My Kakadu Dreams experience began early, as always with this kind of thing. I was up and about and waiting outside the Gecko Lodge for 06:45 and it wasn’t long before a white minibus towing a trailer pulled up. A tanned Aussie guy hopped out of the driver’s seat, shook my hand firmly and said “You Steve? G’day mate. I’m Glen.”

It took about 10 minutes to trail around various Darwin hostels before we had collected our full complement of fellow Dreamers. And it was quite a cosmopolitan group too – German, Dutch, Danish, Norwegian and Canadian. And of course, me. The token Brit.

The tour began with a ‘round-the-bus’ series of introductions and it was probably a good thing that we had a lengthy drive (2hrs+) to our first port of call. By the time we reached the small lake where we were to feed Barramundi and some little terrapins, I had managed to attach names to faces with 100% accuracy.

After the first 2 hours with Glen, our guide for the 3 days, it became clear that he was either hyperactive from consuming too many food colourings or was genuinely excited about his job. I think he probably has 2 middle names: “Enthusiasm” and “Enthusiasm”. He was alive with energy all morning (and for the rest of the trip) and made sure we were not only entertained, but informed on what we were seeing and experiencing. Whether it was singing U2 and Eagles hits at the top of his voice during hikes through the Bush or telling us stories about previous tours, he was always on the go.

Anyway. Back to feeding the Barras. After consuming one of their distant relatives the day before, it was good to get the chance to redress the balance slightly by way of a peace offering to these huge fish. As this lake is a popular stop-off for many tour groups, the fish and terrapins make a beeline to the water’s edge as soon as people start arriving. With the hungry masses circling, Glen held out a small fish and said “Who wants to feed a Barramundi, then?” Taking the fish from him, I leaned over the edge and held it slightly in the water, as instructed. Within seconds, there was a series of huge splashes and the water came alive beneath my hand. Before I knew what was happening, the fish bait I was dangling in the water had been ripped from my fingers and had disappeared down the mouth of a large looking Barra. “Aw, sorry mate,” said Glen, tongue firmly in cheek, “I forgot to tell you about that bit!”

Our next water based feeding frenzy was one where none of us would have been particularly keen to have participated in. It was a billed as a Jumping Crocodile Cruise. The cruise consisted of an hour’s jaunt down the river to feed a bunch of hungry and agile saltwater crocodiles. “Salties” are the species of croc that you don’t want to mess with and, unlike their freshwater cousins, will attack you just for fun and are classed in the same predator league as the great white shark. Within 15 minutes, you could see exactly why you don’t want to mess with them – the power with which these formidable hunters leapt from the river to crush the meat offering was awesome. Apparently, they have the equivalent force in one bite as you’d get from dropping a small car from 1 metre’s height onto your leg. Ouch.

The biggest croc that we saw was around 4.5m long – small fry in the world of Kakadu Salties, as they can grow to up to 8m in length.

After a gentle hour of cruising and feeding the local hunters (not just crocs, but birds of prey that lurked in the trees along the shoreline), we returned to port and set off in our white van to the next stop, which was to be lunch by a nearby lake. Well: more precisely, lunch for my fellow Dreamers. I voluntarily postponed my “sangers” until I returned from my scenic flight over Kakadu National Park.

Before I had set foot in Kakadu, I knew that I wanted to see 2 of the most spectacular waterfalls in Australia – Jim Jim Falls and Twin Falls. With it being the tail-end of the wet season, both of the falls are inaccessible to tourists so the only way to view them was through the window of the little 6 seater aeroplane that I flew in for about 1hr. The flight provided me with a bird’s eye view of the national park and it really did bring home just how vast Kakadu National Park is. It took about half an hour before we flew over the 200m+ high Jim Jim Falls. And what a sight it was, too. It was absolutely thundering with the high volume of rainwater that has been falling for the last few months – so much so that the lower half of the falls was obscured by a cloud of mist that was kicked up by the falling torrent of water.

Shortly after Jim Jim came Twin Falls. Although it is smaller than its neighbour, it’s still impressive. Apparently, this fall (when it’s open – apparently it is shut indefinitely at the moment for Aboriginal cultural reasons) is fairly difficult to access during the dry season too, and requires a 1km swim along the river amongst freshwater crocs to get to it.

In terms of the waterfalls in Kakadu, it’s a Catch 22 situation really. In the wet season, they’re at their very best in terms of the water flow, but remain closed to tourists. And on the other hand, in the dry season when they’re open, they become a trickle in comparison to the wet season. So flying is probably the best chance of seeing them at their best.

I finally touched down again at the little airstrip near Jabiru and rejoined my group for the 2nd half of the day. This was spent trekking through the Bush around Nourlangie Rock to Aboriginal rock art sites and to viewpoints that offered the most stunning vistas of the surrounding parkland. It was quite a climb to get to the very top of the viewpoint made doubly difficult by the searing hot sunshine and high humidity levels.

By now, we’d all come to realise that the stifling Outback heat was to become a recurring factor throughout the 3 days. Whilst it was no hotter on the thermometer than Singapore or Malaysia, the high humidity that was running around 70% made sure that it was virtually impossible to get cool. That meant walking around all day in soaking clothes whilst trying to pour as much water into yourself as was pouring out in a seemingly torrential flow of perspiration to rival the cascade at Jim Jim Falls.

