RoundTheWorld

Singapore to Kuala Lumpur

Tuesday, July 13

Today was, for the most part, one long train ride. We were met at the hotel this morning at 0630, and driven to the train station. Our driver tells us that to drive to Kuala Lumpur takes 5 hours; our train ride is nominally a bit over 8 hours. The station, the driver tells us, is owned by Malaysia. Singapore has negotiated a deal, and will be opening a new station in 2 or 3 years, farther north. It will be all new and clean.

We exit the car and trundle our bags into the hot, dim, gray building. It's hot and muggy at 7 a.m. There are a few banks of plastic seating, the kind you would recognize from the 70s, perhaps -- four molded chairs all in a row on metal legs. The plastic is so worn that the once-bright colors are washed out and patchy. Maybe it's a good thing the lights are dim -- can't see much. We buy a small bag of peanuts and a paper, and fill out our immigration cards.

At 0715 we are invited onto the platform, and pass through Singaporean customs. We walk through the "nothing to declare" lane without incident, and stroll the length of the train to our car, where we have first-class seats. The seats are roomy and the footrests work, but everything is tired and grimy. The upholstery is faded, the plastic has been washed but hastily, and no one has vacuumed under the seats for an eternity. Our window is fogged up -- the air conditioning on the train does work. I soon figure out that the mist isn't between panes -- the outer pane on our dual pane window is completely gone, knocked out but for a few chips sticking up from the gutter.

We pull out of the station a minute early! And then we sit on a siding for over an hour, no explanation given. At nearly nine o'clock, we are on our way once more ... to the stop where we must clear Singaporean passport control. We dismount the train and queue up for an immigration official. Passports stamped, we have officially exited  Singapre. We reboard the train and set out on our journey at last. We never see anyone from Malaysia passport control or customs. Hmmm. I'm keeping the card.

Most of the way we travel through lush greenery: first fields of banana trees and later large plantations of palms, although of what variety I cannot tell. We are served what is perhaps meant to be morning tea -- a bottle of water and a packaged muffin flavored with coconut. We never see lunch, nor are we invited to visit the dining car. We don't see anyone else going either. It's a good thing we bought those peanuts. We know what to do for the return journey, you bet.

We pull into the Kuala Lumpur station at 3:30 p.m., and are whisked away to our hotel. Our driver gives us some tips (don't drink the water, ask the taxi driver to use the meter, don't shop in Chinatown - the prices are outrageous, take the bus back to Singapore instead of the train). Our room is very nice, but the public areas of the hotel suffer, although to a lesser degree than the train, from wear and tear. The seats in the lounge are grimy on the arms and there are rents here and there in the upholstery. In contrast, the marble floor of the lobby gleams and the desk clerks and concierge are spotlessly attired.

We adjourn to the bar for happy hour, and enjoy a glass of wine. Then we walk the short distance to the local shopping mall, the Pavilion, where we score a few snacks and bottled water for our bus trip to the Cameroon Highlands tomorrow. We dine on duck and noodles with a side of shrimp dumplings -- and we are served soup, too! Salty, but tasty.

Still no upload capability to speak of, so no pictures yet. I'll try again when we're back from the highlands -- or maybe at breakfast tomorrow.

Singapore, the Lion City

Monday, July 12

Happy Birthday, Zach!

Our second day in Singapore is hot, sticky, cloudy, rainy, and sunny, just like the first. We arise at leisure this time, and breakfast at an outside table. Outside our hotel, the concierge orders us a taxi, and we ride in air-conditioned comfort to Jurong Bird Park. Once past the touristy bits at the entry way, we hit the first lovely sight of the day; a whole flock of pink flamingos. They are as lovely as the setting.

Our first stop is at a show of birds of prey. After the show we saw in Scotland, our standard for this kind of thing is very high. This show is pure entertainment. The best part is the finale, when the six or eight different birds are all released at once. And the maribou stork doesn't want to exit stage left, not at all. He and the falconer minding him have quite a discussion.

Our next step is to ride the monorial through the park; it's a pretty small park, and there are only four stops. We take the entire circuit just to assess our options. We walk through the park, stopping here and there. Many of the birds are in aviaries, and we visit a few of those. We walk past a series of lakes, the first with flamingos, the second with pelicans, and a third with swans. We stop briefly in the African aviary, where there is, we are told, the largest man-made waterfall in an aviary. Hmmm. It is pretty.

We taxi back to our hotel in good time to change for our afternoon tour, billed as Footsteps of Raffles. No shorts, sandals only with socks for men -- a dress code. This tour is oddly devoid of any historical emphasis, although we do visit the statue of Sir Stamford Raffles erected at the "exact spot" where he first stepped ashore in 1819, drive through the colonial district, and have cake and tea at the Raffles Hotel. B and I have time at Raffles to have a Singapore Sling, the iconic drink invented at Raffles many years ago.

