Goodbye Sweet Jesus Fish

Handing back the keys for Jesus Fish on Monday morning I was little sad to be leaving what had become my shelter, my transport, my home. The things was in better condition than when I got it after a some serious superglue action, a change of oil and a run through the carwash. Definitely recommend the people at wicked campers, think I will get one when I hgit NZ.

Didn't cover nearly as much ground as I had hoped, plans top cross frpom West coast to east cost were quickly scuppered after close examination of a postcard that imposed Britain ontop of Australia. Hell I didn't even get that far north, the creepy dolphins at Monkey Mia were the zenith of my travels; Seriously forget the hype, dolphins are way to intelligent, have way to many teeth and when you see them looking at you with just one eye you know they are up to something.

My home base was Kalbarri which is beautiful and managed to hook up with Germans, Norwegians, Austrians and a couple of actual Australians. The local pub became my second home with maybe not everyone knowing my name but after a couple of nights I could walk down the street and bump into people I knew. It was here I discovered that your average Australian male dances like a teenager at a school dance, there were some fine example on show but the fat-belly-wobbling-thrusting-on-the-florr-dancing-with-a-chair-throwing-up everywhere-and-then-rolling-in-it-guy was probably the best. Just as I was conquering my new dances moves in flip-flops (not nearly as easy as I thought) the night came to a crashing end as the pub had exceeded its dickhead quota and shut early; no security so instead of ejecting the trouble makers they eject everyone.

Next morning as well as a slight hangover greeting me in the morning there was a park ranger giving me an earful for illegal parking and threatening a fine, there was a few of us so we got away with a warning. On exitting Kilbarri the Australian couple stopped me and invited me to a BBQ at their place in Gerladton, as it was on my way and I did fancy some fish (after catching sweet F A the previous evening) I said yes. Evening started well with a trip to the drive through bottleshop but quickly became apparent I was going to be stuck in the middle of nowhere, in a house where the previous occupants were all raped and murdered by a drug crazed lunatic, with my host an Australian version of Francis Begbie.

Fire is blazing with the wood we had successfully foraged from the surrounding spider and snaked filled bush, when it occurs to my hosts that as it is fire season and so we manage to ercect some barriers from traffic road signs that have recently been "acquired" along with some other material, best not to ask. Shark was a winner as well as the fish and for dessert I was taken 'roo spotting. There were moments where I felt my life was slightly endangered, crossing the highway, drunk at speed was one of those moments. Strangely at several points I had severe Deja Vu with moment form Burning Man and the surreal situations you find yourself in there, where 2 hours previously if someone told you where you wer going to ewnd up you would never believe them. Kangaroos really do move quite fast when chased by 3 drunken humans in a 4x4 with Country and Western music blaring at them.

Conversation was so liberally laced with profanities that I am only now losing the fuck and shit from every sentence. Despite the fact that we had so little in common it was a great insight into a side of Asutralia not usually discovered on the tourist trail, although steering the conversation around some of the more racist, bigotted and masochinistic views became more frequent near the end. Also given the nature of what happened in the house you would maybe expect some reverence or reluctance to talk about it, but no jokes were made frequently about the previous occupants, including a guided tour of where the attrocities took place.

Kindly declining the option to sleep on the couch a very wasted Dougal climbs into the Jesus Fish, locks all the doors and tries to keep thoughts of ghosts, axed craxed monsters out of my head. Wandering if the Jesus would protect me from the supernatural. So when the dog decided to jump on the van, starts scratching and howling outside I more or less hit the celiling and messed my pants. Fucker. Made as quick and quiet a getaway in the morning as I could after an night of very bad dreams and constant interuptions from that damn cannine.

As I flew across the country from Perth to Sydney, passing through 2 timezones in the process I was glad I changed my mind about driving. One day I will I know but for the moment I wil ahve to pu up with Mr Elbows, who just loves to share. Met up with Jess in Sydney and I get to feeling my alcohol consumption is about to spike over the festive, my first outside of Scotland wouldn't ya know. Really looking forward to it, my get sunburn on Christmas day just for the sheer novelty factor.

Oh How The Mighty Have Fallen

So you read all the guides, speak to all your friends and might even get some research on the old internet done, but nothing can prepare for the fact that one week in the country and you NEED to buy flip flops. Fuckin flip flops. They are just the most practical footwear possible if you are going to be spending anytime on the beach or in the sea, which I am, a lot. Ggrrrrrr. As if to somehow compensate for this I have to know here they are at all times, they have their own space in the Jesus Fish.

