Estward Ho

 

By Cape Byron

Many years ago, I spent an afternoon on a beach in Devon called Westward Ho, a most unusual name and a most memorable blue and golden time. 

But now I'm not writing of good old Blighty but of other blue and golden times spent on the string of beaches along the east coast of Australia and further east to New Zealand after leaving Alice Springs in October 2023. Eastward it is and so magnificent those beaches are against the powerful waves of the Pacific that they stand out in my memory, a stunning backdrop to friendships rekindled and family ties renewed.

This is also an account of acts of kindness and generosity and they start at the Traveller's Oasis Backpacker Hostel in Cairns. Because I arrive in the middle of the night, they insist on giving me a private room - for the price of the dorm I had booked - so as not to disturb the sleep of other occupants. 'And yes, just keep this room for your stay, you'll be grand.' In the lap of luxury, I say.

https://travellersoasis.com.au

Cairns is a small relaxed town, huddled against verdant hills. This is where the Great barrier Reef comes closest to the shore. Captain Cook, sailing north, discovered this at his peril, getting stuck and having to jettison heavy cargo to make the Endeavour lighter and be able to get out, hence Cape Tribulation, north of Cairns, where 'all his troubles started' ... and my enchantment continues.

Factoid : if you visited one Australian beach every day, it would take you 29 years to go through them all. I could think of worse pursuits.

Rusty's market

It's a short stop for me this time in Cairns. Still, I manage a catamaran sail to snorkel in the reef where I spot sharks in turbulent waters, sun myself at the waterfront pool, get drenched in a thunderstorm, find the most expensive (and rubbery) croissants at Rusty's market, where I binge on tropical fruit, and attend a hilariously boisterous Trivia Tuesday at O'Brien's pub with Cat and Chris, freshly landed from England. Though unable to find some lone Australian volunteers to join our Pom and Frenchie team for the local pop, footie and cricket questions, we still manage to win double gin tonics on the first round and it all goes downhill from there. 

O'Brien in Cairns

There will be more pub quizzes along the way and that's because there are none in France and I sorely miss this typical British entertainment.

The Spirit of Queensland, a train that rolls along the coast at a snail's pace, is the one affordable exception among the long distance train journeys in Australia : 50 AUD from Cairns to Townsville, for instance. This time, it has been replaced by a bus on that stretch. It reminds me of previous countless trips up and down the east coast of Britain, rattling on a coach because of rain, snow, landslide, failing signals and suchlike. But here ends the comparison as we meander through lush fields, palm trees and.... are treated to a pretty decent three course lunch at a restaurant in some forgettable small town, where I'm the only one having a glass of wine at my table of old biddies, suddenly feeling quite French and decadent.

Townsville is not very exciting though it is surrounded by stunning nature, features a yearly string quartet festival and owns some jewels :  the Commonwealth hotel where I stay could have been a feature in a Miles Franklin or Nevil Shute novel. It is heritage listed as it was first opened in 1901, so quasi medieval. It has a verandah wrapping around its frontage, shiny, creaky floorboards, huge fans that whir and rumble and cheap backpacker rooms. It used to be a disreputable watering hole but has morphed in recent years into a community, family-friendly hub, easy-going and full of charm... another one of those many buildings when I wonder where Australia would be without corrugated iron.

https://thecommonwealthhotel.com.au

Another act of kindness : the manager of the 'Commie' (Commonwealth) hotel kindly drives me through town to get the ferry to 'Maggie' (Magnetic) island. All three syllable words that beg to be shortened the Aussie way. And indeed, why have three when two will do...

Captain Cook (him again), named this island as he believed the ship's magnetic compass was affected by it. The Wulguru tribe (the canoe people) had named it Yunbenun and there is a proposal to revert to it aa a nod to the traditional owners. Aha! Three syllables ! Will it be shortened to... Yunbie?

