Milford Sound/Southern Scenic Highway/Christchurch: Wagner operas, a sea lion and the Lord of the Rings...

Milford Sound, in the southwestern corner of New Zealands Southern Island, provides a scenery as grand and ostentatious as a Wagner opera: crystal clear water build its foundation like the soft strings of the "Rheingold" and straight out of the water majestic mountains rise like the booming brass sections of "Ryde of the Walkyries". The highest peak in the area is Mitre Peak with 1692m of height above water plus an additional 300m underwater). And we even got luck with the weather, exploring the area and taking a cruise through Milford Sound with no graced the sky. And that in an area that gets more than 200 days of rainfall each year. Lucky us...
After Milford Sound our journey continues along the Southern Scenic Highway to Dunedin and the Otago Peninsula. All in all, this part of the way wasn't exactly spectacular, with the exception of one episode that should be mentioned here: On the Otage Peninsula we wanted to explore the vast wildlife that was apparently hard to miss in that area, at least according to the Lonely Planet. And after a rather adventurous hike through trees and shrubs and sanddunes (the beach looked so close from the road, I swear...) we hit a jackpot: The beach we came to didn't only provide a beautiful scenery, but just a couple of metres in front of us a sea lion toddled out of the water to lay down on the beach for his (or her?) afternoon nap, just like some of his friends had already done. A truly magnificent sight and a great feeling at the same time, considering that usually you only get to see these animals in zoos. But no, here we are, no guided tour, no zoo, no bars, just the two of us and a pack of sea lions. Cool...


Many of you probably know that New Zealand isn't only the country of Rugby, extremesport-stuff and beautiful scenery, but since the "Lord of the Rings"-movies it's also the "real-world-set" of Middle-earth. That's why there a "Lord of the Rings"-tour in every little town between Auckland and Christchurch, apparently in every little place where the crew stopped to take a piss. Of course all of them are "THE ORIGINAL Lord of the Rings Tour" which is probably supposed to justify the pricy charges you pay for seeing the sites where the movies were shot and having you pictures taken in stupid LOTR-poses and -costumes. Even though that might sound just like the thing I, as a THE super-tourist, would love to do, we still decided to save that money.


And in the area around Mount Cook, our next stop, a tour wasn't even necessary: The amazing scenery from the movie instantly recognisable. Actually, it would still have been a grand sight, even without its movie fame: Endless yellow-brownish flats (that are probably a lush green in summer), in their middle Lake Tanaka and right behind it the seemingly huge mountains around Mount Cook. However, time is money and we haven't enough of either. So we couldn't do any of the great hikes that are possibly here, all that was possible were short picture-talking walks around the area.


Our last stop in New Zealand was Christchurch, the sort-of capital of the Southern Island, and the neighboring Banks Peninsula. However, as we didn't do much more there than enjoying the views and returning our "El Cheapo"-car, there's not much to say: Nice place, nice landscape, that's pretty much it. Most impressive in Christchurch was probably our accomodation: A former prison, decomissioned just ten years ago and very creatively turned into a hostel after that. The actual prison building is still there, with the courtyard for the guards and everything. Stepping in there, you really think you're spending the night at Alcatrazz. To show how the place looked in its former capacity, there are still two original cells in their former prison arrangement, complete with the writings and drawings of the inmates on the wall. However, the original cell doors now serve as frame for the dining room tables and the reception desk, the prison chapel is now the pool room and the former toilets have found their new calling as flowerpots. Now, THAT'S good recycling...
So, New Zealand's Southern Island was as beautiful as it was cold. And even with all our new thermal underwear and winter jackets we're quite glad that we can store those now in the darkest corners of our backpack. Because where we're going now, you need only two layers of clothing: your swimsuit and suncreme.
So, see ya later, New Zealand, BULA Fidji!!

Queenstown: Embrace your fear...