The tour includes a boat ride on the Singapore River, starting at Clark Quay near our hotel. The short ride gives us a good view of some of Singapore's more avant garde architecture, like the boat/rooftop garden perched on top of three highrise hotel buildings, and the city's new opera house and theater. If we were here longer, I would love to go up to that rooftop garden. Whatever was the architect thinking?

The most interesting part of the day was our ride to Jurong Bird Park. Our driver, a native Singaporean (father Pakistani, mother Indian and Malay), lived in San Diego for eight years. He worked on a yacht belonging to a Saudi Prince. Other home ports for the yacht include Nice and Sharm el Sheik. He came home to Singapore three years ago to care for his ailing father, who died not long ago, and has managed to collect a wife and a 20-month-old daughter. He's thinking of going back to work for the prince ... or maybe he'll emigrate to New Zealand. His wife, a civil engineer, has had a couple of job interviews there. Singapore is too hot and humid, he says. Perhaps truth is stranger than fiction.

Our guides have all been well-rehearsed, and tell a consistent story. A multi-cultural Singapore - 75% Chinese, then Indian and Malaysian. Four official languages: English, Mandarin, Tamil, and Malay. Everyone gets along. Perhaps being a city-state, and relatively small, the strong will of the government, backed by the tremendous amount of money pouring into Singapore, will prevail in its aims: to become the leader of finance and high-technology in Asia. It's a bit of a strange place; the very rich and then the majority subsidized by the government, so not in poverty but not really a middle class; no resources of its own -- everything is imported. Everything is expensive, most especially land. Laws are near-draconic; huge fines for littering, death for possession of any quantity of illegal drugs. Perhaps it is just that this is Asia, and very far from America not only in distance.

Oh, and Lion City? Based on legend that a Malay king, upon landing here, saw a lion. There are no lions here, but there are tigers, and perhaps leopards. We wonder what the king really saw.

Singapore

Sunday, July 11

We arrived in Singapore early, early this morning. By the time we reached our hotel and hit the beds, it was 2 a.m. Four hours sleep, an interesting breakfast, and a tour will fill our day.

Our hotel is conveniently located within walking distance of China Town and adjacent to Clark Quay on the Singapore River. We're some distance from Singapore's famous shopping district on Orchard Road, but since neither B nor I is an ardent shopper, this is not such a hardship. Breakfast at our hotel is a treat; fresh fruit: all the usual ham, bacon and beans; dim sum in small baskets atop a steamer, chicken congee, miso soup; eggs cooked to order; smoked salmon and fancy cheeses; cereals. We start with fruit and move on to dim sum.

Our tour operator picks us up at 8:30. We climb into the minibus, pick up more people, stop at the base of the Singapore Flyer, Singapore's 165 meter tall ferris wheel, to sort out folks bound for different tours to to the proper buses. Then we set out for our first stop, Tiger Balm Villa or Haw Par Villa. This proves to be a sculpture garden that illustrates the stories and culture of China and other Asian nations. Our guide, Foo, takes  us through the series of displays that tells the story of the Ten Hells that men must pass through between death and reincarnation. We see only the lower portion of the park; there is more above, up to the top of the hill.

Our next stop is the War Memorial, commemorating all troops of all nations who lost their lives in this part of Asia in World War II. Our guide tells us, as we travel to the site, about the Japanese invasion of Singapore. The British guessed wrong about  where the Japanese would land, so the defending troops were in the wrong places. It was a great victory for the Japanese, a resounding defeat for the British and their allies. At the site, gravestones wrap around the hillside, and at the top is a stone pavilion. The names of all the dead are engraved on the walls, unit by unit: Indian, Malaysian, British, Australian, New Zealand.

 And so on to lunch at the Beaulieu Restaurant, sited on the old British Navy base, in the building that, Foo tells us, housed the ranking NCO. Pretty posh digs those Brits had, if this was a single  residence. It is in the middle of a park now, on the beach. People are camping near the shore, fishing from the pier. We enjoy the location, the lunch (served Chinese style at round tables with a lazy susan) and the Tiger beer. It is hot. There are clouds, so the sun only cooks us occasionally. Shade is nice!

And then we move on to the Occupation of Singapore, at the Changi Prison Museum. The exhibits are primarily quotes from internees at the prison, both prisoners of war and family members, and others who lived in Singapore while the Japanese ruled, as well as pictures from the time. We spend an hour hear, and well worth it. It must have been a very grim three years.

Next we visit Singapore's Bright Hill Temple, a large complex of several buildings and manicured grounds. We first visit the new temple. We ride the elevator to the top floor, remove our shoes, and enter a huge room, doors open to to the breeze. A giant buddha on a stage looms all the way to the ceiling, behind an altar decorated with flowers and candles. Other than that, the large room is empty, dim, still, perfect for meditation. It is peaceful and relaxing. The veranda runs all the way around the building; from it, we can see the entire campus - older buildings, statuary, the Buddhist study center topped by golden domes. The details on the buildings are delightful, and there is decoration, especially in the older parts, everywhere you look. Clearly decorating this temple was a labor of love and many hands have had a part. And the peaceful setting helps after visiting the Chanji museum.