Nelly Bay in front of Arcadia Bay House

I do recommend Arcadia Bay house where Craig, the grizzled owner, welcomes me to my glamping suite, lends me what I need for some snorkelling in the reef...and a wetsuit against stingers... yes, it's mid-October : stinger season coming up, November to May so beware... but it's been windy, the waves have stirred the sandy bottom and it's all murky. I'm not staying in any Australian water without a minimum of visibility... Sharp exit it is. 

https://www.arcadiabeachguesthouse.com

Still, I wander with caution in the shallows of Nelly bay and am softly tickled by small stingrays. On the topic of animals, there is a chain of hostels (too upmarket for me to stay) that organises 'Breakfast with wildlife". So, there I am, at Selina hostel, one morning, in front of a copious cooked brekkie (plus avocados and tropical fruit), with a lizzard (a bearded dragon) on my shoulder, a python around my neck, a wombat to observe and a koala to pet.

On the first evening, I walk up to the nearby Arcadia village hotel. As I sit in front of barramundi and chips, Shannon, a tall, gangly kiwi lady comes to my table to ask if I could join their team. Aha!! Unbeknownst to me, a quiz night is in the offing and a cheerful, convivial moment it is.

                          Horseshoe bay

Shannon is on the island for pet-sitting and we'll have the most hilarious time together. We meet the next day for sunset on the gorgeous beach of Horseshoe bay to attack a bottle of prosecco that she needs 'help with'...

... and explore the nightlife along the shore. It will have an incongruous surprise in store : Oktoberfest at Sandi's. Now, this is a tropical island with parrots in the branches, koalas in the gumtrees, crocs in the mangroves and here, lo and behold, there is beer, Bratwurst and Sauerkraut, waitresses in Dirndl and waiters in Lederhosen. No humpa humpa music, though : a very energetic local band, the Tiny Giants, reels off old classics : Black Magic Woman, Mustang Sally, These Boots are Made for Walking, It's a Hot Night and others that have everyone dancing. So, if you were wondering, no, Magnetic Island is not just a pensioners haven. It rocks.

And, after a loooong train journey, I finally crash at Brisbane Quarters, a rather busy central hostel, where my daughter, Gwendoline, is to meet me. Since Covid and her move from Hongkong to Sydney, we've only seen each other for 2 weeks in more than 3 years. And that's not nearly enough.

And, yes, I have been taking my time through Bali and the Northern Territory but the ultimate purpose of this trip is to see her. It's been far too long without sharing quality time and doing together what we like the most, travel and discover...

...and being silly...

For that purpose, Jucy it is. After hours trawling on the internet, this is the best deal in camper vans I found. You'll see their fluo purple and green vehicles just about everywhere.  We hire the small version with lifting roof, compact kitchen and fridge, sheets, blankets, pillows, the works. 

https://www.jucy.com/au/en/campervans

Another good deal, with Coseats, is to relocate camper vans to their original rental place, for 1 AUD and petrol.  This is not leisurely relocation, though. No idling on the way. And this time, it is idling we want and need as we descend the coast of New South Wales. Coseats, by the way, also offers rideshares.

https://coseats.com

So we drive - well, I drive, she organises - as if in a dream, through small seaside communities, lined with wide, sandy beaches, in the fragrant early spring. The pictures say it all. A string of Eastward Hos. Brunswick Heads, falafels and flowery printed dresses ; brekkie with pancakes plump as cushions in Lennox Head ; a technicolour sunset in Sawtell ;  Cape Byron, the easternmost point of this island continent.

Sawtell

We hop, a little way inland, to the village of Newrybar, dated 1884, twee in the Aussie way, all wood, cool verandahs, corrugated iron (of course) and stained-glass windows. It is home to, probably, the most expensive series of shops in the whole of Australia where, with a sigh, we finger homemade linen garments and fancy weaves..

Grafton and its jacaranda festival, no less than 1700 trees in glorious purple bloom.

 Nambucca Head, a calm estuary where a dolphin swims and someone 'walks his dogs' on a paddle board, and a bazaar of guillemots (yes, bazaar! A collective noun for guillemots, would you believe) bobs on the swell.

Wine tasting with cheese at Bago Maze  but beware the kookaburra who developed a taste for Australian brie. We give Byron Bay a miss - too busy, too trendy -and spot fires still smoking along its coast.

Nambucca Head, I would happily live along your shores. Never mind that your name sounds like an Italian aperitive.

