Hot air high jinks

The Dique Trippers, now on the home stretch, awoke on Sunday morning in Canberra to an unusual sight.

An enormous pumpkin-like shape had made its way into the caravan park precinct.

The mysterious sight that greeted vannies.

It turned out that a hot air balloon on a joy flight had made a forced landing in the visitors car park, narrowly missing trees.

Unhurt, eight men and women inside the gondola waited for instructions from the skipper while he stabilised the canopy.

In the meantime, your trusty reporter grabbed his camera to snap these pictures.

Not that he was a passive observer. The skipper deputised me as traffic warden to stop exiting cars, while he dragged the balloon onto its side across the caravan park roadway, using a long line attached to the top, allowing the hot air to escape and the balloon to deflate.

Forced landing in the visitors car park.

A few minutes later the crew were able to gather up and pack the balloon into its bag -- which reminded me very much of what the 'sewer man' on a yacht does with the spinnaker after it has been 'fired'.

The park manager said it wasn't the first time a balloon had dropped in. "They seem to know what they're doing," he said.




The skipper drags the balloon over the roadway, at the entrance to the caravan park.













A breeze springs up as the balloon deflates.

















Out of danger!














Foldup time.













Into the bag.




Masterpieces galore

The drama over, we headed off to the National Gallery to spend two hours at the Musee d'Orsay exhibition of post-impressionists: Van Gogh, Gaugin, Seurat and Cezanne, and other greats like Toulouse-Lautrec, Bonnard, Denis and Monet.

What a fantastic, memorable exhibition, well worth the gruelling hill climb from Batemans Bays to Canberra, and the one-hour queue into the gallery.

While there we paid a short visit (short because our feet were hurting) to the Aboriginal Elders exhibition of contemporary art, also a knockout.

No visit to Canberra is complete without calling into the War Memorial museum.

This time (and I strongly recommend it) there is a big-screen short colour movie on Australians in World War I air battles, with sequences brilliantly put together using real biplanes and triplanes, and special effects. If you're into aircraft, don't miss it!

Humbled by Harding hospitality

Let's backtrack for a moment. After we left Port Fairy, we journeyed east along the Great Ocean Road in brilliant weather, and found the rugged cliffs, isolated beaches, and the 12 Apostles awesome.

The 12 Apostles on the Great Ocean Road.

That journey took us to Queenscliff and the lovely home of our daughter Angela's in-laws, Shona and Richard Harding.

They insisted on treating us like royalty, providing us with our own room and bathroom, and Shona cooking up a delicious coq-au-vin for dinner.

With Richard and Shona Harding.

After a tour of Queenscliff, Richard joined us on a fascinating guided tour of Fort Queenscliff, the HQ for an extensive chain of forts built around Port Phillip Heads in the late 19th century.

It seems British authorities were terrified about a Russian invasion after the Crimean War (1853-56). The original fort had a moat and was armed with enormous cannons. Port Phillip Heads became the most fortified port in the Commonwealth with 30 big guns guarding the entrance!

Parked outside the Hardings' place in Queenscliff.

Richard and Shona are great conversationalists and so we found ourselves absorbed in discussion on the big issues of the day, and not just political.

I was interested to see in Richard's library The Age of Wonder: How the Romantic Generation Discovered the Beauty and Terror of Science by Richard Holmes, a recent work that I had only finished reading and can thoroughly recommend.

On tour at Fort Queenscliff

The balloon drama in Canberra recalled similar hair raising events in the book.





The 'disappearing gun', so named because it retracts downwards after firing to a position where it can be reloaded.


After the deluge, the green, green grass of home

Our next stop was an overnighter at Lakes Entrance, a visually stunning location that we must revisit one day.

Lakes Entrance

Then it was on to Eden.

This is another delightful holiday spot, but unfortunately, we didn't get to see much, because the sky opened up and hammered us with almost continuous rain for four days.

By the third day we were sick of hunkering inside the van and went for a long walk with our umbrellas.

Lorikeets at Eden

When the rain eventually eased we drove to Bateman's Bay, with a detour around Bega that had been declared a disaster zone, with roads under water and bridges washed away.

Seemingly overnight the countryside turned green, a lush deep green we hadn't seen in ages, even in NSW.

