Rollin' on the river (Strahan)

Well not so much us as rolling on the river (thanks Creedence), but the Huon Pine logs they used to extract from the wilderness in this area. Strahan is on the west coast of Tasmania on the shores of Macquarie Harbour. It is a pretty little village that survives today on tourism. We are doing our bit for the economy.

It was an unusually early start this morning; we had to be at breakfast by 7:30 - I know, first world problems. It doesn't worry me gentle reader - I was awake long before the alarm sounded. Although the possums scampering around on the wooden verandah last night as they were coming and going from their abode did put somewhat of a dent in a good night's sleep. It sounded like a couple of little children were running around chasing each other. All good fun if you were a possum.

Breakfast was a tad stressful; not for us, but for the two people serving because all the house guests arrived within a few minutes of each other. We are the only Australians here of the twelve guests and the rest are predominantly from Europe, Germany and Holland, although there are a couple from the US as well.

After successfully negotiating breakfast (despite our stressed host mixing the order up twice - one too

The lighthouse at Hells Gate

few OJs and then one too many croissants), it was time to walk into the village and board the catamaran for a day trip around Macquarie Harbour and up into the famed Gordon River. Unlike the SS Minnow, our tour was scheduled for 6 hours and thankfully the seas didn't get rough. In fact it was quite calm, even at Hells Gate. Although it is easy to see how such a small entrance to the harbour could be quite treacherous in the wrong conditions. Moving through Hells Gate to the open ocean was uneventful until we turned broadside to the waves to head back in and a number of unattended teas and coffees literally hit the deck (did you see what I did there? I grabbed a cliche and ... oh ...ok).

Fish in their natural habitat having their food sprayed in

Back inside the harbour, we passed a few 'shacks' on the northern headland that are now used as weekenders. Access is by barge only and it looked like a little too much effort to go on a holiday there. From there we visited the fish farms - you know the ones made famous by a recent 4 Corners program. It was explained to us that is the fish's natural habitat. And that they are fed a natural algae from Queensland to make their flesh red. Natural? Hmmm. Tasmanian fish living in cages with thousands of other fish eating dog kibble and algae from Queensland. Natural? Yep. I think I might have the steak for dinner.

The penetentiary

Next stop was Sarah Island. This is a fascinating study into human nature and motivation. Remember the times - this was a penal colony and those that were sent here were repeat offenders. There are legendary stories of attempted escapes, floggings where men died, hangings and also of successful escapes where cannibalism was the only way to survive. Or those who managed to fight their way through the bush to Hobart (OMG the drive was enough for me) only to be re-captured and returned to the island. Good times. After a change at the top there was a significant shift in statistics on the island and floggings almost disappeared. I can hear the question: why? Well it's an age old answer. Money. they had established a successful ship building yard on the island and needed the co-operation and help of the convicts to make it work. So, an interesting and very successful work place agreement was achieved, at least until 1833 when decision makers from the north island brought things to a close.

The Gordon River

Following Sarah Island there was a trip down the legendary Gordon River to a stop where you could walk on a 400 metre raised platform walk and look at the forest close up. If you were fortunate and travelling in a small group, you may have been able to hear some wildlife, birds for instance. We were not so fortunate. Way too many people on a small walk way, some who had no idea of what they were looking for/at. And our cruise was significantly undersubscribed. The mind boggles.

After the 'rain forest walk' it was back to Strahan and, to while away the hours, they showed us a DVD on the The Oldest Living Tasmanian. It was supposed to be about the Huon Pine but I think it was really more about glorifying the old pine cutters themselves. There is no questioning it was a difficult way to survive, being away from family for four months at a stretch, not to mention the cold, the wet, the leeches and the hard work. I guess I struggle with the retrospective understanding of what they were doing to the environment. It was interesting to hear their story and their hardships and their perspective from the recent days looking back to the 30s and 40s.

We were back in Strahan soon enough and went for a walk further up the cove to check out a restaurant as a possible dinner site. Seriously, for all the talk of Tasmanian produce I can't recall seeing Tasmanian salmon anywhere. Yes, there is the poor alternative of ocean trout but it's not the same. In fact, even in a small village like Strahan that lives on tourism, they seem to have succumbed to the popular trends in food. Every second dish has a Japanese influence. Ho hum. So, it was back to the pub for dinner tonight and it was more than adequate. Again, though, they seem to want to do more. Master Chef and MKR you have a lot to answer for.

Ormiston House

And that is probably enough for today. We have returned from the pub and are ensconced in our room and are reading in preparation for the coming adventures.

Until I have a seriously good internet connection ... I still have no phone. OPTUS!!!!!!!!

Will we make it in the end, through all the twists and bends? (Hobart - Strahan)

This title could have easily been used yesterday after wending up and down the goat track that is the road to the summit of Mt Wellington. However, we saved it for today and the lengthy drive between Hobart and Strahan. For those of you too lazy to Google the lyric it is from Weir, a song by (former) Australian band Killing Heidi. Believe me my dedicated reader it was a very twisty bendy road. 