And Sydney it is...

Most Australians live in cities. Sydney harbours over 5 million people,  Melbourne 4 million, Brisbane and Perth about 2 million, then it's Adelaide, Canberra...all sprawling places where nature is never far and adapts to human encroachment, to wit, the streets and beaches of Sydney... Yellow-crested cockatoos have found ways to open wheelie bins and the numerous ibis, called 'bin chickens' by Sydneysiders, trail their sharp beaks along markets stalls and restaurant terraces ; everywhere, I hear the mellifluous call of the Australian magpie and the mocking trill of the kookaburra ; I saw my first pelican ever in Manly Sailing club, a part of Sydney ; Benny is the seal that lives on the quay steps of the opera house. In the suburb of Northern Beaches, Long Reef's good surfing beach is closed every so often, due to the regular visits of a great white shark named Bob.

https://www.sydneyoperahouse.com/community/sydneys-seal-approval

Let's not forget the Humpback whales... they swim up and down the western and eastern coasts of Australia, up in autumn to give birth to their little ones (well 'little', erm...) in warm waters and back down to Antartica in the spring. What I recall with the most emotion is a mum with her baby, breaching the water again and again, full of juvenile joy. The Company Ocean Extreme from Circular quay is pretty good.

https://oceanextreme.com.au/whale-watching/

This being said, there's such a gap between the Australia of big cities and places like Alice and small communities. It doesn't feel like the same country. And to me, big cities are just an occidental veneer on Australia's unrivalled idiosyncrasy, something recently pasted that doesn't feel quite real.  Ah.. but, then again, how not to be enthused by such an easy-going buzz under the spring sun...

With great joy, I meet Maggie again. She welcomes me in her little doll of a house -with cats- a haven of flowery bushes and birdsongs, a few stops from Newtown, my favourite Sydney suburb. 

Maggie with red hat in Manly

At least, it was my favourite suburb until I discovered Northern beaches, where Gwendoline and her husband Jason live, along some of the aforementioned glorious string of Eastward Hos. 

I will spend most of December sauntering across the road from their flat, catching a dirty chai -my favourite Australian poison- at the coffee shop, swimming lengths at Collaroy rockpool and chatting with sun-burnished ladies on the pool steps, catching the bus to small communities, like Palm Beach (yes), Mona Vale, Warriewood, Avalon, all with their stretch of golden sand and powerful waves, all with rock pools and little cafés.....

At Palm Beach

A trip to the Barenjoey lighthouse, on a peninsula at the end of that stretch of coast

This could feature in a yet unpublished book : 'The 100 Best Dog-walks in the World'.

Markets happen here and there, with fresh fruit and veg, cotton dresses, scarves, pottery and always a guitar playing. 

https://www.northernbeaches.nsw.gov.au/things-to-do/whats-on/markets

I particularly enjoyed the monthly Berry Reserve market (3rd Sunday of each month) by Narrabeen lake and the Friday morning Beaches market in Warriewood, not to mention the sprawling Manly market... 

There's got to be a quiz night, this one with friends of Gwendoline and Jason's at the Collaroy restaurant. And, very moving for us all, at long last, I have the chance to meet up with Gwendoline's in-laws. They welcome me with heart, generosity and sumptuous meals.

Another quiz night!!

There are jewels here too, like the Collaroy cinema, built 1938, still showing films and part of the Sydney art deco heritage... and the Warriewood cinema where the bar will get you a gin and tonic before your film. It beats popcorn.. and also choc-tops, I have to say, the traditional chocolate-dipped Australian ice-cream. Not that I usually am a fan of gin and tonic but here, in Oz, it works.

And there, along those Eastward Hos, could I also happily live for the rest of my life if only a sizeable lump of money decided to head my way. 

The United cinema in Collaroy

Helen and David, the best of friends from 20 years back in the UK, open for me the doors of their Canberra home, sitting pretty and ecological in the middle of a jumbled garden at the edge of the bush, where we go on dog walks with kangaroos. 

A note about Canberra. It's been said to be administrative and boring and maybe it is but it is home to the most fascinating museums.