Flooding in Bega shot from car.

On the way we called into Bermagui, which I last visited 40 years ago as a young reporter to do an article for the Sunday Telegraph on the son of Zane Grey.

Ohio-born Zane Grey, author of the western novel, Riders of the Purple Sage, which popularised the genre, used to visit Bermagui regularly for big game fishing. He was a tall, handsome, rugged individual, well known among the women of Bermagui.

I found his son, who was retracing his dad's steps, the complete opposite: short, pudgy and introverted. However, we did go fishing and he landed a marlin, which astounded everyone on the boat.

But I digress.

At Batemans Bay we called in for a for a chat with retired artist Peter Connell and his wife Lyn whom we hadn't seen in more than 10 years.

With Peter and Lyn Connell at their home in Rosedale, near Bateman's Bay.

Just to fill in, Peter is a very creative artist whom we subcontracted work to in our PR days. I have a lot to thank him for.

The last time I saw him was at the funeral of our good friend and printer Laurie White, who died of cancer.

Anyhow, Peter and Lyn were excited to see us and it was great to see them looking so well.

Peter warned us about the steep inclines on the road to Canberra.

I must say we hadn't experienced anything like it, especially the leg to Braidwood. Bear in mind we were towing a van up to 2.5 tonnes fully loaded. But I had to use first gear only once, on a very steep hairpin bend.

Several times we were pushing 4000 revs in second gear, but the Pajero didn't complain.

Thanks for your patience

And so we come to the end of our journey, left with only a short run to Mittagong for a game of golf, and then Shoal Bay in Port Stephens. We're looking forward to seeing our grandkids whom we miss desperately.

We have clocked up more than 30,000 kilometres over 13 months, come to know a large part of Australia in a way we could not have done otherwise, met some wonderful people and made firm friends.

Australia is truly a lucky, wonderful country.

Of course, there is a dark side -- we've seen the damage done to the environment by the introduction of foreign animals: goats, pigs, horses, camels, rabbits, foxes, dogs, cats and cane toads. I could add pastoralists, but I guess you can't have your cake and eat it too, so to speak.

Having said that, there's much to be optimistic about.

Many people have asked what's the best place we've visited.

Every region has its pluses and minuses, but the prettiest in our view is Esperance and its environs. Having said that the best times we had were in the towns where we were able to reconnect with old friends and relatives.

Our biggest single cost has been fuel. We also replaced a clutch, front brakes and two tyres on the Pajero. Our Golf caravan has performed magnificently.

The biggest lesson learned is to travel more lightly next time -- we brought about three times as much gear as we needed: too many books, too many tools, too many clothes. You get the picture.

So, to our readers, we bid adieu. This is our last web log.

We hope you've found our stories of some interest. We've enjoyed writing them.

Dunn by an ill wind in Port Fairy

It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good.

The proverb was borne out when a withering blast from the southern ocean heralded the arrival in Port Fairy in Victoria of the Dique Trippers and old friends Pat and Tony Dunn in their brand new Winnebago.

Disco time in the Dunn's Winnebago.

Tony is best known in the wider world for founding the successful Sydney extensions business Addbuild and winning the Sydney-Hobart yacht race on handicap in ExTension in 1987.

Pat is best known for having the fortitude to put up with Tony (just kidding).

We have wonderful memories of sailing with them, and Rick and Irene King around the Whitsundays in the late 1980s, but it was around eight years since we'd last seen them.

Taco time in the camp kitchen with Pat and Tony Dunn, their son Donald, and Millie, the beauty from Bogota.

Tony and Pat had just finished a tour of Tasmania, and were heading clockwise around Australia. As we were travelling anti-clockwise, we arranged via email to meet them 'somewhere' in Victoria or South Australia.

That 'somewhere' turned out to be the Big 4 caravan park in Port Fairy. What followed was four days of making merry, with the Winnebago doing disco duty on the last night to the rhythm of 70s and 80s hits.

Tony gets ready to read the papers.

To top off the occasion, we were joined by the Dunn's gregarious son Donald and his vivacious partner Millie, from Bogota in Columbia.

That only resulted in more partying. We're not sure if Port Fairy will ever be the same.