It is a common misconception that travelling through Tasmania is relatively expeditious experience. After all it is a island, how long can it take to get around? The answer is a sarcastic "As long it takes." We travelled form Hobart to Strahan today with only minor breaks in travel and it consumed the bulk of the day. We left Hobart before 10am and arrived in Strahan around 4pm. Any thoughts of doing anything significant in the area went out the window a long way down the road. The problem isn't the distance per se, it is the roads and the bendy, twisty, serpentine nature which requires a more measured approached. Unless of course you are from NSW driving a Mercedes sports something or other. Dickhead.

I'm sorry dear reader I have taken us away form the events of the day. Hobart dawned spectacularly with an amazing red sky, followed quickly by rain, which had cleared at 8am to a beautiful morning. We checked out of Sullivan's Cove Apartments and commenced the drive to Strahan. The first stop was Derwent Bridge, specifically the hotel, for lunch. I remember this place fondly because it was where Marilyn, Wayne and I had out first real meal after completing the Overland Track back in 2009. I was a little disappointed that the Sunday lunch menu was nothing like the dinner offerings because I was hoping to relive some of the magic. That said, lunch was fine, the service was friendly and it was a good break in the journey. Moreover, we got there just before the coach load of retirees arrived for their pre-packaged lunch, thus avoiding a long queue to order our meals.

Following lunch we drove down to Lake St Clair. Again this was more for me to reminisce than anything else. I was surprised by the crowds of bushwalkers compared to when we came through all those years ago. Clearly walking in summer is much more preferable. The Visitor's Centre is largely unchanged and I resisted the temptation to purchase anything.

Nelson Falls

Back on the long and winding road we kept nosing towards Strahan. We "totally paused" (film reference) at Nelson Falls because I was yawning way too much to be driving and I can't resist a waterfall. It was a 20 minute return walk. I'm not sure that I would classify 20 minutes as a walk, but that was about how long was required. The walk itself was nothing remarkable but the falls were quite pleasant. There were brown trout fingerlings in the ponds below the falls.

The pictures of Queenstown don't do it justice

The serpentine nature of the road continued as we made our way to Queenstown. Wow. If we are going to talk about the impact of people on the planet, Queenstown would be an excellent place to start although, as some 'tourist' brochures pointed out, mother nature is slowly eking her way back into Queenstown. Way too slow for my liking. It is almost an apocalyptic landscape, best viewed from the rear view mirror. The drive down the mountain was harrowing, especially when you are being followed by a local. The Tasmanian government is intent on not squandering the GDP on wasteful things such as signs posting the recommended safe cornering speed. Such signs were obvious by their absence.

Despite the government's attempt to send me over the edge, I safely negotiated our way down the mountain and once again pointed the car at Strahan. More sinuous curves on a much less populated section of road and so we made Ormiston House by 4pm.

Ormiston House is a B&B that has been restored to the grandeur of yesteryear - well mostly, it has ensured that it includes some mod-cons like ensuite bathrooms and air conditioning. It is a short walk from Strahan village - maybe 10 minutes - and has five suites available. We had a tour of the house complete with a brief history. After a hasty bag dropping we walked into the village to book tomorrow's river cruise. In our wanderings we also discovered the pub which has a lovely bar and grill with seats overlooking the main street for people watchers, well, to watch people. So we ordered a bottle of wine while we were waiting for the bistro to open and sat and people watched.

Curiously, the bottle of wine for which I lauded the good people of Sullivan's Cove for not inflating their mini bar prices ($28 remember?) cost me $52.50 at the pub in Strahan. I assume the (bullshit) reason for the extra charge will be the cost of transport. So, if that is case then why isn't petrol almost double the price of Hobart? Anyway, it's a good wine and it went well with dinner.

That's about it for the day. I'm not sure how regular the posts will be over the next few days. My phone has turned into a paper weight because Optus have no network down here, so it might not be until we return to civilisation (Launceston on the 12th) that I am able to load my posts.

Until next time.

There's not a cloud in the sky (Hobart)

Wendy Matthews sings The Day You Went Away and today's title comes from that song in a tribute to the perfect weather we are enjoying.

The apartment we have is, fortunately, in a very quiet area. The morning panned out as usual, Jayne slept on and I got up to greet the morning and finish yesterday's blog. Our clothes are almost all dry which means we once again have wardrobe options. Good news.

The crowd stretches all the way down the hill

Salamanca markets was the first destination of the day. We have both been there before but neither of us was prepared for the crush of people. It appears that all roads led to the markets this morning and we watched people flooding in as we walked along the waterfront. We successfully negotiated the crowds for about an hour before I decided it was time to retreat to the shade and enjoy breakfast. This was necessary because it is a picture perfect day, not a cloud in the sky and the sun was burning. Sadly, the sunscreen and my cap were resting comfortably back in the apartment.