From here it is back to our hotels. Foo showed us on a map at the War Memorial where we had been. Singapore is a relatively small island, but surely we've traveled miles and miles and miles today on the roads. I guess the roads really weren't built for a 'Round Island tour.

Perhaps the best thing about our tour today was that, through Foo, we got some appreciation of what it must be like to live in Singapore. He is an older gentleman, but still wants to work. He is also crippled (something about his hip and leg) but doesn't let that slow him down. Unemployment here is something like 3%. The government takes 40% off the top of what you earn; this is your retirement account. They will lend part of that back to you when you're ready to buy an apartment, and lend you the balance at a low interest rate. Most people (except, of course, for the rich ones) live in government-subsidized high-rise housing blocks. These appear to be well maintained, and one can be distinguished from another in a group only from the large numbers painted on the outside. Laundry hangs from poles suspended out the windows like bowsprits on a sailing ship.

So, imagine; the life you know is apartment living, and small apartment living at that. There is lots of green space, so you'll be able to play outdoors. And a couple of buildings away there will be a market -- everything you need in your neighborhood. You probably ride a bus to work. But, Foo tells us, the old custom of generations living together, as many as three generations to a large apartment, is breaking down; some of the high-rises have become old folks homes, and the government is paying first-time buyers subsidies to purchase apartments in blocks near these.

Back at our hotel, B and I pick up a couple of beers at the 7Eleven around the corner, and rest for an hour. Then we set off down Bridge Street to Chinatown. We navigate the ever-more-crowded sidewalks, cross the street on a pedestrian bridge, and find ourselves at Smith Street, Chinatown's Food Street. We wander the food street and the surrounding markets for a while, then mentally flip a coin and choose a restaurant. We end up in a restaurant pretty much filled up with Chinese speaking diners, so that bodes well. Fried Chinese kale, fish nuggets in spicy sauce, and spicy prawns.

I do have photos, but the upload just isn't working from the hotel here in Singapore, so ... whenever. It may be Japan.

Singapore is Next

Saturday, July 10

It's been a few days since my last post, but not much has been going on, really. On Wednesday, July 7, we drove (or rather B drove and I rode) the long, boring trip down the Stuart Highway from Coober Pedy to Port Pirie. Why Port Pirie? Well, it seemed to be less than three hours from Adelaide. We ended up staying in a fleabag motel here, the Flinders Range Motel. Don't stay there. Better yet, don't go to Port Pirie.

On Thursday, July 8, we completed the drive to Adelaide. B dropped me and the luggage off at Kay and Bill's and went to return the rental car. He arrived via bus at about the same time Kay pulled into the driveway. We spent the afternoon relaxing and doing laundry and talking, a very pleasant time. I got caught up on a week's worth of blog posts, and along the way got to teach Kay about snopes.com. Bill and Kay let us take them out to dinner as a thank you for the great time we've had in Australia. Kay had arranged a dessert for after; fresh rocky road from Haigh's, the local chocalatier, along with some Yalumba tawny port.  I do wish I hadn't had that third tiny glass of port.

Friday we spent on the train from Adelaide to Melbourne. The journey was comfortable although not exactly scenic. We found our hotel in the city without any trouble, and went out to investigate Hardware Alley -- a whole long string of restaurants with outside seating and heaters mounted on the sides of the buildings. It is a popular area, quite crowded at 8 p.m. We perused the whole lot of menus and picked out the restaurant with cloth napkins and Morton Bay Bug Risotto on the menu. The wine was a tad pricey, but the setting was right and the appetizers (entrees, as they're listed here) were good -- fresh baked bread with olivada, a rocket pesto, and red pepper coulis. Mains were ok, not great. The wine, an unoaked chardonnay, tasted of granny smiths and yellow delicious apples. Interesting.

Today we rose in leisurely fashion (no alarm set!!) and went out to find coffee and a roll. We stowed our bags in the locker at the hotel, and set out to see a bit of Melbourne. First off we walked up to Queen Victoria Market. Fun, fun, fun! This is one of the things we enjoy doing in every city we visit -- seeing the local markets. (If there's not a big market like this one, we even enjoy visiting the grocery stores. Odd, I know.)

Queen Victoria Market. Very satisfying. From the street, one enters a large covered area that sells miscellaneous clothing and accessories -- belts, sweaters, coats, scarves, tote bags, shoes -- you name it and they've got it. An equally large covered area houses the vegetable market; oh, my, such abundance. Eggplant for $1.60 per kilo; five varieties of potato; cabbages and baby brussels sprouts; tomatoes and peppers; ginger root and garlic; fennel and chard; free range eggs. (Can you tell I'm vegetable deprived?) In between buildings are cages of live chickens, quail, and other birds -- "ready to lay" the signs read.