Millie and Pat visit the Dique's van.

It was a terrific reunion and we promised to meet the Dunns again in Queensland after they travel the 'Top End'.

It's for the birds

I should mention that one of the most interesting aspects of Port Fairy is Griffith Island, connected to the mainland by a causeway.

The island is a protected refuge for Shearwater seabirds that nest in underground burrows.

These birds go on an annual migration that takes them as far as Japan and the Bering Sea before they return to mate. They partner for life and the female lays only one egg per season.

The protected area is out of bounds to humans, a protocol that we can only applaud.

The coeliac connection

Something interesting always seems to surface when you call on long lost relatives.

With the Scotts, Ron and Rosemary (far left and right), and their daughter Belinda and grand daughter Samantha.

It happened in Adelaide when we visited a distant cousin of mine whom I hadn't seen in 50 years.

I refer to Rosemary Scott (nee Taylor) whom I last saw when she visited our family in Crowther Street, Windsor, Brisbane.

As an awkward teenager I remember well her appearance on our doorstep followed shortly afterward by her fiancee Ron who had just driven a big rig up from Melbourne, she all elegance and grace and he full of brash Aussie humour.

Rosemary and Ron haven't changed that much -- he's still full of wise cracks and she's as amiable as ever. They invited us to stay for a delicious lunch. It was cream on the cake when their daughter Belinda and grand daughter Samantha turned up to join us.

Which brings me to the point of the story.

Rosemary is a late-onset coeliac sufferer, which means she cannot eat wheat or food containing gluten. So is Belinda, although Samantha is OK.

We have a grand daughter Amelia who also has the coeliac condition. Food contaminated with even the tiniest amount of wheat will produce stomach pains and vomiting. Coeliacs can be genetically predisposed to the condition but until now we had been unable to figure out from where in the family it might have come.

It's all the Heynes' fault

Here's the connection. Rosemary's grandmother was born Mary Heyne in India. My grandmother (on Dad's side) was Mary's sister Norah.

One can only deduce that the coeliac line came through the Heynes, although we don't know of any other sufferers in the family.

Downtown Adelaide

By way of interest, Mary, whom we as kids called Aunt Mary, was a remarkable person and the first postmistress in Yamba, NSW.

I have no recollection of Norah who died of typhoid fever in the transit camp in Deolali awaiting the ship to bring us to Australia.

Enjoying the sun at Glenelg.

For the record, Norah's and Mary's brother George married Cornelia van Harraveldt (Cornelia Everarda Joanna Maria van Harraveldt to be precise), whom I remember well. She was an early settler in Gosford after leaving India and living for a time in Persia (Iran), and later Batavia (Jakarta).

Cornelia's daughter Corrie Formston, whom we call Auntie Corrie, is now in her 80s, and still lives in Gosford operating a dog kennels business.

Just a whiff of family history. It was wonderful to catch up with Rosemary and Ron, and meet some of their family.

A friendly standoff

Speaking of history, after leaving Adelaide, we decided to stay a few days including Australia Day in Victor Harbour, a port that just missed out on becoming the South Australian capital.

Australia Day fun in Victor Harbour.

Victor Harbour is in Encounter Bay, so named after the most extraordinary face-off there in April, 1802 between two ships, one English and one French, each more than 20,000 kilometres from home, and hundreds, if not thousands of kilometres from the nearest 'New Holland' settlement.

The English ship, the Investigator, was commanded by Matthew Flinders, on his voyage of circumnavigation heading east, the French, Le Geographe, by Nicolas Baudin, on a scientific voyage of discovery, heading west.

Galahs clean up after vans exodus the park.

England had been at war with France off and on since 1793. On March 27, 1802, the Peace of Amiens temporarily ended the conflict, but Flinders and Baudin could not have known this.

We do know that Flinders had his ship 'cleared for action'. When he learned the other was the Geographe he had a boat hoisted out and went on board.

Horse drawn tram at Victor Harbour.

Scientists didn't fight

Flinders writes that after hearing he had examined the south coast, Baudin was 'somewhat mortified' and that 'I did not apprehend that my being here at this time, so far along the coast, gave him any great pleasure'. Flinders spoke little French and Baudin little English, so tension and suspicion between them would be understandable.