If you were ever to visit only one museum in Oz, let it be the National Museum of Australia in Canberra. Helen, a dedicated GP, drops me there one cool, sunny morning on her way to work. 

Resolutely modern it stands in harmony within a forest of gum trees on the shore of Lake Burley Griffin and is the most originally, creatively, curated establishment of this type I have ever seen. 

A successful hodgepodge of  geography, old and recent history, adventures and anecdotes, sociology, flora and fauna, it is a true celebration of this island continent. 

https://www.nma.gov.au

The visitor walks past dinosaur skeletons, an old Bedford truck with a story and a Renault twingo decorated with Balarinji designs, gorgeous native art and a space dedicated to the Bunya tree (Araucaria Bidwilli), among many other exhibits.

This tall conifer grows around the border between NSW and  Queensland. Did you know its pine cones can reach 35cm of diameter and weigh 10kg? Imagine this being released on your head...The bunya is a sacred tree for indigenous people and there's still to this day, a bunya festival every 3 years, when the bounty of nuts is harvested. I just missed it last year, damn... the next one will be early 2027.

I leave with ever renewed affection for this many-faceted country and for its so resilient and resourceful people.

Have you heard of the Archibald Prize? It is one of Australia's oldest and most prestigious art awards.  The National Portrait Gallery celebrates its centenary. 

Now, you recognise this guy don't you? And no, it's not a photo.

But my favourite is this one...

See the relaxed gusto, the determination, the attitude... and that's even before knowing his story.

Henry Hanke, the 1934 winner, was a struggling, little-known artist, who survived during the Great Depression on odd jobs and welfare to support his family. He couldn't afford a model so looked in the mirror. He ground his own pigments, re-used a donated frame and completed this in 8 hours. 

And yes...art for all in Canberra. At ground level.

Helen and David whisk me to Malua Bay on the south coast where we spot the last whales of the season through the dining-room window, take walks along the coast, on yet more stunning beaches with yet more surfers.

But what's that? Urgh.... A line of hundreds of blue jelly-fish type of creature stranded along the waterline... 'ah yes, blue bottles.' Would they be dangerous? (A question well worth asking). 'oh, they won't kill you.'  Ah, so that's the Australian benchmark? It's all right then!  Never mind angry, burning welts. Me, I'm just a mollycoddled European.

A nip to Melbourne to catch up with kind souls. Nicole, whom I had met a few years back in Alice for a Soul Motion dance weekend on the red earth, welcomes me in the forest at the edge of the big city, above the Yarra river, where the land is alive with the souls of ancient elders...

and Rohmana, in her cosy suburban home where we cook and chat and laugh, eat cheese and drink wine and celebrate a joyful get-together. 

 It's such a pleasure to quietly spend time with Gwendoline, share at last in her daily life and get better acquainted with her husband Jason. Still, they're busy young professionals in a small flat and maybe, just maybe, they'll be happy to have a respite from the mother-in-law who practises ad nauseam on the balcony the devilishly fast finger-picking on the guitar for "Follow the Sun' by Xavier Rudd. Below is the video. It's such an inspiring and inspired song. To me, it represents the (idealised) spirit of Australia. It would make a much shorter blog just to post this. There you go. 

I don't know about you and your parents, but, when my mother visited me in Switzerland or Britain and as much as I loved her, after a week I was gasping for air. Not wanting to inflict this on my daughter - or her hubbie -, I aim to make my presence felt only intermittently. So, courtesy of staff travel through Jason, who's a pilot, I nip to New Zealand for a couple of weeks in December. Yes, nip. In my wildest dreams, I never thought I would write this one day : nip to NZ. And this is not tourism I aim for, you understand, but friends, life, reconnecting and sharing.

A Wikipedia moment (food for quiz nights) : while Australia is an old land - it was once part of Antartica and is home to the oldest rocks on earth - and is endowed with strong, raw energy, New Zealand is only 2 million years old, a baby in geological terms, volcanic, lighter. When the Maori arrived on their boats from what is now French Polynesia, bringing with them dogs and kumras (sweet potatoes), they found a land of birds and just bats for mammals. They made short work of the giant moa, a flightless bird, now extinct.