Another building is devoted to organic produce - vegetables, wines, dried beans and lentils, eggs. And yet another building houses the fishmongers and butchers. Fish, fish, shellfish, crayfish, whole fish and fillets: all fresh today. And cuts of meat not commonly found in the U.S.: a rolled pork loin with a caul of fat, nicely tied; lamb rump; fresh goat; fresh duck for $12 each; chicken schnitzel breaded and ready to pan fry. Ah, for a kitchen.

Eventually we tear ourselves away from the market, and head in the opposite direction to the waterfront promenade, along the Yarra River. This, aside from a tall ship, the Polly Woodside, docked in front of the convention center, was a disappointment. The promenade fronts an enormous upscale shopping center; we walked into one entrance directly opposite the Versace store, just to give you the flavor. The row of restaurants on the promenade are expensive, and most didn't have their outdoor areas open anyway. Today is overcast and very blustery (gusts up to 70 kph today) and occasionally there is a brief shower of rain.

We settle on a corner cafe near our hotel for lunch, pick up our bags, and catch the bus to the airport. I'm sitting at our gate, deserted at this time as we are here a bit early. We have an Emirates flight to Singapore. I do hope we have better luck with Emirates than Zach did on his way home from South Africa. We're to arrive in Singapore at 11:30 local time, and have a tour on the schedule at 8:45 the next morning. Fortunately the time change is negligible; Singapore time is 2 hours behind the local Melbourne time. And I can sleep in when I'm at home.

Coober Pedy is not a Destination Resort

Tuesday, July 6

Today dawns with light cloud cover. No hurry to get to the Breakaways, then. We head out around 8, up the main street, left on Seventeen Mile, and right onto the Oodnadatta Track. 15 kilometers up the graveled track we find our landmarks. Through the dog fence is the moon plain; turn left before the fence to get to the Breakaways.

OK, dog fence? Yes, there are several thousands of  kilometers (5300) of this fence, running from Queensland west through South Australia. The fence is highly effective in keeping the dingos, Australia's wild dogs, in the north where they belong, and out of sheep country. Maintenance is subsidized by the government. There's nothing remarkable about the fence, bar its length.

The Moon Plain is a rocky plain reminiscent of a moonscape, or maybe a Mars-scape. The dirt is red. Living in the Mojave Desert as we do, this is not such a remarkable sight to us. Neither is the geography of the Breakaways. These are  the eroded remnants of a larger mesa that probably once abutted the Stuart Range. The name indicates that they appear to have broken away from that Range. The mineralization shows in the array of reds, browns, and whites in the dirt; the colors are lovely, especially today with the overcast sky. This is an aboriginal sacred site, and the names of some of the formations are indicated on the signage.

The "Castle" site is called "Two Dogs" by the native people; a brown dog and a white one lying side by side. A pointed mound nearby is a man. Another formation represents a lizard. We have missed the sunrise tours (what a disappointment that must have been on this cloudy day) and see only two cars while we investigate the lookouts. We complete the loop drive, back down the Stuart Highway to Coober Pedy, past the tightly clustered mounds of mullock dumps. These must be some very productive claims.


Back at our hotel, we note that the caravans that pulled in late yesterday are gone. This town is a stop on the way to somewhere, and it's a long way to somewhere: 700 kilometers to Alice Springs, 800 plus to Adelaide. There's enough to do here to fill a day, but one mine is much like another. Folks don't hang around. We take a walk into town and find out tour times for the Omoona mine, with a side trip to take a photo of the Sturt's Desert Pea in bloom outside the bookshop. This native of the arid lands is the symbol of South Australia.

We drive out to the Serbian Church, southeast of town. There are several underground churches in town, and we chose this one as it is on several of the tours. It is, of course, in the middle of a mining area, dug into a hill. In fact, there is some digging going on at the church; they are getting ready for a religious festival. The garrulous bar manager, who is coordinating the activity, tells us they are adding two rooms as an addition to the full kitchen and bar that already exist in the social hall. They're going to put in toilets and showers outside, and allow folks to camp in the large parking lot.

As a bonus, he gives us an explanation of opal mining. First you would drill some exploratory holes. If you get good results, you then dig  a shaft down to the level needed. A tunneling machine is lowered into the shaft. Debris from the shaft and from the tunnels is sucked up a large pipe by a machine called a blower, actually a great big vacuum cleaner mounted on a truck.. The debris is deposited in a large barrel suspended from a crane on the back of the blower truck. The bottom of the barrel is hinged. Open it and the debris, or mullock, drops out, eventually making a mullock heap.