It seems that they regarded themselves as scientists and therefore non combatants.

Dry sand and shells at the mouth of the Murray River near Victor Harbour. The area has to be dredged to allow ingress of seawater to maintain the ecosystem.

Nevertheless, it is fascinating to speculate what would have happened if they had decided to engage in battle, with only the local Aborigines as witnesses. Both ships were similar in size but their heavier guns had been removed.

Thank goodness common sense prevailed.

As fortune would have it, three years later England defeated the French and Spanish navies in the Battle of Trafalgar, and 10 years later Napoleon at Waterloo.

On to Victoria

We decided to stay a couple of days at a quiet little van park in Padthaway and sample some Coonawarra wine before booking into a crowded park at the charming beachside town of Robe, not far from the Victorian Border.

Carol hosts a Happy Hour session with Victorian vannies (from left) Pat, Chris, Tom, Ron, Malcolm and Denise.

At Robe, we also met some very delightful Victorian vannies and found ourselves members of their Happy Hour club.

It's sad to say goodbye after these encounters, but it was time to move on to Port Fairy via Mt Gambier.

Blue Lake at Mt Gambier formed by an ancient volcano. It provides the town's fresh water.

The next destination is Queenscliff where we look forward to calling in on Richard and Shona Harding, our daughter Angela's in-laws.

Alixe in wonderland

Among rolling wheat fields 50km south east of the smelter town of Port Pirie, 200km north of Adelaide, and 60km from the Clare wineries, lies Georgetown (pop. 200).

We enjoy an ale with my sister Alixe (right) at the Georgetown pub.

Like the other hamlets that dot this part of South Australia, most of Georgetown's buildings are made of stone, including the local pub and a couple of churches.

Many of the homes are well over 100 years old, and of those still standing some are being bought up and renovated by people who love old-style country living.

One of these people is my dear sister Alixe, whom we visited for a few days on our long journey around Australia.

Alixe, who shuns big cities and crowds moved here from Bedourie in Western Queensland, where she lived for a few years, selling paintings of the outback.

Alixe's son Mark and me. He's looking more and more like his Dad Ian.

I won't go into her personal life other than to say she's had more than her fair share of misfortune, including the tragic loss of her eldest son (one of four children) in a motorcycle accident.

However, Alixe has really struck a winner in moving to Georgetown.

At this point I should say she is and always has been extraordinarily talented: an accomplished painter (water colour and oils), seamstress, singer and pianist.

Georgetown pub which has been underpinned to stop it falling down. The architecture is typical of the area.



Inventive and tireless

But none of us had the slightest idea that she could also be an inventive and tireless manual laborer.

In Alixe's back yard. The van fitted easily.

Eight years ago Alixe identified an old 4-bedroom stone house on an acre in Georgetown and bought it for $12,000. It had cracks in the walls caused by subsoil movement, had been severely damaged by squatters, the surrounding yard was overgrown and full of junk, and it was marked for demolition. But she loved the architecture and recognised the home's potential.

Alixe with her pond bridge made from an old sheep dip ramp.

Singlehandedly and with meagre resources, she has transformed the house into a home: installed a second bathroom, ripped out old carpet, repaired floorboards, rebuilt masonry and repaired corrugated iron roofing, renovated plumbing and shifted a huge amount of junk and rocks. She also attached an art studio, built a large vegetable garden and a goldfish pond fenced with large rocks.

Even thinking about all that work gives me a pain in the lower back! Petite but physically robust and mentally resilient, Alixe would put most men to shame with her capacity for hard work.

This stone house purchased in nearby Gladstone for $44,000 a couple of years ago is being renovated. Very typical of those in the region.

She now lives happily in a wonderland of her own creation with her son Mark, his partner Rusty and three boisterous dogs, and is looking forward to doing more painting. In the meantime, Mark and Rusty have begun an Arts Degree online.

Here only the screech of cockatoos or bleating of sheep interrupts the peace. And the clear night sky displays a mesmerising Milky Way. A good choice I'd say.

Old copper mine in Burra.

During our visit, Alixe showed us around the district, including the towns of Gladstone, Jamestown, Crystal Brook (another top place for pies!) and the old copper mining town of Burra.

