Groovy Gang

It was with a drowsy head and laden pack that I said goodbye to my Aunts and Uncle in Adelaide as I ventured towards Melbourne on a 3-day tour of the Grampians and the Great Ocean Road. I organised the tour with Groovy Grape, which, for me at least, conjours up images of that episode of Only Fools and Horses where Rodney is indoctrinated into the 'Groovy Gang' as he pretends to be 15 to go on a prize holiday. Any mention of shouting 'Groovy' and I'm off the bus!

The first day's going was ruddy slow as the bus clawed its way along the freeway packed with 20-odd tourists and a trailer full of food and luggage. It took several hours and a lunch break before we stopped at Mt Arapyles, touted to be one of the premier climbing spots in the world. We spotted a few human dots as they mounted their assault on the rock face and I have to say I was more than a mite jealous of them, the sight fortifying my desire to engage in a spot of climbing during my stay in Oz.

We pushed on. Eventually we arrived in the Grampians and our accommodation for the night in the little town of Halls Gap, where we were greeted by the sight of free-roaming 'Roos bouncing among the lodges and houses. After dinner was over, our guide Neil took us out for a spot of nocturnal 'Roo watching in a nearby field. They weren't at all bothered by us. We found one mother with a little Joey in her pouch nibbling on the grass as the mother stooped down to do the same. Lazy b*****. Mind you, if you can eat where you sleep, why bother to move? I wouldn't! But the real treat lay in the stars above. In the clear country air, with little light pollution for 100s of miles around, the night sky divulged its celestial beauty. I've never seen so many stars in my entire life, and the wisps of what looked like clouds that were in fact far-flung galaxies just hanging there amongst it all. I felt an awe and reverence that no church could ever bestow.

That thought followed me to bed and through to the next morning as the Groovy Gang trekked through the Grampians, passing chargrilled forest regenerating from bush fires and a myriad of rocky paths. I remember thinking that this area would have made a great spot to climb. My appetite for the climb was increasing.

Our next stop was the Brambuk cultural centre, only really noteworthy due to a 15-minute short film which presented the local Aboriginal people's creation story, and what a story it was. Narrated by a gruff voiced, partially aggressive sounding Aboriginal bloke, it told of a fat man with large breasts who created the earth; an angry emu who created valleys by kicking down mountains (portrayed by a fake emu leg kicking down polystyrene block models of cliffs); and a coward who was turned into a possum because he wouldn't come down from a tree to fight said emu. I'm betting money the Boosh have been to Brambuk. If they haven't, they should: get the guy who narrates to work on the fourth series with them and bring it back up to par.

Back on the road, we headed towards the Great Ocean Road and Melbourne. I was sat just behind the front passenger seat so I got to chat with our guide and driver. His ancestor was an architect who had been sent here for forging a cheque, which he required to pay for his marriage to a well-to-lady when a business deal when pear-shaped. However, he found no shortage of work when the Governor of Sydney was pulling his hair out searching for an architect to design public buildings for the new city. Hence he became famous, wealthy and even enjoyed a spot on Aussie currency for a while. There's some more irony for you Alanis.

The weather closed in and it started to rain. This was to be our weather for the next two days, which marred the experience slightly. That said, I was beginning to realise that the Great Ocean Road held no sights that differed significantly from, let's say, the Cornish or California coasts. It served as a lesson to remind myself that if you can't see everything when on tour, select those sights which are unique to where you're going. I don't hit botanical gardens for that reason, so why shouldn't it apply to rocks, seas and things. Point taken.

That night we stayed in a hostel right by the beach, in a small town whose name I forget. We set up a fire in the main room and ate our dinner by its roaring glow. Out of the group of around 20 people, most were European with a couple of Taiwanese girls, one well-travelled Japanese girl and a Korean brother and sister who I - and everyone else - would have sworn were a couple. I still think something fishy was going on there. We were joined by a couple of Dutch guys who weren't part of the group, but were relieved that there were other people to talk to. As the night wore on most people headed to bed, whilst the Dutch guys, me, a Kiwi on a break from missionary work and an American girl stayed up into the wee hours drinking wine out of a box and discussing Holland's confused laws about what you can and can't smoke within public buildings. This would have been fine, had I not challenged myself to wake the next day and take an early morning dip...in the sea...filled with water that had not touched land since leaving the brisk shores of Antarctica. I nearly didn't get up.

But I did. 6:30. Party shorts on, towel grabbed and out I headed. The weather was not very favourable to say the least. Blowing a gale, I ventured onto the beach still slightly fuzzy from the libations I had only imbibed a mere 4 hours previous. For those of you who are thinking I'm an idiot for doing this, you are right. But I'm not dangerous. The beach was small, well enclosed and the approach to the sea shallow. I had no intentions of doing a Reginald Perrin. I only wanted to immerse myself to say I had swam in Antarctic waters. I was conscious of the fact that the more I dallied, the more likely I was to turn back, so I anchored my towel under a large sheet of wet rubber (God knows where it came from, but it's not the first time I've found some on a beach) and ran in. I ran as the water hit my toes, then my ankles, my shins and then finally jumped against a wave.

Jesus, Mary, Joseph and all the angels and saints: it was cold. I wasn't even getting a picture of this. How long did I have to stay in to satisfy my pride? About 1 minute it would seem. I bolted out and grabbed my towel, feeling surprisingly warm and thoroughly awake. As I climed the steps from the beach, another member of the Groovy Gang had arrived to take in the view and nothing else. He is my witness. And he's a man on a mission from God, so what he says is gospel. I had my proof!

After breakfast we pushed on the Great Ocean Road, taking in more rain, rocky formations and coastal scenery. I was feeling sleepy and longing for Melbourne and bed, but my body wouldn't allow it. Git. To keep my mind occupied, I played a game of comic observation on our guide who, as the tour had progressed, had reminded me more of the manager of Flight of the Conchords manager Murray. He didn't look like him. He also didn't sound like him. But his penchant for stating the obvious, repeating himself and speaking in slow, protracted, sometimes mundane,

sentences potholed by large pauses drew parallels. Such as:

"Here's a tree...There's another tree" - when driving through forests.

"Did everyone [1 second, 2 seconds, 3 seconds] like the fish and chips? Everyone liked the fish and chips? Yes? Good."

And my favourite...

"We'll stop here so you can take a picture of the sea"

20 minutes later, "We'll stop here so you can take a picture of the sea"

10 minutes after that, "This is a nice shot...of the sea, with a road behind it."

Sleep deprivation can be very vindictive. He he he...

Tony still has to blog about Melbourne, even though Sydney is waiting for him to come out to play.