Any hopes that the arrival of the evening and darkness would give us some respite from the heat were short-lived. We arrived at our overnight campsite at about 18:30 and found ourselves a tent to sleep in for the night. Being quick off the mark, Thomas and I managed to bag ourselves one of the 2-man outdoor tents that were few and far between, which meant that any slight chance of a breeze would help to lower the temperatures inside the sweatbox tent.

Having prepared, cooked and cleaned up our evening meal by the light of candles (kangaroo steaks and vegetables), we piled back into our minibus to be driven to the “nearby” toilet and shower block. Being 1.6km back through the Bush meant that any nocturnal trips to the toilet would have to be taken behind a tree somewhere back towards camp whilst crossing your fingers that you weren’t about to pee on a sleeping snake.

Within seconds of stepping out of the refreshing shower, I was pouring with sweat once again as I trudged back out to the van to get a lift back to the campsite. Being as tired as we all were and despite an eskie packed with beers, the evening came to an end almost immediately as we all retired to our tents for a fairly sleepless night under the stars in Kakadu. Before I closed my eyes, I clocked the temperature for one last time that day… 29 degrees Centigrade at 22:30.

The minibus was a quiet place first thing on Day 2 of the Kakadu tour. Not even Glen’s boundless enthusiasm could muster a response from the troops – I think the combined effects of the humidity and the general lack of sleep amongst the group had put paid to any chance of a sprightly start to proceedings.

The night in the sweatboxes was restless for all of us. It was a no-win situation really: all the tents were pretty much enclosed and there was no way you could leave the door open to allow the air to flow. As I lay there watching the distant lightening flash through the thin tent walls, I could hear a constant high pitched “Nyyyeeeeeee” of a cloud of mosquitoes that were just desperate to get in barely centimetres from where my head lay.

Having gotten acquainted with a variety of wildlife on Day 1 (goannas, dingos, wild pigs, cockatoos and snakes (from a distance)), I discovered to my cost that I had also become acquainted with a number of the afore mentioned mozzies too. Before I gave up during the following day, I counted 35 bites from the knees downwards.

But anyway. That didn’t particularly bother me and the activities of Day 2 soon woke everybody up and morale lifted in no time. We began with a long hike through some absolutely stunning scenery around the Jabiru area of the park. We climbed our way up to another series of Aboriginal rock art sites overlooking more impressive views out into the valleys and gorges below.

After that strenuous start to the day, everybody was well and truly awake (and perspiring hugely) so a hike through a small area of monsoonal rainforest was very welcome. We were aiming for a picturesque waterhole called the Garden of Eden, and on arrival, it was stunningly obvious why that name had been chosen. In the midst of the fairly arid and dry landscape that is the Outback, this little oasis provided us with cool temperatures and fresh spring water to bathe in and to drink.

An excellent lunch by the river followed, giving us all chance to relax and drink in the scenery around us. Leaving the rest of the group to chill out by the babbling river, Glen and I headed off over the rocks in search of more areas to explore. What we mostly found on our little sojourn further into the forest were spiders. Lots of them. And huge ones, too.

I managed to walk through the web of a Golden Orb spider and on turning around, I noticed that I was barely 2cm from having the oversized arachnid sitting on my hat. Golden Orb spiders, for those of you that are interested, are easily as big as the palm of an adult male hand (so a leg-span of around 10cm) and its legs are speckled with a golden yellow colouring. But without even looking, I knew immediately that it was a Golden Orb spider as the web itself is incredibly strong and it clings to you for quite some time before it breaks. What you’re left with is a face full of golden threads – that’s the reason why the spider is named as it is.

With late afternoon well and truly upon us, it was time to head off to our next overnight stop via a stop-off at an Aboriginal Cultural Centre to learn a little about the way of life of these native people (and to enjoy ice creams and cold fizzy drinks…)

Mercifully, our new overnight digs wasn’t Camp Sweatbox with its canvas ovens from the previous night, but a roadhouse/camping site with air conditioned dorms that were a welcome sight for all of us. In a blissfully temperature controlled environment, we each selected our bed for the night and set about cleaning ourselves up before our evening meal.

Once again, our evening meal was enjoyed by candlelight – this evening, it was vegetables with T-bone steaks. Following our meal, those of us that still had a little energy left joined up with another tour group that was using the facilities for an evening of didgeridoo lessons. Whilst it probably ranks alongside bagpipes in the world of bizarre musical instruments, the didgeridoo can sound incredible when it’s played properly. The haunting sounds that are produced are mesmerising.

Our tutor was a seasoned “didge” player and treated us to some excellent bursts of music until finally, he passed over the wooden instrument for his class to have a go. He taught us that to produce that drone noise that everyone associates with the didgeridoo, you simply relax your mouth and blow air across your lips to produce a kind of “frrrbbrrrr” noise. When this is blown down a didgeridoo, you have the drone noise. If you combine that noise with a hitch pitched squeak produced in the throat, you add depth to the drone. And chuck in the occasional “coo” noise and you have the beginnings of a didgeridoo masterpiece. Easy.

Or not. Our efforts were largely abysmal, with only a handful of the class perfecting the art of didge playing. Poor Soren from our tour group reduced the class to hysterics when he produced noises that you’d normally expect to hear from a bronchitic elephant.

