I spent all of 1987 and part of 1988 working in Perth, on the west coast of Australia. I relocated back to Melbourne at Easter, and drove across the country. It's like driving from LA to New York. I drove through Central Australia, through some very remote areas, from Perth to Kalgoorlie, and then the Great Central Road through to Ularu. I’d ridden a bicycle across the Nullabor a few years before, so didn’t need to see the Nullabor again. So it was through the desert, few towns, almost no people. When I got back to Melbourne, the trip was vivid in my head, and I wanted to capture it, to record my impressions.

Driving through Kalgoorlie, a mining town, trucks painted red, with "Danger, Explosives" prominently displayed. Every second vehicle seems to have XYZ Mining painted on it, a canvas water bag hanging on it, a yellow flashing light on top so it does not get run down by a 200 ton ore truck, and a whip aerial so it can tell the 200 ton truck driver it's about to overtake.

Drilling rigs heading into the outback, very sophisticated. Satellite navigation systems, fuel trucks, computer links, air conditioned accommodation. They reckon they can place the drill hole within a metre of the nominated latitude and longitude. Converting diesel fuel, diamond drill tips, tucker and water into geological data. The data is downloaded to base by satellite - drilling on line. Probably watching CNN in the middle of nowhere.

Signs 50 km from the next roadhouse "Radio us on VHF Channel 27 and order your food to go".

Driving down dirt roads, leaving a cloud of dust behind me a kilometre long. All of a sudden realising that the car is full of red dust. And I like the colour of it very much - it will be in this car until I sell it - it's finer than talcum powder.

Driving over a thousand kilometres down a dirt road, and meeting less than a dozen vehicles going the other way. Greeting passing motorists with a single finger lifted off the steering wheel. On the Five Finger Richter G'day Scale, one finger means "G'day", two means "G'day, how are y' goin'". Five fingers means "Hello. Pleasure to see you. Great weather. Enjoy your holiday. Have a nice day and do take care out there". One and a half fingers usually suffice, we Australians are mostly sparing with words, you know.

Dead kangaroos, (known in the local parlance as "Road Kill"), being eaten by eagles.

Eagles as big as Thanksgiving turkeys, flapping up into the air. Hope they get airborne before I hit them with the car. They are very slow on take off, hop hop, flap flap flap, just made it.

Conversation with a bus driver, hauling Japanese tourists, half the front window of the bus held in with bits of wood and gaffer tape.
"What did y' hit".
"Eagle. Bloody lucky it did not come right through into the bus. That would have given Masao and Yoki in the front seat something to tell the folks back in Tokyo".

Stopping to look at a radio tower, 300 feet high, with an eagles nest on each platform up the tower. An apartment block for half a dozen families of eagles.

Bitumen with a new white line painted down the edge of it, the line taken straight over the top of a dead kangaroo, and a white cross spray canned on the 'roo. Australian humour. I can imagine the conversation:
"Why didn't y' move it?".
"Look, mate. We're road painters, not bloody street sweepers".

Emus, large flightless birds, and surely the most stupid of all God's creations, being frightened by the car, and running TOWARDS it. Seriously daft birds, brain the size of a split pea.

Conversation when buying fuel. "You know not to give anyone any unleaded petrol, even if they say they have run out." Petrol sniffing is a big problem in Aboriginal communities.

Stopping in the middle of the night to camp, no moon, no traffic, no wind. Just the noise of the car clicking as the engine cools. A zillion stars, the air so clear they don't even twinkle, enough star light to see by. Shooting stars. Camping out 100 miles from the nearest people, sleeping on the ground, feeling really quite connected to it.

Aboriginal women. No matter what size they are, they have calves like sticks. Unless they are walking, they sit down. Aboriginals always sit, and always on the ground, never on seats if they can avoid it. The red sand is very comfortable, it's earth rather than dirt, the local version of Tatami matting. After a little while, everything turns a shade of pink.

Central Australian aboriginals don't like being photographed. And if an aboriginal dies, all photos of him or her will be obscured, and their name not mentioned until the mourning period is over. And if you have the same name as the deceased (like Jack, say), you'll take a different name for the duration. They will refer to the deceased as "That old feller", or "That dead feller", but never by name. It makes it difficult if a prominent aboriginal dies. Mourning can be a year or two, maybe five years or ten years in the case of a leader. Aboriginals function on a time scale that is somewhere between the glacial and the geological - they'd see a week of official mourning as a joke.