When the tunneling machine runs across opal (we're told the operators can tell by sound and feel when the softer seam is encountered), it stops, and further exploration is done by hand, with a pick. If you find something good, you call all your friends and relatives to stake out 150x50 meter claims bordering yours. You must work your claim at least 20 hours a week. If you "move your stakes", you may not return to the site you left for 12 months. And you never fill in shafts or tunnels.

Opal is, apparently, capricious. One can't predict from one seam where another might be. It all depends on where the silica-rich water found a pocket in the underground layers of rock.

And then there's noodling, a corruption of the term noduling. To noodle, one fossicks (searches) through the mullock heap, looking for stones that were missed in the general clutter. This is easier if you have a dark place with a black light; the opal shows up white. You pick all the white stuff, and examine it then in daylight for color. The colorless stuff, common opal, is called potch. Evidently you can make a living at this - $2000 a month - all you need to live in Coober Pedy.

The church itself is a very large underground room comprising a sanctuary and a choir loft. The only natural light comes from the large paneled window in the choir loft. The room itself was dug with machines, but some sculptor has been at work. There are several nice carvings, presumably of saints, in alcoves, carved right out of the rock walls of the sanctuary.

We drive on, up to the Old Winch lookout. Before a New Zealander invented the blower, mullock was commonly winched up out of the shaft in buckets. Before power winches, it was winched up by muscle power in hide buckets.

Later in the afternoon, we take a tour of Umoona Mine, right in the downtown area. None of the downtown mines have been worked since the 70's, when the local council banned mining in town and relegated all the miners to the opal fields. We see a short movie on opals; tour a couple of underground rooms (one hand dug, one machine dug) to get a feel for living in a dugout; tour the old mine, culminating in examining a seam of potch. Being 11 meters underground spooks me just a little, even if there are air  shafts. I'm happy to leave after the tour.

70% of the population in Coober Pedy lives underground. The advantages are clear to see - stable temperature without heating or cooling. Our guide tells us that most folk have solar hot water, and rarely need to augment with electricity. Coax brings in cable television. "Wet areas" are generally near the dugout entrance to save on digging trench for pipes. The walls are sealed with coats of laquer to bind the dust. But it is dark; after all, it is a cave.

I've seen a couple of opal pieces I wouldn't mind owning, but the price tags are prohibitive. When I tell B about them, he doesn't even as me to point them out! I guess I'll be leaving Coober Pedy opal-less. No worries, as they say here.

Today's pictures start here.

Coober Pedy

Monday, July 5

The day is overcast, with featureless gray skies. This morning we make the long drive from Woomera to Coober Pedy. There are a couple of spritzes of rain. The Stuart Highway is wide and well paved, and we see little traffic. The land is largely flat, and the vegetation is scrub; a few mulgas and low bushes. Kilometer after kilometer after kilometer. I doze a good bit of the way. We don't see much wildlife, aside from a couple of big wedge-tail eagles feasting on road kill. There are some cattle on the stations up and down the road. There isn't much between Woomera and Coober Pedy, not much at all.

If Woomera reminded us of Ridgecrest, then Coober Pedy inevitablly reminds us of Trona ... although opal mining certainly doesn't have any residual smell! The soil is the characteristic red of this region, and grass there is none. Mine machinery perches on tailings piles hither and yon. Coober Pedy is primed for tourists; there's an opal shop on every corner and in between an underground hotel or cafe. You can take a mine tour or "noodle" for opal in the leftover tailings, or mullock heaps, as they're called here.

We begin with a familiarization drive around town, and end up at the golf course. This is picture-worthy. When you pay your fees here, you are issued a small square of artificial turf on which to nestle your ball for each shot. The greens are crunchy cinders, and each has a wooden rake for raking smooth the ball's path to the hole. There are two couples on the course, and as we watch a third couple joins them. I guess if you're here and you golf, you might as well. It is unique.

We spend the bulk of the afternoon walking around town following the historical points of interest brochure that we collected at the i-site: the old water tank, used to collect rain water; the old cemetery. "Old" is relative, since the opal boom didn't really get started until the 1915. It is clear that tourism is second only to opals as a money-maker.

The historic route wasn't intended for walking, and except for a couple of aboriginal people, we are the only ones on foot. But it's a good walk. We head back to the main street past a ... wait for it ... drive-in theater, next to a dirt Aussie-rules footie oval. We walk through the middle of town on Hutchison Street, investigating our choices for dinner. There is, ironically, a John's Pizza here, although their menu sounds exceedingly eclectic, ranging from gyros to gelato. We're hoping the Greek Cafe is interesting, but we'll have to wait until 6 p.m. to find out.

We are not in one of the many underground hotels; although, if it were summer, I certainly would want to be underground and cool. We have tomorrow's itinerary all planned: an early visit to the Breakaways, the underground shopping center, and an opal mine tour.

Today's pictures start here.