"Yes, I'd like to book the skydiving trip for tomorrow, 10.30 a.m.", you say, even before your credit card has the slightest chance of screaming for help. A totally normal, short little sentence that (as it often happens in life) brings quite a lot of luggage with it.
Embrace your fear, the broschure says that's trying to sell you skydives from 9'000, 12'000 and 15'000 feet. The price varies according to the jump height: The higher, the longer the free fall is and also the more expensive. Because that's what skydiving is apparently all about: Who cares about the amazing view on the beautiful scenery around Queenstown, it's all about just jumping out of the plane and going -WOOSH- downwards like a stone. Or more like the a Ferrari, as the flyer suggests, zero to 200 in just 12 seconds.
You like the flyer, it makes you feel good, feel strong. It talks encouragingly about the jump and about you doing it: That it needs a strong character to actually jump out of a flying airplane, that it will change your life forever, that all your senses will go into overload as you jump out there against every little primal piece of survival instinct in you. But the flyer also warns you that nothing will make this experience any easier: The highly trained, experienced professional jumpmaster strapped to you, the high-quality space-age-material your gear consists of, the professionally packed up parachute on your back and its equally professionally reserve chute that would open in case of an emergency, none of that will eventually matter: Still every single bit of your being will fight against you jumping out of a perfectly fine airplane.
But you're not there yet anyway. After booking the trip, you have a good nights sleep and the next day at 10.30 a.m. you sit in the shop with the other potential skydivers, looking at the videos of previous skydivers like you, easy, relaxed. One of the staff asks you every other minute if you're alright, how you think about your flight, etc. But you're cool, you're relaxed. Even relaxed enough to notice that cute smile of the girl behind the counter trying to smile and talk you into buying the DVD-Video-Photo-CD-Postcard-Super-Duper-Motherfucker-Megacombo on top of your jump. And before you even know it she has smiled her way into your creditcard and you buy the package.
Then you go with your fellow "greenhorn-skydivers" to the little airport where your plane will leave and where you'll eventually also return - one way or the other... In the supercool slang of skydivers it's also called "dropzone" which you think from an outsider's point of view is a not such a good term for a landingzone. If there'S anything you DON'T want in the next couple of hours it is being "dropped" anywhere. It should rather be something along the lines of "zone for super-safe and comfy landing after a nice, little flight around".
Still you're being asked if everything's ok every other minute. which it is. However, you have to admit you do slowly feel a bit funny in your stomach, either you're in love or you're slowly getting nervous. It doesn't even help that there's a constant flow of happy smiling adrenalin-soaked people in jumpsuites around you, and that "Awesome", "Cool", "Amazing", "Sooooo good" seems to be everything anybody can say about it.
So you get into you own jumpsuit while a guy introduces himself as your jumpmaster and starts strapping the stuff over your body that will most probably keep you attached to him (and even more importantly, the parachute) during the flight. And he really, really, really makes sure that everything is strapped tightly to your body. Very, very, very tightly, I-don't-need-blood-in-my-legs and I-never-wanted-kids-of-my-own-anyway kind of tightly... Until then, you're excited too much even remember his name for longer than 1.2 seconds even though in that defining moment of the jump he'll be closer to you (or strapped tighter to you) than you ever wanted a man to be.
And you're getting even more nervous seeing the so-called professionals packing up the "used" parachutes on the other end of the building. That's the professionals? No super-duper high-tech machines, no top-notch technicans in green laboratory suits, but these badly shaved, baseballcapped, baggypanted bunch of, well, guys?! Is that maybe my chute that guy there is handling? What if he's in a bad mood or didn't get enough sleep or was out getting pissed yesterday and now can't focus well enough on his job? What if hasn't get laid for some time and is just a bit off? What's that knot there in that line? And is that hook there supposed to look like that?
Then finally, it starts, the plane starts, the whole thing takes of... wait a minute, the plane?! This supposedly flying equivalent of a plastic raft, that thing's going to take us to 12'000 feet? I could hook my little Mazda 121 at home up with a propeller and two wings and the look of it wouldn't be much different from this. So the exit of the plane is not going to be a mental challenge, but also very simply a logistical one: How are nine people (three jumpers, each with a jumpmaster strapped to them and each with their own photographer) supposed to fit in there, not to mention exit from there in an orderly kind of way? But before you get too much time to think abou it (which is probably intentional that they don't give you time to think about anything), you're already in there, squeezed in with the other eight, sitting on the floor of the plane, and hey, who would have thought, it actually is able to fly after all.
And it goes up and up, "Wow, what an incredible scenery there", and it goes further up, "What's our height now, oh, only just half of it, ok, I see", and it goes further up and further up, a red light flashes as your jumpmaster gives you and the gear a final tight strap ("Thanks dude, my balls defnitely needed it even tighter, thanks a lot for that"), the red light changes into green, "Hey, why the hurry, we're just getting to know each other here, it's so nice and cozy, let's enjoy the view for a bit longer... HEY, STOP THE PLANE, MAN OVERBOARD... AND WOMAN ALSO, STTOOOOOOOPPPPP... Hey, why am I moving toward that open door, wait a second, no, wait, I'm not ready yet, I'm cold, I need a second pair of socks, my protective googles don't fit, hey, why am I hanging out of the plane, dear lord, hallowed be thy name, you AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH(BreatheBreatheBreathe)AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...
The feeling of falling out of the plane (you can't really call it jumping, at least there was no jumping on my behalf involved) is kind of similar of just jumping off a high cliff or just something very high. Except that it goes on and on and on and that everything is falling and twisting and turning and the plane is somewhere above and the ground somewhere else, somewhere in the undefined open you're falling through, everything is above, below, left and right at the same time, directions are concepts from a former life far, far away. The 45 seconds of "free fall", as promised in the flyer, are exactly that, up until the last letter of those two words. However, as the pictures and the video show later, you have failed miserably in your plan of playing the cool motherfucker for the camera during the jump: Your face is just one big hole, one single constantly screaming mouth, everything around it distorted in a grimace of sheer terror and fear.
Compared to those first seconds the rest of the flight is rather chilled out: Some twists and turns the jumpmaster makes on your request give you the feeling of being in a rollercoaster, but mainly you just hang in there (quite literally actually) and enjoy the same amazing view as on the plane, only this time without any windows or walls interrupting. Also the landing is a piece of cake, following the ass-on-the-gras-concept (at least from my perspective): One moment you're still in the air, thinking "Hm, we're quite low already, but aren't we a bit too fast to land now?", the next one you're already on your ass in the grass, slinding along for some metres, until you finally come to a stop and the chute collapses on top of you, ending your skydive.


