Travel Archives - thegoodwills.com

Covid causing travel hesitancy

covid-travel-hesitancy — Overseas travellers 2012 to 2022 Source ABS

Some of my friends and family have decided to head off overseas (Covid be damned), and I’m just a tad jealous. Despite making plans to visit family in New Zealand in February next year, our last international adventures are now more than a decade ago. Anecdotes and photos have faded, alas.

It’s probably ‘normal’ for avid travellers to do less of it as they age, for financial and health reasons. In addition, as illustrated in this graph from the Australian Bureau of Statistics (ABS) website, the advent of Covid-19 and its aftermath certainly put paid to our collective travel ambitions.

A late 2021 study found that Australians were ‘lukewarm’ about travelling, ahead of international borders opening in February 2022.

The University of Queensland study found that only 51% of those surveyed were planning international travel, with New Zealand and Europe as key destinations. The research showed that 33% of respondents preferred to holiday in Australia, and 16% were going to stay home. Nevertheless, it has been five years since our last trip to New Zealand to visit whanua. There are new grandchildren – great-grandchildren, even. And my siblings are ageing, as am I.

As you will note from today’s chart, there has been a surge in overseas traveller numbers (inbound and outbound), but it’s a long way off the 2019 highs.

One outcome of the Covid pandemic and the lifting of travel bans is a dramatic shift in the way people plan overseas travel. A recent ABC segment found that hesitancy has changed the way Australians travel, with shorter lead times between bookings and departures. Pre-Covid, a large proportion of travellers made their own travel and accommodation bookings. But COVID-19 restrictions have led to a renewed interest in travel agencies.

Many people are nervous about what could happen should they catch Covid while travelling abroad. There are a couple of key flaws in Covid-tracking, and one is that sometimes people have Covid but don’t know it (asymptomatic). Then there are people (there would have to be some), that suspect they have Covid but keep on travelling regardless.

They might give it to a thousand other people, but as they might say in their own defence, our own chief health officer has said, it is “inevitable” most of us will catch Covid.

A friend who once swore she’d never visit Europe for all those reasons and more has just left for a six-week tour of the UK. In part, it is an organised tour and the rest independent travel. Our local friend, who we shall refer to as Zee, related a typical 2022 travel anecdote from the transit lounge in Vancouver.

“I never saw the person involved, but I gather he was a young man who had travelled via Alaska Airlines to Portland and then Air Canada to Vancouver. He had checked two bags with all his worldly possessions through to Korea. However, apparently, they never made it on to the Air Canada flight and nobody has any idea where they are. I know all this because he explained it in exhaustive detail several times to different people on a very long phone call. He was obviously distressed, and I felt very sorry for him. And I will never know if he ever got them back.”

Zee has since landed at Heathrow and boarded a tour bus bound for Oxford (Ed: The Perfect Comma Tour?). After seeing stories in the media about airline passengers losing luggage, Zee opted for carry-on only. I suspect UK charity shops will be the beneficiaries of that decision.

We have all heard about or seen media coverage of people trying in vain to find lost luggage, waiting for hours in queues or being repeatedly bumped off flights. During its 18-month hiatus, the airline industry, despite attempts to revisit glory days running decades-old commercials, appears to have serious organisational issues. It comes down to a shortage of staff and trying to make old bookings systems work in a post-Covid world. Not that we are anywhere near a post-Covid world.

It may surprise you to know there are 28 countries which are not open to international visitors. They include a few countries most of us would never have on our destination bucket list. A few have onerous travel restrictions which would probably deter most visitors. Hong Kong, for example, requires you to return a negative Covid test and then go into quarantine.

A useful website (Kayak) tells us there are 163 countries that are open to visitors, and which do not require Covid-testing or quarantining. Another 33 countries require Covid testing before they will let you in and three that also require you to go into quarantine. The 28 countries that are open only to returning citizens or those under ‘special circumstances’ include China, Taiwan and Russia.

Kayak, an on-line travel agency, maintains a web page which keeps track of where you can go and what restrictions there are (if any). Despite Australia requiring all people travelling to and from the country to be double vaccinated, some countries (like Ireland) have an open-door policy. I would caution anyone with travel plans to check and double-check the entry (and exit) requirements as they change all the time.

The Kayak web page is also a one-stop place to check out how other countries are going with their vaccination rates. They range from Samoa (100%), Singapore (92%) and Germany (75%) to scarily low numbers in countries like Somalia (16%) and PNG (3.4%).

Our research into travel to New Zealand in six months’ time has thus far revealed it will be costly for comprehensive insurance. This is more to do with being 70+ than any other factor. Even though it is six months’ away, hire car companies seem to be short of vehicles. Of more pressing concern is planning ahead to avoid catching Covid and giving it to other people, namely elderly family members. We are fortunate to have an extended family in NZ who would find ways of accommodating us should we need to go into isolation (a bach at the beach, Cuz?). But it is best to make sure you factor another $1000 or so into your travel budget to cover contingencies.

As readers may have gathered over the eight years we have been communing on Fridays, I’ve done a fair bit of travelling in my youth. We also had some adventures later in life – in 2004 exchanging houses for six months with an English couple who lived in Godalming (Surrey). That was a great way to see Greece, France, Belgium, Italy, Scotland, Wales and other places, three weeks at a time then back to base to live the suburban life for a while. We visited relatives in Canada on the way over and re-visited Canada in 2010 for a family reunion. This seems to be the year for the Canadians to visit us. Brother Jon was here in May, making the most of the wet winter. Cousin Glen and his wife will be here in our Spring. They intended to travel in 2020 but we all know how that went down. There’s talk of a cousins’ reunion (probably in Seattle) in 2023. .

As readers may recall from recent essays about our trip to Tasmania, we found there’s a fair difference between taking on a 10km bush walk at 64 and 10 years on. .

Let’s see how we pull up after a month in New Zealand.

FOMM flashback

Impressions of Tasmania Part 2

impressions-tasmania-two — A lucky sunset shot coming in to Port of Melbourne

If you have a yen to go to Tasmania, here’s three key pieces of advice. Go in spring or autumn, take clothing and footwear for all seasons and, most importantly, allow more time than we had (18 days).

I’m taking up the travelogue as we arrived for three days in Hobart (having arranged to drop our car into the dealers to troubleshoot a faulty sensor). We checked in to the Hobart showgrounds, a spacious complex close to the city.

After luckily finding a good ‘local’ breakfast cafe in the city, we set off on a day tour of Hobart. The double-decker bus found its way into some tight spots (a lookout at Battery Point). Our driver informed us that Battery Point has the country’s most expensive real estate (per square metre). We spent an hour at the Royal Tasmanian Botanical Gardens, a compact but very beautiful oasis with a Japanese garden (and an ice cream van we didn’t manage to find). We went to the Cascades and heard all about an early settler, Peter Degraves, who had a plan to use the crystal clear water from the Cascade springs to build a brewery.

He formed this plan while doing time in Hobart gaol for fraud. On his release in the early 1830s he set about building the Cascade Brewery, which is still operating, producing beers and non-alcoholic beverages. It is not only a working brewery but a tourist attraction.

In the afternoon we headed off on a catamaran which took us to one of Hobart’s modern curiosities, MONA (Museum of new and old art). The catamaran ride was splendid, sailing at speed under the Tasman Bridge, catching sight of Australia’s $529 million icebreaker, Nuyina, which is based in Hobart. (Ed: The boat ride was nice – MONA was pretentious, IMHO)

Saturday was a day of highlights. First a day trip through the beautiful Huon Valley to Geeveston where friends introduced us to a gourmet café, The Old Bank, which serves local game dishes. Go there! In the late afternoon we set off to Rosny, which is a nearby suburb of Hobart where songwriter Fred Smith was performing that night. Fred recruited a local band to present his latest concert about Afghanistan, which includes the evacuation of 4000+ people with Australian visas from Kabul Airport. It’s a harrowing audio-visual presentation with images, videos and Fred’s narration, coupled with his insightful songs about Afghanistan and Afghans.

On Sunday we set off for Port Arthur. Like all road journeys in Tasmania, the distances are short but the roads require more careful, slower driving than we are used to on the mainland. I’d not been to Port Arthur before, but the ruins of the convict colony are evocative and the guides are knowledgeable. This is one place where you could spend an extra day, as the ticket to the historic site is also good for the following day. There’s such a lot to take in.

On balance, our colonial forebears treated convicts as brutally as they slaughtered the indigenous people of Tasmania. The cat of nine tails, which was traditionally steeped in sea water so crusts would form on the knots, was a particularly barbarous instrument of punishment. It was not uncommon for convicts to receive 100 lashes. Some of them died as a result. It’s not hard to conjure up the atmosphere when this place was home to 2,000 people, including 1,200 criminals we’d call recidivists (re-offenders) today.