Jesus Fish by the way is my camper van, although its really a van that you camp in before you get images of some massive BM style RV. I was asked upon collection of the keys if I was religious, not really I respond, thats good I am informed because some people get a little arsy driving around in a van called Jesus Fish (cause there is a large christian fish on the side with Jesus written in it. Also having "honk if you know Jesus" sprayed on the back is comical to start with, but when people honk you, you can never tell if it is 'cause something critical is wrong with the van, I am driving pish or because they actually do know Jesus. Oh the fun.

So there really are very large patches of bugger all broken up with very small patches of stuff here in Australia, it takes some getting used to. Especially coming from a tiny overpopulated place like Inverness, no really the places I have visited are making it look quite the bustling metropolis. Still I am loving the beaches and not giving a flying fuck who gets to see my pale white frame as I take a ridiculous amount of joy walking the beaches, splashing in the waves and trying to avoid collisions with wind surfers.

Last night I was regaled with Christmas carols involving Joey the kangaroo, something about a rusty ute and had to witness a massacre on bagpipes of amazing grace; which everyone lapped up, he couldn't hit any of the high high notes the useless sac of shit, I had to get up and hide behind a hill. There were lots of glow sticks and LED candles which made me happy seeing all the youngsters playing with their blinkies, it was probably the best part,. I would have said the fireworks were but the soundtrack which was on loop and out of sync kind of detracted somewhat from the experience, call me a snob I know.

Anyway I am about to head inland and up north whereby I hope to see live kangaroos, do some snorkling and visit some more national parks that might, just might contain something more than bushes and dust.

So It Begins!

Departure
I sit in some vastly overpriced airport eatery and in between mouthfuls of my last ‘real’ food before the mercies of airplane meals the reality of departure hits me. Frantic does not describe the pace of events leading up to this moment, leaving my job, boat, friends, family, girlfriend and the fitting send offs they all gave me (from which I am still recovering), this was my first reflective opportunity. This is by no means the worlds longest/ most extreme/ notable trip in traveller’s history but from my perspective it is. Another continent, no job, no real plan and 4 months to kill, I am out of my rut and seeing the wider horizon is a little daunting and a lot exciting; might even get a tan, imagine that.

Arrival
So I have this lingering feeling that things have gone a little too easy, seating and movie selection were acceptable, I cleared customs with the sanctity of my back passage intact and I did not die in a plummeting fireball of twisted metal and flesh. When the receptionist informed me my room would not be available for another 10 hours and that they were fully booked, at least I knew everything was well with the world. So homeless I get bounced around with decreasing degrees of politeness from hotel to hostel at 4am until I track down what seems like the last bed in Perth. Meaning I have a slightly more auspicious start to my travels than sleeping rough on a bench. Instead I get a bunk on top of the world’s loudest snorer in a room overlooking the (active) train yard.

Welcome
Perth is not a big city, easily navigable by foot and thankfully the cloud cover was up and the temperatures down. Important if you have just undergone a hair massacre and your scalp is seeing the light of day after a good 25 years. Friday night in town is intense but with careful application of that old favourite alcohol as a social lubricant, friends are made and group of local lads take me under their wing and offer a tour of the nightlife. Before my new friends can make good on their tour a passer-by takes offence at their chat up line of “shows us your tits, give us your number!” (I know genius) and spits on them. A brawl starts and my tour guides flee the scene leaving me in need of a new guide.
A guide in the form of Sam, a local whom I befriended when she was visiting Scotland came to my rescue. With a more reliable guide I begin to see underneath the tourist guide version of Perth and I get my first introduction to a local tradition- the Sunday Session. We swim in the ocean, walk on the beach and top it off with a pint in Sam’s old local. A pint that turns into 2, 3, many and a very good night ends with us drinking wine in her car before falling uncomfortably asleep in the foot well. Cultures change but serious sessions all remain the same.

So It Begins
Driving back after a hung-over dawn wander along the beach I decide that when I get my campervan, after the mandatory tourist stops I am going to pitch up on some deserted beach and take up beachcombing; whilst using factor 60+ sun cream obviously. Tomorrow I get my campervan, become independently mobile and start my travels in earnest.