Left is the Qui bird, native to NZ

Possums, introduced from Australia, and protected there, have wreaked havoc on the local, fragile, avian population, not only damaging trees, but eating eggs and chicks. They're an official pest and are estimated to total around 47 millions.

The early immigrants, so they wouldn't feel so homesick, brought with them sparrows and blackbirds, their song incongruously familiar in the soundscape.

NZ also is mainly rural, the same area as Britain for just over 5 million people.

And rural it definitely is in Kaiwaka (2 hours north of Auckland) with Andrea, who's a keen market gardener and whose secret aim is, I believe, to feed the whole of North island. She's even built a room, complete with chandelier on the ceiling, for mango trees. I've never seen anybody work so hard and look so relaxed with it.

For me it's glamping in the field - bless you, Andrea, for the comfy bed and the carpet - playing guitar in the Fibonacci cathedral she's constructing - many thanks to Alan who lent me a spare one - 

...swimming at Waipu Cove, helping with the cooking and the planting, hiking on that beautiful coast, north of Mangawhai, sitting around the fire of an evening... 

                                                                  Waipu Cove

...walking among the kauri trees by Whangarei falls... 

https://www.wdc.govt.nz/Community/Parks-and-recreation/Parks-and-reserves/Otuihau-Whangarei-Falls

...visit Nora, Andrea's beautician neighbour for an hour of bliss...

https://www.asamiholisticstudio.nz

...and her husband Adrian who grows the most architectural bonsais...

https://www.adrianbirdbonsai.com

                                                                                        Nora and Adrian with their family

...catch up with Ali, in whose house I stayed in 2019...

Covid has left sequels... it has driven people apart. Pro and anti vaccines, conspiracy theories, paranoia - alas some of it coming now to be justified - though there was quite an unhinged response during the pandemic and I can't believe it didn't have an incidence on Jacinda Ardern's resignation...

NZ cities, for a European, are nothing to write home about but Wellington, the most southern capital in the world, offers lovely spots where it is a joy to wander...

Here, around Cuba Mall

The Weta Studios are worth a mention. Weta? A giant flightless cricket, one of the heaviest in the world and not a beauty prize for it. Founded by Tanya Rogers and Richard Taylor 35 years ago, based in Miramar, Wellington, the studios are a prop and special effects company for films and TV. Lord of the Rings, of course, but also Avatar, Master and Commander, The Steven Spielberg Tintin, King Kong, Narnia, to name but a few among more than a hundred. The most wacky, fun visit : how to make bigatures (big miniatures), pvc chainmails, masks, coats of arms, swords... and, yes, they have on staff the only swordmaster in the whole of NZ.

Talking about cinema ... Judy, a keen cinephile, takes me to the Penthouse cinema and café - I recommend this small cultural hub! -to watch Ridley Scott's 'Napoleon', a very American film, that's to say, sorry guys, spectacular and not leaving much to imagination. Though sometimes, erm, creative with historical accuracy, efforts were not spared in that direction and there were lavish, stupendous, recreations of famous scenes. Still, the relentless sight of blood and battle left me quite exhausted. It hit me the next day : I watched 'Napoleon' in Wellington. Haha...

A scenic sail with Interislander Ferries across Cook strait (Him! Again! ) from Wellington to Picton and two hours on the bus take me to Nelson, on the northeast of South Island. Just to continue and finish with this antipodean  commemoration of French discomfiture, know that, strangely enough, Nelson's main thoroughfare is called Trafalgar street...

A small  town,  set on the shores of a shallow bay and protected by mountains from the bitterest polar winds, Nelson is a leafy, leisurely delight and I arrive just at the best of times : the run up to Xmas and to the summer holidays. Marcia picks me up to take me to a birthday party where I'm warmly welcomed for cakes and music in the garden and to the joy of good friends used to singing and playing together. 

It's a pleasure to spend time again with this loving, creative family who open their door to me. Marcia's a  sensitive massage therapist and has a pure singing voice, her husband, Brendyn, is a musician, their daughter Niamh starts composing her own songs and Feilim, the youngest, is the same ebullient, lively imp as ever. 

