"We are not All Convicts, Mate"

Friday, February 7

Having spent about 3 hours on the highways and roundabouts of Wimalee, Springwood, and Penrith, which are smaller communities to the west of Sydney, I think that I am ready to take on the Land of Oz.

When I think that it was only a week ago that I landed at Sydney airport, the incredible series of events and people which have transpired has certainly taken me out of any winter doldrums that I may been under in Canada.  My days at the Jolly Swagman hostel, in the Kings' Cross district of Sydney, were a reminder of my hostel days in Central and South America.  I am still grateful that there are youngsters who are putting on their backpacks and heading out to see the world.  I believe that the more that they interact with each other, the more countries which they tour, the more possibility we may have for a world which understands itself and the varieties of cultures and people who need to share it.

After a few hours of struggling to understand my newly purchased smart phone, I asked my roommate for some hints. He said that he had to "help my grandmother with her stuff all the time, and she is getting on, she is 67."  I didn't say anything as he showed me for the fifth time a simple maneuver on the so-called smart phone.  He sighed a lot like my son does when I ask him a question about my computer or camera.  It must be a generation thing.

I met some riders on the main throughfare of Kings' Cross, and they offered some interesting advice regarding rides and issues around speed cameras and the like.  Most of these guys hung out at a small cafe that served reasonable dinner steaks for $10.  I figured the price was right in order to get some tips and advice on riding Australia.  I think that most of them stuck to the main highways and generally cruised about.  Like all bikers, they had a tight group of friends, and it was easy to see the genuine care that they had for each other.  The guys were all members of the Kings' Cross Motorcycle Club, and I enjoyed my discussions with them.

The deceased members of the Kings' Cross Motorcycle Club are memorialized with dog tags chained to a Eucalyptus tree near the cafe..

The alley leading to the Jolly Swagman hostel...

As I made arrangements through a number of contacts that I had made on  some  rider forums, I had a chance to tour Sydney and get some exercise as well.  The weather has been great, and I certainly love the blue skies.

What?  No Toronto or Vancouver?   Lots of Aussies have been to Canada and they frequently let me know that I am Canadian, and not an American...good to know, I think.

 Modern Australian Navy ship

Some of the architecture is reminiscent of Gastown, in Vancouver

In the early days, Sandstone was the main architectural feature for the builders and artists.  These pieces were the remains of some wonderful early century edifice...

 The Sydney Bridge was apparently a make work project for folks during the dirty Thirties, which hit Australia as well.  Locals call it the "coat hanger", but it is a magnificent feature of Sydney harbour.

When I get old and grey, I will cruise about the world...

Folk are walking the Sydney Bridge.  This is something I am sure that my sister would do, without blinking.  I am challenging her $500.00, here on the interweb, to walk the Sydney Bridge.  That's cash, Sis....

The iconic folds of the Sydney Opera house formed a brilliant backdrop to the harbour and the throngs of touristas...

Look, an Asian with a huge telephoto...

I think I saw this boats' little cousin in Halifax Harbour this summer.  Timmy the Tug colours at least..

 I am giving Bill some air time because he rides, too.

This shot is for my Son, the photographer...

Sandstone Spires...

In order to meet up with the gentleman selling his bike, I needed to take the train from Sydney.  There is a highly efficient train system funnelling folks to and from the city of 4 million or so.  The trains are very efficient, and I was 75 km out of town before I could say "where am I?"

While waiting for the train, I had my first pie. The ketchup is nice and red, isn't it?

The pie lady....

 I toured the Sydney fish market. It was an eye opener for me, and the prices reflect an expensive and lucrative fishing economy for Australia.

The Atlantic farmed salmon look very similar to the northern cousins but the spots are much deeper and blacker,in my view.  The price for farmed salmon was very high, but then again I don't buy salmon in Canada....

 Yikes....

People were buying steaks from this huge swordfish.  The picture does not give a clear idea of the size of the fish. I am guessing the cost per steak was aligned with the size of the chunks....

