Ring My Bell (Broome - Derby - Dalmanyi/Bell Gorge)

After setting our own agenda for the last 11 days or so, the alarm going off in the dark was quite confronting. We had organised our bags the night before so we really only had to deal with an early breakfast and then be on the bus by 7am. In what would become routine, we placed our bags on the front porch and walked to the restaurant.

The morning brought with it a surprise, dear reader. The sunrise in Broome is also beautiful and worthy of a photo - if only I'd had my camera and been alert enough. True, it may lack the colour of those ripping beach sunsets, but I'd rate it.

The bus or truck, seats 22 passengers with our 2 guides up front. There are 21 guests on this trip. The seat rows are numbered, not numerically, and each day we need to move to the next number up. We sat in seat 5 so tomorrow we'll be in seat 6. The abstract allocation of the seat numbers and the rotation means that everyone sits in all positions on the truck. We later found out why this was so important, and it wasn't just the view.

It's good not be driving.

Like many large vehicles the steps for access and egress were built for or designed by Brobdingnagians. For someone of my height, it meant that each step had to be negotiated separately. The seats were comfortable and the windows expansive to ensure nothing was missed. There was also a small screen TV attached to a camera that filmed to the never ending road before us.

The Boab Prison Tree

Our first stop was the aptly named Boab Prison Tree. It was, unsurprisingly used to imprison people. Well, that's the legend. Apparently there is no proof to support this theory. However, it is a registered Indigenous site of cultural significance. The story goes that the tree was used to house Aboriginal people who were being transported to jail at Derby.

The Prison Tree.

The boab tree is quite a feature of the land out here. It's distinctive bottle shape is easily recognised and unlike other trees has managed to escape the pillage and plunder of white colonialists. So far. Why? Excellent question my curious reader. The interior of the tree is quite fibrous and is therefore not particularly useful as fire wood or for building or, I imagine, pulping for the Japanese market.

The tree is fenced off today to dissuade visitors from getting too close but the fence is merely a suggestion. The sign warning of snakes is probably more convincing.

Dimulurru

Our next stop was to have been Tunnel Creek or Dimulurru, a 750m long tunnel carved out of the limestone by water courses in the Napier Ranges. Sadly this was not possible as the recent rain has swollen the waters of the tunnel to the extent that it required us to swim not wade through a section in the dark and this was deemed to be too risky. I mean, a 40 metre swim in freezing water in the dark, where's the risk?

Willare Road House

The Road House is most important out here given the massive distances that can be covered each day. And not just for fuel. Many have tourist parks or picnic grounds attached to allow travellers to stretch their legs. Willare was no different, except it had a couple of Boab trees that still held a single flower.

Unusual to be in flower at this time of year.

Derby

Instead we headed to Derby for a tour of the Norval Gallery, where local First Nations artists' work is promoted and you can actually watch art being created as you wander through the studio. After a brief introduction to the local style of painting, we browsed and then headed out to the jetty for lunch and a wander to view the mud flats, exposed by the huge Derby tides. Some locals were fishing and had a catfish, among others. The water was a fast moving, swirling mass of silt. Most attractive.

The swirling expanse of the Fitzroy River.

Wandjina by a local artist.

One of Mark Norval's pieces.

The mudflats.

Bell Gorge Wilderness Lodge

After the break, we set out for our accommodation, Bell Gorge Wilderness Lodge, for our first night of glamping and outdoor dining.  The lodge was in the middle of the national park with a central dining and bar area surrounded by tents, each with a deck, a bedroom and an ensuite bathroom and pathetic internet connectivity. I know, I know, first world problems, dear reader.

Home for the next two nights.

After settling in for the two night stay, it was time for pre-dinner drinks with our travelling companions as well as another APT group who were staying at the lodge. Recurrent crossing of paths with different tour groups was to become a feature of the trip, as a fleet of APT and other tour operators roam around the Kimberly following variations of the same itinerary.

One traveller from the other group, a fellow Bunnies supporter, expressed her grave disappointment that, due to the rain,  their group had not been able to reach the Bungle Bungles. This was her main reason for the trip and justifiably, she felt cheated. They did fly the group over the range as a sweetener, but she had already ticked that box and wanted to walk amongst the domes. Of course the reality is that so much of these itineraries is at the mercy of nature. We weren't sure we would even leave Broome given the Gibb River Road had been closed as we drove up the coast.

No babies here. Move on young fella.

Anyway, a pleasant evening was had and then to bed, after the temperature took a notable dive post sunset. We slid under the multiple layers on the bed, alarm set for an early rise to set out on the first real day of the "inland adventure".

Are you being slightly critical of toady's title my dear reader? That is a tad harsh. It is difficult to get a blog finished with photos in a climate of narrow bandwidth and questionable connectivity. The early mornings are dulling my usually razor sharp wit. Anyway, it's a disco classic from my youth. Anita Ward from 1979.

Until next time.