From Port Arthur we drove up the fabled East Coast with its scenic wonders and wildlife. On advice from a friend we stopped at Eaglehawk Neck, a narrow isthmus containing another convict relic. An officer’s garrison was built at Eaglehawk Neck to capture convicts trying to escape Port Arthur. The Dogline at the narrowest part of the neck is where a line of ferocious dogs patrolled to prevent convicts escaping. We also took in a couple of spectacular blow-holes which are common on the Tasman coast.

Mayfield Beach Conservation Area, east coast Tasmania

We were aiming for Swansea but accidentaily ended up at a lovely free camp at Mayfield Beach. The Mayfield Beach Conservation Area was quite popular but we managed to manoeuvre our van into a site under some trees. It was right next to the road but after 7pm there was so little traffic it was not an issue. The park is maintained by park rangers but is in fact a scenic reserve. There are loads of places like this around Tassie and the best part is that, unlike a lot of Queensland free camps, you can stay for 2, 3 or even 4 weeks. (The Mayfield Beach camp sign says in small letters that merely moving to a different site after 30 days is not permitted).

Next day we did tourist stops at Kate’s Berry Farm, a popular place for people who appreciate good coffee and blackberry jam. Then we went to a strange place called Spiky Bridge. It is part of the infrastructure built by convicts with the aim of thwarting overland escape from Port Arthur.

Later we took the steep walk to the lookout at Wineglass Bay, admiring the young couple who took a two-year-old girl and a baby in a backpack to the top and back again. Those kids will grow up loving the wilderness and never know why. The mother took our photo up there, while we were trying hard to look as if we had got our breath back, given the so-so cardio fitness of a pair of 73-year-olds. Friends who have done this walk in the past tell us it used to be a rock scramble to the top. No fancy lookout and safety barriers then.

A Tasmanian devil, posing ever so nicely

We stopped the night at Bicheno at a caravan park because the Coles Bay national park camp site was full. The bonus was we could spend a good few hours at Natureworld, with its well-stocked aviaries, local fauna and a disease-free colony of Tasmanian Devils. We got there in time to watch these ugly critters fighting over a kangaroo tail. Been there, got the T-shirt. (Ed: they were a bit cute – like a Staffie!).

We ended up staying in a caravan park again at St Helen’s when, if we’d thought about it, we could have travelled into the Bay of Fires and stayed at one of the many free camps on the beach. Ah well. We had a jolly fine day trip including a walk along the beach from Walsh’s Lagoon. You can walk the whole 11km from Binalong Point to Eddistone Point along the the Bay of Fires. The walk is mainly along the beach but the trek implies a bit of organisation in a group with a car at either end. Bay of Fires is distinguished from other beaches by its orange granite rocks (the colour is caused by lichen. There are also ancient middens along this trail, evidence of indigenous settlement. We reached the northerly terminating road (The Gardens) near sunset which is the right time to be there although there was a bite to the wind.

We got chatting to a guy with a vintage Chev truck built on a Holden chassis with a V8 engine. He was on his way to a hot rod rally at Ulverstone near Devonport. The things people spend money on, eh!

Next day we set off on a hilly winding road to Scottsdale, stopping along the way at the Pyengana Cheese factory (recommended) where we had freshly made scones with home-made butter and cream. We bought our rellies some cheese to go with their Huon pine cheese board.

From there we drove on to one of Tasmania’s famous short walks – St Columba Falls. It is a short, east walk apart from a bit of downhill to the lookout. Because Tassie’s been in a drought the tallest falls in the State were not roaring like they usually do. but spectacular none the less.

The 15 minute walk goes through myrtle and sassafras groves with an under story of ferns, moss and fungi. Later on the drive we stopped at Weldsborough to check out an ancient myrtle grove with the ubiquitous understory of moss, fungi and ferns, Very dark and prehistoric.

impressions-of-tasmania-two — Old growth forest in north-east Tasmania

Not everything in Tasmania looks like that. Earlier in the day I tried (and failed) to take a ‘Tasmanian Mullet’ photo – where the lower slopes of a steep hill had been clear felled for pasture, leaving forest remnants clinging to the top, like a monk’s tonsure.

The hilly drive to Scottsdale, east of Launceston, goes through the town of Derby which has become famous among mountain bike enthusiasts. There are several bike shops there which hire bikes and take riders in tour buses to the many organised trails through the hills.

We stayed at a free camp in Scottsdale, Northeast Park, which is named after George Northeast who first established a community pool and reserve there in the 1930s. The project was taken up again in the 1980s by the local Lions group who did a lot of work establishing picnic facilities and tracks for walkers and cyclists.

On our way to Devonport we stopped in at Sheffield, known as the town of murals, to catch up with friends. Saturday morning we queued to board the Spirit of Tasmania for a day voyage. The thoughtful people at Devonport provide a toilet for people sitting in their cars waiting to board. Four stars! And five stars to Bass Strait which turned on one of its swell-less days for a smooth voyage. We arrived in Melbourne at 8.30pm and then navigated our way through the suburbs to a caravan park in Coburg. (Ed: night driving on a Melbourne freeway not recommended when towing a van). t was the weekend of the Grand Prix so the van park was full and it took a while to sort out where we were supposed to park. But by 9.30 were set up – exhausted and ready for bed.

The journey home was Melbourne to Albury, then to Cowra which has a Japanese prisoner of war cemetery and a Japanese garden. On to Dunedoo where we ran into friends who were on their way to the National Folk Festival. Somewhere along the road I got a call from well-known folk singer Bob Fagan to say that my song, ‘When Whitlam took his turn at the wheel’, was this year’s recipient of the Alistair Hulett Songs for Social Justice award. It was presented at the National Folk Festival’s closing concert (in my absence). My songwriter friend Ross Clark who accepted the award on my behalf, has since been sending me photos of the award (like a garden gnome) posed in various locations as he travelled back to Brisbane.

I’ll leave you with this image, from Cowra Showgrounds, with a flotilla of road rigs (ours on the left) lined up ready for a 5am getaway. These are just a few of the 800,000 registered recreational vehicles on Australian roads. As the ABC reported this week, those on the road include families seeking lifestyle changes and ditching the school system after lengthy pandemic lockdowns and restrictions. Many are on the road permanently, both for reasons of lifestyle and necessity (more on that next week).

So that’s our land and sea return journey to Tasmania, some 6,500 kilometres in 30 days. Now you know why we needed to shout ourselves a night at Armidale’s Moore Park Inn and dinner at Archie’s restaurant on the last night. Hang the expense.
(all photos by Bob & Laurel Wilson)

PS: Last Saturday I got a call from an 03 number. I ignored it, as you do, but the number left a voice mail. It was a friendly young woman from TT-Line Company, better known as the Spirit of Tasmania. Had I lost anything on my recent holiday, Sally asked? ‘Ah, yeh, I still haven’t found my teblet’, I said, realising that when I’m anxious I revert to Kiwi. After a few key questions (make, size, colour), Sally asked for my pass code. It must be a different one to the one I use at home because it wouldn’t open. Not to be thwarted, Sally asked me if I had another email address (I do). I deduced she’d spotted my Gmail address when she tried to turn it on. I’m expecting it back any day now.

Impressions of Tasmania Part 1

impressions-tasmania-travel — Trying to get our breath back at the Wineglass Bay lookout, eastern Tasmania.

As promised, the new few weeks will recap our month-long sojourn from Warwick to Melbourne then Tasmania and the return trip. Enjoy the respite from the hostilities of the election campaign. This is a special edition (longer than usual – a 5-minute read).

Before the memory of our lovely trip fades, we thought it would be good to jot down some of the highlights.

Not that we’re superstitious or anything, but we left it until the day after the Ides of March to set off on our month-long trip to Tasmania and back.

The first night was spent at one of our more familiar camping spots – the Goondiwindi Showgrounds. It’s only about two hours from Warwick, but we didn’t want to do a long drive on the first day. In fact, most of our drives were less than 350km in a day, and even less than that in Tasmania, where the roads are often quite winding and hilly.

When caravanning, our preferred stop-overs are generally Showgrounds campsites, as they are less formal than standard Caravan Parks as well as being quite a bit cheaper (around $20-$25 for a powered site). The nights were often quite chilly, so it was good to be able to plug in our little fan heater. We do brave the occasional ‘free camp’, but they are usually fairly primitive, with toilets only and no showers. Next stop Narrabri and another Showgrounds campsite. We stopped off at the Visitors’ Information Centre, usually a ‘must do’ when travelling to a new place. There was a video running there showing some of the local Aboriginal people with interesting tales to tell. We also knew of a good ‘birding spot’, birding being one of our interests when on the road.

The townspeople had developed a large artificial lagoon and wetlands in the 90s and the area now attracts a variety of birds – the more common (to us, anyway) Wood Ducks and Corellas, but also large Spoonbills and Herons ‘fishing’ in the shallows.