She also kindly re-upholstered our folding chairs with new material.

Underground riverbank mining cottages in Burra typical of those occupied by Cornish and Welsh miners in the 1800s and early 1900s.

I was glad to help out with a bit of plumbing and the removal of a gum tree with roots threatening the foundations of a wall. Mark and I hacked around the roots and the Pajero with cable attached to the stump did the rest.

Whooping worries

Readers may recall that in our last blog I mentioned Carol's persistent cough.

Medical advice in Esperance and later in Ceduna pointed to asthma. However, the cough was bad enough for us to sign off and hit the sack before midnight on New Year's Eve. A game of golf there in the heat probably didn't help.

At Ceduna Carol insisted on being tested for whooping cough as she had been in contact with our grand daughter Lucinda who had been treated for the condition in Sydney in December.

As we motored into Streaky Bay we received a phone call from the Aboriginal Health Sevice in Ceduna to say the test was positive. What to do?

Seaside a few kilometres north of Streaky Bay.

We decided to rest in Streaky Bay but the cough was just as bad so after five nights there we made for Port Lincoln (diverting to Coffin Bay to pick up some of the famed oysters) where she again saw a doctor.

The doctor said the cough just had to run its course as it was too late for antibiotics. In China they called it the 100-day cough, he said.

I should add that I nearly died of whooping cough at age four in the transit camp in Deolali. That must have given me immunity.

We parked at a great spot on a terraced hill overlooking the harbour at Port Lincoln, but despite the sea breeze, the days were warming up uncomfortably.

Coffin Bay -- famous for large, plump oysters.

One morning we decided on a round of golf but Carol began wilting in the heat so we called it a day after nine holes. On the course the temperature must have been close to 40 degrees.

Our next stop was the steel making town of Whyalla, where once again we set up beachside.

Port Lincoln from the Lookout.

It didn't help much as the temperature climbed to 48 degrees under our awning. Our air conditioner struggled to keep the van cool and even the fridge was doing it tough.

Thankfully, when we arrived at Alixe's place, a cool change came through.

Camped at Whyalla. It was 48 degrees under the awning.

After five nights with Alixe we made for Adelaide, stopping at the Seven Hills winery established by the Jesuits in the 1800s, to buy some of the famous fortified wine. I can attest that the hand of God was definitely at work with the cream sherry.

Here in Adelaide we are lying low as the Tour Down Under cycling event featuring Lance Armstrong gets under way amid enormous traffic congestion.

Whyalla steelworks. Note the 3.7 inch heavy anti-aircraft gun in the foreground. A battery of four such guns was installed during WWII.

We did, however, manage to call in on my old mate and fellow journalist Kevin Boyle who is recovering in a lodge from recent surgery.

Kevin, whose brother Colin married my sister Mary (now deceased), has also moved to Georgetown from Alice Springs. He's renovating a stone house (circa 1875) a couple of blocks from Alixe's, and using it as a base to pursue his passion for off-road four wheel driving and camping.

More news soon.

Golf marathon ends in Ceduna

From Ceduna in South Australia, a Happy New Year to everyone!

We hope you finished the year on a good note and are optimistic about 2010.

Carol teeing off at the Dingo's Den hole near the Nullabor Roadhouse.

We're celebrating a big achievement: completion of the Nullabor Links, at 1,365 kilometres, the world's longest golf course.

We say goodbye to our vannie friends Wendy, Greg, Tony and Maureen in Perth.

The 'course', developed by Eyre Highway retailers, provides 18 holes designated at various roadhouses and towns from Kalgoorlie to Ceduna.

The unusual exercise broke up an otherwise long and tedious trip. But we must confess it's not an easy way to play golf.

The tee points are neatly set up on artificial grass beside a shelter shed, with a storyboard on local history to add interest.

Wave Rock, seen en route to Esperance.

The greens are mostly artificial grass and extremely fast. Unless you can emulate Greg Norman's back swing, you'll likely skid off into the undergrowth among the snakes and wombats.

But oh, the fairways! To call them goat tracks would be doing goats an injustice. Some were little more than patches of mulga.

Hay bales en route to Esperance.