As indicated in the last blog entry Queenstown prides itself on its numerous acitivites, like the above described skydiving, like rafting, all sorts of bungeejumping, bungeeswinging, riding a speedboat, etc. However, in all that excitement it seems to be a bit of an overlooked fact that Queenstown is actually set in an absolutely amazing scenery in the Southern Alps, amidst snowy mountains and right next to a beautiful lake, with scenic views waiting on every corner. Luckily there's two of us, so while I was checking out the whole thing from a bird's perspective (or a flying Ferrari's perspective if you prefer), Lukas was driving around, documenting the beauty of these surroundings with hundreds of pictures. And when we met again a couple of hours later he as a photographer and dedicated admirer of beautiful landscapes was just as excited and happy as me who had just fallen out of the sky :-)

Abel Tasman/Franz Josef Glacier und Fox Glacier: Franz Josef, the patriotic emperor-glacier

After two cold and mostly wet weeks on the North Island our welcome-weather on the South Island wasn't much different, stormy, cloudy and cold. Aber at least we could already see a glimpse of the amazing landscape we were looking for in New Zealand already from the ferry.
That little beam of hope turned into a bright morning of sunshine the next day and thankfully stayed like that for the next couple of days, first in Able Tasman Nationalpark in the north of the South Island and further on down the west coast until Franz Josef Glacier. I twas almost as if the South Island sun was saying: "Sorry about my sister up there in the north. She's having a rough time with her boyfriend, that bloody moon-guy, that's why the weather was so bad there. But you're here now and I'm gonna make up for it, big time."
However, the increasingly beautiful scenery wasn't the only highlight on our way southwards worth mentioning here: On the morning of our departure from the Abel Tasman area hero L and dumbass M (the names have been changed to protect the innocent) get up and go into the kitchen to have breakfast. Also, Dumbass M plugs the laptop into the outlet so that they would have fully charged laptop for the journey. So they have breakfast, they pack their bags, they check out and then they're on their way southwards which turned out to be once more a beautiful scenic route along the coast. On their way they pass beautiful beaches, an amazing coastal scenery with cliffs and the so-called Pancake Rocks. So the travel on the whole day and it's already dark when they reach their destination, the town Franz Josef Glacier, named after the nearby glacier. They get a hostel, they check in, they store their food in the kitchen, the unpack their bags. Suddenly here L, who's usually the one to carry the laptop in his bag, realises that it's not where it's supposed to be: "Hey, M, have you seen the laptop somewhere?"- "No, I'm actually also just searching for the laptop cable that should be in my bag..." You can also hear their brains working as both of them realise that moment that they have left their laptop in the other hostel that morning. That other hostel, that is now 500km away. 500km one-way, that is. A short call to that place confirms it: The laptop hasn't moved since this morning, it's still standing there on the kitchen shelf with its charging light beaming brightly green as if to mock the two, saying: "Alright, fellas, that was nice, a nice day of charging, I really feel refreshed now, you can come and pick me up now!" So, really having no other choice, hero and dumbass set out in the early morning hours on a 6-hour-journey back to the north, this time with no stops for touristic highlighs on the way, pick up their laptop and drive back south, for another 6 hours. What's left after all that is a wasted day for both of them, around 100$ in gas bills and the hope that an incident like this is the best medicine for the forgetfulness of a certain dumbass...
But at least, in the end everybody and every machine who was supposed to be there, was there, 2 human beings and 1 Laptop enjoying absolutely gorgeous weather at the Franz Josef Glacier (and feeling very patriotic so close to something named after "our" former emperor ;) ). After what felt like at least half a million pictures the journey continued the next day to Queenstown, apparently the extreme- and funsport capital of New Zealand, maybe even the world. We'll see...