Zum looked like a great place to shelter from both crowds and sunshine. We scored a table in the shaded area out the back and waited for someone to supply us with menus. It was, like the markets, crowded, a good sign at any eatery, but it required patience. The coffee was good, the freshly squeezed OJ even better. Just to prove that an alien has inhabited my body, I had the granola with labneh and passionfruit. Jayne wanted photographic evidence to post on the blog but thought of that too late.

New hat

Once more into the sun and we decided we couldn't continue and headed to the nearest chemist to purchase sunscreen. Neither of us can stand the oily feeling of it on our skin, but it is better than the alternative. Then back to the markets. The crowd had continued to grow as did my frustration at the lack of consideration people show in situations such as this: random stops in the middle of the walkway; deviating straight into you forcing evasive action because they saw something shiny.; pushing prams into areas where they clearly won't fit. Despite the crush we soldiered on and found things to buy. Jayne purchased a 'net jacket' and the elusive red bracelet. I had searched two countries without success (excluding my quest in Sydney) and we found it at Salamanca markets. I purchased a pair of socks with bicycles on them and a hat.

Tony Abbott's favourite take away in Tassie

You don't see brickwork like this anymore

The markets negotiated without death or injury, we turned for the apartment and stopped at the bottle shop to collect supplies for the day's happy hour. In doing so I found the bottle of wine we had last evening from our mini bar had the massive premium of $2 added to it. Another reason to recommend Sullivan's Cove Apartments. Wine sorted and nibblies stowed away, it was back home to prepare for the afternoon's activities. We also used FB messenger to contact Dan in Whistler so he could speak to my mother - we had her on the mobile. Ah, the marvels of modern technology.

I've never been on a tight timeline like this for a holiday and we discussed whether we would try to do everything or just approach each day with a laissez-faire attitude. My love of all things Gallic saw the laid back approach take precedence. So, no organised tours for us, we are content to wander the dock area to while away the hours. We visited a couple of art galleries but weren't particularly taken by anything which is fortunate dear reader because, as you would know, we have no vacant walls in our apartment.


As we walked from one gallery and refocussed on the Lark Distillery, I looked up at the backdrop of mountain and sky behind Hobart and commented on how clear it would be at the summit. Given the top of Mt Wellington is often shrouded in cloud we thought a quick change of plans was in order and headed to the car park to drive to the mountain top.

It was a straightforward drive until we ended up in a conga line of cars snaking our way slowly towards the peak. Top speed was an estimated 40km/h and well below the speed limit or the parameters of safe driving. It would seem the virtue for the day was patience. Not so for the car a little ahead of us whose intemperance saw him overtake the snail-paced leader on one of the few straight sections - still not a safe manoeuvre. Happily for the rest of us his freedom was short lived as a minibus lurked around the next corner and we caught him up.

We are staying at the place with the red roof

There were some spectacular views through thinning foliage as we wound our way up the side of the mountain. I was unable to enjoy them because the road required my attention and Jayne was pre-occupied examining the inside of her eyelids. We arrived soon enough to see that the tar was melting in the blistering 21°C heat. I don't know what compound they used for the tar but if it couldn't cope with 21°,  roads in Sydney would be flowing like a river.

This was a minor section of meltdown

It was quite congested at the top, as was expected given the visibility. It wasn't crystal clear due the haze and sea spray but it was well worth the drive. Views like this are usually only achieved after days of hard slog with a heavy pack on your back. Not that Jayne would understand that.

Makes me want to go bushwalking

Back down the mountain we made better time than on the ascent and were at the apartment in time for happy hour on the balcony. It's almost like being at home.

A pity the service didn't match the view

Dinner was at the Glasshouse on one of the piers recommended by friends (no pressure Mel and Dean). So, the view is divine, straight down the river and we had the pick of the tables. However, it was a little disconcerting to be reminded three times before we had placed our dinner order that this was a timed sitting and we needed to be out by 8pm. I understand that patrons can be unforgiving - I did work in the north-west of Sydney for 7 years. Thinking but not naming people. But to be told three times is a little over the top.



And then, once the orders were taken the food just kept rolling out. We have eaten our share of degustation in restaurants and the arrival of the food is generally treated seriously and is accompanied by an explanation of what is on the plate. Not so much at Glasshouse. Just the naming of the dish as it appeared on the menu. Perfunctory. The wait staff were well drilled but without interest or passion.

My boss asked me to have an oyster for him

Sometimes we hadn't finished the previous course before the next one magically appeared. It continued thus until we were all out of food and we still had 45 minutes before we needed to evacuate the table. Hmmmm. Could there be a lesson learned here? Ultimately I don't care. I won't be back. The food was good, not great, and the view was OK, but really? Nuh. I'll go for food and service and no view every time. So, if I was heading out for dinner in Hobart now it would be straight past Glasshouse and on to Smolt. They have a lot to learn about genuine service and making the customer feel welcomed.