Finally calling it a night, I headed off to the shower block for my pre-sleep shower to rid myself of the day’s build-up of Outback dirt and grime. On arrival in the shower block, I was presented with a difficult choice. It appeared that I would have to share my shower again, but not with cockroaches as I did in Malaysia. This time, I had a variety of frogs and toads to choose from.

The runners and riders in my game of “Pick a cubicle – any cubicle” were:

Cubicle 1 – a virulently green coloured frog with beady black eyes.
Cubicle 2 – the Godfather of the toad world, the Cane Toad. These things can weigh up to 2kgs.
Cubicle 3 – not just 1, but 3 menacing looking brown toads. No doubt henchmen for the Godfather next-door.

Despite a fellow backpackers analysis that the green frog was probably poisonous (his reasoning being that anything that colour and with such evil eyes had to be), I plumped for cubicle 1. I felt that I’d have a better chance in a 1-on-1 with that little fellow than the Godfather and his henchmen in the cubicles alongside.

After my communal showering effort with various members of the local amphibian population, I have developed an extra cautious side to my toiletry habits. Not only do I now carefully check any shower (and shower curtain) that I get anywhere near to, I find myself checking under the toilet seat for any living creature with sharp teeth and a nervous disposition…

Anyway. After a restful night’s sleep, my fellow Dreamers and I rose in air-conditioned comfort and strolled to the nearby eating quarters for breakfast. For the 2nd day running, we were not allowed showers by our taskmaster and guide (Glen threatened to give punishments to anybody that transgressed his morning shower ban! I dread to imagine what that would have entailed – 101 things to do with a Golden Orb spider…?) as he probably rightly claimed that we’d all smell just as bad after five minutes of stepping out the shower.

The third and final day in Kakadu was a very relaxing one. After a bit of a drive, we made our way to the southern end of the Park around the Mary River. The main emphasis for our final day had shifted from Bush walking to relaxing by stunning waterfalls.

We visited 2 raging falls during the day, both of which put anything I’d seen in Thailand to shame. These falls were the kind of thing I’d been expecting during my time in Asia – about 50-100m high with a cascade of water plunging into the rockpools below. By far the most stunning of the 2 was Motor Car Falls.

Having all relaxed and cooled off at the 2 falls, it was time to bring our Kakadu adventure to a close. With only a 200km drive back to Darwin, it was over all too soon.

It was a fantastic trip with everything I could have hoped for – an excellent guide, a fantastic group of travellers to spend the 3 days with, great food and most of all, one seriously beautiful national park.

It was in Kununurra that I had booked myself onto a scenic flight that would take me over the Kimberley region and, of most interest to me, the Bungle Bungles. The Bungle Bungles are a weird, yet stunning rock formation that have been formed over hundreds of millions of years. Following the build up and erosion of sedimentary rock layers over many years, the resulting geological formation that remains today is surreal. The best way to describe them is to liken them to giant beehives that have had a tiger skin pattern painted onto the outside of them.

But before I was to take my flight, I had the small matter of a 11.5hr McCafferty’s bus ride to get through. As many of you will know, I have had some fairly bum numbing experiences on long bus journeys but I am pleased to report that this one was a breeze. From the moment I sat down in my seat, I knew that bum numbness would not be a problem as I seemed to sink by at least 12 inches into the most comfortable bus seat I’ve ever sat on.

The journey was event free and it ran perfectly on time. I was greeted at Kununurra station by Darren, one of the proprietors of the Kununurra Backpackers Lodge (déjà vu once again, but I find myself saying the same thing that I said about Gecko Lodge in Darwin. If you ever find yourself in Kununurra, you’d be a fool to not stay here. It’s spotless and for a backpackers’ hostel, it has a kitchen that your average hotel restaurant would find adequate)

After a short tour around the town to allow me to get my bearings, we arrived at the Lodge. I quickly settled into my new digs (a 4 bed dorm all to myself!) and headed off in search of a pharmacy. I had heard a couple of horror stories about the Bungles flight and had decided to play it safe and invest in some anti travel sickness pills. Darwin friend Katie had breezily said to me on the flight from Singapore that “Aw, yeah. People were throwin’ up all around me on my flight” when she had done her Bungles scenic flight a little while ago.

But, alas. Kununurra being very much off the beaten track meant that nowhere was open. So I was going to have to be a brave soldier and face the flight the following morning without any medicinal support. And without eating breakfast, clearly.

And so the morning duly arrived and I got out of bed for my 05:30 pick-up. The beauty of being in Western Australia is that the time zone is back to being +8hrs GMT compared to +9.5hrs GMT in Darwin. That meant that 05:30 was actually 07:00 for me, so I had had a lie-in by recent standards.

A little nervously, I climbed into the bus and stared out the window trying desperately to read the climatic conditions. Could I sense any wind? Were there any evil turbulence inducing clouds up there?

Eventually, the bus arrived at the little airstrip just outside the town and I and the 3 other passengers for the flight followed our driver (and pilot, as it turned out) onto the tarmac and towards a small, shiny white plane. I chose a seat just behind the 2 pilots and with slightly sweaty palms, fastened my seatbelt. After a short pause at the end of the runway (something to do with needing to warm up the oil temperature before take-off), the pilot cranked up the engine and we trundled along the strip of concrete at an ever increasing pace.

With a gentle lurch, the plane was airborne and Kununurra and the Kimberley region began to stretch out below me. Within 30 seconds, Kununurra turned into a toy town with its tiny buildings and even tinier cars driving along its tiny roads.