We drove to Coonabarabran the next day but didn’t go out to the Warrumbungles National Park this time as we had a fairly long drive to do (long for us, anyway – over 360km). We normally drive no faster than 95kmph when towing and often somewhat slower, as many of the roads have been cut up by floodwaters. We keep an eye out for what is following us – this is made easy by having a camera on the back of the van which sends a signal to a screen in the car. If we start developing a ‘tail’, we pull over when it’s safe to do so. I’m a bit surprised that so few vehicles acknowledged this bit of grey nomad courtesy with a toot of the horn, but perhaps I’m just old-fashioned.

Sometimes we come across quite an impressive ‘free camp’ – the one at Wyalong being an example. There was plenty of room as well as some interesting displays such as a reproduction miners’ hut. We stopped there for a lunch break on our way to Narrandera. This area is in the ‘Bland’ shire (named after an early European settler, rather than a description of the surroundings). Someone there has a sense of humour, as they have combined with the town of ‘Dull’ (a village in Scotland) and ‘Boring’, which is in Oregon, to form the ‘League of Extraordinary Communities’) Their slogan was ‘Bland- far from Dull and Boring’.

The next day we drove through Ned Kelly’s old stamping ground – Jerilderie, where he committed a rather famous/infamous bank robbery. The bank in question is now a B&B with a rather impressive rose garden in front. We obtained a map of the town which pointed out many of the buildings/areas relevant to Ned’s exploits.

Then on to a rather unusual ‘free camp’, in that we parked the caravan in the yard of an old friend in the town of Kyabram – North West of Melbourne. Penny and Randall were very hospitable hosts who gave us dinner and then Randall treated us to Bach’s cello concerto, played on guitar by memory – a rather extraordinary feat, we thought.

Then on to Coburg, a suburb of Melbourne which has the closest Caravan Park to the Tasmanian Ferry Terminal. This is the only ‘full on’ caravan park we stayed at. It’s termed a ‘holiday park’, which means Kiddies’ playgrounds, swimming pool, etc. and vans parked rather close together. It did have a laundry, though, which we made good use of, after several days on the road.

Our Ferry ride to Tasmania wasn’t until the next evening, so we had a whole day in Melbourne to do some sight-seeing. We were rather thrilled to have a celebrity tour guide. Margret RoadKnight took us first to the Van Gogh installation. This had been to Brisbane, but we didn’t see it there, so it was a treat to experience it in Melbourne. Several of his paintings were projected video style along the walls of the exhibition space, interspersed with information about his life. Van Gogh sold very few of his works during his lifetime, but he said he was sure that one day his paintings would be worth more than the cost of the canvas and the paints he put on them. Very prophetic of him.

Next stop was ‘The Vault’ where there is an exhibition of major Australian performers. Margret had donated her first guitar to the exhibition and I spotted a festival poster where she featured. (Ed: There’s also Missy Higgins’ first songbook from her days at Geelong High).Then on to the National Gallery where we saw an exhibition of bark and pole paintings from Arnhem Land. Of course, one could spend hours at the Gallery, but time was limited, so we continued to a spot that for some time has been my ambition to visit, but not for entertainment. Our Federal Government, to its everlasting shame, has been incarcerating several asylum seekers who were sent to Australia for medical treatment. Instead, they were locked up in a shoddy hotel for years, with no access to fresh air or outdoor exercise. We stood there for some time as a small gesture of solidarity. (Just prior to the announcement of the next Federal election, the remaining detainees were released – not out of compassion, but most likely because some ‘focus group’ has told the current regime that incarcerating innocent people was not popular).

We were using public transport, so Margret walked us through Carlton, where we caught the bus back to her place, after having the ritual coffee in an Italian cafe.

After a long delay boarding the Spirit of Tasmania, we set sail about 11pm. We had a cabin, so after a sentimental rum and coke for me (the drink to drink when sailing), we headed off to our cabin for the night. The passage was quite rough, but not too uncomfortable, as we were lying down and could look out the porthole if we wanted to.

Next morning saw us in Devonport. We took a slow drive to Stanley, stopping at Ulverstone for breakfast and at the little town of Penguin, where Bob posed for the obvious photo alongside the giant penguin statue. Stanley’s main feature is ‘The Nut’, a large flat-topped rock – remnant of some ancient volcanic activity. There is a walking track to the top, but we were satisfied with walking half-way up the very steep track, stopping several times for photographs (or to catch our breath – probably the latter). There is a chair lift to the top too, but it was not operating on the day because of the strong wind gusts. I suspect I may not have partaken of it at any rate.

From Stanley, we drove to the small West Tasmanian town of Waratah. Its claim to fame is a waterfall right in the middle of town. In the past, it had been harnessed to provide hydro-electric power for the nearby tin mine, but this was no longer operative. I happened to see a notice on the wall of the Post Office advertising a singing session on Thursdays. So that was serendipitous, as we arrived on the very day. The group was very welcoming and we enjoyed a two hour singing session with them.

The other useful thing about Waratah is that it is a relatively quick drive to our next destination – Cradle Mountain National Park. There is a caravan park just outside the National Park itself. The cost of staying there reflects its proximity to a world class National Park, rather than the quality of its amenities. There had been quite heavy rain for a couple of days before we arrived (fortunately to a lovely sunny day) and there was quite a bit of construction happening in the caravan park, so the access roads left something to be desired. The van site was very tight, but fortunately a helpful fellow guided us into the spot.

We were in Tasmania to do some walks, so walk we did – around the circumference of Dove Lake. This is classified as a grade 3 walk, so quite do-able for the average person, but I wouldn’t say it was a walk in the park (Ed: bahaha). Actually we were pretty fatigued by the time we got to the end and hopped or staggered back on to the bus to take us back to the campsite. Groans on getting aboard the bus were fairly common, so I didn’t feel too conspicuous.

From there, it was on quite a scenic route to Strahan, a fishing port on the West Coast of Tasmania. It is also a major tourist attraction, as it is from there that tourists can catch the boat trip up the Gordon River. It was another beautiful late summer/early autumn day with barely any wind and a very smooth sail on the large passenger boat. Definitely a ‘must do’ if you’re touring Tasmania. The cruise included a passage through the narrow ‘Hell’s Gates’ – named either for the difficulty of the passage in a sailboat and/or the feelings of the convicts transported to the notorious Sarah Island penal settlement. On the way to Sarah Island, we passed several Salmon and Trout ‘farms’ anchored in the harbour. The ecological wisdom of these has been disputed, particularly by famous author Richard Flanagan whose title for his work about the salmon farms is ‘Toxic’. Sarah island has some very good interpretive signs indicating the original buildings that are now in quite deteriorated condition. The cruise included a stroll through remnant rainforest – trees of such ancient lineage that their ancestors grew before birds were part of earth’s ecology. A silent forest.

The road from Strahan to Queenstown is rather challenging when towing a caravan as it has steep uphill sections and frequent blind corners. It’s a good advertisement for diesel all-wheel drive vehicles, though, as the Hyundai Santa Fe was very sure-footed on the road, which apart from the steepness and the blind corners, was somewhat slippery from recent showers.

Queenstown is no less dreary than it was last time I was there, some fifteen years ago. Closed shops and pubs everywhere, no doubt the result of a dearth of tourists over the past two years when Tasmania was cut off from the mainland owing to the unfortunately necessary Covid protocols. Hopefully things will look up now that tourists are again welcome. (Ed: not that this counts as election comment, but the first thing we saw in Queenstown was one of those union billboards depicting Scott Morrison: “Mate, it’s not my job’).

Once we got to Lake St Clair caravan park, we were rather dismayed to see the narrow site which had to be negotiated around a bend while avoiding several large trees. Watching people park their vans is usually good entertainment for those who are already set up. Our general method for the trickier sites is for Bob to drive while I stand outside the car and direct him left/right/ back/ forth, in my usual dulcet tones. (Ed: bahaha – haha)

The two hour walk at Lake St Clair was well worthwhile and not quite as challenging as the Dove Lake walk. Fewer tourists too, which made bird-watching more feasible. Birdlife was plentiful, but not co-operative with the amateur photographer, so no photographic proof. I did get a photo of the Tiger Snake which was lying curled up near the walking track. Tassie’s Tiger Snakes are black with pinkish bellies, similar to the mainland Red-Bellied Black Snakes, but the former are reputedly much more aggressive and toxic, so we were glad this one appeared to be pretty sleepy!

As we only had a month for this trip to Tassie and back, there were some time constraints, so we had planned most of the overnight stops in advance in order to minimise the amount of time searching for suitable places to stop. However, we also managed to be a bit flexible, so when we saw that there was a National Park (Mount Field) quite near Hobart, we decided to stay there overnight instead of the stop we had originally planned. I was a bit puzzled how I had overlooked an obvious National Park, but I came to the conclusion that it must have been in the crack of the map. This was one of the few overnight stops where we didn’t have a powered site. However, the van is equipped with a solar panel on the roof and an Andersen plug from the car to the van, so the ‘house battery’ in the van is usually fully charged by the time we stop for the night. We had replaced the old battery before we left as it wasn’t charging properly. The fridge and stove in the van run on gas. Lights, charging points, the fan, radio and the TV can all run on 12 volt and all are pretty efficient, so a few days without 240v is no real hardship, as long as we have plenty of blankets in the winter.