Yellow (Nouméa)

And as we begin today's reflection on our travels, dear reader, I am without a title for this post. Not that I was not inspired, but that I was inspired too much. Was it colour, was it sound, was it an art work or was it the near nude 80 year old guy on the beach? Once seen, never unseen. Skin crawl. More of that later. The songs span the decades from disco through to the 90s.

For the ornithologists: a pair of St Helena waxbills. I was very excited!

The day commenced as all days should with sunrise, a tad earlier than we are used back in Sydney and the curtains and frosted glass don't keep out all of the light. After pretending it wasn't morning for an hour so, we headed for breakfast. As I wrote before, quite an amazing selection: bacon, tuna, ham, fruit, pastries, hash browns (not real hash judging by the reactions of those eating them), cereals, cakes, cheeses, eggs and an interesting collection of fruit juice, the combinations of which one could only guess.

Once the day had begun it was time to continue. The forecast was for an overcast sky so no snorkelling. Instead it was the Tjibaou Cultural Centre (TCC) - we have free entry because we stayed at Le Méridien Resort. Just a short cab ride from the resort. Everything, it appears, is a short cab ride from the resort. This time we headed in the opposite direction to Nouméa and were able to appreciate the other side of the island. The trip wasn't that long and unlike yesterday, we didn't have a smart arse driver. Straight there, no dramas.

The Centre itself is quite amazing. Like Sydney's Opera House, there was a design competition and the final three are on display. I'm not sure why they bothered with the other two finalists; the winner was a lay down misère from my perspective. One finalist borrowed a little too much from colonial heritage, as the type of thing they were trying to negate with the cultural centre. Wouldn't it be exceptional if we could do something like this in Australia? Nah, that would suppose a government with vision and heart. Not going to happen in my lifetime. Sadly.

From a distance, and in all the promo shots we saw, the structure itself looks like it is made of metal. I actually remarked walking down towards the entrance that I wouldn't want to be there in a thunder storm. The entire structure is in fact made form timber. It has weathered to that grey colour and looks like metal. Each of the curved structures houses a gallery. Some are permanent like the library or the display of the finalists, pre-construction. Others house temporary exhibitions.

Not sure why he is unhappy

The TCC contains a large number of exhibition rooms and the grounds are structured around walks and traditional carvings and buildings. Every second visitor on Saturday was a nun. No, seriously. Given the number of phallic carvings I mused as to whether this was their form of sex education. The dude to the right meets you at the door. Nothing to see here folks.

Some of the exhibitions seem a bit esoteric, but their link is the Kanak/New Caledonia culture. The first room contained a history of the artist Aloi Pilioko, the Prince-Artist and his 'long time companion' Nicolai Mitushushkin. Some cultures might have used the term partner or gay lover, but not here. Remember Israel Folau?

Aloi clesrly loved yellow. Nothing wrong with that all. If you think I'm obsessed, he's taken it to another level. House, car, art work, toilet seat, hair, all yellow. Hence today's title. And it's the only decent song Cold Play ever released.

Then there was this dude. I'm not sure what's going on. He has a giant bird landing on his head. He doesn't look happy either. You might need to expand the picture my myopic reader to gain full understanding. Perhaps bis poor mood results from his dick being tucked into his belt. Not comfortable. I mean, as a teenager there were times when it was necessary, but never comfortable. And he doesn't appear to be a teenager.

We spent a couple of hours wandering through the exhibitions, permanent and temporary. It is a beautiful site sitting on the side of the lagoon and the building really lends itself to purpose.

Ring my bell

There was the bell exhibition. Nope. I have no idea. But I wanted to run along the hall and ring every bell as I passed. However, Jayne the adult in the relationship, wouldn't let me. All I could hear was Anita Ward singing, "Ring my bell, ring my bell." There's one for the disco generation. Circa 1979. And here's a picture to go with the  memory.

No, the choice of title is still not over. Next contender is The Police. There was a display called Letter to Facebook. I didn't understand the last part, but the former was depicted by a series of over-sized bottles, well flagons, filled with messages. Cue Sting, "Message in a bottle, yeah."

Message in a bottle

Enough of being inside - it was time to check out the permanent buildings. These structures were made all the more amazing by a video of how they were actually constructed. No nails, no hammers, no power tools. No scaffolding. Definitely no WHS, but amazing structures.

This guy was the welcome committee

No ropes, no shoes.

And a couple more phallic symbols just to help the nuns focus on the real purpose of their visit. And that doesn't include the numerous male calendars on the wall in Aloi's bathroom. More dicks than a group of Year 9 boys.

After a vain attempt to locate a leather and pearl bracelet that I saw in the plane magazine, and a successful attempt to obtain more cash since the majority of transport modes here only accept cash, we returned to the resort for a couple of French Rosés and a bowl of frites while we sat overlooking the lagoon at Le Faré,  the  more relaxed  in-resort eating option.  After that, it was time to read on the balcony and do some blogging.

I think that's probably enough for one day. We are dining at the ritzy French restaurant tonight because it is closed tomorrow night. But tomorrow night we have a whole new adventure. We are seeing Viken Arman perform live at the resort - for guests only (blue wrist bands required for entry). Do yourself a favour, google it kids. Or follow this link.

à demain