Quite some time has passed since I last updated this blog so I thought I’d provide an update on the past few months. When I last posted here I had just completed my 88 days of torturous farm labour, a hellish yet necessary evil required in exchange for a second year Australian working holiday visa. Moving back to Melbourne in late November I checked into a hostel for what was supposed to be just one week, but ended up pushing the better part of two months! After three months of severe isolation in communities which you wouldn’t force a criminal to have to reside in, I was just so overjoyed and relieved to be back in the company of other members of the human species. It is something which is so easily taken for granted, until you are dwelling in a location where mowing the lawn is amongst the most interesting, enjoyable and mentally stimulating of all available activities!
A lot of fun was had, I met some very nice people and made new friends, but it wasn’t long before I grew sick of the hostel culture. It is one thing staying in them when travelling, but when working from nine to five, it becomes a dreadful inconvenience living in a squashed five person dorm. One of the people staying in my dorm has resided at that particular hostel for close to seven years now. There’s something very strange and creepy about that, but whatever floats your boat I guess. Once the Christmas period was over, I made it my business to make my escape and find a real place to live, which I managed within a couple of weeks.
The last few months have been very normal and regular, so I won’t bore you with the details about my job, house hunt, or nights on the beer. I have re-settled back into Melbourne quite well at this stage. While I haven’t done very much exploring since finishing my farm work, I have made a few brief trips out of the city which are worthy of mention.
The first of these was a one day group tour back in December to Wilsons Promontory National Park, the most southerly part of mainland Australia. With just one day to explore “The Prom”, as locals like to call it, we were always only going to be scratching the surface of an area renowned for its great bushwalking, hiking and camping. However my time there did give me a taste for the beauty of the area, a place with striking rainforests, unspoilt picturesque beaches and abundant wildlife. Unfortunately I only got to meet Wilsons Prom when she was mildly hungover. While the weather could certainly have been a lot worse, it was overcast throughout the day, and so I didn’t get to see this impressive coastline in its full energetic glory.
The trip however did produce an absolutely bizarre and unexpected tale. After exploring Norman Beach, our tour guide gave us the option to hike to nearby Squeaky Beach, or to take the bus. The vast majority of people opted to walk, to fully make the most of the day. However, typically there were a few astonishingly lazy sods who opted for the 5 minute drive ahead of the exploration of a beautiful part of Victoria. Uncharacteristically for a tour guide in a reasonably remote area, she drove this small minority to Squeaky Beach and merely let the rest of us fend for ourselves on a self-guided walk to our destination, where she would greet us upon arrival. She provided us all with simple directions, and she fully expected us to arrive without any issues.
During the trip I became friends with two nice Italian sisters, one with a perfect fluent command of the English language, the other with barely a lick of said native tongue. During our hike we spent a lot of time talking and having the craic, and before we knew it, we had lost the rest of the group. No panic though, we still had our tour guides trusty directions vaguely residing in our memories. However it wasn’t long before our “direct” pathway suddenly split into three different routes. She never mentioned any of this! At this stage we were completely confused. We stopped and asked a couple of passers-by for directions, to which we were provided with the heartbreaking response that we had to go back the way we came. So a quick U-turn, and back we went in the hope that we would find a sign directing us to Squeaky Beach. However, we eventually, much to our dismay, found that these people didn’t know what they were talking about at all and we were right back where we started from two hours previously. At this stage, enough was enough, and I refused to walk another step. The three of us stood out on the isolated main road, and proceed to try hitchhike our way to the beach. Very few cars passed however, and none of them stopped. It wasn’t looking promising. We were on the verge of becoming probably the first people in history to get lost on a one day bus tour. Thankfully we spotted a few people about to pull out of a nearby car park, and we begged them to drive us to the rest of our fellow travellers. Upon arrival at Squeaky Beach we were greeted by a mildly stressed looking tour guide who revealed that she didn’t want to have to fill out any paperwork. She hates paperwork she tells us! To be honest, the whole experience was a bit of a laugh, and added some adventure to the trip.
The second journey out of Melbourne was barely much of a trip at all to be honest. In January, I competed in the 400 metres at the Victorian Country Athletics Championships in the old gold mining town of Bendigo, two hours north of Melbourne. I had a few hours to kill after my race before boarding my return train back to Melbourne, and so dragged my lactic acid filled legs around the centre of the city. By Australian standards Bendigo has some pretty decent, historical architecture, but being honest, the house where my dad grew up down in a remote part of South Kerry is older and has more character than the majority of these “historical” buildings. It certainly is one area where Australia is badly lacking. The country is still just a teenager and lacks the signs of age and wisdom that is prevalent around Europe, Asia and South America. Having said that, Bendigo is quite a pretty town and is worth a solid 30 or 40 minutes.