The volunteer caretakers at Mount Field looked rather familiar. Turns out I knew them from Maleny, where the husband volunteered at the Maleny Information Centre when I was there.

Of course the trip was not all beer and skittles, whatever that means (Ed: a life of indulgence). Although we had the car serviced and a warranty issue attended to before we left on the trip, what I refer to as the ‘bloody little orange light’ made its presence felt again on our way to Hobart. This light is a ‘Malfunction Indicator Light’ (MIL) which indicates something amiss with the oxygen sensor – part of the emission control system on the car. And now I’ll stop pretending I know what I’m talking about… We had this problem before, and it ended up being a faulty sensor itself, rather than a major issue with the vehicle. However, it doesn’t do to assume this is the case, so we contacted the Hobart Hyundai dealer, who, to his credit, agreed to look at the car the next day while we were off sight-seeing in Hobart. They concluded it was another of the oxygen sensors that was malfunctioning but sort of indicated that unless the car started acting strangely (e.g. losing power, using excessive fuel, smelling like rotten eggs), it was probably OK to drive. Not terribly comforting, as we had some 2000km still to go. But as Shakespeare said at some stage, ‘All’s well that ends well’ – no further issues with the MIL on the rest of the Tasmania leg or the drive home to Warwick.

To be continued…(all photos by Laurel or Bob)

Postscript from Bob

Thanks to those who commented on my Facebook post about my Whitlam song receiving the Alistair Hulett Songs for Social Justice award.

Overnight by ferry to Tasmania

As we were queuing to board the car ferry, Spirit of Tasmania, I couldn’t help thinking about a few folk songs that commemorate ferry tragedies of the past 150 years or so. If that seems neurotic, bear with me.

We booked our car and caravan on the ferry in November, probably the last opportunity to book a return ticket for March/April 2022. At the time, we had no clear indication we’d be able to go, pending the Covid state of play at the time. We knew that had the trip been cancelled/postponed, we’d be able to redeem the booking at a later time.

She Who Hitchhiked Around Tassie in 1967 has now been to various parts of the island state three times. My one and only flirtation with Tasmania was a trip to the Longford Folk Festival in 1981. I’d won a song-writing competition with a tune about the Russian invasion of Afghanistan. I got there via an overnight bus from Brisbane to Melbourne and a cheap stand-by flight to Launceston.

Apart from spending a few hours walking around Launceston while waiting for a flight to Brisbane (no more 36-hour bus rides for me), that was my total exposure to Tasmania.

In March 2022, I’m looking forward to the next 18 days touring around. But first I had to suppress the emerging panic attack in our cabin once the ship’s engines kicked in. The goal was to overcome anxiety and reignite my love affair with the sea.

My first experience at sea was a big one – a six-week voyage from Tilbury docks in London to Wellington New Zealand in 1955. I was six going on seven and dogged in my determination to avoid being confined to the ship’s nursery. I was eventually released into Dad’s care on the condition that I was not allowed to wander around the ship unsupervised.

Dad and I shared a two-berth cabin, while Mum and the girls were in another cabin downstairs. I seem to recall being taken up on deck by my sisters while Mum and Dad ‘spent time together’ in our cabin.

I got the travel bug as an adult, starting with a trip to Europe in the 1970s – a combination of a sea cruise and international flight. We sailed on a small Greek ship popular with backpackers for its cheap fares. The route was Sydney, Melbourne, Adelaide, Fremantle and Singapore where we stayed a couple of nights and then caught a flight to Athens.

My memories of that trip include observing crew members patrolling the ship armed with rifles as we navigated the hundreds of Indonesian islands between Fremantle and Singapore. Pirates ruled those waters then, as they still do today. Sailing adventures in the 1970s included an overnight crossing to Crete on an old, overcrowded ferry which segregated men on one side and women on the other. I still have no clue what that was about. Over the years, I have sailed on a variety of ferries – a mix of adventures and misadventures, including Dover to Calais before the Chunnel (seasick).

I’ve crossed Cook Strait between Wellington and Picton a few times and it is always turbulent to one degree or another. Kiwis who are old enough to remember would not forget that stormy night in 1968 when the inter-island ferry, The Wahine, capsized in Wellington Harbour with the loss of 157 lives. I was 20 at the time and itchy to travel. But I found that tragedy very sobering and it quite often influenced whether or not I boarded a dodgy ferry in the Mediterranean.

The main reason we remember maritime tragedies is the folk songs that have been written about them (Gordon Lightfoot’s Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald for starters). The late Roy Bailey wrote one about the Herald of Free Enterprise, a vehicle ferry which capsized and sank in Zeebrugge Harbour in Belgium with the loss of 193 lives. The tragedy on March 6, 1987 occurred not long after the ship sailed. An inquiry found that the main reason for the accident was the bow doors of the roll-on roll-off ferry were not raised before it sailed.

New Zealand folksinger Anna Leah had a minor hit in 1968 with her song about the Wahine, still New Zealand’s worst maritime disaster. The Wahine capsized close to shore, but the storm was so ferocious rescue efforts were greatly hampered.

Last year, I wrote a folk ballad about the 1896 sinking of the Brisbane cross-river ferry, The Pearl. It’s a tragic but true story.

Maritime tragedies linger in our memory because of the media attention (always dredged up again at 10, 20 and 50-year intervals). There have been far worse ferry tragedies in Asian and African countries, with a far greater loss of life. Some of these accidents involved collisions and fires. Some claimed 1000 lives and more, largely because of overcrowding. But our insular media rarely report these tragedies, (unless there was an unlucky Australian on board).

Despite my experiences as a sailor, I was in some trepidation about the Tasmanian ferry until I did some research on the Spirit of Tasmania.

The latest Spirit of Tasmania, launched in 2002, is the third ship to carry the name since the Melbourne to Devonport voyage was established in 1985. There are plans to replace these vessels in 2023-2024 with even larger ships (bearing the same name, as is the tradition). These vessels (also built in Finland) will each carry 1800 passengers.

The Spirit of Tasmania sailed late, at 11.30. We found the bar for the obligatory rum and coke (and a lime and soda for Bob) and then retired for the night.

After turning out the cabin light and settling in, I did a few ‘this is just a passing thought’ exercises to quell the anxieties and then slept fitfully. At some point I woke and the ferry was barging its way through heavy seas and rolling a little. But by first light we had entered calmer waters.

The previous evening when I watched the ferry cruising into Station Pier at the Port of Melbourne, I realised that this vessel is larger than the Rangitiki, the ship we sailed on from Tilbury (UK) to Wellington, New Zealand in 1955.

The Spirit of Tasmania (there are two of them) were manufactured in Finland. They have bars, restaurants and cinemas and a range of cabins for all budgets. The process of embarking and disembarking was very thorough (Tasmania has strict quarantine rules and the company has rules about what can and can’t be taken on board).

My only complaint was a lack of facilities (toilets) for those queued for hours in their vehicles. I told She Who Hitched Around Tassie in 1967 I had a great business idea for some enterprising young person. who in ScoMo parlance wants to become a Lifter rather than a Leaner. The Comfort Station operator would cruise up and down the queues of vehicles on a bicycle towing a two-wheeled cart loaded with sterilised urine containers. (Comfort Station would also offer containers not unlike those provided to female soldiers when they are out on jungle patrols – Ed: they are called Shewee). The cart operator would make the return trip down the other side of the queued vehicles (collecting full bottles and tips).

If you have seen that Mel Brooks movie, The History of the World Part 1, where the servant follows the King around with a gold bucket, you will get the picture.

By hydrofoil to Hydra

In introducing today’s FOMM about Hydra by She Whose Pen-Name used to be Mrs W, I need to explain how often, when travelling in Southern Europe, I was mis-identified as a local. Perhaps it was the Celtic complexion, infused with Spanish blood. Or the faux fisherman’s cap. Either way, I’d get something like this:

Greek cafe owner: “Welcome! Where are you from?”

BW: “Australia” (café guy looks at colleague and chortles)

“No, no, where are you really from?”

Confused, I say “Melbourne.”

“Ah, Mel-born – I have a cousin there – Stavros – perhaps you know him?”

HYDROFOIL TO HYDRA

By Laurel Wilson

April 2004: Shirley Valentine and I have one thing in common－ we both had always wanted to travel to Greece; but I was travelling with my husband, rather than trying to get away from him. My fellow traveller claimed that he could ‘speak some Greek’, having sailed to Europe in the ‘70’s aboard a Greek liner. He certainly looked the part, with his jaunty Greek fisherman’s cap, but it soon fell to me to translate the signs and attempt to get us on the right bus.