These birds are everywhere, waiting for  handouts and  being pesky...

Tasmanian farmed Salmon

I remember my daughter riding a Merry Go Round at the PNE...remember, girl?

These guys took a boat load out and spun them around and around and got everybody nice and wet...good fun...

Aluminum Birds who were beer cans in a past life???

A stretched Hummer would make an excellent caravan for the grey nomads....

Another view of the iconic Bridge..

For my Son, the helicopter pilot...

For My brother in law, the Harley rider...

I think they have a Volkswagen Motor, unfortunately...

This chunk came from Alberta, near Lethbridge.  Ammorlite, I think.

Sunday at the Rocks, with the artisans....

Beautiful wood from Queensland.  Hard as rock....

Downtown building from another era..

WARNING:  The next section contains GUN PORN.  If you don't like guns or boats, thats all for you....

I am ahead of myself, I found some pics of my final day in Sydney.  I had to go to the Museum and check it out...

Inside the Queen Victoria building....

I

This roof style reminded me of the huge train station in  Argentina, although a lot cleaner....

 A model of the Victoria Cross.  About six Australian service men were awarded the Victoria Cross for their contributions during the war in Afghanistan...

The Sydney Museum is welcoming....

The Australian Aborigines would share message boards between different tribal groups and areas....

An original mask......

Shark teeth inserted in the club for added emphasis...

In one Dreaming, Crocodile Man would have the Crocodile take him across the Rivers...

In another Dreaming, Crocodile  Man would sic his crocs on his enemies...

Nice teeth, Mister....

Yes, Australia has Eagles.....

 and Crocs....

 and Snakes

 and wonderful artists...

Can you see the Taurus constellation?

These guys have an crazy, wild laugh...right about 5:00 am...

Deadly Octopus...who would have thought???

and Box jellies....

 and Shells...

Adios Kings Cross....

I managed to get packed up and get on the road early Saturday morning.  About 75 km. north of Springwood is a very famous manufacturing plant.  I knew that if I did not make an opportunity to see the small arms museum, I would regret it forever.

The bike with no name  takes me to the Lithgow Small Arms Factory Museum..

When I was a teenager heading for the hoosgow or worse, My Dad set me up with a friend of his who was a Master Armourer and a great shot.  Jack mentored me as I learned that I had an exceptional eye, and that I could shoot the large bore .303 very well.  As I won at shoots, my confidence grew, and of course, some self-discipline and focus began in my life.  I had joined the Royal Canadian Army Cadets, and RCAC program very much influenced my life in a positive manner.   

This very poor shot is of the very first Lee-Enfield produced!.  It has a number 1 stamped on it.  It was produced here at the Lithgow Factory.   

This is the current weapon which is being produced at the Lithgow factory.  

Rows and Rows of the different Lee-Enfields..  each version, each modification is documented...

The top gun below is a "shorty" developed for warfare in Northern India....

A Lee-Enfield set up for sniping...

The middle Enfield is a grenade launcher, reinforced with wire so that it did not kill the soldier launching the grenade...

Rows and Rows of weapons from different countrie....

The Canadian Army FN...this version came into service as I was leaving Cadets...

The museum calls the stocks "furniture", and there were many varieties of different woods used for the Lee Enfields.  This blond one below reminded me of the target .303 that Dad's friend had built for me.

My Grandfather would have been up against these Maxim machine guns during his days in France in WW1.

Somebody named their Bren Gun

 Stages of bayonet development.....

 The middle Lee Enfield was chambered with a .45  and a huge silencer and supplied to Commandos who fought behind the lines in France during WW 11.

 In the museum is a wall of every model of Lee-Enfield ever produced, with each date shown with a sample of the change.  Some of the improvements were battle-driven, and some were very subtle,  all contributing to the huge Lee Enfield following throughout the world...

This factory alone produce over 650,000 of the Lee-Enfields....


In another section of the museum is a collection of of 2000 pistols...it is a remarkable history of the development of pistols.  

After the museum, I hit the road for a couple of hundred kilometers, moving along the eastern edge of Australia, towards Melbourne.