I remember seeing a thing on TV about a remote aboriginal community. They had all moved out of their houses, and were camping in rough shelters. "Why", they were asked.
"A feller died. We'll camp out until it rains".
"But it might not rain for a couple of years".
"Then we'll be camping for a couple of years. It's not long".

Just as well Princess Di was not an aboriginal - we'd have had a ten year media blackout. Then again, a 10 year blackout would be a good thing. But it's hard to imagine the Queen camping in the grounds of Windsor Castle. Keeping all that silver clean, impossible, y'know....

Tourists complaining that the climb up Ayers Rock has been closed. It's 36 degrees in the shade, there's no shade anyway, and it's blowing about 40 knots on top, for God's sake, and they look they have not climbed anything more challenging than a bar stool in decades. 200 pounds of the finest lard. Have they got a death wish, or what. I bet if they went to Jerusalem, they would not try free climbing on the Wailing Wall, so why can't they respect the wishes of the owners and stay off the rock. Aboriginals never, never climb. Except to haul a stretcher up the rock to retrieve people with heart failure or heat stroke.

Walking around the base of the rock, a place with a feeling of great age. Aboriginals have been here for 40,000 years, one of the worlds oldest civilisations, and have left no mark other than some cave paintings. Communities with strong oral traditions, and a story to explain the existence of almost every feature and mark on the rock. Feels like walking through Westminster Abbey, or Chartres Cathedral. Go quietly, you are walking over and through someone's history, disturbing their Dreamtime. Take care.

Midnight, getting lost in Adelaide, a city of about a million. Completely lost my sense of direction, and asking police for directions. This is unprecedented - I don't DO "getting lost". "Peter" and "getting lost" are concepts that cannot be associated. A contradiction in terms, a logical impossibility, an oxymoron. Like Military Intelligence, Mexican Cuisine, Friendly Fire, Fun Run.

Dawn breaking, rolling into Melbourne, glad to be back, I've driven 1500 miles in about 30 hours, with only a few hours sleep, and I'm feeling stuffed. Start unpacking, realise how much I've missed my own home, having my own piece of turf.

Nothing like taking your time Peter!

" Bitumen with a new white line painted down the edge of it, the line taken straight over the top of a dead kangaroo, and a white cross spray canned on the 'roo. Australian humour. I can imagine the conversation:
"Why didn't y' move it?".
"Look, mate. We're road painters, not bloody street sweepers".

Truth be known they probably hauled one onto the road before the painting!

Those eagles are something ain't they?; would come across a few on run out of Broken Hill a few times and yep, you sure think you could get some claw scratches along the roof.
On of the guys in local aero club at BH had a bird strike in a club light aircraft once, hawk I think it was that decided it wanted a lift - a bit scary that was he reckoned, half the windscreen gone.

Neighbour had just bought himself a brand new Volvo and was off down to Adelaide and an Emu was seeing if he could out run the Volvo, Volvo winning and neighbour having just two feet of emu outside of the grill - fun feathery mess in engine bay!

Is the plural of a womans calf just calfs?

Now that is a road trip!

Thanks for posting.

Such a shame Australia and New Zealand get so little attention here. I am sure it is frustrating to take the time to post a trip report and get so little reaction.

Of course, if you posted about France or Italy, there would be many reactions.

You took a journey that most will never take and most will never read about it either. Sad.

You've a wonderful gift for painting word pictures, Peter. Thanks so much for posting this.

I agree with your take on climbing Ayers Rock (Uluru)and can't imagine anyone who walks around it, sees it shimmering at sunrise/sundown or just stands near it, being unaffected. I remember you wrote a great piece on a train trip you took - do you publish?

Thanks again,
Bokhara

I wrote 30,000 words about Venice. It's on Fodors. Does that count as publishing?

\Cheers

Peter

Thanks for such an evocative roadtrip report, Peter. I absolutely loved it. It reminded me of a trip through the "backblocks" around the Flinder's Ranges in the mid 60's with my family that my then brother-in -law, a true "bushie" had organised. I was only a very young teenager but your word pictures of the starry dessert night bought it all back..thanks!