But it was fun, even in temperatures reaching into the 40s and bush and march flies attacking from all quarters. For convenience we shared one set of clubs comprising a driver, 5-iron, 7-iron, wedge and putter.

Our cards, which cost $50 each, were duly stamped by roadhouse operators along the way. We won't mention our scores, but let's say they were well over the course's par 72.

We have to congratulate Carol for finishing, despite suffering unrelenting asthma contracted in Esperance -- more of that later.

Esperance was sublime

Vannies are often asked which place is the best they've visited. It's a hard question to answer.

View of Esperance from the west.

How do you compare, for example, Broome with the Gold Coast, the Kimberleys with Dunk Island, or Kakadu with the Whitsundays? All are exciting and memorable in their own way.

However, we found one place a standout. That is Esperance (pop. 30,000), facing Western Australia's southern ocean.

An unexpected warning sign.

Not the town itself, which is pleasant enough with its cafes and restaurants, port and intriguing Recherche Archipelago clearly visible a few kilometres offshore, and the frequent appearance of a sea lion that flip flops up the beach near a jetty frequented by fishermen.

What astonished us was the visually stunning coastline east and west of the town.

A regular visitor.

It's the grandeur and the colours: the sea changing from midnight blue to turquoise and emerald as it approaches and sloshes against white beaches and grey granite landforms shaped over millennia, and the lush hinterland speckled with wildflowers.


All can be enjoyed via a scenic roadway and viewing bays, access paths and stairways to the beach.

Esperance can be hot, windy and cold -- all in one day -- but when the time is right, a swim at any one of dozens of beaches is just sublime.

Twilight Beach.

We felt at Twilight Beach it was like swimming in lemonade, so deliciously cool and clear was the water.



Beach at Cape le Grand.

We found more spectacular scenery a short drive east in the national park at Cape le Grand and at Duke of Orleans Bay, places that will live long in our memory.

Why the French names, you may ask?

Large and unusual rock formation at Cape le Grand.

It turns out the French Frigates Le Recherche, commanded by Bruni d'Entrecasteaux and l'Esperance (commanded by Huon de Kermadec) sought shelter from a storm in the archipelago in 1792. Their mission was to do scientific research and search for the lost explorer La Perouse, whom they never found.

(The French Revolution was under way, but England's war with France would not commence until the following year).

Singing Rock at Cape le Grand, which deflects the sound of the waves at you.

We should add that credit for the first European visitor goes to (no prizes for guessing) a Dutchman: Pieter Nuyts, who sailed the Guide Zeepaard there in 1627, but did not actually land.






Duke of Orleans Bay.










Cape Barron geese at Esperance Golf Course where we played a round.




Gold! Gold! Gold!

Our departure from Esperance was delayed when Carol had an asthma attack accompanied by persistent coughing.

Exchange Hotel, Kalgoorlie.

We parked the van outside the local hospital and Carol was put on a nebuliser and had an x-ray. She was given some medication by a nurse practitioner and cleared for travel.

So off we went on a brief visit to gold mining town Kalgoorlie, 394km north via Norseman (the junction for travellers taking the Eyre Highway to and from South Australia) across the Nullabor.

Kalgoorlie is everything you've heard about. It's colourful and busy, with lots of old-style pubs and yes, brothels that are part of the town's tradition.

But what really surprised us was the number of large holes -- big gold mining holes -- that are everywhere around Kalgoorlie, from Norseman to Leonora.

The biggest is the Super Pit, an open cut mine 4km long, 1.5km wide and 600m deep that looks like the Grand Canyon, and is mined day and night by Kalgoorlie Consolidated Gold Mines (KCGM).

Kalgoorlie's Super Pit. The tiny specks on the roadway are massive ore trucks.

The Super Pit is the end result of an attempt by Alan Bond to buy up and consolidate a conglomeration of individual leases that once made up the famed Golden Mile, and create one big mine.

Giant mining bucket at the Super Pit.

It was interesting to see the pipeline designed buy Charles O'Connor and built in 1903 to bring water more than 600km from Mundaring Weir near Perth to Kalgoorlie. It's still regarded as the lifeline to the gold fields.