Wellington: "It ain't called Windy Wellington for nothing..."

You may have felt, only very subtly of course, that we had our fights with the weather here in New Zealand. In Wellington, NZ's capital, the problem wasn't just rain and cold, we also had to deal with the really strong winds that are apparently typical for this area.And we learnt that quite quick: Arrving in Wellington the wind didn't exactly open the car doors for us, it basically ripped them out of our hands (and almost out of the car, at least that's what it felt like).
Apart from the wind Wellington was quite beautiful, even more so compared to the only other big NZ city we had seen so far, Auckland. Unfortunately though our "classic NZ sentence" applies to Welington just as well as to our previous NZ stops: "The weather ruined pretty much any chance of outdoor activities." So all that was left was the usual bad-weather-programm: Sightseeing throughout town during the few dry hours the weather allows and during the rain periods shop for some more warm clothes and visit the local museum. In the case of Wellington the must-see-museum is the NZ national museum Te Papa and it's definitely worth going there. And on top of really good exhibitions it's also free, gotta love it. Our stay in Wellington also once more proved the german proverb that the world is basically just a village, meaning that no matter where you are, you'll meet people from home everywhere. That's what happened to us in our hostel in Wellington: A nice chat with a german-speaking girl at breakfast revealed that she's is actually from Innsbruck, just two hours from where we live, and that she's a journalist and has also had her, hm, let'S say, experiences with the PR-agency we used to work for. Of course we had to celebrate that meeting and as usual when you say someting along the lines of "Hm, let's just go out a little", you end up getting terribly pissed with all sorts of weird stuff happening ... which we won't explain any further here, in Wellington it's just as in Vegas: What happens in Wellington, stays in Wellington ;-)
The headaching sequel to this night came the next morning when we had to get up after just three refreshing hours of sleep to catch the ferry to the South Island. So we stood waiting in line in the wee hours of the morning to catch our ferry when noticed that the lamp post next to our car was strangely moving back and forth. You might think that this was a consequence of the gin tonics that were still crusing around in our blood. However, after starring at that post for some minutes (not that easy to focus on with all those gin tonics, trust me...) it turned out that it was actually the strong Wellington winds that were tearing that post back and forth. And as could be expected this didn't mean anything good for the ferry trip. Just a couple of minutes later we were told that all ferries would be cancelled for the day.
Unfortunately, getting back to the hostel to finally catch some sleep we had to learn that it wasn't possible to check in again until 1 p.m., not even into the same beds that we had just left two hours ago. We learnt this at 9 a.m... So we did what everybody sharing our fate seemed to do and just joined the crowd on the couches, seats and mostly the floor of the lounge room.
How bad the weather must have been that day came apparent the next day when the ferry finally left with us aboard: It really tells you something When a huge ferry with loads of trucks and cars and several hundreds of passengers rocks back and forth so that you can't even walk straight any more (nope, no alcohol involved this time) and when the waves crashing against the ferry splash as high as the seventh floor... But hey, as the Lonely Planet says: "It ain't called Windy Wellington for nothing..."
But we made if eventually to the South Island and already when entering the harbour fjord of Picton we got the first glimpse of those amazing landscapes that we had come to NZ for in the first place.