30,000 words on Venice?

I used to write these detailed trip reports in the old AOL days. For the most part no one reads them. The fodors format is not friendly to trip reports anyway. It is just too much scrolling.

I have had travel stuff in newspapers upon occasion. At least you get paid for that. I can't see putting in the effort to write something long for any online website where you don't get paid a penny for it. Dunno. That's just me.

Apple, the thing is, I write for my own pleasure, not for money. We spent nine weeks in Venice, and while my wife was painting watercolours, I was scribbling. It was fun, a way of recording my own experiences, and not really intended for publication. I liked the rather more unusual sights in Venice, like the church - San Antonin's - where an elephant was shot in about 1810.

It's not a very detailed report - there's no useful info in it, no details of costs, or at least not many.

I just fool around with words. You could find the Venice thing at http://www.fodors.com/community/euro...st-verbose.cfm

The next long posting will be about an 8000 km bicycle trip around Aus about 15 years ago. I'm enjoying writing it, and maybe someone might enjoy reading it. but it does not matter if no-one reads it, because I've had the fun of writing it. As they say, if a tree falls in a forest, and nobody hears it, did it make a noise.


Cheers

Peter

Venice does have it's interesting nooks and crannies away from the main tourist area and main canals doesn't it.

I remember taking a stroll early one morning down towards what I suppose is the seaward side and even seeing some reasonable size streets with a maze of clothes lines strung between buildings, the garbo gondola if you want to call it that and there is also a naval base of sorts there too from memory.

Apple, a tiny extract from my Venice "trip report" which actually included a trip to Rome. My tongue was somewhat in my cheek at the time.

Rome.
I’m no big fan of motor racing, but I think I’ve discovered something. There’s been no great Italian driver since Fangio, and the reason is now clear to me. All the Italians who might be gracing the Formula 1 Circuit are racing on a daily basis on the streets of Rome. And what a circuit it is. Round the Circus Maximus, down the via Di San Gregorio straight, hard right at Constantine’s arch, sweeping left hander at the Colloseo, dodge the guys dressed as centurions who are waiting for (paid) photo ops. Full noise up the via de Fori Imperiali (mind that Korean guy taking snaps). Rocket through the Piazza Venezia past the Victor Emmanuel monument, minding the tight chicane by the barriers aroung the current archeological excavations, and off up the streets of the Capotoline Hill. Throw a left at St Peters, and blast down the bank of the Tiber. It’s absoultely free for spectators, and the whole thing is raced in micro cars – or diesel buses.

Beautiful report this road trip to Melbourne, Peter! I enjoyed reading it!

Terrific writing Peter, thank you. I'm an expat Australian, living in crowded, dirty London and this brought a lump to my throat. Perhaps I do miss Australia after all.

Kay

Gab and Kay,
Thanks for the kind comments, and the trip was fun. I'm in the process of writing a so called "trip report" for an 8,000 km bicycle ride around Australia that I took about 15 years ago. I rather enjoy the process of digging through my archives, looking at old photos to refresh my memories, and letting the words drift out onto the page. I've posted a little bit of it on Fodors - it's here:
http://www.fodors.com/community/aust...-to-mt-isa.cfm

Climbed the Rock on 2 July 1976 (before people gave it much thought) and could have flogged the couple of cans of soft drink I took up for 10 bucks a swig, such was the desperation of my fellow climbers on one of the mildest days of the year (easy to see how some climbers came to grief). Slept nearby under the stars with a mixed group of young Europeans while dingos circled our camp site. So cold we used my folded up tent as a communal swag.

Peter's Venice opus is a beauty and highly recommended even if you've no intention of going or going back.

ttt

Found your report way late, Peter -- but thank you anyway. We're getting ready for our first trip to Oz, and very much looking forward to it. Your report has such a great sense of place -- I'm so ready to see it for myself!

Have to add, I've been keeping travel journals for 30 years now. Once in a while, it's fun to go back and re-read them -- they're not for publishing, just to remind me, and those who care, about where we went and why. I look for trip reports here - they can be very helpful in planning a trip to an unfamiliar place.

Thanks again, and cheers!