A shot for my Son, the Pilot

I spent the fist night free camping in a Rest Stop.   There were a couple of other grey nomads from different parts of Australia who pulled in as well.  I soon had the tent up, as the buggers were out....

The next day I wandered down the coast.   The Search and Rescue people are set up with some pretty fancy rigs....

These guys were long-lining, but I don't know what they were after...

Lots of hipsters in Sydney are wearing full beards and hair styles similar to this.  I don't know who came first, but Ned is obviously a popular guy....for an Irishman....

This is for my Son the pilot.  On the window of a car parked beside me: obviously a jet jockey or something....

Will I get the rain gear on, or not????

Down Under Bird Watching

All right, I will admit that I am not a laid-back traveller.  I tend to over thing a lot of things, and when it comes to airline schedules and customs regulations, I always fear the worst.  Either I will sleep through my alarms, or there will be some mistake on my part that leaves me standing, stranded in the Airport, or worse-yet, shackled and behind bars for being a travel noob...

I had purposively gone to the Vancouver International Airport to check that my helmet would be able to be part of my carry on gear, as I was allowed two checked bags as part of my gear.  I carried a Value-Village gear bag which just fit my helmet and visor.  I found the Air China people, and talked to two nice ladies, who both assured me that the bag was too big, and that the only way I was going to get that helmet onboard their jet was to wear it on my head!  Ha-Ha, giggle giggle.

So, when I joined my son and nephew at the Vancouver Motorcycle show in Abbotsford, a suggestions was made to send the helmet via FedX from Calgary to Oz, as my nephew was heading that way.  I didn't ask how my well-organizes and travel savvy nephew managed to get the helmet onboard the Westjet flight, but he did, without issue.

 He sure likes those Orange ones...

 A very cool Scrambler, with a wooden fender...

This little tyke was only 6 years old, and she had been riding since she was three.  I know a couple of towheads who would enjoy riding track bikes at this age....

These folks could clearly use their bikes with great agility and skill

We had a good day kicking tires at the bike show.  I was a wee bit anxious about sleeping through my alarm for the flight the next day , and increasingly worried about a growing cough and a threat of getting the local bronchitis which seemed to be making the rounds. Thanks to my Son, he delivered me to Vancouver International Airport with enough time to get my gear organized, and find the correct departure lounge.  I had arranged for flight which was broken down into two parts: a 12 hour flight to mainland China, a 3 hour layover, and then another 9 hours to Sydney.

This was my first international flight, and by far the longest time that I had spent in the air.  I had been warned by more seasoned travellers to make sure that I exercised my legs. I had also been warned that the jets were crowded, with very little legroom.  The huge jets had 10 of us spread across the breadth of the jet, and it was true that even with a aisle seat, I felt hemmed in.  I had elected to wear my motorcycle riding boots, and there was no way I could remove them to give my feet some relief.  In spite of the squeezed nature of the seating, the food was plentiful, somewhat oriental, and actually quite good.

 The attendants were accommodating, and the young ladies very attractive and professional.  I was grateful that the mickey-sized bottle of cough syrup which I had downed the night prior seemed to have knocked down my persistent cough, and I slept on an off throughout the flights.  On the Sydney leg, my two seat mates were two young girls from Grande Prairie, in Alberta.

My only complaint about the flight is that I could have clearly brought on board my helmet, as I saw people bringing on all sorts of big bags and boxes.  The overhead lockers were large and could have easily managed my helmet.

As part of my packing regime, I had all of my gear dry-cleaned, and I washed my tent twice. My sleeping bag was dry-cleaned, and I took great care to clean my boots of all dirt and residue of past rides. When I arrived in Sydney, the in-plane document had an item which asked if I had come from a rural area.

