Walking into a perfectly reasonable (by UK standards) 12 degrees (Celsius) Sydney felt more than cool after the heat in Singapore but we persevered, in our shorts and t-shirts, and soon acclimatised. We navigated the compact airport with ease finding the railway station where we caught the train to Central Station. The train was an old sparkly aluminium-clad train that one tends to associate with America but it was double-decker, though we didn't venture upstairs (or down) with our big bags. Alighting the train in central Sydney, south of the river, we were checking into our trendy hostel by 11:00. The room was basic but very cool with an absolutely massive window that took up most of the exterior wall and gave a fantastic view. Having had enough 'downtime' on the plane we were soon out again in hunter-gatherer mode looking for lunch. Our search came to an end fairly quickly in a market in nearby China Town when we were faced with the massive portions that the Australians are used to. Despite the size, my plate that was previously piled high with noodles was empty and we moved on to find Gemma an Australian mobile phone from Voda phone, Australia's largest network. Before leaving China Town we visited a supermarket where we purchased supplies for the trip in our camper van.

Upon returning to our room, our worst nightmares were soon realised when we saw the Australian news. It just happened to be World Youth Week, to which Sydney was playing host to numerous events, 15,000 children and adults and, the Pope! We saw live footage from the channel 5 news helicopter of the Pope's convoy as he travelled from his temporary residence to where he would be addressing the thousands that had come to see him. There was no escaping the pilgrimage especially during a short visit to Darling harbour that evening. The adjacent park had been commandeered for the occasion and was a central point for the attendees to meet and watch performances on the stage. It was a spectacle, that's for sure, but a spectacle made uncomfortable not only with the sheer volume of people but also with the fact that every priest we passed felt it appropriate to bless us. We had to get back to book some accommodation for our trip up eastern Australia, anyway, and an early night ensued.

The morning (Thursday 17th July) brought the beginning of our road trip in a camper van. En route to Travellers Auto Barn, where we were due to pick up the campervan, we continued to get comments about our summer attire and how we were making the Australians feel cold - it's probably safe to say that we put some Australians off coming to the UK. Upon arrival we had a quick briefing and were then set free onto the roads of Australia. I was navigating through Sydney to the Blue Mountains, our first stop, as Gemma drove. The journey went well despite us driving along the toll motorways for which we had no permit. A short panic later we realised that we just had to call the council and purchase an inexpensive tourist permit which allowed us a months access along the road. Sydney soon disappeared and we were in the country driving along twisting roads and up steep hills that the campervan seemed reluctant to climb. Even so, we arrived at Wentworth Falls, in the Blue Mountains National Park, unscathed and we were ready for lunch. I was immediately impressed. Wentworth Falls is a quaint little village complete with a handful of shops, including post office, café, butchers and green grocers - all essentials for a small friendly community such as this. The people, even more friendly than in Sydney, were quick to greet us as we passed them in the street - a far cry from many streets in England where people try their utmost to avoid eye contact, let alone conversation. The architecture was different from England, obviously, but felt very familiar. Immaculately painted wooden dwellings with flower-covered trellis and shady porches for residents to sit. Corrugated tin roofs, some painted, protected the fragile-looking single storey buildings from the summer rains. A small brick railway station nestled in the mountainside gave this almost isolated community some chance to escape the countryside, though I can't see why they would want to. I found this place idyllic and a variation upon what I imagine 1950's Britain to be like - a nice image to have.

During my previous travels, comments have been made by foreign people I have met, and even by one of my lecturers at university, about British property and the walls surrounding them. I had never really noticed this before in other countries, though thinking back I can agree, that a wall, fence or even a short hedgerow seldom gives distinction between properties. In the UK almost all property has some kind of physical boundary between it's adjacent neighbour, but, as I've witnessed here in Australia, there are very few households that feel it necessary to erect such a barrier. This, I feel, might show a subtle difference between even similar cultures, like our own and Australia's, and perhaps highlights differences in our mentalities. Whether we, as a nation, have always felt this need for boundaries, to protect or define what is ours, I am unsure, or whether it is simply convention I don't know, but I find it interesting to think about the psychology of various nations and try and relate different aspects of a cultures stereotype to try and reveal possible evidence for why that stereotype might, in fact, be justified. In this case, it could be something to do with Australia's obvious laid-back attitude to life in general, unconsciously showing, through the lack of physical boundaries, that there could be more trust and less of a need to protect and defend one's land. Maybe my previous comment about friendliness comes in too - there is no wall preventing communication with neighbours. Are UK citizens more uptight, or just protective or even inherently less friendly, less willing to communicate? As with most things, there is no rule that fits all, no right answer that applies to everyone but it's interesting thinking about it. I don't know, maybe I should ask an Australian or just, perhaps, think and analyse things less. Yes, I did, indeed, get all this from a man (actually three men on three separate occasions) who once said to me,

"Don't you think England has a lot of walls?"

Still, a thought provoking idea, for me at least.