Oh Mona (Hobart)

Embarrassing, I know dear reader. I am sure you think me far too cultured to even contemplate using a Craig McLachlan reference as a title for one of my posts (Check 1, 2 - Google it, but use Incognito. You wouldn't want that to appear in your browser history). However, you are mistaken. After almost 200 posts it is becoming increasingly challenging to find song references to title a post that have yet to be used. So, yes, I'm going for the easy option. That doesn't mean I'm cheap. This prattle is not taking us to the events of the day.

The day began as usual. Sydney trying emulate Melbourne: drizzle. The only difference is we have HUMIDITY! Awesome. Did all the usuals and headed downstairs for a cab. The first two ignored us - they obviously saw the bags and didn't fancy a trip to the airport. The third stopped for us and was listening to AM radio - bad vibes. He had a Slavic accent and wanted to engage us in a discussion about what Trump would do for Australia. At this point I had two different visions, one was lay back and think of England and the other was of PM Turnbull bending over ... anyway, he scored no response from either of us in trying to elicit love for The Donald. I wonder what Jane Austen would have made of Trump? Probably nothing because she was too myopic to look beyond herself. In fact, she would qualify as a Gen Y or Z.

The trek through the beeping machines was relatively benign and I didn't even get tested for explosives. It was quiet. No crowds and no queues. We headed straight for the Qantas Lounge to be stopped at the door. "I'm sorry, madam is wearing thongs. There are some sales on downstairs. perhaps you purchase a change of footwear?". Or we could wait with the plebs. Neither of us had thought of this archaic regulation when getting ready this morning. So as we descended the escalator as a family came the other way. they had no trouble gaining entry. It appears filthy battered joggers and ripped jeans are OK but thongs are not. The last place I was refused entrance was a wanky (no, I didn't mean swanky, although they thought they were) restaurant in Dallas. They didn't like denim.

It was still raining heavily as we boarded the plane and we sat on the apron for a while waiting to take off. The weather had restricted air traffic to one runway. The flight itself was fine and they made good time getting down to Tassie. While flicking through the inflight magazines I came across a photo of Todd Giltinan, ex-school captain at Gilroy. Nice.

There was a nice puppy waiting at the airport in Hobart that ran around sniffing people as they got off the plane. His handler then allowed him to play on the luggage carousel! A domestic flight from Sydney, on a Friday morning, did it really contain a drug fiend? Apparently the answer is no. Although the dog caused much amusement amongst the waiting passengers as it paused momentarily at the bags as they went passed.

We collected the car, a Kia Sportage; we were upgraded. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I didn't consider a Kia an upgrade to anything. Then it was off to MONA, once Jayne had organised a GPS map on her phone. Our upgraded Kia experience does not have a GPS.

The entrance to MONA. The museum is nderground

MONA is the Museum of Old and New Art and is about 20 minutes drive from the centre of Hobart. It is set on the Derwent River on the wines estate Moorilla and has a very tidy restaurant called Source - we will probably eat there at the other end of this trip. The MONA website https://mona.net.au provides all the necessary history, basically it is about taking the piss out of the art establishment. And it does this with alacrity. Picture a series of plaster casts of ... um ... female genitalia, they use the 'c' word. There is a dispute over the number, I thought there were 77, Jayne 72, but what's 5 vaginas between friends? It is interesting to stand quietly in a corner and watch the reactions when people suddenly comprehend what they are seeing. Sorry dear reader there are no pictures of this display, although some of the images are burned into the back of my brain. Best not to ask.

The basic premise of the major exhibit is that art is all about sex. Who wants to argue? Gentle reader your perspicacious nature will allow you to know on what side of that debate I stand. There were a number of exhibits that used human skin and other recreations of other body parts to create more familiar objects - sometimes with startlingly unsettling impact. I offer the following photos without comment, although they look much better in real life.

Yes it's a horse, made from human skin

The Sphinx - made from skin and fat

Human parts reused in the natural world.

The main exhibition was contained in four separate areas as each person provided their perspective on the link between art and sex. Some of it was just 'art' about sex. I believe some may refer to this as porn. Some of it was amusing, some whimsical, some incomprehensible and some was just, well, porn. Not that there's anything wrong with that. If art and theatre are meant to be confronting and I believe they are, then this exhibit has certainly hit the mark. It was not for the faint hearted or little children, but that didn't deter the punters from bringing them in vast number, from squawking, bawling toddlers to disinterested youngsters and they really stopped their minders from doing what the art works required, which was to look at them in detail and move beyond your own unease. One of my favourites was a series of 23 sardine tins that had sculptured above each one an Australian plant and in the tin below were depictions of penises or sex acts. Fascinating. Just coming up with ideas is quite amazing - but that is a discussion for another time.

The entire room was black and yellow

Water droplets created words as they fell

I have no idea - but if it was a shirt I'd wear it.