After three fascinating days in Athens, we were armed with essential traveller’s knowledge- we knew to say ‘kalamere’ instead of ‘calamari’ if we wanted to say ‘good morning’, we had worked out the main differences between our alphabet and the Greek one, and we could recognise the toilet signs.

We were on a pretty tight budget, but also craved a bit of adventure, so we chose not to travel on organised tours. One of our do-it-yourself adventures found us taking a local train to the port of Piraeus, near Athens, en route to the island of Hydra (pronounce Eedra, as we soon discovered) one of the Saronic islands off the southern coast of the Peloponnese Peninsula. The only thing I knew about ‘Hydra’ was some vague legend about a woman with snakes for hair, perhaps not an auspicious beginning.

(BW: Leonard Cohen lived there in the early 1960s with other writers and poets).

Getting to Piraeus was quite simple, but finding the ferry terminal was another thing altogether. We eventually succeeded, just in time to see our intended ferry connection sail away. Having some time to wait for the next one, we looked for somewhere to enjoy afternoon tea. We found a likely-looking café, but were told that they didn’t serve cakes or sweets. “We’re a restaurant,” the proprietor said, as if that explained everything. So being wise tourists, we had what was on offer. However, what we thought was a snack turned out to be a gargantuan meal of capsicums and tomatoes stuffed with rice, a Greek salad, mountains of bread and a cup of the thick mud-like ‘Greek’ coffee (it used to be called Turkish coffee, but national pride got in the way).

The trip to Hydra was on a very large and speedy catamaran. According to the company website, it is one of six in the Hellas ‘Flying Dolphin’ fleet. (There is a local connection too – Flying Cat No.2, was reportedly built on Queensland’s Gold Coast in 1998). It was a fast, smooth and comfortable ride of about 1½ hours, compared to twice that for the conventional ferry.

The first sighting of Hydra was memorable － seemingly impenetrable sheer cliffs, then suddenly a lovely snug little harbour lined with small fishing boats, backed by a charming small town which featured impressive stone mansions along with tiny cottages, steep narrow streets and a jumble of small shops and cafes. Although there was quite a deal of construction in evidence, the overall appearance was harmonious, thanks to the heritage laws which require newer constructions to conform to the traditional character and colours of the island’s established buildings.

Several teams of donkeys, mules and ponies accompanied by their minders waited patiently for passengers or goods to carry. Motorised transport is forbidden on Hydra, a welcome change from the noisy and chaotic traffic of Athens. Tourists often try the donkey-rides, using a type of side-saddle, but I didn’t want the poor things to suffer, so chose to walk instead. (BW: As I recall, they carried our bags).

The island is quite dry and rocky, resulting in limited scope for gardens and some suggest this is the reason for the brightly coloured shutters, doorways and window sills to be found on the island’s buildings. As we walked past one of the many closed bars, we could see and smell the fresh coat of bright green paint being applied to the shutters.

We felt no need to test our fitness by climbing to the highest point of the island, but did stroll along the wide track which curved around the headlands on either side of the village. On our first walk, we passed the prominent statue of local hero Admiral Andreas Miaoulis, who acquitted himself very well in the 19^th century Greek War of Independence. Later that evening, we strolled around the Western headland to view the sunset, quite indistinct owing to the still visible smog from Athens.

If we had been a bit more energetic, we could have walked to some of the monasteries and convents dotted around the 52sq km island, or visited the ancient village of Episkopi, with its evidence of Mycenaean civilisation. Diving, sailing and yacht cruising are also available for the more active tourist, as well as swimming, though the beaches are rather pebbly, with not much sand in evidence. The local historical museum, housed in a traditional Hydriot mansion on the eastern side of the harbour, was closed while we were there, though the Byzantine Museum, situated in a building with a distinctive marble bell tower, was open to visitors.

We arrived in March, earlier than the bulk of tourists, which meant that many businesses were closed and undergoing maintenance, but we didn’t feel deprived, as there were plenty of restaurants and cafes open. Most of the businesses that were not yet open seemed to be large bars with open-air dining. During the tourist season, these promise (or threaten, depending on your point of view) loud music, with dance parties lasting all night.

It seems the cruising season had already begun, as a couple of ships arrived while we were there, disgorging very prosperous looking tourists. Souvenir shoppers were catered for with lace, jewellery and craft shops which opened during the hours that a cruise ship was in port and then closed again, figuring rightly that it wasn’t worthwhile to remain open for the few longer-stay tourists such as ourselves.

At that time of year, accommodation was readily available and very reasonably priced. Our self-contained one bedroom unit, situated just behind the village centre, cost only €35 (approx AUD$ 60) per night. It was quite a modern unit, one of several in a converted split-level home behind a walled and gated courtyard.

(BW: This is 2004, remember!)

We weren’t looking for the kind of party lifestyle that some seek on the Greek Islands, but instead were treated to a quiet and peaceful three days in a beautiful setting. Peaceful except for the feud that broke out one morning while we were having brunch. An old fellow wandered into the café and approached another chap sitting at a table near us. After much shouting and gesticulating, he retreated, to the jeers and smirks of several of those in the café. Half an hour later, he came back for a re-match. Discretion overcame my first impulse to ask the locals what it was all about, but everyone seemed to find it as entertaining as we did, even those involved, I suspect.

Later we took a moonlit walk along the harbour, relishing the peace and quiet. Only one bar was still open with faint sounds of laughter and music following us like mist.

“Fancy a nightcap, Mr W?”

“Nai parakalo, yassou – whatever!”

The original FOMM travel articles

Just thinking about how much we love to travel (re: last week’s mention of Japan), got me thinking about how much we are missing being able to scratch our itchy feet. We are not the only ones. When it comes to having family or close friends living overseas, not being able to visit is particularly hard. We all know someone who has not yet met their new grandchild (in London or New York). We appeased the travel bug in 2020 and 2021 by taking month-long caravan treks in the outback, but it is not the same as travelling overseas.

An old family friend in New Zealand is having a few health problems and at 89, this much-travelled woman’s days of dropping in on friends around the world unannounced is probably over. It would have been good to just hop on a plane and turn up at the hospital. In her travelling days she was wont to describe her spontaneous arrivals as, ‘It’s just me, turning up like a bad penny.’ But we did send flowers.

Our friend went ‘backpacking’ in the 1950s with an intrepid Kiwi friend. They were both teachers and had a hunger to work their way around the world. Very few young women travelled alone in 1954, let me tell you. At the time my parents met them in Scotland (autumn 1954), they were out every day in the back blocks of Montrose, picking potatoes, saving up for their next travel adventure. Dad read a story about them in the local newspaper, tracked them down and invited them to stay for the weekend. He’d been thinking about emigrating for some time and had noted they came from the district where he had been offered a job. They became firm friends and of course that was the genesis of our emigrating to New Zealand in 1955.

Our old friend used to send me stamps she’d collected in her travels (the US, Vietnam, the former Yugoslavia, South Africa, Spain, Sweden Switzerland, Sarawak, the Solomon Islands, to name a few). The album is still in the bookcase here. It’s not worth much money but it brings back treasured memories. Once I reached my 20s, I felt compelled to leave NZ on what was then known as the “OE” (overseas experience). But you were supposed to go to London, go drinking with other Kiwi and Aussies in Earl’s Court and head home once your money was spent.

It didn’t always turn out like that. Young Kiwis or Aussies travelled, met their true love and settled in foreign climes. Serious travellers worked out the only way to keep travelling was to learn a bit of the local lingo and wangle a job. In France I picked grapes (the Vendange). After 10 days of dawn to dusk picking, I could barely get out of bed.

Later I landed two part-time jobs in Edinburgh, where I lived for six months in a bed-sit. The three-hour shift cleaning a department store before it opened was easy work and we got a free cooked breakfast. The evening shift cleaning offices went from 5pm to 8pm. Those two gigs helped pay my rent and grocery bills and at weekends we’d go adventuring in the highlands or south to the Lakes District.

I recently discovered a folder of travel articles from 2004, when we swapped houses with an English couple and spent six months living in a village in Surrey. Work wasn’t going so well, so I took all the long service leave and holidays that were owing and absented myself for six months.

It’s intriguing now to look back on these rambling emails to folks back home as the forerunner to Friday on My Mind. My then-colleague Jeffrey Sommerfeld had developed a weekly email to hundreds of our contacts (he was so pre-Twitter). He tells me now that so many of my contacts asked after me (in a kindly way), that he forwarded our unedited and sometimes rambling accounts to family and friends. They loved being kept in the loop about the adventures of Bob and ‘Mrs W’.

Here’s a nostalgic taste of how travel was before Covid and 9/11. I’ll follow up next week with our experiences of Hydra, a Greek Island best-known for once being home to poet and songwriter Leonard Cohen.

