Working 9 to 5 for the Wagon

Two weeks ago I checked my Australian bank account and found that I'd managed to achieve the impressive balance amount of $0. Standing there in the glow of that ATM screen, still clutching the extra-large meat feast pizza I'd unknowingly spent my last $20 on, it occurred to me how much money we’d gone through during the first month of parties, surfing and sightseeing, and how expensive living in Sydney is in general. It also occurred to me how fortunate it was that I’d started my new job the week before, so with just days until I would be credited my first payment we found ourselves still in a position to plan the remainder of our trip - albeit by the smallest of margins. Now that we have office work sorted for the next two months we've started saving up for the station wagon with the aim of launching Phase II of our trip as early as the first week of October - Lee has already started planning the road trip play list, think ACDC and Iron Maiden.

The weekend is looming and we’re getting excited about Saturday morning and trading the bustle of the city for the quiet stillness of Katoomba, a sleepy country town of some 9’000 inhabitants situated 50 miles outside of Sydney and nestled a kilometre up into the Blue Mountains (so called because of the bluish tinge caused by light scattering in the atmosphere). Top of our to-do list is to visit the Three Sisters rock formations: Meehni (922 m), Wimlah (918 m), and Gunnedoo (906 m), hopefully with the minimum of daredevil cliff-hanging antics - the "Mountain-Climbing Skills" album is unlikely to follow.

The "Water Skills" Album

So here’s the photographic evidence that Lee and I faced our fears on Manly beach last weekend. Most of these photos were taken after we'd given up trying to ride the colossal wave but there's a photo of a wave almost as unforgiving, captured here on it's death path towards Lee, as well as a photo that captures the exact moment I popped my hip during an awkward and visibly painful dismount off my banana-coloured surfboard.

Click here to view 'The “Water Skills” Album’.

Wipeout at Manly Beach

It was a clear but cold morning at Manly and the surf looked promising. This was our first time surfing without an instructor and we felt sure that we could tame the beast. A quick scan of the shoreline later and we headed over to the surf-hire hut to pick up our boards and wetsuits. At first Lee felt a little disgruntled after the shop assistant-dude picked out a large-size wetsuit for him to wear, but whatever irritation he felt soon disappeared when I zipped myself into the only bright blue wetsuit on the beach. Any initial fear that I resembled the Blue Power Ranger was soon put to rest after I tucked my bright yellow surfboard under my arm. Clearly I had become Banana Man. But we weren’t about to let the beach hut dude steal away our two hours of awesomeness. So with boards pinched under our arms and dragging behind us we stepped into the sea.

Immediately the sea felt colder and harder than we’d remembered. The waves ploughed into us with renewed energy. This wasn’t going to be easy but slowly and surely we advanced, wading from sand bar to sandbar, slipping from waist deep water to neck-deep water back to waist deep water. Soon we could see more-experienced surfers populating the swell ahead of us, all sitting upright and bobbing about on the now calm surface. The changing sand depths churned out by rolling waves alerted us that it was only a matter of time before the calm was broken again, but with no idea how long that would be we decided to sit up and rest.

As it happens we didn’t have to wait long. At first only a couple of gentle bulges broke away from the straight horizon to lift us up, the strong undercurrent stirring up the sand below and turning the colour of the waves ahead to a reddish brown - a suitable colour for the hellish wave that was gathering force beneath us. Bobbing there silently on the reddish swell we watched with horror as the next seemingly innocuous bulge mutated into a single wall of water over 6-feet in height and stretched out across the horizon, reducing the queue of surfers ahead of us to a foamy outline. With little time left we hastily paddled one-handed to rotate our boards to face the beach. Annoyingly, out of the corner of my eye I could see a ten-year old boy effortlessly cutting a masterful arc across the wave that was about to smash us to pieces. I looked over to my right to spot Lee’s position. His eyes were transfixed on the shoreline but no matter how fast he paddled he just seemed to be moving backwards, but then so was I. He caught my line of sight first but quickly shot a glance over my shoulder. From his pained expression I decided not to look myself. All there was left to do now was to keep on paddling. At this point I’d lost sight of Lee. With one abrupt lift the wave thrust me onto the white edge of the rip curl. Somehow I was still holding on. I looked around frantically to find Lee on the rip curl besides me, but I should’ve looked straight ahead. From out of nowhere an incredibly fast old man shot across my path. Fearing collision with the old man’s surfboard I bowed out of the wave right at its peak. A flash of foam later and I found myself tumbling around inside the wave, with every attempt I made to resurface for air met with an enormous clap of water. After what felt like minutes I managed to dig my feet into the fast-flowing sand and stand up. I opened my eyes to see Lee pointing behind me. All I heard was the word “Holy…” then suddenly I was rolling beneath the surface again.