To the Outback, to Woomera

Sunday, July 4

It is another clear and sunny day, and not as cold as yesterday. Rising is much easier, but climbing back into bed with a cup of hot tea is still pretty nice. We get on the road by 8:30, bound for Woomera. But a road sign catches B's eye -- "Yourambulla Caves" it reads. As we drive on toward the ruins of the settlement of Wilson, I read out loud from the guidebook. Aboriginal paintings in caves; platform for the first cave.  Hmmm. We turn around and take the turn for Yourambulla Caves. 

This definitely wasn't on my dance card for the day. I reluctantly "rug up" (Aussie for putting on all kinds of layers to stay warm) and we start up the hill. It is a gentle climb up a made trail on the red dirt and sandstone rocks. One k, B told me. After a bit less than that, we arrive at the site of the first cave -- turns out there are three.  Here we climb two ladders to the platform in front of the first cave. These paintings are very clear, but l ack the color and drama of those we  saw yesterday. But, at the bottom, there is an interpretive sign. Surely if I spend some time with the sign and the pictures, I can make sense of the paintings. I take photographs carefully from left to right. Somehow I don't think interpreting these paintings will be so easy.

  Down the ladders and off we go to the second site. This one shows more color, but has fewer paintings; and there's no ladder. B descends the hill to the third site, and I elect to retrace my steps to the car park. Far below I see a minibus in the car park; the folk from the bus ascend to the base of the first "cave" as I take an alternate route downhill. As I approach the bottom of the hill, who should appear walking toward me but ... B. From the third cave site a steep trail led down to the car park. Drat! He beat me back!

Back on the road, we pass by Port Augusta, stopping only for gas, and turn onto the Stuart Highway for Woomera and Coober Pedy. Shortly after the junction, we turn off for the Arid Lands Botanic Garden. This is an extensive acreage planted to illustrate the different arid regions in this part of the country. We stop first at the visitor's center, whose purpose seems to be more centered in the cafe than in the gardens. We look through some of the exhibits, many of which are duplicated throughout the gardens. We pick a walk, the regional trail. It is winter, and some of the plant appear to be annuals -- they are missing. Not much is in bloom. Still, it is a pleasant walk and the sun is warm on our backs.

We picnic in the designated area at the end of the car park. Three magpies carefully attend our every bite. Another couple occupies the second table. They throw tidbits to the birds, so we are robbed of our audience. We leave our apple cores. Although the magpies don't seem to be much interested, the other birds will be. And after lunch, we drive out to the Red Bluff Lookout, a very scenic place. The sky is beautiful.

It's another two hours to Woomera: two hours of sun through the windscreen, dead animals on the roadside, and straight road. I drift off from time to time, waking abruptly when we pass a three-tanker "road train", as they are labeled here in the Outback. We arrive at our turn to Woomera, shortly before 3 p.m. Our first junket through town, following the signs to our 200-room hotel, is abortive. Obviously we have missed a sign. The second circuit does it. But in our tour of the town, we have decided that it reminds us of ... Ridgecrest. The hotel, on the other hand, looks like .. enlisted quarters times 10. Our room is down a corridor, through an area with toilets and showers and a washer and dryer. We have our own bath, a room with a double bed, and second room with two twins. Clearly a family room.

Established after World War II as a site for rocket testing, in the remote desert north of Adelaide, this is a military town, laid out by surveyors. We check in and head out for the local museum cum bowling alley cum cafe. The Australian military established the site in conjunction with the British military for rocket research. The research soon grew to encompass guided missiles. It has certainly had its share of successes. The U.S. had a large presence here in the 60s and 70s, and a smaller presence even into the 1990s. Latterly the town has been depressed. The Australians tried putting a detention center for boat people here, but it wasn't a success; it was closed in 2005. The ranges are still active; a Japanese project studying designs for a new supersonic aircraft have hired the ranges for experiments. We pass the BAE office; they're charged with keeping things going.

B and I walk to the rocket park and take a few pictures, and then head over the hill to the local wildlife park. This proves to be a few birds in cages; they are quite colorful and appear to be well cared for, although the labels on the cage could use some updates. A community barbeque is being held on the grounds; it smells good. But it's back up the hill for us.

We stop in at the hotel bar and have a pale ale. This is the only restaurant in town, and tonight is curry night -- madras beef, lamb rogan josh, or tandoori chicken, those are the choices. The madras curry is quite good. But, oh, what I'd give for a great, big salad.

Today's pictures start here.

Wilpena Pound - Cave Paintings, the Gorges, and Moralana Scenic Drive

Saturday, July 3

It is a beautiful day, even if my reading last night did not reveal the origin of the use of "pound" for "valley". Perhaps the internet will tell. There is a wireless network in Hawker -- Free Public Wireless. Ha! No signal. Too bad.

We begin with a stop at Arkaroo Rock. Here there be cave paintings , or so the signs promise. We hike up a well-maintained loop trail toward the rocky face of the Heysen Range. In addition to the view of the mountains, there is interesting vegetation, some of it in bloom. We reach the rock overhang that shelters the cave paintings in 25 minutes. The paintings are protected by a large-mesh fence, and a nice boardwalk fronts the display. The mesh is large enough to permit photographs.