All the worry about enduring a bumpy flight evaporated within 5 minutes of the flight. Despite the small nature of the plane, this flight would have to be one of the smoothest I’ve ever had. But to enjoy a smooth flight wasn’t really the reason I’d paid my dollars and climbed aboard.

The reason was right there out of the windows. The most stunning views imaginable of rolling geological formations that had been formed from plate movements over millions of years – flat topped mountain ranges, huge sweeping plateaus that looked for all the world like grass covered waves with trees for the white horse spray and stunning inlets and coves surrounding one of the largest manmade lakes in the world (Lake Argyle).

For about 50 minutes, I sat there thoroughly stunned by the views. For the 20 minutes that followed that, I sat there thoroughly, thoroughly stunned as looming below us was the Bungle Bungle range. It was everything, and more, that I’d hoped it would be and unlike the Kakadu scenic flight, the pilot had chosen a much lower altitude so I could really see the detail on the rock formations below. The orange and black striations along the outside of the domelike rocks were clearly visible as we circled around for 20 minutes taking in views from all kinds of angles.

The only thing that took my attention away from the view below was the pilot. He too, understandably, was impressed by the view and despite probably having done this flight numerous times before, had his camera pressed to his face and was snapping away like the rest of us. Now clearly, the plane was on autopilot and everything was entirely under control, but that didn’t stop it being ever-so slightly unnerving to see his “Look Mum! No hands!” routine on the old steering column.

But that didn’t hold my attention for more than a fleeting moment and all too soon we had completed our last circuit of the Bungles and were once again Kununurra bound. But not before passing the Argyle Diamond Mine, which is the world’s biggest producer of diamonds. It is estimated that this one plant produces 30% of the global supply of diamonds.

The story goes that many years ago, a couple of geologists were hiking through the region and happened to notice something shining in a nearby termite mound. On closer inspection, it turned out to be a diamond. Knowing that they shouldn’t be on that land (it was under a mining licence with a company that was doing its own investigations), they kept quiet about their discovery and returned a few more times to carry out more covert investigations. For 6 months, they sat tight and waited for the original licence to expire. The company that owned the licence had been unsuccessful in their attempts to find diamonds and let it expire and at 06:00 on the day of expiry, the 2 geologists arrived at the licensing authorities offices and signed up for the new lease. And the rest is history (and the 2 geologists are probably filthily rich).

After a smooth touchdown, I returned to Kununurra and headed straight for the kitchen to prepare a celebratory (and much needed) breakfast feeling incredibly chuffed and lucky to have experienced the flight that morning.

With the early nature of the flight, I was still looking at a full day to spend in the town. The ever-helpful proprietor of the Lodge had mentioned on my arrival that there is a good walk through the Mirima National Park that flanks the northern side of Kununurra, so after a quick briefing on directions, I set off.

The park is far smaller than Kakadu and Litchfield but it contains rock formations that are very similar to those in the Bungles. So I was especially keen to see them close-up as I was unable to get to see the real McCoy. Close-up, the rocks lose their smooth appearance and you can really see the jagged edges of the striations, but the domelike shape is still there clear to see. It was a hugely enjoyable and peaceful 2 hours of wandering along the pathways and through the Hidden Valley between the Bungle-esque rock formations but eventually, I had to throw in the sweat soaked towel and head back as temperatures nudged 37 degrees.

I returned to the Lodge for lunch and a brief rest before embarking on my 2nd activity for the day inspired by Darren. Just behind the Lodge is a small sandstone hill known locally as Kelly’s Knob and the sunsets from the top are supposed to be renowned. Having been dropped off in the car park, I set about the climb (“Aw, just ignore the ‘No entry’ signs and climb over the rocks.”) to the top and took up a seat on a comfortable looking rock. The view down over the mini-Bungles confirmed to me that it is a trick of the height that makes the domes appear smoothed. Whilst I was nowhere near as high as the plane had been, the rocks did appear much less jagged than they had during my Hidden Valley hike earlier that day.

As it turned out, the sunset was entirely unspectacular. I witnessed probably the most British sunset imaginable as a dirty great grey cloud swung in and completely blotted out the view of the little descending ball of fire. So, I set about the descent and returned to the Lodge to prepare my evening meal and to turn in for one final time in Kununurra.

It clearly should be illegal to have to catch a bus at 03:35. In order to get to Alice Springs to join up with my next tour, that’s exactly what I had to do. I was driven to the nearby transit centre by one of the hostel owners at my Tennant Creek accommodation and, once there, checked in and sat to await the bus’ arrival. It arrived on time – no Bruce this time, but 5 or 6 passenger faces seemed familiar from previous journeys.

On discovery that my allocated seat already had occupants in the form of a large Aboriginal lady and her sleeping son, I found myself an alternative couple of seats and lay down as best I could. It was quite a feat of human origami but I managed to get comfortable and was soon snoozing again.

It was about 07:00 when I awoke to see the last of the sunrise over the desert outside. Whilst it was still greener than I’d expected to see, it was now beginning to look more arid and harsh than further north on the Stuart Highway.

The bus arrived in Alice perfectly on time whereupon I located the relevant minibus and hopped aboard to be shuttled to my next hostel.