(O'Connor suicided by shooting himself at Fremantle Beach a year before the pipeline was completed -- a terrible end for a brilliant engineer who apparently was subject to criticism by press, politicians and peers for no good reason).

Carol was fascinated by an apocryphal story about a woman who went for a pee on the roadside and washed the dust off something shiny that turned out to be a $300,000 nugget.

She wanted to rush out and hire a metal detector to try her luck.

I flatly refused to cooperate, a) because it was too hot, b) because there wasn't time and c) because you wouldn't know where to start looking. But she could go for a pee if she liked.

We had a brief look at Coolgardie, once a twin of Kalgoorlie but now just a tourist stop and almost a ghost town.

It's said that during the gold rush blocks in North Toorak, a suburb of Coolgardie, cost the pounds equivalent of almost $30,000 in the 1800s.

Warden's Court, Coolgardie

Today the suburb no longer exists and is described as 'arid land'. How fortunes can change!

As temperatures neared the 40s we had Christmas lunch hosted by the caravan park manager in a shady spot. As is the protocol, you brought your own chair and grog. We sat around a table of chicken, salad and nibbles.

The guests comprised a dozen vannies, 'permanents' and transient workers, all in singlets and shorts, who could have been mistaken for extras from some bizarre outback movie.

It was the first time we'd spent Christmas away from family. We left the lunch when they started telling 'abo' jokes.

Nullabor nightmare

After playing our first two holes of Nullabor golf in Kalgoorlie we hit the road on 27 December on a run that would take us across three time zones: Perth, Central Western and South Australian time.

Sculpture of the horse at Norseman that uncovered gold with his hoof, starting a gold rush.

After 400km we stayed overnight at Balladonia Roadhouse where we met a delightful couple, Nerilyn and Dennis from Rockhampton with whom later we would party on New Year's Eve in Ceduna.

Cliffs near Eucla on the Great Australian Bight.

We were now well and truly on the Nullabor crossing. The next stretch to Eucla included the longest 'straight' in Australia -- 90 miles or 141km. I must say the Eyre Highway is a fantastic piece of road, but you wouldn't want to break down in the heat between roadhouses that can be 200km apart.

At Eucla we inquired about medical assistance for Carol's cough, which was getting worse. The Flying Doctor, we were told, visited every week on a Wednesday. It being Tuesday, we decided not to wait and instead drive the 500km to Ceduna, which has a hospital and doctor.

I should mention that the Eucla Roadhouse is set on a ridge overlooking the Great Australian Bight and gets a cooling ocean breeze. The roadhouse provides power but no water for individual vans. You pay a dollar for a shower.

Eight kilometres on, just across the South Australian border, is a roadhouse with a sign that reads, 'Please do not ask for water as refusal often offends'. A joke it may be, but water is a scarce commodity in these parts.

As we all know, Nullabor is Latin (nulla arbor) for no trees. There are a few trees in some parts but when you arrive at the Nullabor Roadhouse there really are no trees: nothing but spinifex and mulga for miles.

After battling a headwind for 200km (that reduced our speed to 80km/hour) we made it into Ceduna, a town that reminds me of Carnarvon. I dropped Carol at the hospital and set up the van nearby at the Foreshore Caravan Park.

After a brief checkup, Carol was asked to call back the following day and report to the doctor at the Aboriginal Health Centre.

In the meantime, I got talking to a young guy with a black beard and only one top tooth camped nearby in a tent with his motorcycle in pieces. He told how his rear wheel bearings started disintegrating just out of the Nullabor Roadhouse.

Somehow he managed to get the back wheel going, moved his weight forward by sitting on the fuel tank and managed to limp into Ceduna virtually riding the front wheel.

Later he noticed Carol was using her asthma puffer and asked that if she were having a 'bong', could he come over and join us. Hmmm!

At the Health Centre the following day (when the temperature reached 44 deg) while I was waiting for Carol to emerge, an elderly Aboriginal woman with hair dyed pink came in.

Suddenly we heard a rooster crowing and she yelled: "Shut up!" and reached into her bag. I fully expected her to drag a cockerel out by the neck but instead she produced a mobile phone and began a conversation.

Every day is a new experience.

More news soon including an update on Carol's condition.