Rotorua/Tongariro: More rain in the heart of the North Island, but fun of all sorts to be found nevertheless

New Zealand is supposedly not just a beautiful country, but also the ultimate backpacker country: There's heaps to do and see (if the weather lets you), there's as many nice hostels as opportunities to earn some money on the side, either with seasonal work like fruitpicking or to at least earn your accomodation with a few hours of work each day.
That sounded pretty good and after some organizing we finally managed to find a nice little motel in Rotorua where we could help out in the garden or aournd the house for a couple of hours each day for accomodation and food. And it turned out to be a great choice: We got a great room (with even greater heating!), good advices from our "bosses" Jason and Emma what to do and see around Rotorua (Especially free stuff) and we also got to spend some evenings with the whole family playing poker (thank God only for chips, not for money...).
As Rotorua is one of the North Island's main tourist spots there*s an abundance of stuff to do and see, Maori cultural events and sites (and a combination of both) are to be found pretty much everywhere, just as are geysirs and hot springs in all sorts of temepreatures and entrance fees. Oter possibilities in Rotorua include hikes and bike trips as well as rafting over a 7m high waterfall which apparently is the maximum height for a waterfall on a rafting trip (Another piece of useless information you can use at your next dinner party ;-)... ). All the outdoor-stuff was certainly nice to have, however, as the weather still getting any better, we had to skip all that (or save it for our next visit, as we like to put it), not to mention that neither of us really felt the need to go down a waterfall in a little raft while is bloody outside and water temperatures are bloody freezing. The only outdoor thing that we finally managed to do during a few hours of almost-sunshine was a quick dip into Kerosene Creek which might sound kind of gross, but it's actually the only thermal water in the area you can jump in for free.
Not for free, but definitely worth it was "Haka-World", a two-hour course about the "Haka", a war dance that the Maori used to perform to "get in the mood" for battle. Today it's still performed by the "All Blacks" New Zealand's Rugy national team, before every game to get themselves mentally ready for "battle" while at the same time telling their opponents that they're in for a serious ass-whooping. Of course you also get to perform the haka yourself at the end of the course, in full warrior outfit (or warrior princess, if you're a girl), with paint-on tatoos, weapons, the bamboo-skirt-thing that I don't know the name of and even a maori-house in the background for the pictures and the video you can of course purchase to show mom and dad what a proud warrior they have raised ;-) Unfortunately, to protect the server of this site from an overload and our dear readers from dying of laughing, we'll not include the video here. But if you have no idea what a haka might look like, check www.youtube.com and search for "haka All Blacks".
Even despite the bad weather Rotorua was still a great stop and thanks to the whole work-for-accomodation thing a cheap one for that.Our next New Zealand highllight was supposed to be the famous Tongariro Crossing, an 8-hour-trek through the "volcanic wonderland", as the Lonely Planet calls it, of the Tongariro nationalpark. However, as the "supposed to" already indicates the weather messed our plans up once more because it raining cats and dogs when we arrived there and the temperatures felt like it would switch to snow any minute which it didn't but the mountains tops were covered in snow anyway, so now crossing for us. The hostel itself was a nice place, with room for 200 guests but only ten present on the night we were there, and seriously shitty heating. But hey, sleeping in four layers of clothing, two sleeping bags and two duvets was kind of an adventure. And the owner was so proud the next morning of his great heating that had actually brought up the temperature to a whooping 13° during the night... But apparently he had invested the money he had saved on heating in guitars, with three acoustic and one electric guitar plus amplifier in the living room, which is definitely a ten for coolness in my book ;-) And at least the next morning the weather gods showed some sympathy and lit up the truly amazing landscape for a couple of hours, some hiking and approximately 2876 fotos.
Still, we had made our final decision about our future route already the night before if not sooner: The North Island had had its chance, we hadn't come to New Zealand just to watch the rain fall in unison with the amount of money in our bankaccounts.So now it's off to the hopefully sunnier south. Our first stop on that way and our last one on the North Island: Wellington, New Zealand's capital.