Having settled in and showered away the bus journey, I headed off into Alice to explore. I had but one day in the town as I was due to head off on a 5 day Red Centre Safari the following day. So, all I really had time to do was to see the town and a couple of its main attractions.

First on the list of sights was Anzac Hill (warning: NB users, this is a big picture file). Anzac Hill is a fairly small hill towards the eastern side of the town that offers views over the surrounding area. Whilst the hill itself is pretty small and climbable in about 10 minutes, the flat nature of the desert and the low rise development of Alice, the view was excellent.

As I began the climb, I warily noted to myself that I’d chosen my blue T-shirt to wear that day. It’s a great T-shirt but it’s hardly discrete when it comes to hiding the effects of exertions in hot temperatures (my time in Kakadu more than proving that fact) But it was then that I noticed it… for the first time since arriving in Australia, I was comfortably hot. It seemed as though the Red Centre was much less humid than the north, which could only be a good thing as far as reducing the constant load of laundry that I had to put up with for 2 weeks.

From Anzac Hill, I grabbed lunch and headed back to the hostel to await my minibus that was to take me to Desert Park. The Park is a short drive outside Alice and is located in the shadow of the MacDonnell Ranges. It is basically a recreation of 4 key Australian environmental conditions – arid desert, river, forest and nocturnal. Within each carefully recreated zone lived flora and fauna native to it. By far the most interesting of them all was the nocturnal zone. Set within a large darkened room, this zone offered a unique chance to see wildlife that normally only surfaces under the cover of darkness. Within the large glass cases, normally shy creatures skittered, hopped and slid around doing their nightly business.

Also housed inside the nocturnal zone were 2 little creatures that were the primary reason for my trip to Desert Park. Possibly the most bizarre living things I’ve ever seen were the Thorny Devils. Part lizard and part Legoland, these little critters are ideally suited to the harsh Outback desert. Their colour scheme matches their surroundings perfectly; the spiny bumps all over their bodies provide protection from predators; the large protuberance on the back of their necks acts as a decoy head in the event of attack; and their staccato style of movement mimics that of a leaf caught on the breeze. Genius.

By the time I had completed my tour of Desert Park, early evening was upon Alice Springs. The shuttle bus dropped me back at my hostel and I set about packing my bags for the next big adventure. My anticipation of what was to come had been further heightened through a couple of conversations I had had earlier that day with fellow travellers. One traveller told me that sunrise at Uluru was one of the most magical things she had ever done and that I would be blown away by it. And sharing my dorm for that night were 2 girls who had just returned from a similar tour around the Red Centre and were raving about how good it had been. I went to bed that evening feeling like a small child on Christmas Eve, willing the morning to arrive…

04:00 in the morning. My highly tuned body clock woke me a few minutes before my alarm was due to go off, which could only be good news for the 2 people sharing my dorm. I crept out of the room and headed down to the road to await the arrival of the Adventure Tours guide and his 4WD van.

After a short wait, a large white van pulled up before me and a guy hopped from the cabin and introduced himself as Brian. I chucked my bags into the back of the van and climbed aboard for the short journey, via another pick-up, to Adventure Tours’ HQ, where we picked up the rest of our contingent. After meeting such wonderful people on the Kakadu 3-dayer, I had high hopes that this group would be equally as good.

We all sat around the table as Brian outlined the plan for the day and introduced us all. There were only 7 strong (another 2 of the group having gone AWOL and not turned up at their pick-up point that morning) but that would turn out to be a good thing. The ‘round table intros included Pete and Anthea (2 Sydney army personnel on a week’s vacation to do the tour), Madeleine (Swiss traveller), Nadine (Scottish nurse resident in Sydney) and Team Norway. I will only ever refer to this couple as Team Norway as I have next to no chance of being able to spell their names properly.

I was quite surprised to see Team Norway on the trip, to be honest. The tour had been advertised in all brochures as being only suitable for very fit and very active people who enjoy basic bush camping (written in bold type with the word “CAUTION” before it). It was very wrong of me to assume a certain person (and age group) would go for that as Team Norway combined probably totalled around 110 years between them. Any concerns I may have had as to whether they’d cope with the trip were also misplaced – they were as fit as any of us!

Anyway. Intros and admin over with, the tour kicked off. We hopped into the spacious van and spread ourselves out for the long journey to Yulara (the nearest built-up area to The Rock). The journey was some 435km, hence the early start that morning, so we had time to catch up on some more sleep and to get to know each other.

Our first stop arrived at the 2 hour mark. It was at a fairly featureless road house (these are basically Outback service stations) at Erildunda. Before we’d set off, Brian had warned us all that it was fly season in the Red Centre but nothing could really prepare us for Erildunda. Within seconds of stepping out of the air conditioned bus, we were inundated by a swarm of blowflies that buzzed and swooped around trying to land on your face. Quite why the annoying little insects always aim for your nose, eyes and ears is beyond me and it was really irritating! Fortunately for me, I had invested in a fly net ahead of the tour so I knew that I’d be OK when we started the trekking properly.

Suitably refreshed, we began the remaining 2 hours of the journey. After an hour or so, I looked out of the window to the left and saw a large red rock on the flat horizon. “Uluru!”, my tiny brain yelled. (I should just point out here that I will refer to The Rock as Uluru, but it is better known as Ayers Rock, of course)

We stopped at a viewpoint for a series of photos and to enjoy the scene before Brian picked up the microphone in the bus and started to tell us about what we’d all seen.