March 2004: TRAVEL can test the strongest relationship – just ask me. On second thoughts, don’t ask me because I don’t know my left from my right and can’t read a map.

My last bout of travelling in the 1970s was a solo effort, one last fling with tepid youth, if you will. I was practising to be a writer so did not really care where my feckless, directionless kind of travel took me.

In 2004 Mrs W and I made a base in Surrey for six months and made periodic forays to “the continent” as the Poms say.

I persuaded Mrs W to start with three weeks in Greece, nurturing warm memories of that stark country and its beautiful islands as a friendly and laid-back travel experience.

We flew via Singapore, arriving in Athens at 6am in that slightly stunned and disoriented state that flying in a pressurised container for 12 hours can induce.

The first stage of our adventure went without a hitch, lugging our (considerable) baggage on to the airport bus, arriving in central Athens about 8.30am.

I identified the Metro sign across the road and off we went. Much of Athens was a building site at the time, as the city prepared for the Olympics.

The escalators were out of order that day so we lugged four bags and a guitar down four flights of steep stairs to the (new) Athens metro station at Constitution Square.

On arriving at the right stop (Monistraki), I discovered there were five exits and I had no idea which one would take us to our hotel!

So there we were, us and our baggage, on a busy, dusty street, trying to decipher the tiny print on my (photocopied) local map. Mrs W was by now unimpressed with my forward planning. She was also discovering that my claims of knowing the language (after seven days on a Greek cruise ship in 1973), as complete bollocks.

Did I say we were in this situation largely because we had pledged to use local public transport and eschew taxis unless absolutely necessary? I used my mobile to call Hotel Tempi which I had pre-booked for three nights. Friendly host Yannes said we were just two streets away from the hotel “is easy – Parakalo.” but we turned right instead of left and took a very circuitous route via the fish market, across a road jammed with trucks, cars and two or three hundred motorcycles, carrying and dragging the baggage we needed en route to six months in the UK (which we did not get to until April).

Fortunately, our host encounters grumpy, jet-lagged tourists each and every day so was able to calm us down and send us to our room with the promise “I bring bags later”.

The hotel stored our bags (“no charge, is easy”) while we toured around southern Greece, starting with three days on Hydra.

In three weeks of exploring Greece on public transport and on foot we got lost many times: the big question for couples travelling on a budget to ask themselves is – does it really matter? As the Greeks would say “chalárose kai apólafse” (relax and enjoy).

Next week: A donkey ride on Hydra

Going bananas over budgets

bananas-budgets-cyclones — North Queensland banana plantation. Photo Bob Wilson

After seeing a photo on a tourism brochure of a fruit cocktail with a banana posed like a dolphin with its mouth open, eating one will never be the same. I decided to write about bananas after spending two weeks in north Queensland, where 94% of the fruit is grown. I had also recently learned of the re-emergence of Panama disease, coined ‘Bananageddon’ by some droll headline writer.

The threat of disease not withstanding, Australian banana growers have to live through the annual cyclone season and its potential for destruction. In March, the north’s most visible politician, Bob Katter, was clamouring for Federal intervention to help bale out growers devastated by Cyclone Niran.

While North Queensland provided the best growing conditions for bananas, the tropical fruit is always under threat when cyclonic winds blow. The North Queensland Register’s Ben Harden reported up to 100% losses in the Boogan and Wangan districts near Innisfail. There were 20% to 100% losses along the Cassowary Coast, where most of Australia’s bananas are grown. Katter, the member for Kennedy, as usual got himself front and centre in a press photo taken on a farm wiped out by Niran’s wind gusts (between 205kmh and 265kmh).

Katter has pledged his support behind North Queensland farmers with crops worth $200m knocked out by Cyclone Niran. He said the government should look at crop and livestock insurance funded by a 1% levy on farmers.

“It would make the recovery from these events a lot easier, and we could rebound quicker.“

Some banana-growing areas were left untouched, as we discovered when visiting Lakeland south-west of Cooktown.

Lakeland’s rich volcanic soil and mild climate is ideal for growing bananas, plantations of which can be seen along both sides of the Kennedy Development Road between Lakeland and Laura.

We picked up a bird-watching map from Cooktown which identified Lakeland Honey Dam as a location to see water birds. We set off at sunset, only to find a gate with a banana farm sign forbidding entry due to biological risks. So we did not venture further; but if we had, we might have spotted corellas, egrets, herons, brolgas, sarus cranes, square-tailed kites and more.

Turns out the dam is on private property and banana farmers tend to be risk-averse about biological diseases and for good reason. Growers are twitchy about people bringing in banana plants or suckers from New South Wales in particular. In short, they do not want to add bunchy top to the list of issues that face banana growers. Trumping bunchy top though, is the re-emergence of Panama disease, which all but rendered the global banana industry extinct in the 1950s.

Stuart Thompson, Senior Lecturer in Plant Biochemistry, University of Westminster, wrote a lengthy article for The Conversation on this topic.He described the attempts to save the banana and the industry that produces the fruit. Scientists are now in a race to create a new plant resistant to Panama disease.

In the 1950s, a condition known as Fusarium wilt or Panama disease was wiping out whole plantations in the world’s major banana-producing countries of Latin America.

“It threatened an industry so important to this part of the world that some States had became known as Banana Republics because they were virtually governed by the corporations that produced the crop.”

Luckily, banana companies realised that another variety of banana, the Cavendish, was almost completely resistant to Panama disease. It rapidly replaced the Gros Michel (Big Mike) type which had prevailed until that time. The Cavendish rescued the industry and by the 21^st century, 99% of exported bananas and almost half of world production is of the Cavendish variety.

“But this strength has now become the banana industry’s greatest vulnerability. Panama disease has returned, and this time the Cavendish is not resistant,” Thompson wrote.

While the Federal Budget managed to find $371 million for ‘biosecurity measures’, they were more focused on prevention of African swine fever and foot and mouth disease. So it falls to State governments to address their own biosecurity challenges. The Queensland Government stumped up $10 million in 2015-2016 to investigate the re-emerging Panama disease tropical race 4 (TR4). Biosecurity Queensland launched a surveillance programme to detect the presence of the soil-borne fungal disease after it was detected at north Queensland farms.

While that battle is being fought (and once again raising questions about the risks of monoculture), just how important is the banana to Australian consumers and the economy?

The Australian Banana Growers Council (ABGC) is a font of knowledge about all things banana, including the incredible statistic that we consume 16 kg per head per year.

I extrapolated that figure, assuming that the average (four person) household consumes over 1kg (seven bananas) per week.

If you prefer Lady Fingers, you are in a minority, as 97% of bananas grown in Australia are off the Cavendish variety. Growers sold 388,000 tonnes of bananas in 2017-2018 (valued at $587m). The ABGC estimates the industry contributes $1.3 billion to the economy.

For all that, there’s not much protection for growers whose crops are wiped out by cyclones or other weather events, not to mention the incursion of a disease like TR4, which cannot be eradicated.

Nonetheless, banana growers keep up the supply of this popular fruit, with harvesting activity occurring as we drove by. Despite Queensland’s dominant market position, the ABGC’s statistics note a growing contribution to the annual banana production from Western Australia (6,800 tonnes), most of the crops grown around Carnarvon and in the irrigated fields around Kununurra.

Some 15,000 tonnes were grown in New South Wales, around Coffs Harbour and northern NSW where rainfall is plentiful.

We used to grow bananas on our half acre at Maleny. They were tall trees which were quite often raided by Brush Turkeys. They’d clumsily fly to the tops of the trees and partially eat out the green bunches. Our yield was better once we planted dwarf bananas closer to the house. They key is to bag the bunches before they ripen. One you cut a bunch, hang it from a rafter with a bag around it to keep vermin out. Growing bananas in much of Queensland is not hard. There’s a bit of work involved, chipping weeds and thinning out the plantation until you have the desired groups of three at various stages of growth.

We travel a bit and unfortunately, bananas are not good travellers. We bought a half-green bunch on Monday and by Tuesday they were ripe enough to eat.

She Who Makes Banana Cake is in charge of Plan B!

Book book, read it, read it

Two days into a five-week pilgrimage to far North Queensland and back, I ran out of suitable reading material. I’d rapidly consumed two of the three crime thrillers acquired for the journey and gave up on the Jonathan Kellerman when the body count reached four in the first dozen pages. She Who Reads Literature meanwhile snaffled the collection of short stories by Annie Proulx I borrowed from the library.

When I discover a new writer, I usually binge-read two or three, which in this case was John Sandford’s series about an unlikely detective, Virgil Flowers. I warmed to Flowers, as he is portrayed warts and all, which in his case is a serious viral outbreak. He lies, bullies suspects, intimidates witnesses, ignores his superiors and, as with all maverick cops, goes about his dodgy investigative business with seeming impunity.