These paintings tell the story of the Dreamtime creation of Wilpena Pound. More reading for me tonight. Unfortunately there's no interpretation at the site or in any literature I've seen, and my photos are, unfortunately, in no particular order. The paintings are striking. The colors are still vivid, and the some of the shapes echo other paintings and petroglyphs the world around. Perhaps when I read the story I will be able to identify some of the figures.

We descend on the alternate branch of the trail, following a creek part of the way. It is a nice walk. What a great way to start the day.

We continue north and turn off on the road to Bunyeroo Gorge. We travel west for a few k's, and then descend into the gorge. The descent is steep in places, and puddles tell the tale of rain 2 days ago. We have no trouble on the road, although the evidence of rains is plain to see. The road seems to follow the river bed in the bottom of the gorge; if it were raining, this wouldn't be a good place to be.

It is a slow 19k to the next road junction, where we turn east and then quickly north to drive into the Aroona Valley. Here we ford a stream (hmmm). The attraction is an early homestead site; an enterprising gent named Hayward came here in 1851 and set up a sheep station. We arrive at the car park just as a caravan of cars sets out to leave; a gent and lady descending the trail to the ruins tells us they are a church caravan touring 'round the park. There must be a dozen cars! The lot empties most satisfactorily, and we enjoy the ruins in peace. The property was extensive, as was the stone-built homestead. Hayward prosepered, sold out, and left Australia to return to England a rich man.

Unfortunately for the new owners, the weather turned and drought caused some hard years. In addition to the ruins, with their magnificent views of the Heysen Range, there is a "hut" that was built in the 1920s by a shepherd named Eddie Pumpa. A famous artist, Hans Heysen, used to stay here and paint. Is the mountain range named after him? his grandfather? Don't know. Such shocking gaps in my knowledge.

Back across the ford we go, and  west through the geologically significant Brachina Gorge. Every few kilometers, we enter a new geologic formation. They are detailed in Kay's RAA guide. However, the road is such that we're mostly paying attention to avoiding rocks and large puddles. Near the end, the surface improves. The unsealed (unpaved) road joins the Main North Road, and we head south toward Hawker. The roads were so tortuous in the gorges that I have taken not one picture during our journey. There weren't many places to stop, and Bob was really busy driving.

We aren't ready to go back to our motel room yet, though. We turn east again on the Moralana Scenic Drive, which will take us back into the National Park and the Wilpena-Hawker road. This is much easier terrain, and great deal of it is pasture land. There are kangaroos in abundance. And sheep. It is a peaceful, relaxing drive after our tense passage through the gorges.

Back on the Wilpena-Hawker Road, we briefly investigate the Rawnsley Park Station, where you can camp or rent an 'eco' cabin. It looks pretty nice, and the restaurant, the Wool Shed, appears to be big enough to serve both cabins and campground. Here there is yet another airfield; with the one at Hawker and the one near the park HQ, this makes three places you can book flights over the Flinders Ranges. Must be big business.

Back to Hawker we go, and our first stop is to look at the old railway station which once served the railway to Alice Springs. It's now a restaurant, and although the menu is dismayingly similar to the hotel/pub in town, we decide to have dinner here tonight. We drive back to our motel via the dirt road we will walk to dinner tonight.

Back at the motel, B borrows a squeegee and bucket from the Asian girls who man (woman?) the hotel desk, and removes some of the mud from our Holden chariot. He uses rainwater; the groundwater here, in which we wash and bathe, has lots of minerals and will leave a residue. Then we take a walk to Police Hill, on one of the town's two public walking paths. It's a short walk, but pleasant, and the views of the ranges to the north are nice.

Tomorrow we're off to Woomera, with a stop in Port Augusta to visit the Arid Lands Botanic Garden. Woomera should be a hoot -- a military town full of Australian rocket scientists in the middle of the desert.

Today's pictures start here.

Wilpena Pound

Friday, July 2

Today we make the easy 3-hour drive from Clare to Wilpena Pound. The road on our old map looks iffy, but it turns out to be improved (and renumbered as the B80), so our trip is easy. Our first stop is at the park visitors center, which doubles as reception for the park's resort. What a disappointment. There is little information on trails or drives. The park map is not only out of date, it's a copy on an 8x10" sheet of paper. There's some info on hikes that start from the visitor's center, but no information on hikes through the gorges and in other places. I guess you're supposed to have brought your own materials and, fortunately, we have some, thanks to Kay.


It is cloudy and intermittently spitting rain, and the temperatures are stuck at 11 C. We decide that taking a drive is the thing to do. We decide to do the gorges loop tomorrow, so today we head toward Blinman. We are looking for a place to have our picnic lunch (brrrr). The first place we try is Huck's Lookout. No picnic table, hilltop, windy -- there's a beautiful view, but  it's no place for lunch.