As we wandered past the vaginas, the penises, the statue of the ejaculating manga character and depictions of a variety of sex acts - some impossible for a person of my advanced years - I couldn't help but think what a very poor choice MONA would be for a first date. As the young people say on social media: awkward. In the extreme I would suggest.

We spent about 4 hours at MONA and could have stayed longer but we needed to check into our accommodation before 5pm. Jayne expertly navigated us to Hobart with only one minor issue. We ended up on the wrong side of the Derwent at one point. The amount of information they put on some road signs is difficult to absorb in the time you have to drive past it and some of their road movements are counter intuitive.  No harm done, the peak traffic period lasts less time than summer in England.

Our accommodation is at Sullivan Cove and it's very nice. We have a spacious loft apartment and everything is within walking distance. Once we began to unpack we discovered the full impact of the Sydney morning rain. I knew our bags were wet when I collected them at the airport, but I didn't realise they were wet through. Between the two of us we have around 5 dry articles of clothing! I've had my bags get wet before, but nothing like this. I have sent an email to Qantas customer care so we'll see if customer care is an ironic title soon enough.

After a bottle of wine on the balcony we felt much refreshed, although the clothes festooned through our apartment are a constant reminder that we have very limited clothing options in the short term. Fortunately we didn't require a change of outfit for dinner and meandered over to Smolt in Salamanca Square. Smolt is one of those restaurants where it takes ages to decide what to eat because there are TOO many delightful choices. In an unfortunate turn of events they delivered an entree to our table we had not ordered. When we pointed this out they apologised and said well, you may as well have it on the house. Zucchini flowers. Yum.

Octopus and chorizo

Passionfruit brulee and meringue

Everything was beautiful. The food was great. The service was friendly, efficient and knowledgeable and the wine list was interesting with a great selection of local wines. There are plenty of good food options in Hobart but Smolt is a must.

And that is about the end of our first day. I will endeavour to have a blog ready for you each morning my dear reader, but there are no guarantees. Until tomorrow.

All my life's a circle (Santorini - Athens - Dubai - Sydney)

Sorry, only 2 photos today, this is a transit post and the last in this series.

And a Harry Chapin song to bring us full circle and return us to Sydney - the long way. Today we will spend about 30 hours in transit. I'm pumped. Not really. I'm writing the first part of this blog from the Business Lounge in Dubai. At least my Qantas Club membership provides some comforts to take the edge off the travel. I'm sipping Moet while I gather my thoughts. We have already been in transit for 12 hours.

A cactus flower near our suite

Unlike every other post from Santorini we did not begin the day with a late leisurely breakfast. The wake up call happened at 7:30am (yes, I know but work time wake up for us is 5:30am). We were up before the cruise ships had arrived and moored off Fira. That was a first. As usual I cleared email and checked FB before leaving the unit and was surprised to see a post from a former student (hi Ysmael) who was also on Santorini. He was in Fira as a part of a one month tour of Europe with his wife. It was a pity we weren't able to catch up for a drink.

Breakfast was as usual except we scored the picture window with the view down the edge of the caldera. As we finished breakfast we began all the good-byes to the staff. It occurred to me earlier today that I hadn't actually named where we were staying - it was the Honeymoon Petra Villas at Imerovigli and I will be giving it a 5 star review on TripAdvisor sometime soon.

The accommodation was superb, the staff were brilliant, from Harry at the bar, to Nikolas who organised everything for us, to the girls who served breakfast, to the cleaners. Everything was perfect. Yes you pay for it, but it was worth it. If I was going back to Santorini I would definitely be staying there again. A good example is Nikolas; he ordered our transport to the airport for 9:30 for a 15 minute drive and a flight at 11:40am. I thought we'd be burning major time in the airport waiting room.

Fira by night

Given the queue was out the door when we arrived, Nikolas was spot on. We joined the line for Aegean airlines and didn't progress very far for some time. The Australians in the line behind us suggested we should get a boarding pass from one of the two machines available otherwise when we arrived at the baggage check-in desk, we would be sent to the end of the line. Not a happy thought given the snail's pace at which we were moving. Boarding passes secured I tried to help some girls from Tel Aviv who were trying to fathom the curiosities of the system. They had neither booking reference or ticket number that would make the machine happy; we even tried a passport to no avail. I'm not sure what became of them after we moved through the queue and they remained behind.  We eventually discovered, via our new best friends behind us in the queue, that the reason we were not moving was because people who did not have access to the wisdom of Nikolas, and were clearly going to miss their flights, would charge up to the counter and demand to be allowed priority, pushing the patient queuing passengers aside.  Add to this the fact that the baggage taggers were also the people charged with making continual P.A. announcements to chase up missing passengers who no doubt were stuck somewhere in a queue in the terminal like we were.  Our baggage processor was clearly not a multi-tasker and spent a significant amount of time pouring through a binder to locate passenger names to announce while our bags sat on the weighing belt waiting to be tagged... so near and yet so far. And then when she came back to us she printed the first bag tag again so we had to re-commence the whole process.