Whilst everything seemed perfect in paradise, it wasn't to remain so for much longer - I will elaborate. The sound of gastric juices being squeezed though my empty stomach signalled lunch and we found a nearby tearoom. We pushed open the door hitting a wind chime that had been put inside to draw the attention of staff indicating a customer had entered the premises, nothing unusual there, yet. Unsure of the protocol of the establishment we loitered around the counter awaiting attention before being advised to take a seat and wait for table service. We obliged and decided on a couple of sandwiches. The over-attentive, but very friendly waitress took our order after questioning my choice of mustard on a sandwich, maybe mustard on a chicken sandwich just is the done thing over here. Realising that we both wanted sandwiches, and on wholemeal bread too (they don't seem to do brown in Australia), she thought she should check bread levels with the 'chef' before accepting our order. No wholemeal was available so white it was, and the last two portions too. We sipped our chilled drinks as we waited for our sandwiches to be prepared. Despite it being about 14:15 by this point, many people still entered the tearoom looking for nourishment. This did not bother me but the sound of the chime hung on the door did. It made the strangest of noises; small metal bells chimed on each entry with an off key note that was made for a really rather eerie jingle. I started thinking. A seemingly perfect little township with an odd tearoom; a tearoom with no bread, no sausage rolls or steak pies, no currant Danishes, no carrot cake and no soup or scones (all of which were asked for). It all seemed like a setting for a horror film, where little things start going wrong to the tune of some eerie music (the door chime) and then someone dies a horribly gruesome death. I half expected the waitress to plonk the chicken sandwich on the table before slowly trying to hack me into small meaty chunks with a butter knife whilst Angie, from behind the till, held me in the chair, and the gentleman, who couldn't get the cappuccino he so desperately wanted, wouldn't even bat an eyelid. Suddenly the sandwiches arrived and, best of all, I wasn't being sliced up with a butter knife or my eyes gouged out with a teaspoon - how kind!

We paid and made a swift exit, dodging the now evil, door chime, and continued to the butcher where a friendly gentleman enquired about our travel plans and supplied us with some quality local beef mince. A short exploration of the Blue Mountains was required and was provided by a nearby national park walk. The many national parks scattered along the east coast of Australia are very good making it easy on the numerous tourists that visit them. The paths have been generally very good and are all signposted with estimated completion times and distances. Local dangerous fauna and flora are all indicated with suggested courses of action shown should an encounter occur. The national parks' aim is to protect the once continuous band of both temperate and tropical rainforests that form a ridge along eastern Australia, the Great Dividing Range. This range is the longest in the world spanning almost 3500km from northern Queensland to Victoria and is the result of ancient volcanic activity which now provides the fertile soils where allsorts of fruit, even tea, and vegetables are grown. Along the walking tracks are usually lookouts, platforms providing a vantage point to view stunning panoramas. We took a fairly short stroll through the temperate eucalypt rainforest for the first time culminating at a lookout, which provided an amazing vista of the Blue Mountains. The reason why they were given such a simple yet descriptive name was obvious. The pale turquoise colouration of the huge eucalyptus trees' foliage radiated a blue-green hue above the canopy as the sun's rays beamed down; a unusual optical effect not dissimilar from a rainbow though, overall, much more impressive. The result from our lookout was a huge valley with cliffs all around and everywhere but the steepest sections were covered in vegetation. Normally, when looking at a landscape, the horizon tends to get paler in colour but not in the Blue Mountains, the blues got stronger as they concentrated in the distance. As the sun began to tire we made our way back up the incline to the small blob of Tarmac where we had parked. As we crossed the car park we heard the shells of nuts dropping from trees, we looked up and saw two large blue and pillar-box red parrots cheerfully harvesting the seeds from one of the tree's branches. They noticed our attention and moved on so we followed suit. Unable to find a national park campsite that could accommodate our campervan during our research period before leaving, we had opted for a caravan park in Blackheath, the next township along the way.

The pleasant architecture continued as we followed the winding road to Blackheath. We arrived at the well-maintained caravan park and entered the reception door to find an older gentleman that seemed genuinely interested in our adventure and had a few words of friendly advice for us. He showed us to our site and left us to our own devises. Australia, being the BBQ capital of the world, has facilities for such cooking everywhere, as we discovered to our delight. Campsites, even the most basic national park sites, parks and lay-bys all have free BBQs for the public to use. This was great as we both enjoy a, though short in Britain, BBQ season at home. As the twilight began to fade into darkness the temperature seemed to unexpectedly drop and we were actually rather cold so, huddling around the BBQ, we cooked our homemade burgers that were delicious. Retreating to the camper, we opted for an early night and after a few games of cards we assembled our sleeping quarters and went to sleep. Their obligatory sleeping bags were far from substantial and I faced a long night of tossing and turning in a very cold and uncomfortable campervan. Cold is probably an understatement as I awoke the next morning, after 2-3 hours of disjointed sleep, shivering with numb feet and lower legs but still with the fire of excitement deep inside at the thought of our adventures to come, and it was this that roused me into getting up and ready to hit the road. After a shower and wash I felt colder still, like an icy film had encrusted my skin due to the moisture from the shower but I opened the door and stepped into what felt like the Antarctic. I started running, despite the lack of sensation in my toes, before stopping dead as I saw what I initially assumed was an owl. The bird, precariously perched on a washing line, looked as if it was wearing a thick white and brown woolly jumper with it's head tucked under it's wing. Moving closer the bird woke up and I realised that it was, in fact, a kookaburra. An unusual looking bird due its disproportionately large beak and a noisy one too. As I laid in my sleeping bag before going for a shower I heard manic 'laughter' and chattering from what sounded like a howler monkey or some other primate, though I knew this would not be the case. The kookaburra was the culprit, one that I would hear many times throughout the coming weeks.

That's all I have time for at the moment. I write this whilst on the road to Alice Springs (don't worry I'm not driving at the same time), which will take three days. From there we continue through the red centre to Uluru (Ayers Rock) so it's highly unlikely that you'll be able to read this for at least another week but once in Sydney the internet should be flowing freely. Until then…