“Pretty impressive, huh?”, he asked.

“Yeah!”, we all replied.

“Not your average rock, is it?”

“No!”, we chorused.

“And it’s not even Uluru either!”

He’d neglected to tell us the fact that that was Mount Connor and not Uluru. Feeling a little dim, I sat in my seat and wondered why Uluru was deemed more impressive that the very-impressive-indeed Mount Connor.

It wasn’t long before I could answer that question. Once again, out of the left hand side of the bus, I saw a large monolith looming on the horizon. There was no doubt whatsoever that this was the real McCoy.

Ask anybody to list 3 things that they most associate with Australia and I’d put money of The Rock featuring in most peoples’ list. Quite right too: the view was utterly captivating. In the middle of nowhere, surrounded by desert scrublands, was a large red rock that seemed to glow in the sunlight. For the last half hour or so, we sat staring out of the window at The Rock, completely stunned and in my case, unable to take my eyes away from the view.

But it was only to be a fleeting glimpse from the road that morning as our journey ended at a campsite a short distance from the rock itself. The campsite was to be our first home for the trip and provided all the amenities we would need for our first evening of Outback camping. Whilst there were tents on offer, all of the group opted for the alternative: a night of swag sleeping. But more on that later…

After a huge lunch, it was back to the bus and onto The Rock. Being just after midday, the sun was at its strongest so in order to avoid baking alive in the heat, we stopped in at an Aboriginal Cultural Centre nearby. After the usual round of ice cream and fizzy drinks that I always seem to end up with when I visit these places, we were finally ready to pay a visit to The Rock.

We all had a choice of afternoon activities – we could either take on the base walk (a 7.4km hike around the base of Uluru) or the summit climb (a short but incredibly steep ascent up The Rock itself). All of us opted for choice 1. I don’t know the reasoning behind the others’ decision not to climb it but I based mine partly out of respect for the Aborigines’ request that visitors do not climb Uluru. The route to the summit is of great cultural significance to the Aborigines and the majority of people visiting The Rock apparently take heed of that fact and stick to the base walk instead.

As you have probably worked out for yourselves, the base walk is basically a circuit of Uluru. It takes in areas of significance to the Aborigines (so much so that photos are not allowed in some parts. Those that purposely flout the ban run the risk of a A$5,500 fine if caught), some examples of ancient rock art and a small permanent waterhole in the shadowy, cool east side.

It took a couple of hours to complete the circuit what with the frequent stops for photos and to simply admire the scenery. All around the walk, The Rock continued to be its mesmerising self and provided fabulous up-close views of the smooth red surface.

Eventually, the team regrouped back at the car park and boarded the minibus for the short drive to the sunset viewing area nearby. This is basically a chunk of concrete a couple of kilometres away from The Rock where a hoard of coaches, minibuses and people carriers descend daily to watch the sunset over Uluru. It’s a bizarre scene: countless tourists, ranging from backpackers through to upmarket tour groups, sitting around the car park tucking into whatever refreshments were laid on by their operator. In our case, it was sparkling wine (served in plastic camping mugs – very stylish) and nibbles.

The sunset wasn’t quite as impressive as we’d hoped because of a big grey cloud that blotted out much of the sunlight and hence reduced the visual impact of the light changes on The Rock. Whilst it was still impressive, we didn’t get to see that famous red luminosity that everyone associates with Uluru.

That was definitely rectified the following morning, though. We rose very early from our swags to shovel down breakfast and journey to another designated area to watch the sunrise over Uluru. Being early in the morning meant that the cloud cover was virtually non-existent therefore the view that we all enjoyed was breathtaking. The rock went from a moody brown, to a deep purple, to orange, to red until for a glorious 15 minute spell, Uluru began to glow. The sunlight reflecting off the red rock created the most amazing scene with clear blue skies in the background. Unforgettable.

I mentioned above about swags. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the concept of swags, allow me to explain. They are an Aussie camping institution out here and any self respecting Bush camper will have one. They are effectively oversized waterproof sleeping bags with a mini-mattress in the bottom. You unzip the side, slide in your own sleeping bag, climb in and re-zip the side. And that’s it. All that stands between you and the dazzling stars above is a few 1000 metres of nothing… And all that stands between you and the multitude of insects, bugs and beasties in the Outback is a few millimetres of waterproof swag…

After Day 2’s sunrise spectacular, we climbed wearily back into the bus and completed the 50km or so to our next Red Rock experience. We were to complete the Valley of the Winds walk through another Uluru-esque rock formation known as Kata-Tjuta, or more commonly referred to as The Olgas.

Kata-Tjuta is another sacred Aboriginal site but little is known as to why this is the case. The rocks are a collection of smooth domelike rocks that from some angles resemble heads bowed closely together as if conducting a secretive conversation. The walk itself was only about 6kms but was hugely enjoyable. Throughout the route, our intrepid guide Brian fed us a constant stream of information on how the rocks were formed (a result of the Alice Springs Orogeny a few million years ago that was basically a colossal earthquake that fractured and ruptured the landscape followed by years of weather erosion that has created what we see today) and also on bush tucker and Aboriginal uses for various plants and trees.

On completion of the walk through the Valley of the Winds, it was time to return to the campsite for lunch and to pack up all of our stuff and head to the next overnight stop near Day 3’s destination – Kings Canyon.