Once our bags were tagged, we had to carry them over to the x-ray screening machines ourselves and drop them onto the moving belt. As they disappeared into the machine, we turned for the waiting room. It wasn't a large room, maybe 20 metres by 8 metres and it was crammed with people and their ridiculously over-sized carry-on luggage. There were people everywhere. It was hot and there wasn't much air flow despite the blustery conditions outside. Two planes had been delayed and two others were trying to board but there were limited buses (read two) to take the passengers across the tarmac to the waiting planes. The hour we had taken to negotiate the line to check our bags now looked like a walk in the park. Our plane was due to board at 11:10 and there were at least two other flights to Athens before us not to mention three planes bound for other parts of Europe. So, we found an area to squeeze in so we weren't blocking people movement and waited. And waited. And waited some more. You get the picture. 

There was much excitement any time a plane was called for boarding. The Athens bound Aegean plane before ours (11:20am) was called and provided a glimmer of hope - or was that a reflection from outside - then they stood, unmoving for 25 minutes. In the meantime we had salvaged a couple of seats when the crowd from Amsterdam lined up for the bus. We whiled away the time trying not be hit by ignorant passers-by.

One thing that has always fascinated me, no matter where I am, continent or country, is the apparent lack of spacial awareness of some people. Do they not know they are crushing someone's foot? Did they think that crunch as they swung their bag through the crowd was made of air and not the back of someone's head? Or when husband, wife, luggage trolley and one child block almost the entire path - would you consider looking for the other child to ensure safe passage for other travellers? Is it ignorance? Is it disdain? Is it wealth and I don't care? Well, I care. Be more considerate you dicks.

But I digress dear reader. We did get on the plane, late, but we were in row 2 and while there was no designated Business Class, I'm sure we had more space than usual. Yes, yes, it's a 45 minute flight and quite a picturesque one, but at this point I'll take what crumbs I'm offered because I know what is to come.

We were late leaving Santorini but not terribly so and I had allowed a sufficient time gap for us to make our connection to Dubai comfortably. I wasn't really worried about time, until we arrived at baggage carousel 10. And there I waited - again. After 30 minutes the electronic sign flickered and reported that the first bag from our flight had been unloaded. A welcome relief because I had resorted to counting the numbers of times one particular bag had gone around on the conveyor belt. I was at 15 when the sign flickered again and our flight disappeared from the board. The sound of shuffling elevated as people from flight 355 looked for an explanation and then some shouted 9 and we moved our attention to the carousel 9 - then they announced the change. Meh, it's Greece, chill out.

Just as the first bag magically appeared, Jayne materialised next to me. I had left her sitting near the then deserted carousel 11 and she became worried when I hadn't returned. Especially since I had no ID on me - it was all with her. Bags collected it was upstairs to go through the check in process again. We met the Australians from the Santorini airport who directed us to the check in point and then we were through, bag free heading for the security check and then a place to have a glass of wine.

The flight from Athens to Dubai was on a 777 and I rate them. They appear to have more room than the A380, but this will be confirmed with the next leg of our trip. Presently I'm still in the Emirates Lounge and I could bang on about it but suffice to say - lift your game Qantas, it is uncrowded and well-supplied and well-serviced. Moet, mmmmm. And they allow people in wearing thongs. No dear reader, thongs are foot wear, flip-flops. Really!

An ear-piercing alarm was activated down-stairs at 12:54am. It's the sort that would be frequently described as a car alarm. No-one up in the lounge appeared concerned, but it continued unabated. It was difficult to hear the announcements over the din. No doubting the acoustics of the terminal. Very impressive. 28 minutes and then quiet.  By now we were almost begging to get on the plane to get away from the incessant din of the triggered alarm.

I'm not sure there is much else to stay. The next section of the trip was, blah, blah ... I watched movies, was bored, I listened to music (that was cool), I didn't eat (airline food, really?), finally we arrived home. It was almost 31 hours from the time we left Honeymoon Petra Villas until we reached Redfern. A looooong time transit. Was it worth it? Absolutely. It would have been worth it even more had Mel put her ass on an ass for the journey to the church.

Until January when we make our next trip ...

Misty mountain hop (Santorini)

Good morning to Led Zeppelin and a classic song.

And so dear reader we arrive at our penultimate day in Santorini. You will not be surprised to know that we slept late and dawdled our way to breakfast by 9:30am. We decided today would be a chill-out day, well, Jayne decided. My contribution to a relaxed day is having a massage this afternoon. This was, of course, organised by the ever-present Nikolas. We also booked transport to the airport tomorrow and a wake-up call for the morning.