He’s a lanky fellow with long hair and a habit of wearing surfer attire (jeans and rock music themed T-shirts). As with many private eye/rogue detective characters (created by male writers), Virgil thinks he is God’s gift to women. When you consider the outlandish plot of the first Flowers novel, Dark of the Moon, and an ever-rising body count, it’s a wonder Virgil can find time for a hamburger, never mind a woman. When he’s on the trail of drug dealers, psychos, murderers and dog nappers in the State of Minnesota, he sometimes goes days with little sleep. He is a dogged investigator with a dark sense of humour, but so often misses obvious clues you feel like yelling – “Nooo, Virgil – behind you!”

Crime thrillers and spy novels are my preferred genre, although I delve into literary fiction if I can find a writer who knows how to craft a narrative and invent believable dialogue.

I have read a few books by Annie Proulx, whose recent book Bark Skins has been turned into an online TV series. Kaui Hart Hemmings (The Descendants, The Possibilities), was a revelation. SWRL and I both like Richard Flanagan (although agreeing that Gould’s Book of Fish was impenetrable).

I’ve read everything the superlative Canadian author Michael Crummey has written thus far. His historical fiction is usually set in Newfoundland, so to engage, one ought to have a passing familiarity with the Maritime Provinces. Crummey’s narrative flair, descriptive skills and occasional poetic flourishes keep the reader deeply engaged. Try River Thieves as an example of his fine writing.

In pursuit of a worthwhile holiday read (sans serial killers), I discovered a novel (long-listed for the Booker prize), by UK writer Max Porter, whose brilliant debut, Grief is the Thing with Feathers, won awards. The follow-up, Lanny, was available on Amazon for US$8.99. Armed with less than reliable WiFi in the coastal towns of Agnes Water/Seventeen Seventy, I managed to download it.

Now I can go from here to Cairns (probably via an inland detour), with an unorthodox book which is both intriguing and beautifully written.

SWRL sometimes asks why I read “violent, icky stuff”. I’m not alone. A survey commissioned by the Australia Council found that 49% of participants nominated crime novels as their favourite genre. Next came historical fiction (36%), contemporary literary fiction (33%) and science fiction/fantasy (32%).

The Australia Council partnered with Macquarie University on this three-year research project: ‘The Australian Book Industry: Authors, Publishers and Readers in a Time of Change’.

The survey revealed that Australians read more than three books per month and spend five hours reading books each week. Frequent readers report reading six books per month and almost eleven hours reading books, with 80% of their reading time devoted to reading for pleasure. Does this sound like you?Another key finding that concurs with my experience is that readers are mixing new digital options with conventional ways of reading.

Australians value locally written books and the Australian book industry. Considering that the dominant genre is crime and mystery fiction, Australian authors stand out in this department. The late Peter Temple turned out nine well plotted thrillers that deservedly won major awards.He is best known for inventing Jack Irish, an accidental investigator, well portrayed in the TV series by Guy Pierce.

Temple has a worthy successor as Australia’s No 1 crime writer in Mornington Peninsula-based author Garry Disher, who has also written non-crime fiction and books for young people. He has a strong view about the crime novel (he has written 20).

He told The Age he believes the reading public is embracing good crime novels because they feed a hunger for engagement with social issues not being met by literary fiction. “Many literary novels are inward-looking or backward-looking,” he says. “They don’t engage with Australia as it is now.”

Interesting that Disher said this in 2008, because in the interim, there’s been an upsurge of interest in Australian ‘noir’. Former journalist Jane Harper’s novel The Dry was a best-seller and has already been adapted for the big screen starring Eric Bana and a cast of familiar faces.

Since today’s missive introduces you to authors you may not know, 66% of readers discover a new book/author by word of mouth recommendations. Browsing in bookstores is still popular, with second-hand outlets the third most popular source. These three methods far outweigh sources of information one might assume to be ranked higher. For example, writers’ festivals (6%) and book clubs (5%) are well down the list.

I took heart from the survey’s finding that just as many people borrow books from a public library as those who buy them. I was forced to delve into the e-reader when public libraries closed in 2020 due to Covid restrictions. Now that the worst has passed (or has it?), let’s quote the epidemiologist who said there is a low risk of contracting Covid when borrowing a library book. By all means wipe the cover, he said, but the virus can only live for a few hours on such a surface. And don’t listen to those who recommend putting library books in the microwave. It will make the pages curl and your microwave will smell funny.

Civica’s 2020 Libraries Index (based on 38 million books borrowed from 90 Australian and New Zealand libraries), revealed that 12 of the top 20 borrowed books were by Australian authors. Lianne Moriarty’s Nine Perfect Strangers was No 1. Two Jane Harper thrillers were in the top 20, as was Trent Dalton’s disarming Boy Swallows Universe.

Readers borrowed more audio books and e-books following forced closure of libraries. The lockdown also saw the advent of neighbourhood street libraries, just one of the ways in which Covid restrictions led to inclusive community activities.

The social etiquette for street libraries is the same as second-hand book exchanges in caravan parks – take a book and leave one in its place. The caravan park where we are staying for a few days before venturing a little further north has such a collection in the office (they are usually found in the laundry). It’s typical fare, including Janet Evanovich, Tom Clancy, James Patterson, four Jodi Picoult novels and (gasp) a hardback copy of Ian Molly A bio, ‘The never-ending story’.

Sigh, If only I’d had a book to swap.

Antarctica or Bust.

antarctica-penguins-icebergs — Antarctica photos contributed by JH

For most people who like to travel, Antarctica is probably not on the list of places they aspire to visit. I say that because, although visitor numbers to the frozen continent have risen 50% in recent years, the numbers are tiny on the mass tourism scale.

People with some curiosity about the seventh continent can satisfy it by reading books or viewing any of these recommended documentaries.

Armchair travel obviously did not do it for the 73, 991 people who took a tour to Antarctica in the summer of 2019-2020.

For many people, following in the footprints of Scott and Shackleton is more than a bucket list item. For them, touring the South, snapping multiple photos of penguins and albatross or kayaking in the path of mighty icebergs, is a lifetime ambition.

A family member, John, realised a long-held ambition in 2017 when visiting Antarctica with his wife and daughter. On the 21-day cruise, the ship re-traced the voyage of Ernest Shackleton. In 1914, the explorer crossed from South Shetland Island to South Georgia. He and a five-man crew then set off on foot, the first crossing of the island. The latter day tour included stopping at Shackleton’s grave and toasting him with Irish whiskey. Some comments from their tour:

“Each day we’d go ashore in the morning and view seal and penguin colonies.

“We also visited an old whaling station where they carried out whaling on an industrial scale.

“After South Georgia we sailed to the Ross Sea, but we didn’t get very far because of large icebergs. We were constantly changing course to avoid them.”

Icebergs ahoy

Antarctica does not belong to any one nation, so no visa is required to visit. However your country of residence must be a signatory to the Antarctica Treaty. It’s a long way to travel, expensive, and there is no direct route.

Most tourists do it with a combination of air and cruise or cargo ship travel. One common route is Brisbane-Sydney-Ushuaia (a southern Argentinian resort town and port), then by ship to Antarctica. As an alternative to the return journey, adventurers may travel from the Ross Sea to Invercargill/Bluff in New Zealand then fly to their home base from there.

The travel advisory for Antarctica is currently at level two (exercise increased caution). Just how many people travel to the continent between November 2021 and March 2022 depends on the status of the pandemic.

US citizens (who comprise 34% of visitors), will need to prove they are Covid-free before re-entering the US. This may or may not be a deterrent.

Antarctica expeditions are probably out for Australians this year, given a ban on leaving the country for other than compelling reasons. Likewise, Argentina has a travel ban in place, which makes it difficult for many tours that use the South American country as a launching pad.

A writer friend, Dale Lorna Jacobsen (left), first travelled to Antarctica in 2013. She was one of 25,284 visitors who set foot on land that summer. On her return she wrote a book, Why Antarctica: a Ross Sea Odyssey, which chronicles the fulfilment of a childhood dream.

“When I told my friends I was finally going to Antarctica, the most common question was: ‘Why Antarctica?’. I didn’t bother replying. You either ‘get’ Antarctica, or you don’t. If you do, there is no need to ask. If you don’t, words could not explain why.

I have been fascinated by the 7^th continent since, at the age of eight, I discovered the existence of a place filled with mountains, ice, snow and wild weather; all the things I love.

My first expedition was in 2013, and incorporated a 32-day semi-circumference from the Peninsula to the Ross Sea. A dream come true for an Antarcticophile, getting to step into the historic huts of Shackleton and Scott; walking for hours in the Taylor Dry Valley. I knew one trip would never be enough. I returned in 2016 on an action-packed 12 days, camping in a bivvy bag on the ice; snow-shoeing; kayaking. Then in 2017 I repeated the 32-day semi-circumference.

I am chuffed to say that the ANARE (Australian National Antarctic Research Expeditions) Club commissioned me to write the memoir of Centenarian, John Russell OAM, who still loves telling tales of how he and nine other Aussies were first ashore to set up Mawson Base in 1954.”