With a raucous game of Animal Snap in full swing in the back of the bus, we made our way through the barren Outback for about 2 hours before we arrived at campsite 2. After an excellent meal cooked by our 5 star Bush Cook Brian, we opened the eskie of cold beers and got stuck in.

Despite our tiredness, the evening turned out to be quite a late one. Getting well and truly into the spirit of things, we decided to liven up the otherwise quiet campsite with all manner of shenanigans. There were another 3 or 4 groups staying at the campsite that night but each one seemed to be very reserved and quiet so we took it upon ourselves to try and provoke some kind of excitement amongst them. In what turned out to be a recurring theme throughout the 5 days, we began the “I dare you…” type activities. This included ridiculous behaviour, such as “Nudie Runs” around the campfire (an activity undertaken with great zeal by Pete. Or more accurately, an activity undertaken with great zeal by only Pete) and team “Undie Runs” around other campfires on the campsite.

By the time the evening drew to a close, most of us were far too tired to bother with the whole swag thing and retired to the tents around the campfire for a spot of “luxury” camping under a canvas roof.

With Days 1 and 2 under my belt, it was most definitely so far so good for the 5 day Red Centre Safari.

Day 3 turned out to be probably my most favourite day on the tour in terms of scenery. We rose slightly later than previous days at our campsite but it didn’t take long to get ourselves sorted out and in the bus for the next leg of our tour.

The big event for day 3 was a 5km walk around Kings Canyon, a beautiful, deep rock gully that winds its way through the desert area. The canyon is absolutely stunning – the Amphitheatre offers views over the sheer rock cliffs, the Lost City overlooks Bungle Bungle style rock domes and the Garden of Eden with its tranquil waterhole and lush greenery.

Towards the end of the trail, walkers get the chance to take in the view down the sheer rock face of the north wall. In order to enjoy this view, you need to lie down on your front and crawl to the cliff edge where you can hang your head over and look down the steep, long drop below. Scary stuff.

Once the tour was complete and we’d prepared another huge lunch, the tour took us to our last taste of civilisation for a while. We stopped by at an Aboriginal community in Hermannsburg (for fizzy drinks and ice cream. Surprise surprise…), which is a short drive from our overnight Bush camp. The drive to the camp took us into 4WD territory as we slowly bounced our way along a dry river bed towards our campsite. The campsite itself was advertised as being “basic” in the brochure. That basically meant more swag sleeping around the campfire with our only facilities being a nearby bush and a shovel called Travis.

Brian did us proud once again with his cooking and we were served up honeyed satay chicken with rice and stir fried veggies (who says that Bush tucker has to be just grubs and leaves!?) washed down with one or two tinnies from the eskie.

After a very restful night of sleep, I awoke at around 06:30 (or “Fly o’clock” as it’s more accurately termed as that’s about the time that the annoying insects come out to play).

Day 4 was to take us to the picturesque Palm Valley, which is situated at the base of Helen Gorge and is filled with palm trees and ancient Cycads. This area was once a huge inland sea but that dried up millions of years ago to leave a sheltered alley of palm trees that provide cool shelter for walkers making their way along the trail.

Our journey to our 4th and final overnight swag campsite took us through yet more beautiful Bush scenery with miles upon miles of orangey-red scrubland stretching out as far as the eye could see. In the far distance, the West MacDonnell Ranges began to loom out from the horizon. At its highest point, this impressive mountain range reaches about 800m into the sky. A few million years ago around the time of the Alice Springs Orogeny, this range would have towered to about 3000-4000 metres above ground level.

As we were making our way along the dirt track towards our campsite, Pete pointed out of the window and yelled “Hey Brian – can we go up there?” “Up there” was a steep hill known colloquially as ‘The Pimple’, which only 4WD vehicles can attempt. Pulling a left hand turn, Brian took the vehicle along the dusty track that lead to the steep hill and made an attempt to climb it. After a couple of aborted efforts and to the sound of cheers around the bus, Bus 60 made it to the top of the hill. Not only did The Pimple provide us with a spot of 4WD entertainment, it also afforded us excellent views of Gosse Bluff, which is a 130m year old meteorite crater.

After yet more “I dare you…” action in the bus that consisted of a 5-Bum Salute to a rival tour company, we finally made it to our campsite and found our patch of grass where we would be unrolling our swags for the night. Refusing all offers of help, Brian disappeared into the spider infested hut that was to be our kitchen and began working his magic on the camping stove. Meanwhile, the rest of us disappeared off in different directions to explore the campsite and a nearby waterhole.

At about half 7, dinner was served. Brian had surpassed himself this time; an amazing dish of steak Schnitzel (cheese and tomato topping), a creamy potato dish and a fabulous tomato pasta. After completing the washing up (Brian, alas, accepting offers of help this time…) we cleaned out the remaining supplies in the eskie and headed to the on-site bar. The evening was a most memorable one that included yet more shenanigans (Pete again being at the forefront of the “Nudie Run” concept) and 2am swag drags (a hilarious sight to see Pete and Madeleine hauling Anthea’s swag (with Anthea sleeping inside) around in circles).

Fly o’clock arrived all too early the following morning and we dragged ourselves out of our swags and completed the usual morning rituals before climbing aboard our faithful bus for one final day.