The Skaras

After breakfast I decided to climb the Skaras. It is not really a mountain, nor was it misty although it does get a little hazy at times. We had discussed this previously and reacher the decision that Jayne would not accompany me. This, as it later turned out, was very wise. Although not particularly strenuous, the walk out to the path itself was the usual undulating steps along through the hotel accommodation clinging to the side of the caldera. The path out to the Skaras was broken and covered in rocks and rubble. It was not very stable underfoot. Jayne would not have been having fun.

The walk provided some different perspectives of the spectacular view that we have come to take for granted and the wind was blustery and unsettling on occasions. While the path was narrow, it wasn't unsafe. There were the remnants of cave-houses on the saddle across to the rock. All that could be seen was an arch of rock, but if you looked closer inside, you could see the fortified walls and doorways leading to other rooms. Great view and you'd never have trouble drying the washing - if you could keep it pegged onto a line. It would be more likely to end up in the Aegean.

There were, as I'd come to expect in Greece, no signs directing the way and there were a number of braids off the main track where people had gone for a Kodak moment. The last section to the top was an almost sheer climb. That sounds dangerous, but it wasn't; there were plenty of hand and foot holds. However, I was on my own and the wind was gusting so I opted to be sensible and not climb the last 10 metres or so to the top. I know gentle reader, you are shocked, perhaps you should have a cup of tea and a lie down.

A few quick photos and I was climbing the path back to the caldera. Jayne was surprised that I was back so soon, but it really wasn't that far. I was dripping with sweat because much of the walk back was in sun and protected from the wind. Finally it was time to test the infinity pool. The water is chlorinated, not salt; curious in this climate and the water was cool and refreshing. The poolside was already quite crowded with Europeans developing their skin cancers. Sunburn to the left of me, sunburn to the right of me. The only people in the shade were the two Australians from the land of sun and surf. Ironic. Throughout our stay, there have been people poolside who appear not to have moved for days. Good times? Not my idea of a holiday, but to each his own.

After a quick swim and a slow glass of sparkling wine, it was back to the unit to relax some more. So I settled into my book for the first time since we left Australia, only to be disturbed by a ginger cat who obviously preferred the cool inside our suite to the afternoon sun. I tried to coax it to leave but I don't understand cats and this one was Greek, so I'm sure it didn't understand English. Eventually I ushered it out the door after Jayne's failed attempt. It went straight under the sun lounge and looked at me disdainfully and remained there for the afternoon.

I'm just back from my hour long massage. Relaxing? Soft? Ochi! That's 'no' in Greek but it's also close to ouchy. I expect a deep tissue massage to hurt because I have them so infrequently and there are always issues with my back - but OMG, she hurt me - back, shoulders, neck and legs. Jayne asked if I was offered a 'happy ending' but the happy ending was when it was all over and I could limp back to the suite. No doubt I'll feel better later.

Unusual traffic

We climbed the stairs to go to a taverna at the square for our last night. It offered traditional Greek food without the usual Santorini prices. Saganaki, fried tomato balls, seafood souvlaki and gyros accompanied by a carafe of house wine. It wasn't the best meal we've had but it was good enough. While we were still at the taverna a couple of donkeys were led up the road and into the square. Then a couple of photographers turned up followed by a balalaika player and a violinist. A wedding we thought? No, the guy from the taverna said, it's just a donkey excursion.

A donkey excursion for the bride all the way to the church down our end of the caldera. Quite a stunning sight and with the most beautiful back drop. Even the dog was dressed up - photo at the bottom of the page.

After all the excitement we returned to our suite to have a glass of red as the sun went down. No. No pictures of tonight's sunset you've seen enough dear reader. Tonight is our last night of battle with the mosquitoes. I re-enacted some scenes from Dracula last evening and thought of contacting Dr Van Helsing for assistance to ward off the deadly blood-sucking insects this evening.

Until tomorrow.

Dressed up and battling the breeze

Oh, one last thing, the thing no-one ever mentions about travel to Greece. It's toilet paper, you are not allowed to flush it down the toilet. It goes into a little bin next to the toilet. Discuss.

Here comes the sun (Santorini)

Another Beatles song that I imagine was more about the sunrise than the sunset, but hey, it's Santorini and everyone is waiting for the sun ... to set.

Our late night chats with Harry, the bartender, are always worthwhile and last evening revealed one of Harry's favourite places on Santorini - Ammoudi Bay, a small inlet beneath the cliff-top town of Oia and today's destination.

I had intended to climb the Skaras today but found it difficult to get motivated this morning. It is much less hazy today and the breeze is more gentle but strong enough to take the bite out of the sun. Jayne contacted Cait through FB messenger this morning to apologise for last night's post-midnight call. When we got home Jayne checked the time in Sydney on the weather app and it said 6:30pm. So she called, not realising the time shown on the app was actually the last time she had checked in. It up-dated itself after she had woken Cait. In the lee of the afternoon, Cait was much more receptive to a conversation from the other side of the world.

