Hi all

So we left Fremantle behind us and headed out on our first leg proper of our Australian adventure. We passed through the town of Rockingham (what can I say? Erm not much really) and made our first stop at Mandurah.

Mandurah is known for it’s massive houses where Australian stars have holiday homes and our plan was to drive past them all and have a good old fashioned nosey. Not that we’ve ever heard of any of the people that supposedly live there, but what they hey. Celeb spotting is the new train spotting. And bit more cool. Well as it happens, we never did get to see any big houses (or stars for that matter) because we got a little lost in Mandurah itself. But we did end up on our first Australian beach. Now that’s what I’m talking about. Turquoise waters, golden sands, people having barbies, the real deal. Except the water was firkin freezin. Like getting in the sea in Pompey on New Year’s Eve. You know you’re gonna have a cold until Easter...But it was our first Aussie beach so we took the plunge and pushing the ice bergs and polar bears aside we indulged in a bit of paddling. Well, I say paddling. I went in as far as my feet and Mand slightly less. But feeling triumphant we walked back to the cars (avoiding the hypothermic penguins as best we could) and set off back on the road. If these are Australian beaches then get me back to Malaysia. I’m still stunned to think there were actually people swimming and larking about in that water. I reckon frostbite must be as big a killer over here as skin cancer. Maybe more so...

Next up on our first day’s adventuring was Pinjarra. It takes longer to say it than to drive through it. It’s only worthwhile claim to fame is that a tribe of Bindjareb Noongar, the local Aboriginal tribe, was massacred by a bunch of white settlers here. Hmmmm here and just about everywhere else in Australia.

Moving swiftly on then we headed to Dwellingup where we were promised some beautiful walks through the woods and countryside. We made it as far as the picnic area where we had lunch. They do have a wonderful old steam train that goes up and down a track here. Which was nice. But we were feeling a bit lazy after lunch and occupied ourselves with the shuttlecock I’d bought in Vietnam. It really is one of th most frustrating b******ly things I’ve ever tried. Mine and Andy’s record between us was about four. The locals looked at us with a mixture of interest and anticipation when we started, but these looks eventually turned to pity when they saw just how poor we were at it. The girls joined in and it was decided that we couldn’t leave until we’d had a rally where everyone got a touch. We were there a very very long time. But eventually and with much high fiving, hugging and cheering we managed it and set off for our first taste of bush camping, in a place called Yalgorup National Park.

Now this is a far cry from the wonderful campsites I described in my last postcard. No drinking water, no electricity, no showers and a toilet that was reminiscent of The Blair Witch Project. The spot itself is absolutely beautiful, right on the banks of the Harvey Estuary at a place called Pelican Point. We arrived and were greeted by a one eyed bloke of about a hundred and forty years of age with a huge hearing aid in each ear who cheerily introduced himself as Neville and gave us some directions on the best place to camp. I understood about one word in twenty and just nodded where appropriate. He asked my name and then spent the rest of our brief time together calling me Nigel. But we found ourselves a nice spot out of the wind and after Dave got a bit bogged down in the sand, we eventually set up the cars to act as extra windbreakers. Quality. This is when we realised we didn’t bring any water with us. Not being much up to date on bushcraft we decided against water divining and I headed back to Neville’s caravan to ask if we could drink the water from the toilet block. He fixed his one eye on me in almost panic and uttered the eternal phrase ‘f*** no’. Never before has so much surprise, pity and good natured contempt (if there is such a thing) been expressed in so few syllables. He asked what exactly I wanted the water for and I said cooking and would it be alright once we’d boiled it. He looked at his mate and kind of shook his head in bewilderment. ‘COOKING’ his mate yelled at him. ‘Ah right. Cooking. What ya cookin’?’ ‘Pasta’ ‘What?’ ‘PASTA’ Blank look. ‘PARSTA’ I try pronouncing it. He looks at his mate again ‘Nope’ ‘PARSTA’ his mate yells in his ear. ‘Oh, parsta is that what you said...’ (Incidentally there is no r in pasta. Unlike bath which has a silent one for all you northerners out there.) Anyway, it turns out our Neville has a five gallon tank of fresh water we can have. ‘Use as much as you want, I’m off into town tomorrow so I can get some more’. He then proceeds to take ten minutes to explain how to get the cap off (I love old people - you only had to pull it). ‘Thanks Neville, you’re a star mate’ I say deeply in gratitude. He fixes me with his one eye which is gleaming in a kind old grand fatherly fashion ‘No worries Nigel’.

So dinner was done and it was decided that in a kind of traditional role reversal that the girls should head off and get fire wood and me and Andy should wash up. Imagine our surprise then when they came back ten minutes later, not with firewood but with a dead lizard on a stick. Don’t ask why, I have no idea. But there it was. A desiccated lizard on a stick. Like some kind of Roman snack. Now as four city kids on their first night in the bush, the last thing you really want to see is a dead lizard that looks for all the world like a dead baby crocodile. To make matters worse the girls had also found what looked to be an eggshell nearby. I now found myself replaying every fact I can remember about crocodiles. Are they nocturnal? How big are they? Do they live in saltwater? How likely are they to attack a human? Is it circles or straight lines they can’t run in? Would propping a stick in it’s open mouth really work? We were dwelling on this and when the phone rang I jumped hard enough to spill beer all over my lap. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the ghost of Steve Irwin phoning to give us tips on wrestling crocs, it was Chris and Len. Whose only advice was ‘Sleep in the car’. Cheers in-laws.

Along the way though, the girls had successfully rounded up a load of firewood and in a traditional male bonding session me and Andy were discussing the best way of getting a roaring blaze going. Now anyone who’s ever been camping with me knows I’m a bit of a pyro at heart (ahhhh, the joys of Hundred Acres or the Boogie Woogie woods over by the ford, dancing round a fire with 10 foot flames) but this is far as my experience takes me and it was with some regret that I was forced to admit that what we needed was something slightly more controlled. And above all smaller. (My only other experience is of being a kid in the Bush Park, lighting fires and wondering why the bread kept burning when we were trying to make toast - sorry mum and dad.) But one of the conversations that used to go on over Hundred Acres was the age old argument (mainly from Bri Ludford and Trev) that if you built it in a cone shape it’d burn better and more efficiently. So, with Andy leading the way this is what we did and I have to say, with more than a hint of pride, that it was a pretty good blaze.

All that remains for me to say is that we had a most excellent evening sitting round the fire and talking s*** (in Australia, not Hundred Acres - well both, but you know what I mean), and we bedded down for the night (have I told you about our wonderful mattress yet?), safe and sound and looking forward to the following day’s travelling.

Laters all

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PS We found out a couple of days later from an information board where we stopped for lunch that the crocodile was actually a bob tailed lizard and totally harmless. Phew.