Auckland: it's Autumn - what do you expect?

New Zealand, a breathtaking wonderland land of beautiful beaches, dramatic moutain landscapes and andless plains, home to million of sheeps (literally, I'm not talking about the New Zealanders here!), full of cool "Lord of the Rings"-locations. That's basically what we imagined it to be here, after heaving read guide books, seen pictures and listend to friends who apparently found the land of their dreams in New Zealand.
However, reality unfurtunately was more like "New Zealand, a breathtaking winterland of beautiful RAIN, dramatic RAIN and endless RAIN, home to millions of RAINDROPS, full of cool temperatures.
Our welcome at the airport was already an indicator for "cool" things to come as it was more than cold: Here we are, two tired backpackers, with a bad mood but no plan, and we're the ones the guys at customs pick out of the crowd to entertain themselves on an otherwise apparently boring sunday afternoon: We're being brought to a seperate place and interrrogated as if we're the Corleone family on a winter holiday: Where do you wanna go in New Zealand, whic places do you know, where have you been so far, what was you job back home, how long did you do that, do you take drugs, what kind of medicamentation do you have with you, is there any medicamentation which you need prescriptionsfor, etc. Our travel medinice kit was thoroughly searched, our shoes brought to some other place for disinfection, and after all it took about an hour before they finally decided that we're not a risk for the general public of New Zealand and let us go our way.
Our first stop, Auckland, didn't do much to lift the mood, it had little more to offer than a badly heated hostel and lots of rain. The only things worth mentioning are the Auckland Museum (What else to do on a rainy day than go to a museum?!) and the local Kathmandu that had a brilliant sale for thermal underwear and warm sweaters.
So, equipped with enough layers of warm clothing and El Cheapo, our new rental car, we headed out to the Coromandel Peninsula and then further down the east coast, hoping to find some the New Zealand mentioned above. Unfortunately, pretty much all we found was more rain and lots of places with a big fat "Awesome place when the sune is shining, not to mention in summer"-tag attached to them. Quite depressing actually...
However, as always there's exception's to the rule and in this case that exception is Cathedral Cove, an amzingly beauttiful beach on the east coast of the Peninsula Coromandel. It was all the more beautiful as it was graced with the first sunny morning we ever had in New Zealand.
But enough complaining, in the end it's fall so I guess that sort of weather and those temperatures are just what fall's like in New Zealand. Our next stop will be Rotorua, according to the guide the Maori-heartland of New Zealand. On top of that that area is known for its hot springs and geysirs, so if it should continue to rain and be freezing, will just hop into the next hot whirlpool....