Another leisurely breakfast soaking up that gorgeous view and then a brief discussion (punctuated by charades) with the house keeper to have the room sprayed for mosquitoes while we were out. Perhaps some biologist out there might like to explain why we have so many mozzies. There has been no rain, there are no pools of still/stagnant water anywhere, nor lush vegetation - so what gives? I won't be able to donate blood when we get back because I gave too much last night. They came flying in to our room in formation with the Ride of the Valkyries playing in the background. The only other issue - we had no hot water this morning. Not sure what the problem was but it was rectified by the time we returned from Ammoudi.

Nikolas arranged another transfer for us to go to Ammoudi today. Taxis are few and far between and not particularly reliable. The local buses are big for the size of the roads and from what I've seen, standing room only. Just before midday we walked up to the waiting area above our section of the caldera and waited. Within minutes a transfer car arrived - not ours. We spent some time watching the precise manoeuvring of cars, bikes, vans and even trucks in this little square. After 20 minutes I returned to reception to ask of Nikolas where our transfer might be. I understand Greek time, but 20 minutes. He was certain he had booked the car and so back up the hill went I to wait some more. Another 30 minutes later our transport arrived. We are still uncertain as to what went wrong but we were on our way and luckily we had no deadline to make so all was good.

The traffic was reasonably heavy something for which I was uncharacteristically thankful. We were in a line of vehicles heading down the other side of the caldera and I gained the distinct impression that, had it not been for the traffic in front of us, we would have been moving much faster. This was confirmed as we approached one hair-pin bend and our teenaged driver pulled out and overtook the car in front of us. It was a great view of the other side of the island - straight over the edge of the very sheer cliff. I've never been a good passenger because I like to be in control and I was feeling it now. The view back toward Imerovigli was, as expected, quite stunning and there were the usual houses clinging to the cliff-side. On top of the ridge line a sign read: donkey terminal. I think it was the resting place of the renown Oia donkeys at night; not a specific asinine prognosis.

Oia from below

We side-swiped Oia, figuratively speaking, and met a conga line of coaches stuttering their way through the narrow streets. If I'd been able to open my window I could have written my name on the side of each of the 10 or so coaches as they lurched past, ferrying their precious cargo of cruise-ship passengers back to Fira. Oia, what we could see of it, was crowded. There were many tavernas and no doubt the same sort of shops that we visited yesterday in Fira.

Ammoudi Bay

Once past all of the congestion, we began the next descent. I had thought of walking down the 400 stairs and catching a donkey back up, but Jayne wasn't keen. And then we were there. The road literally ended at the water. Ammoudi Bay is another post-card destination. It consists of a wharf, a jewellery store, five restaurants and two paths. One goes up the mountain and the other skirts the water's edge to provide the best vantage points to capture the trademark sunset. Why anyone would be fighting for space at Oia when they could be enjoying the beauty and serenity of Ammoudi beggars belief.

Harry had recommend we eat at one of the two middle restaurants and we chose the Sunset Fish Taverna. Our table was literally right on the water's edge; something that wouldn't happen in Sydney. We were safe though, they had painted a white line on the edge of the concrete and we stayed behind the line. The selection was better than we had seen up the mountain and was traditional Greek food. Today we went for appetisers only: tsatziki and bread, fried saganaki, grilled squid and mussels in white wine and garlic. Absolutely beautiful. Washed down with a litre of the house wine for €14 as opposed to a bottle of anything commencing at €35. Village life in Koroni has made me circumspect about prices.

Sun-dried octopus anyone?

This meal was followed up with baclava and walnut pie both served with ice cream. And espresso for me and a frappe for Jayne. What a perfect day. Brilliant weather, delightful food, stunning view and of course, great company. The time passed quickly with the help of the constant comings and goings at the wharf. Passenger boats from the cruise ships jostled with sunset seeking catamaran crowds. At one stage there two boats from the cruise liners, two yachts and two cats waiting to off-load or pick up passengers but nothing seemed to hurry who ever had the mooring.

A tough day at the office

Around 5pm we called for our transport and walked back to where we were dropped off just in time to see the donkeys making their rather rapid descent down the mountain side. The drive back was less eventful, although the double lines down the middle of the road must signify something different in Greece because no one seems to pay then any attention. Seat-belts, blinkers and brakes are all superfluous on cars over here.

We stopped to chat with Harry on the way past the bar - and just to surprise you dear reader, we did not stop for a drink. Harry suggested that after such a big day we should head back to our unit to rest. and so we did.

The donkey train coming down the mountain

Of course after a suitable resting period we resurfaced to, in Jane Austen terms, take a turn around the pool. Not really, we walked up tp the bar and Harry told us to get a table before they were all occupied. Happily ensconced at our table, sun setting slowly in the west, Harry arrived and we ordered our wine and watched the sky change colours. It's what you do on Santorini. I have about 17,358 photos of the sunset. Slide night! oh yeah!

Another day, another sunset