Day 5 was the most relaxing day imaginable. It began with a gentle 2km walk through Ormiston Gorge and, for those with the inclination to do so, a dip in a waterhole at the foot of the cliffs. After 4 days of fairly wildlife free touring, Brian had promised us that we’d be seeing rock wallabies in Ormiston Gorge. So confident was he of this that he agreed to do a “Nudie Run” if we were unable to spot one.

Much to Pete’s disappointment, we did see a handful of the mini ‘roos sitting in crevices and on ledges around the gorge.

Lunch back at the bus followed our walk. By now, we’d reached the stage whereby we were trying to use up any of the food that was left over. Having undertaken a search and rescue mission to locate any bread that wasn’t covered in a liberal coating of penicillin, we tucked into our final meal of the trip. Taking the concept of using up all the remaining food to the extreme, I found a random cooking onion lurking in one of the eskies. “Hey Pete,” I said, “We should probably use this up too”.

Foolhardily, Pete took the onion and agreed to eat it in exchange for A$20. Raising A$20 between us proved very easy and so it was that Pete began the task of consuming the very raw vegetable. It didn’t take long for the realisation to set in that A$20 was a small price to pay for such a difficult task. He soldiered on, though. With the help of a sprinkling of sugar and a smearing of peanut butter, the onion was eventually finished about 45 minutes later. Looking a little green around the gills, but A$20 better off, Pete proceeded to stink out the bus for the rest of the afternoon with his ferocious onion breath…

Still feeling somewhat dazed and half asleep, our final ports of call for the trip were to be an old ochre pit used by Aboriginals to get material to create their rock and body art, and Ellery Creek Big Hole, another waterhole suitable for swimming in. After an hour of relaxation here, the trip came to an end. All that was left to do was to complete the 80km journey back to Alice Springs and back to civilisation once again.

We had a few hours to sort ourselves out back at our respective hostels before we were to meet up again for one last evening in Alice. I lobbed my Outback clothes into the washing machine and set about the task of trying to get 5 days worth of grime and red sand out of my wardrobe. This is a task that is probably going to take quite some time… The clothes came out of the machine looking pretty similar to how they went in.

Feeling more tired than I can remember feeling in a long time, I dragged myself out to the centre of Alice to meet up with the 7 other people I’d enjoyed sharing the last 5 days with. The beer and wine flowed once again and predictably, thoughts turned to “I dare you…”. It was Anthea who gamely took on the challenge set by Pete and I: to consume the restaurant's entire stock of whipped cream that sat in a huge pipe in the dessert cooler. Feeling confident that she could do it and tempted by the A$50 bounty on offer, Anthea came back from the restaurant with a bowl heaped with cream. It all started so well… The cream was spooned away with a nonchalant confidence that for all the world gave the impression that this task was easy.

However, about a third of the way through the litre of cream, the spoon rate began to slow and a queasy look appeared on Anthea’s face. The litre of cream had won and our A$50 was safe.

And so it was that our time together came to an end. A round of goodbyes followed and it was back to our hostels for a night of sleep in a real bed.

After about 4000km in 2 weeks, I can safely say that I have done the Top End and the Red Centre justice in my time here. It had been a fantastic, amazing, unbelievable trip and I was sad to say goodbye.

It was with a very heavy heart that I waved my final goodbyes to Outback life through the window of the aeroplane as it lifted off from Alice Springs Airport on Sunday morning. For the first time in about 2.5 weeks, I was heading to a “big city” again. This time: Melbourne.

With lucky old me having an entire row of seats to myself, I shuffled across to the window seat just above the wing and stared out at the orange desert below. Any vague hopes I’d had of catching a glimpse of Uluru from the sky were scuppered by a low lying cloud of haze that added a distant blur along the horizon.

But the views were still amazing. The landscape that I’d spent most of my recent time in was stretched out as far as my eyes could see. Beautiful stuff. The plane flew over dried up water courses, wide areas of salt flats and, of course, the huge sandy Simpson Desert, which was dotted with shades of green.

My attention was momentarily drawn from the view by the arrival of a cabin attendant who held out a small cardboard box in which I would find lunch. Inside was the usual edible but unexciting fare. That is except for one small touch – Qantas had included 2 little chocolate Easter eggs in everyone’s lunch.

At about the 2hr point in the flight, the view changed noticeably. Whilst the same colour scheme of brown, yellow and orange was very much in evidence, it was now manicured into neat squares of farmland and pasture. To me, this was a clear sign that we were approaching Melbourne.

And so it proved as about half an hour later, we had touched down undercover of a swathe of patchy grey cloud. I was through baggage collection without a hitch and soon found myself sitting on the big white shuttle bus that ferried passengers to and from central Melbourne. I took my seat and watched the world go by through my window.

As I surveyed my new surroundings, a kind of culture shock set in. Whereas I had become accustomed to the green Bush jungle, I was now looking at an entirely different grey concrete one.

But no matter. The culture shock soon wore off as I hopped into a cab and completed the last leg of my journey to Chapel Street Backpackers, my latest temporary home. There was no place for culture shocks anyway – that night, I was to be hooking up with Becca again after a month of doing our separate travels so we would have much to catch up on.

Having settled in and got the most important things done (no: not paying for my room but asking about tours to a certain street in Melbourne (more on that in the following dispatch)), I crossed the road to Windsor train station and climbed aboard a choo bound for Flinders Street in central Melbourne. As I had done in Tokyo when I journeyed into that city for the first time,