Next we try Stokes Hill Lookout. This one is quite a way up a dirt road, and the views are fantastic. Once again, a great place for pictures but not for a picnic. So it's on to Oraparinna, where the map shows symbols for toilets and phones; it is the site of an old station and formerly served as park HQ. Perhaps there will be picnic tables. There are no picnic facilities, but there are 5 emus in the driveway, right up close.

The next stop on our map is Dingley Dell (no, I'm not making it up). The campground is deserted, but there are two picnic tables adjacent to the day use lot. We set out our goodies and fall to, quickly. We repack and mount up. The car feels really warm.

We drive on toward Blinman, looking for the formation called the Great Wall of China, aka Mount Emily. We spot it off to our right, but the best views will be from the north. So we turn around and retrace our steps. Now that we are not looking partially into the sun, we spot many, many kangaroos grazing in the fields and under the trees. No wonder you're not allowed to drive rental cars after dark -- with this many kangaroos, surely one would run in front of your car! We even spot an emu in the roadside ditch; did he just cross the road, too?

We enjoy the drive back to park headquarters. There we decide to hike a little; the only hike we can do this late is called "Drought Busters". We set out past the resort and toward the trailhead. All goes well, until I lose the trail. B is far ahead. Hmmm, what too do. I cast about, and see the trail we came in on a short way below. I trek back to the last fork in the trail and wait. And, sure enough, B shows up in about 15 minutes. We don't have enough time to regroup and try again; we're staying some 50 k's away in Hawker, so we still have a way to drive.

On the way to Hawker, we spot more kangas. They are everywhere. Our motel in Hawker is somewhat spartan, but it will do just fine. The only food in town is at the hotel, where there is a dining room and pub. There is free public internet here in town, but the signal is weak at our motel. Perhaps it will be better at the pub?

Tomorrow we'll stop first at Arkaroo Rock lookout and try to find some cave paintings. Then it's on into the Pound for the gorges loop. By the way, the "Pound" is a valley ringed by mountains. I don't know why it's called a pound, but I've some history to read tonight. Perhaps all will be revealed.

Todays pictures start here.

Sunshine and the Clare Valley

Thursday, July 1

It looks like being a pretty nice day today. Kay takes us to the Unley Woolworths where we buy essentials for our trip -- cereal, milk in a box, juice, peanuts ... you get the idea. Then she drops us off downtown at Budget rent-a-car, where we pick up our chariot for a week, a little blue Holden. We make it back to Hyde Park without a single wrong turn. Kay gives good directions and, fortunately, it's pretty simple.

We pack our stuff into the car, and are delighted to find that both big duffels fit in the trunk. We say our thank yous and goodbyes and are on the road by late morning. We drive up King William Street through the city, and on to the Main North Road, which we will follow for much of our northward journey. Today we are headed for Clare, and the Riesling Trail in the Clare Valley.

We follow the Main North Road with very few turns, finally arriving at the turn toward Auburn and the start of the Riesling Trail. While it is sunny, it is cold. The car has an outside temp reading - 11 C. Our picnic lunch we eat standing at a small picnic area next to the bowling club in a small town.

The Clare Valley is quite small: the distance from Auburn to Clare is some 30 kilometers. But they are known for their dry rieslings -- lemony and tart, just the way I like them. But that's not the only wine made here.

We decide to take a little side trip to Mintaro, an historic drive as it's billed. We see a lot of farm country but not too many vineyards.  At the little town of Mintaro, we stop to taste at the crossroads, at Reilly's. Oh, my goodness. They make some good red wines as well as a good riesling, not to mention a tasty tawny port. I am fascinated by the huge, old fig trees on the main street in Mintaro. The only pictures I take all day are of these trees.

We make another stop at Sevenhill, where the Jesuits have been making wine since the 1860s. We have just missed the 2-hour historical walk through the property and vineyards. But we do taste. They make a nice cabernet, and a really good tokay as well. And their riesling is, of course, quite good.

We investigate the possibilities for lodging and dining in Clare. There aren't too many. We even visit the i-site to ask if there are perhaps others we haven't seen. In the end, we check in at a Golden Chain motel in a lovely location on top of a hill. There's a restaurant on site, and the specials look good.

We spend the early evening setting up the rest of our trip, springing for the 24-hour internet hotspot fee. The connection is very good. We try first to find a place at Coober Pedy for the weekend, but no dice. It's school holidays, we're told. So we decide to try the Flinders Range first and then go west. Eventually we get things lined up.

Dinner is lamb casserole on rice for B, and chicken cacciatore on orzo for me. It's pretty good, but salty. B actually likes my chicken better than his lamb. We do have a bottle of Tim Adams Cabernet-Malbec with dinner, and it is outstanding. Ummmm. For a riesling region, these wineries surely do some good cabernet.