KM 8415 to 8733 – Cairns and Cape Tribulation: A Reunion and a „Masturbation-Mobile“

After our diving trip at the Great Barrier Reef our thoughts were actually already more in New Zealand than in Australia. However, if you bring back your rental van prior to the expected date, you don’t get anything from your rental company except maybe a polite smile if that. So we decided to hang around a bit longer in Australia’s Northeast, not the worst area in the world to kill some time…
After short stops at Crystal Creek and Australia’s highest waterfalls (Wallaman Falls, 278m) the last stop of the Australia leg of our tour was Cairns, the local capital for partying, diving and funsports. However, as our credit cards start shaking just hearing the words "partying", "diving" or "funsport", we decided to make the best of our last days in the campervan and head further north. But not after celebrating a great Anglo-Austrian renuion with Matt and Kath, whom we had first met in Chiang Mai and had travelled with for almost a month through Thailand, Laos and Cambodia. They too were getting a campervan and altogether we headed towards Cape Tribulation, the Australian east coast’s northernmost accessible point (without a 4WD, that is) that is famous for its lush rainforests that reach right towards the beach which apparently is a quite rare phenomenon worldwide (at least that's what all the guide books say).
Talking about Matt, Kath and their campervan: There is an abundance of rental companies in Australia besides the big ones like Hertz and Budget (which are definitely not “budget” at all). The probably funniest (and mostly cheapest) is “Wicked Vans” which offers quite old, but still functioning vehicles that are not only cheap but also feature all sorts of cool designs: We’ve seen the Elvis- and the Superman-Van, the Blues Brothers-Mobile, a police Van, a Guitar Hero-Van, a Nirvana-Van, etc. Apart from the design they all feature funny sayings on the back, either matching the design (“We’re on a mission from God” on the Blues Brothers-Van, “Sex Police – Spread’em!” on the Police-Van) or just some funny sex joke (usually politically highly incorrect... gotta love it!). However, as Matt and Kath unfortunately had to find out, there’s also Wicked vans that feature only sayings and I leave it up to you if they’re funny: Their van was just plain white van with huge letters saying „I don’t masturbate... YEAH, RIGHT!!!“ on the left side, „I’m still a virgin... YEAH, RIGHT!!!“ on the right and „I don’t think about gay sex... YEAH, RIGHT!!!” on the back. Medium-funny at best, if you ask me... But unfortunately they had to stick with it, at least for the coming two weeks.
So we headed to Cape Trib along another great costal road. And the destination also was as great as promised: Forests, beaches, the sea, all right next to each other – if you wouldn’t know it any better, you might think you’re on some tropical island.
Also, with our reunion we had a great chance to freshen up on all the card and drinking games we had been taught in Southeast Asia and to “slap some more goon”. By the way, even though it’s not essential to actually understand the whole “Slap the goon”-thing, we found out why it’s called “goon”: Apparently “goon” is the Aboriginee word for “pillow” and the cheap wine in bags is called like that because some Aboriginees blow some air in it after emptying the bag and use it as a pillow. Considering the “pillow-quality” in some hostels not such a bad idea…
After our reunion time in Cape Trib is was quickly time to say goodbye again, as Matt and Kath were heading south in their Masturbation-Mobile and we still had three days to kill in Cairns until our flight to New Zealand. Doesn’t sound too bad, but it was actually quite challenging, considering we didn’t want to invest our money in any alcohol. Kind of like being in Bangkok and trying to get around without taking a Tuk-Tuk ;-) However, we of course eventually managed to pass the time somehow, with the help of the local cinema and various internet cafés… On the other hand, sitting in New Zealand now writing this and thinking back, we might have better invested that time and money into the search for warm clothes…

KM 5663 to 8733: Alice Springs//Townsville//Great Barrier Reef: From the Outback straight to The Reef

