s nearly graze my hip as they put these large vehicles onto cruise control at 70mph. Their eyesight or concentration was never good enough to spot a miniature obstacle such as a cyclist grinding along up a slope on the side of the road.

Whilst who wants to be old it’s pleasing that there are ‘Senior’ discounts at a lot of attractions and even with some parking. Like the military this is a privilege extended to these large groups. We made sure we declared our decrepitude every time money was involved. Sadly no one felt it necessary to check that we were being honest! The American winter is brutal but the summer is long and sublimely warm. I think this liberates older folk to spend more time outdoors and be adventurous.

So who looked after the house in their absence? John said his daughter was in residence with the instruction to keep the grass cut. Anna found Peggy less discrete and in fact the daughter was in residence with their three grand children after a marital separation from the son-in-law. As the daughter was a psychologist you hoped she was coping better than most.

On our 2,500 mile drive (so far) we’ve seen these bus length RV’s on the Interstates. There was little that they lacked as regard home comforts and on the wide fast US roads they were easy to pilot. I think John was financially very well off but these vehicles, second hand, can cost $200,000 depending on the year and mileage. I imagine some campers literally sell up their homes and live in these pantechnicons forever.

They’d never visited Europe and I’d be the first to agree that the USA has much to offer for variety but I worried that you do become tied to these types of holiday. Inevitably Anna had to ask what was the fuel consumption? This was a question we’d asked each other as these things rumbled by. “Oh, about six miles to the gallon”, in fairness that’s a US gallon and if converted to an imperial gallon it climbs to 7.5mpg! Petrol not diesel. And if John chose not to hitch up a small Jeep car to the tow bracket I expect he might even break into double figures.

For all that unforgivable climate damage I’d still love to look around one and maybe even drive it a mile or two. Like all Americans we struck up a conversation with they were endlessly civil, courteous and engaged. I always find the dialogue starts easily if you just wade in.

Salt Lake City had been a stopover on our drive north. It’s a big diverse city, in complete contrast to the rest of Utah; here we’d stocked up at Walmart, visited Costco and stayed in a central hotel with a gazillion South Korean women (in town for a convention.) We felt we should spend a little time investigating the sights and being located in Downtown we were ideally placed. The city’s history owes everything to the Church of The Latter-day Saints. (I was slightly shocked to come to this important religious centre to find Downtown revealing a sad carpet of homeless drug addicts, many sprawled out under park trees, no doubt sleeping off their latest fix.)

Anna devised a walk and off we went. Eventually you arrive at the Salt Lake Utah Temple. This is a massive skyscraper of a building, which is currently a construction site as it’s being underpinned due to concern that it’ll topple if there’s an earthquake. Next to it is the Assembly Hall, a church, and then another large building called the Tabernacle. This was the Mormon HQ.

We knew of tours and Sister Hague and Sister Thomas appeared and introduced themselves. ‘Sister’ is the name that Mormon female missionaries use. The men are called Elders, these are the resilient but probably downhearted young men who knock on your door in the UK. Our Sisters were respectively from California and Minnesota, early 20’s and primly dressed with no flesh showing in clothes you might called conservative. Sister Thomas seemed detailed to take the lead with the party, which now included two devoted Christians from South America. She was open, friendly and worryingly enthusiastic yet I denoted some steel. After we responded to requests to tell her our names we start our brief walk around the buildings. What did we love? Anna of course got that right by advising family, I got it wrong when I suggested travel and music! All this seemed a strategy, albeit gentle, to open us up. Our relationship with Jesus was asked? I was honest. Whilst not overly convinced about wizards in the sky I did volunteer there’s a lot to be admired about the spirituality and community that those of faith create and foster.

Our young ladies had been educated in mainstream schools and Sister Thomas had been the only Mormon in her high school. They had probably experienced cynicism or negativity about their faith but had come through it. It seemed they believed every word of the Book of Mormon. This is their bible not, say, the King James. They carried the bible with them as if an answer might easily be close to hand should a difficult question arise. They talked of a life of helping, I believed them.

All life’s positive moments were down to the ‘miracles of God’. She asked what bad situation had miraculously been answered by a piece of good news? One of the South Americans, a dentist, had found during a routine appointment a growth in a patient’s mouth. This discovery led to prompt treatment and possibly saved their life. Expectant eyes turned to Anna and myself? Nope, we had no stories. Sister Thomas now threw in her miracle. She was recently assembling flat pack furniture and it was an important installation for a Ukrainian Mormon they were housing. She didn’t have the tools for the job. However, miraculously a stranger appeared with a toolbox! It’s easy to see that if you attribute every positive event to the intervention of your god you’re going to be happy. She was.

We were invited to ask questions. I asked what was the biggest misconception? Polygamy came the answer. This arose as a solution when during the faith’s migration from persecution in Missouri in the 19th Century many of the men died necessitating, apparently, this rule change for procreation purposes. This isn’t happening now. The Sisters were adamant that their lives wouldn’t be reduced to being housewives; they could pursue careers or whatever. The only other female Mormon I knew was Marie Osmond who has had a stellar career, eight children and has been married three times, albeit twice to the same man. I chose not to ask if either of them could sing. It’s not mandatory that you have to marry another Mormon, however, I think it probably helps given the strictures of the faith and lifestyle.

Sister Thomas said that she and her other missionaries kept themselves ‘clean’. I had to stop and ask her to explain. “We don’t drink, take drugs or have sex before marriage.” All that’s fine as a set of decisions but calling it ‘clean’?

Their missions last 18 months, two years for the men. There are 17 million members: it’s a large worldwide community. I envy these believers and their faith but in a world where science can explain virtually everything I can’t comprehend how they remain so convinced and committed.