Yesterday, the girlfriend and I went on a day trip to Point Nepean National Park, located on the very tip of the Mornington Peninsula. I had long heard that this region of Victoria was nice, but being honest, I had the idea in my head that it was just an area densely populated by massive villas and holiday homes. So my expectations were very much exceeded when I saw this picturesque national park. This narrow pointy piece of land separates the ocean from Port Phillip Bay and provides a wealth of bush walking along with scenic views of the majestic coastline, the bright blue water, and powerful white waves. Its splendid scenery rivals the very best that the Great Ocean Road has to offer, with only a fraction of the amount of tourists that sites such as the Twelve Apostles attract. It is certainly one of Victoria’s hidden gems and I couldn’t have been more impressed with this semi-isolated wonderland.
Aside from its marvellous, rugged coastline, Point Nepean is known for a couple of other things. Firstly, for many years throughout the 19th and 20th centuries, this area of land was completely closed to the public, and was under the control of the military, ready for gun fire, fully prepared to blow this stunning area to smithereens should somebody even dare to attack. Thankfully, Australia’s paranoia was unfounded and none of the high tech equipment was ever utilised, and the land escaped unscathed. There are however numerous unexploded bombs still in existence throughout the national park.
Point Nepean is also known for being the place where Prime Minister Harold Holt vanished while still in office. It is quite funny that a country can simply lose a Prime Minister, but that is exactly what happened in Australia on the 17th December 1967. It is worth noting that the beaches at Point Nepean are extremely dangerous, contain treacherous rips, and under no circumstances should anybody enter the water for a bit of breast stroke or butterfly! The political leader of Australia however, unfathomed by all the warning signs, and clearly forgetting to take his common sense medication, paddled in for a quick dip at Cheviot Beach. He walked out about a couple of hundred feet, and then disappeared in an instant, never to be seen again, and with no trace of his body ever found. It is hard to believe that somebody holding such a high position could be so atrociously stupid to risk his life for the sake of a bit of a swim and surf. It is because of this that numerous conspiracy theories have developed, from the very possible claims that he committed suicide, to the ludicrous and comical suggestions that he was kidnapped by a Chinese submarine, or abducted by a UFO. In any case his death will forever remain a mystery. The interesting thing about all of this is that it really is not seen as a big deal. The incident is pretty much forgotten now, most young Australians have no knowledge about this event at all, and overlooking Cheviot Beach there exists just a tiny memorial plaque in his honour. In Melbourne however, there is one thing which bears the name of Harold Holt… a swimming pool. God bless Australians and their unique sense of humour!
The Athletics Victoria track and field season has been a big part of my life down here over the last six months or so. During this time I have begun to take my training a lot more seriously and have brought my 400 metres time down from 64.04 seconds to 58.68. However, I won’t bore you with stats and figures that don’t really have much meaning to those who don’t follow the sport. What I will mention briefly however is one event which stands head and shoulders above the rest – the Victorian State Decathlon Championships. I competed in this competition back in February and it was honestly among the most enjoyable weekends I have had since arriving in Australia. For those who are not aware, the decathlon is a 10 event track and field competition, spread over two days, comprising the following: 100m, Long Jump, Shot Putt, High Jump, 400m, 110m Hurdles, Discus Throw, Pole Vault, Javelin Throw, and 1500m. Points are scored based on how well you perform in each event, and the person with the greatest total at the end of this gruelling competition is determined the winner. It was no secret that I was a complete novice in the majority of these events, but never once did I feel out of place among the faster, stronger and fitter athletes on show. While everybody was competing against each other, for these couple of days brief friendships developed, with each person encouraging the rest of their compatriots on. Some of my competitors even kindly gave me a crash coaching session to try to improve my technique over the jumping and throwing events that I am not accustomed to. The memory of the camaraderie among the 20 decathletes competing is something which will remain with me for a long time.
My big trip of 2012 will be in July and August when I visit home for four weeks, incorporating eight days in London for the Olympic Games. In a few weeks’ time I head to Hobart, the capital of Tasmania, for a three day weekend. I’ll make sure to update then.