Actually, there's not much to say about our next stop Alice Springs: It's just another boring little desert town, the only difference to the previous ones being that it's much bigger. In fact, it was such a big town, after three weeks in the Outback it felt to us like downtown Manhattan. So, as there's not much to say about our stop, we'd finally like to dedicate a couple of words to our ride: Our brave campervan who passed the magic age of 444.444 kilometers just before we arrived in Alice Springs. More than 5.000 kilometers of those he has spent with us.
He's kind of like somebody who works for the government: He does his job. He's totally overpaid, he does what he must, not more, not less: He takes us where we want to go, along the thousands of kilometers of Outback highway, the fridge cools what we give it, the OVEN cooks what we give it, the air-conditioning works, the radio plays music when we're not too far in the middle of nowhere, and sometimes it's even good music.
However, we wouldn't be our Austrian selves if we didn't have something to complain about: For all the kilometers we feed it, it also needs tons of gas; you can only open or close the cupboards with short, hard taps in the exact right places; with all the dirt on the curtains you could knit another set of curtains; the gear shift works as smooth as the knee joint of a 90 year old; the radio does work, but our left speaker constantly switches "Radio CCHHHRRRRR" and "NoMusicAtAll FM", the air-con does provide us with cool air but the air it provides stinks (for whatever reason) like rotten eggs; it is almost impossible to get some fresh air in without being eaten alive by mosquitoes because only two windows are protected by mosquito nets and opening them refreshes the air about as much as when I light one of my farts; for every little action (eating, sleeping, getting clothes out of your backpack that's stored underneath the seat) you need to rearrange half the van; etc.
However, as said above: It does the job, we save money and it gets us to our destination. And that destination was for our next step: Out of the desert, back to the coast. And that means in this case driving down the most boring of highways for 1800 kilometers, three days of almost non-stop driving from sunrise to sunset, the only "highlight" being an unwanted "pause" when we were stopped by the police, his basic message being: "You're travelling through Australia? Well, do it at the speed limit!" 71 km/h in a 60km/h-zone, ups...
Our exact destination on the coast was Townsville, a small town, nice and cute, but only slightly more entertaining than above mentioned Alice Springs. The major difference: It's got a beach! But even though our stay in Townsville wasn't exactly exciting, after more than three weeks of constant travelling, changing location pretty much every day, it was nice to just chill out on the beach and stay put in one place for a couple of days.
After these couple of days, however, this became too boring for us, also we were told numerous times that there's a great dive site on the Great Barrier Reef just outside of Townsville: the wreck of the "Yongala", a cargo ship that sunk in a storm in 1911, wasn't discovered until the 1950s and has since then become one of the Top10-dive sites worldwide (at least so we were told). As we wanted to go diving at the Great Barrier Reef anyway, and had too much time and money (actually it was just too much time, but Visa and Mastercard took care of the money issue), we decided to go for it and just a day later we were heading towards the Great Barrier Reef onboard the "Sea-esta' (yeah, we know, itÕs probably the worst play on words in the history of mankind).
Our determination to go diving was already put to the test the first night, as we had to fight quite hard to keep our dinner from coming back up. We'd both been on several different swimming vessels, but I think none of us had ever had that much trouble not to become seasick. However, the ten dives to Wheeler Reef, Davis Reef and finally to the "Yongala" proved to be worth everything (even the price of the trip): During our three days at sea we saw a tiny sandy island surrounded by the Reef, turtles, nurse sharks, huge manta rays, sea snakes, clownfish, lobster, hundreds of fish that we don't even know the name of (neither in German nor in English) and last but not least the wreck of the "Yongala" itself. It was basically just three great days, full of wonderful impressions. And on top of that we got some genuine Australian experiences onboard, with Australian icon Jimmy Barnes blasting through the speakers day and night, breakfast with Veggiemite-sandwiches and an apparently typical New Zealand-Australia drinking habit called ÒSlap the GoonÓ where you drink cheap wine straight out of a, hm, basically a plastic bag, but only after giving it a nice slap ;-)) Sounds pretty weird, but if you're in the right mood (read: drunk enough) it's actually quite fun. Even more so, when there's a whole crowd around, chanting "SLAP THE GOON!! SLAP THE GOON!!!"
After Townsville and our diving trip the Australia leg of our journey is slowly coming to an end: We will now head further up the coast to Cairns now, to check out Cape Tribulation and also to meet again some of the friends of our Southeast-Asia-group and after that it's "Bye-bye OZ, Kia Ora New Zealand!" :)