Dale produced a companion book of photographs to her first book. I bought mine as an E-book, files tucked away inside the USB body of a cute rubber penguin!

You have to assume there will always be ‘Antarticophiles’ like Dale and John, passionate about visiting and even re-visiting the South. It will be interesting to see what authorities do when visitor numbers inevitably creep towards 100,000.

The Antarctic Southern Oceans Coalition (ASOC) says the number of visitors has been doubling every couple of years, along with the establishment of “mass tourism destinations”.

The US leads the pack in terms of visitor numbers (18,942), followed by China 8,149 and Australia 5,077 (2018-2019).

Paul Ward’s website CoolAntarctica is a trove of information about the frozen continent. We sourced some of the visitor information from this site. Ward notes the ban after 2008-2009 on cruise ships carrying 500 passengers or more. Large cruise ships were spending two or three days in Antarctic waters, often as part of a broader cruise, but not landing.

“These large ships were a great concern as an incident involving an oil or fuel spill from them would have been very significant,” Ward writes.

“Any kind of rescue or evacuation would also have been very difficult, owing to the large numbers of people on board”.

The global pandemic was just emerging as the 2019-2020 tourism season came to an end. The next cruise season, still seven months away, is likely to attract even more visitors to the South, Covid-19 restrictions not withstanding.

The International Association of Antarctica Tour Operators (IAATO) plays a pivotal role in ensuring its members adhere to environmental and safety protocols. Formed in 1991, it requires all members to abide by the Antarctic Treaty. Cruise ships co-ordinate with each other to ensure than no more than 100 people are onshore at a landing site at the same time.

Despite these precautions, there are signs the continent may be at risk of being over-loved. Scientific studies have identified human interaction as one possible cause of sickness in Emperor penguins.

The Science Magazine published an article in 2018 based on research by a team of scientists from Spain. They discovered the effect of reverse zoonosis on bird and animal populations. Reverse zoonosis is the term used to describe humans passing pathogens on to animals.

The study found human-linked pathogens in bird poop, revealing for the first time, that even animals on this isolated, ice-bound landmass can pick up a bug from tourists or visiting scientists.

“This newly identified infection route could have devastating consequences for Antarctic bird colonies, including population collapse and even extinction.”

Regardless, if Antarctica is on your bucket list, a visit in the summer of 2021/22 will depend on how relaxed your country is about letting you leave. Still, we can all dream.

Further reading:

Simpson Desert or bust

Although I find the Australian outback fascinating and a little scary, I am unlikely to join the increasing numbers of people whose bucket list item is crossing the Simpson Desert.

It’s not just that we don’t own a 4WD. I/we lack the essential Australian pioneering ability to fix things that break down. Regardless, thousands of people trek across the Simpson Desert each year, from Birdsville in Queensland to Dalhousie Springs in South Australia.

The actual distance travelled between Birdsville and Dalhousie Springs (about 480 kms), seems like a jaunt compared to the 18-hour journey from Brisbane to Birdsville. The conventional first leg, however, is a comparative dawdle, with its largely bitumen and dirt road stretches between Queensland’s capital and the famous outpost which each year draws tourists and adventurers to the annual Birdsville Races and Big Red Bash.

Crossing the Simpson Desert requires thorough preparation and all the skills to navigate a 4WD vehicle across 1,100+ sand dunes. Most guides to the trek recommend an average speed of between 15 and 20 kmh (on tyres deflated to about 20psi), so the crossing can take four or five days.

There are no services between Birdsville and Dalhousie so you need to carry your own food, water and fuel. The key thing to remember is that traversing sand dunes consumes double the amount of fuel you would use on a conventional road. It is recommended to travel in convoy with friends as back-up, in case something goes wrong.

The convoy strategy paid off for Sunshine coast residents Graham Waters and Evelyn Harris, whose planned Simpson Desert crossing went awry on the notoriously corrugated Strzelecki Track.

The party of seven in three vehicles travelled south to Bourke, Cameron Corner and Innamincka, planning to cross the Simpson from west to east.

About 100 kms south of Innamincka, Graham heard an ominous rattle in the rear of the vehicle. Thinking he had a flat tyre, he got out to find that five of the six wheel nuts holding the wheel to the rear axle of his Ford 4WD had sheared off.

“If the sixth nut had broken off, anything could have happened, so in that way we were lucky,” Graham said.

Graham set about ‘borrowing’ wheel nuts from other tyres in the hope they could keep going as far as Moomba. A seasoned four-wheel drive explorer (expeditions include a three-month trip to Cape York), Graham realised he had to find expert help.

“We were there for two nights, off the side of the road. It’s a relatively busy road, so truckies kept stopping to ask if we needed help.

“We tried going back to Innamincka but the wheel started rattling again, “We also tried to drive to Moomba but the replacement nuts wouldn’t hold.”

In the end, a low-loader came out to take the vehicle to the Santos gas plant at Moomba. After a temporary fix at the Moomba workshops, they drove to Port Augusta.

“It ended up being a $5,000 exercise, including the towing, two new axles and the labour.

“But if you did this as an organised tour, it would probably cost that much at least for each person,” Graham added.

Once the vehicle was repaired in Port Augusta, they travelled north via the Flinders Ranges and Lake Eyre before starting the Simpson Desert crossing at Dalhousie Springs.

“We did talk about packing it in and just going home, but after a night in a B&B in Port Augusta, we got our second wind and decided to keep going.

“We’re really glad we did, because if you slow down and stop frequently, you realise the desert, while it’s stark and windy, is a beautiful place full of wild flowers and birdlife.”

“When you are camped out there at night under the stars all you can hear is the occasional howl from a dingo or a grunt from a feral camel. It’s a magic experience.”

Evelyn knew with one look at the damaged wheel it was a case of “how much is it going to cost to get us out of this situation”.

“Usually Graham can bodgie things up, but this time he couldn’t. It’s all part of the adventure, though. You hope it won’t happen, but if it does you can make the best of it”.

Travelling in convoy also proved crucial for Brisbane couple David Caddie and Margaret Pope while on a Simpson Desert crossing. David was driving his Toyota Prado, customised to include a slide-out camp kitchen, fridge and pantry built in to the back of the vehicle. Unfortunately, at the convoy’s first overnight stop, David found he could not get the rear doors open. They had become jammed with the fine powdery substance known as bull dust.

“Luckily the people we were traveling with love their food so they had plenty”, he said. “At least enough till we got to Alice Springs and a smash repairer used a Spit Water Pressure Cleaner to wash out the dust”.

Peter and Linda Scharf’s 4WD motto is to pack light and don’t be in a hurry. A few years ago, he and Linda took 21 days to traverse the 1,850km Canning Stock Route in Western Australia in a Land Rover with a tent, an HF Flying Doctor radio and basic supplies.

“For us it is all about preparation. You pack light and the things you pack need to have multiple uses. Most people take way more clothes than they actually need.

Peter and Linda did carry tools and spare parts, which came in handy when a shock absorber broke.

“For a long time we travelled without long-range communications. Now we have an HF radio with a range of about 3,000 kilometres.”

But as Peter says, one ought not to rely on technology. “You can only guarantee satellite phone coverage of about 80%. So there are still places, especially in northern Australia, where they won’t work.”

Remote area 4WD traveller John Greig told FOMM the stresses and strains on vehicle chassis/bodies on desert tracks can be enormous.

“These days almost every popular desert crossing, including the Canning Stock Route, is suffering from diagonally opposed holes, opening up in the wheel tracks”.

“This is mainly caused by drivers not dropping their tyre pressures low enough”.

Potential setbacks aside, if you have a hankering to cross the Simpson Desert, the best time is between April and October.

Handy tips abound on the internet, including this one drawn from many sources:

While the Australian desert outback is a beautifully scary and remote place, technology and the capabilities of modern 4WD vehicles have made it far less daunting. Robyn Davidson found fame after her 1977 crossing of the Gibson Desert between Alice Springs and the Indian Ocean. She crossed the 1,700 kilometres on foot, with four camels and a dog.

Her book about one woman’s quest for solitude, Tracks, was subsequently made into a movie starring Mia Wasikowska as Davidson.

In a recent ABC interview, Davidson conceded that doing the same trip in the same way would be impossible today.

“Back then there were no mobile or satellite phones. (You’d) come across a two-way radio every three months – it was how you got messages out of there.”

Davidson, who grew up on a mid-western Queensland cattle station, believes one of the greatest gifts of living in a country like Australia is the physically large open spaces.

She had a fascination with the desert and wonders now if those “those early sensual signals of dry air and the smell of dry grass” of her childhood ran deep.

“Perhaps all Australians have some sense of the desert back there buried in their psyches,” she said.

“This creed of the desert seemed inexpressible in words and indeed in thought”. T. E. Lawrence

All photos (including drone footage) by Graham Waters.