Washed up on the beach and feeling crushed and cheated by the incredibly fast old man and the child surfing protégée we agreed to wade back into deeper water and try again to ride the colossal wave that had cast us off so easily. But the plan quickly fell apart. Wave after wave pummelled us. Lee lent his surfboard to someone else and decided to climb aboard mine while I was beneath a wave. As I stood up to search for my board - still tethered to my ankle - I was suddenly tugged under the water again as Lee paddled across the rip. Despite my frequent and gargled hollers he paddled on with the determination of a madman.

Once again we found ourselves washed up side-by-side on the beach. Back in the water and my final failed attempt to ride the colossus ended in me popping my hip after one wave tossed me off the board before another opposing wave threw me back onto it at an awkward angle. Lee’s final attempt led him to gracelessly slide off his board with a high-pitched shriek, but because he wouldn’t let go he slipped underneath the surfboard and hung there like an aquatic sloth, swallowing at least a litre of salt water in the process. Feeling tired and deflated we admitted temporary defeat and decided instead to take turns photographing each other riding smaller waves further along the beach. Now 6-hours later Lee is still coughing and snorting up salt and I need a heater to keep my hip warm.

The photo album demonstrating our “water skills” will be on the site soon.

Menergy!!

We saw this parody ad for the energy drink 'Powerthirst' on the Australian ABC network last night and thought it was pretty cool.

One Month On...

When we arrived in Australia about a month ago we didn’t have long to overcome our jet lag and see the sights before we had to take care of the domestic tasks associated with moving to another country, like opening up a bank account, getting a medicare card, acquiring a tax code number, not to mention finding a place that isn’t stacked to the rafters with Brits on bunk beds all grinning ear-to-ear through their collective misery. Add to that our preference for a house within walking distance of the city and the whole enterprise looked a little shaky.

But one month on and the plan seems to be unfolding well. We have both since ‘discovered’ the downside to a working holiday is that you have to... well, work. We’ve moved into a house with enough room to swing a cat, or at least manoeuvre a couple of heavily overloaded backpacks. We’re living within close walking distance of George Street, Australia’s premiere and busiest high street - like Oxford Street but crisscrossed with tram lines for an added element of danger. Chinatown is also just around the corner, it's entrance marked out with a gold-gilded tree stump believed to bring good fortune to the Chinese community. Although for us, having frequently visited it’s unbelievably cheap food court in our first week the only thing the sight of the golden tree-stump brings us are raging hunger pangs the likes of which Pavlov could barely have imagined. A further 15-minutes up George Street is Town Hall, a popular meeting place next to two other imposing Victorian buildings: the QVB and St Andrews Cathedral, all now flanked either side by skyscrapers. By local standards these are old buildings celebrated the way Roman or Neolithic monuments might be in the UK.

Between sightseeing and making our way through that list of domestic tasks we’ve had little time to commit to the really important things, namely surfing. But this Saturday will mark our re-emergence on the seafront scene. Surfboards in hand (well, dragging behind in tow) we’ll be taking our skills to either Bondi or Manly beach. Either way Sydney is about to witness something very special... or at least their emergency rescue patrol will.

Circular Quay