Marcia at Cable Bay

We'll have a strange experience at Cable Bay.... beautiful as it is. Things don't seem to flow, the sun suddenly hides and it all becomes quite inhospitable... Marcia comes back quickly from her swim : she felt the presence of a Taniwha. In Maori lore, a Taniwha is a large supernatural being that lives in water and indicates the presence of dangerous currents or creatures. But the Taniwha can be a dangerous being in itself. 

So, off we go pretty sharply and drive to the Maitai river where, suddenly, the sun shines, dogs splash in the swift waters and children laugh... no Taniwha here. 

Taniwha

It will soon be time for me to catch my flight back to Sydney from Wellington. On my last evening,  Marcia says grace before we eat. She says it in Maori, a language she's been learning for a while and it's so beautiful that I have to write down the translation for you all :

'Bring the baskets in between us all. Food for me, food for you, food for him and her. Peace and wellbeing. Welcome, Lucille ! Thank you God and everybody for protecting us.'

And here are my thoughts. Please, Kiwi and Aussie friends, bear with me. Australia and New Zealand, both immigration countries - some of it forced - with decades of finding their cultural roots in far-away nations,  are changing. I'm convinced that, as years go by, the nature and spirit of the land slowly percolate through. The younger generations show signs of finding their identity on the land, embracing the culture of those who were there first and know it well. Oh no, it's not widespread, just a few seeds here and there and I'll take those with gratitude as they can only bring more balance, an original identity and a sense of belonging. To all.

Collaroy rockpool

And it's the season on the beach, lavish meals, the Kandisky exhibition in Sydney, cinema outings, the joys of a family Christmas, the last good-byes to friends and watching fireworks erupting along the coast with my big girl... when I wake up early, the song of the magpies pierce the silence of dawn. Oh I'm going to miss it.

But, one last thing... At the beginning of my first trip in Oz, I went to a spiritual retreat in the primeval Gondwana forest, in the Border ranges, up north, close to Queensland.  I have the memory of hot sun and trees echoing with the eerie, single-note, calls of the bellbirds. This time, just before flying back to wintry Europe, that very same spot well and truly deserves the appellation of rainforest and the soundscape is the racket of the crickets, well cicadas.... 

Biblical thunderstorms have poured sheets of water on north NSW ; rivers have flooded, bridges have collapsed and, with the sun out at last, it takes many detours to reach the retreat in the middle of the forest.

Andrew, from the Gulibal tribe, builds a fire, smothered by the leafy branches of gum trees. Each one of us in turn will be purified with the blue, fragrant smoke. I hear, with surprise and delight, that so do the members of the Australian parliament, as a ceremony at the beginning of the parliamentary season. Andrew tells us stories of the land and of the cicadas. They live as larvae for a number of years, some for 7 years, some for 14 years.

Well, this time, they must all be out together, and in droves : the first rays of the sun see the sudden start of their drone and, as the last rays disappear, as one man, they stop. A relentless soundscape to celebrations, poetry, togetherness, harmony, painting, games, dance, encounters and...music.

Harun plays the guitar peacefully - and expertly - in one corner of the big common room. Would he like to do some impro on some gipsy jazz chords? To  'Les copains d'abord', a French song? And to 'No expectations'? The more we practise, the more it develops. It's like building together a musical architecture and neither of us had ever done that before. Maybe, on the last evening, we could share that joy with all? And we do. We've never performed for an audience. Harun remains level-headed and practical about it. For me, it's rather a 'rabbit in the headlights' prospect, though I'm keen. Should we practise another one,  in case an encore is demanded?And we do... and it is! Thank you, Harun.

And thank you all, you lovely people of the rainforest gathering.

So that's the end of the year of the two springs and the two summers and Europe will see me jet-lagged and season-lagged. It's goodbye to Xmas with flip-flops and to Easter with pumpkins, to hopping creatures and to the multitudinous Eatsward Hos, to brightly coloured screechy birds and breaching whales, goodbye to the land of birds and bountiful gardens, goodbye to warm-hearted friends, and goodbye to my daughter and her new-found family in her new-found land.

I'll be back. Brace brace...