I assumed that daffodils growing in January on the wet coast of Vancouver Island meant "rural", so I checked that box, which immediately triggered me into the quarantine and inspection lineup.  I dreaded the thought of breaking out all of my gear, and particularly hated the idea of repacking my gear, which I had agonized over every nook and crevice of my two bags.  When my turn came, a very nice Aussie gent gave me a quizzical look, said something about "dirty boots?" and passed me through without having to break a sweat.  All of my fears about Australian border inspections were gone with a "Welcome to Australia, mate!"  

I soon found the meeting place for the hostel bus, and managed to get a seat at the front, with the driver.  I asked the dude, who seemed to be Somali or Ethiopian, if he had any tips about driving on 

the left.  He laughed and whispered that he did not have a license.  The remainder of the shuttle bus passengers chimed in with all sorts of tips and advice.  A great introduction to Australian rules of traffic and driving! 

I found the hostel to be better than some I have stayed in, with a constant ebb and flow of young people using a polyglot of languages to get by and arrange their trips and tours.  My roomate is a young fellow from Seattle. I bought a mobile phone the other day, and as I struggled to activate it, and learn how to turn it on, the young guy offered to help me.  He said: " I have to help my grandparents all the time with gadgets, they are really clutzy. My grandmother is getting on: she is 67."  I laughed to myself and thought of my eldest grandson saying exactly the same thing to some poor senior..  

I have managed to acquire an Australian bank account and hopefully my fax to my Campbell River bank will have wired some money to this account.  I am hoping to save some money by not using my Canadian credit card, as I did in South America. 

I am really glad that English is the predominant language here, as I enjoy chatting up the locals and becoming part of the landscape.  I always felt that I was missing so much in SA because of the language differences.  The Australians have been extremely helpful and open, and I have a deeper understanding of their concept of "mateship".     There are a couple of rounders who hang out on the streets nearby, and as I have been about my errands, their familiar faces give me a nodding acknowledgement.  One fellow spent an hour with me telling me where all the cheap meals were.  When I see him on the street, he asks if everything is good.   I met some local bikers who are members of the Kings' Cross Motorcycle Club.  There are some real characters in this tight-nit group of guys, all seeming to be in their fifties and sixties.  They meet every day at a roadside cafe, have a coffee, and watch the birds.  

 An Eucalyptus tree on the cafe site has a chain wrapped around one of the huge branches.  On the chain are the dogtags of members of their club who have passed away. A simple but effective reminder of the comradeship of the riders.

These are not the birds that the guys whistle and hoot at, but for me, these long beaks  are my first introduction to the 400 or more species of birds about Oz.  I have heard what I think is a Kookaborra, and it is the most strangest bird call I have ever heard: a cross between a hyena and a disemboweled monkey. 

As I attend to business, I have been walking about the local area, and clearly Sydney is a mix of the old and the new.

I can't seem to get away from  Captain George Cook.  When I think about this explorer, I have more respect for his travels and adventures, but not necessarily for the Imperialism which he represented.  I wonder what the Aborigines think of the statue, which says he "discovered" Australia....

What would a city be without Queen Victoria overseeing a Scots bagpiper?  His tunes bounced off the sandstone buildings surrounding the square and his pipes evoked memories for me of marching to the pipes, as an Army Cadet.

As I listened to his pipes, I tried to imagine what it would be like to be in Scotland, and hear the pipes bouncing from the walls of Edinburgh castle.  Some food for thought and for helmet time as I ride across the Nullabor....

I saw a building advertising opals and pearls.  I went in, and explained to the very nice shop girl that I had wanted to buy emeralds in Colombia, but I didn't know  an emerald from a broken beer bottle.  She immediately took out a variety of samples, and very carefully demonstrated the different varieties of opals found within Australia.  It was an excellent presentation, and for a few minutes I was  able to tell the difference between a $200.00 opal, and a $6000.00 opal.  

She told me how the Aborigines believed that opals form part of the Rainbow Serpent, and she demonstrated the undulating rythm of the Snake, as it represented the up and down seams of sandstone and veins of opals found in Mother Earth.  I told her that I wished she was with me in Cartegena, and she said that she always wanted to learn more about emeralds.  Did I mention that Aussies are great hosts?