Bali - Nusa Penida
Oct 25–28, 2025 in Indonesia ⋅ ☁️ 30 °C
Going to Nusa Penida, the large hilly island 1.5hr ferry ride southeast of Bali, is up there as one of my trip highlights. This is because Nusa Penida is one of the best places in the world to see manta rays, a creature I have always dreamt of seeing up close.
Originally we’d hoped to explore the island’s dramatic cliff coastline by bike. However when we looked closer at the route and the profile in RideWithGPS (the planning platform we use) and saw huge elevations with steep climbs we rapidly decided against this. Instead we spent our 2D3N on the island exploring with a hired driver, and on our second day snorkelling with Bali Aqua.
Much quieter than Bali we enjoyed cycling from the ferry along the seafront to our beautiful hotel. Nusa Penida is less developed, but this is rapidly changing. Instagram and Tik Tok are having a significant impact, in particular that ‘one shot’ of Kelingking Beach - the T-Rex-shaped cliff (google it: it’s stunning) - driving a tourism boom. This singular view now defines the island’s identity online.
Whilst driving to sites along the coast - we visited popular Angel’s Billabong and Broken Beach - we saw (and were a part of) the overcrowding and infrastructure strain caused by this one viral image. Thousands of tourists now depart from Bali every morning to enjoy a whistle-stop package tour of Nusa Penida, returning by fast ferry late afternoon.
Although we wanted to see the beautiful scenery along this coast we didn’t feel the need to collect the T-Rex image and avoided the Kelingking queues, opting instead to stop at Paluang Cliff (a bit further along). From this beautiful viewpoint we were amazed to see an elevator being installed into the cliffside above Kelingking. An 180m glass lift backed by a Chinese investor, it will enable people to easily reach the beach below the famous cliffs. For me this project erodes the very essence of what draws people here in the first place (!), but we also learnt the next day from our Bali Aqua guide, it also increases the likelihood of unwitting tourists swimming at the beach and getting swept away by dangerous currents. A French tourist died at the beach at the end of October after entering the water here, despite several warnings against doing so.
Happily construction on the lift has recently been suspended in reaction to public outrage. Bali’s Provincial Government has said the lift is potentially contravening spatial planning rules. I wonder what will happen to the unfinished lift if the project is abandoned…?
Leaving the queues behind, our driver - friendly Wahyu from Lombok - drove us further southeast along the coast to Guyangan waterfall.
Wahyu told us he was the only child in his family of three other siblings still not married. Getting married costs a lot of money and he and his girlfriend - who is currently working as a cleaner in a hospital in Japan on a three year contract - are saving to work on a cruise ship as they are keen to travel. But to get a job on a cruise ship they need to first pay an agent the equivalent of $4000 (four THOUSAND American dollars!). Working as a driver in Nusa Penida pays more than working in Lombok. And Wahyu had amazing driving skills! The drive quickly confirmed our decision not to cycle as the right one. The roads are narrow, in poor condition, often very very steep, and chock-full of cars ferrying tourists around: leaving little room for bicycles. Exploring the island is challenging, and we were relieved to be in Wahyu’s skilled hands.
Guyangan waterfall is a bit of a misnomer. There is a waterfall - it is small and at the bottom of a large cliff face - but it is not what we came to see. Neither is the small shrine that accompanies the waterfall. Reaching the waterfall involves climbing down hundreds of steps on a bright blue stairway, and by doing this you experience the most amazing views of Nusa Penida’s dramatic cliffs. And not being on the tourist trail we had the place all to ourselves - only having to pause once on the cliff face (at a thankfully wider spot) to let an Indonesian family pass us on their way back up. All smartly dressed in traditional clothes they had made a pilgrimage together to the shrine.
The stairs were a bit of an adventure, hanging from the cliff face with big gaps between each rung. Navigating these was made all the harder by having to wear a sarong - to show respect as the shrine is sacred. Thankfully the metal staircase felt pretty solid. That is until the final blue stairs, now made of wood and hanging directly over the ocean, with waves crashing on the rocks below. These last steps looked very dubious and we decided not to proceed, happy to have seen the beautiful views we’d seen so far.
The following morning my heart was all fluttery and excited. We skipper down from our hotel to Bali Aqua’s base by the beach. Joining 8 others - all scuba divers - we sped across the water to Manta Point. The divers tipped over the boat’s edge, plunging backwards one by one into the water. The water was perfect, cooler here due to colder currents, and I was glad of my research finding Bali Aqua. A responsible outfit, they only take small groups and give a talk to all they take out about how to behave in the water with the manta rays. They also provide full length wetsuits, fins, good masks and snorkels. Our guide, Italian Lisa, took such good care of us and I warmed to her immediately. This was her last trip out with the mantas as she was finishing her summer scuba season to go work in the skiing resorts of the Swiss Alps over winter. This is the summer/winter pattern her and her husband live to - scuba, ski, scuba, ski…
Despite my excitement and long anticipation for this moment, I wasn’t prepared at all for how seeing manta rays would affect me. Their size astonishes (and would have taken my breath away if I wasn’t already struggling to breathe through a snorkel). And these Reef Manta Rays are the smaller of the two species! Their elegant beauty as they gracefully fly through the water, their movements languidly balletic, is beyond captivating and impossible to do descriptive justice. I was utterly spellbound.
Sadly the spell was often broken by getting another’s flipper in my face, or elbow jabbed into my side. Manta Point is a cleaning station - basically a manta ray spa, where resident smaller fish clean their clients of parasites and dead skin. The popularity of this spa with the mantas means it is almost guaranteed to see them here, and many boats capitalise on this = hoards of tourists. Many tourists are clearly not briefed in the clear guidelines for passive interaction with manta rays as we saw many free diving down to get a selfie shot, getting in the manta’s way. The number of divers also creates a wall of bubble streams.
The hour we had in the water meant we saw boat groups come and go and gave us time to find space. I tried to shut out the human element as I floated on the surface, enthralled in watching the mantas circle round and round, often flying beneath me in slow magical formation. One of the most intelligent fish in the sea, they have one of the highest brain-to-body ratio of all fish, and have been shown to have physiological and cognitive self-awareness (few species have ever passed this test). You could sense this intelligence in them, and I wonder what these wise gentle giants thought of us all, if they deemed to think of us at all.
From Manta Point we stopped in the calm waters of Crystal Bay to snorkel above the coral reefs and watch the huge number and variety of tropical fish play out their busy lives below us. Just as we were making our way back to the boat, we were lucky enough to see a green turtle munching away at the coral, surprisingly camouflaged.
What a morning! A very special hour of my life I will never forget and am so grateful to have shared space in the manta rays’ presence.Read more
Bali - Leaving Ubud for Padangbai
Oct 24–26, 2025 in Indonesia ⋅ ☁️ 30 °C
We left Ubud early (for us). Around 7am.
We changed our routine. We learnt from Bali - better to cycle early in the day, arrive at our destination by lunch, or early afternoon and then ‘defunk’ and rest up.
This avoided the main mid day blistering heat, although by 9:00am, the temperature was already in the mid twenties and humidity quite oppressive.
We turned off the busy main coastal route, with its larger trucks heading to and from the ports on the south east of Bali, and along what was becoming our favoured routes - the backroads. Riding pleasure derived from the quieter arteries allowed us to relax, let the mind wander and take in rural life, happening around us.
Passing through smaller habitations on what we would deem a lane, the road dissolved into the landscape, becoming ever tinier until it was but a track between fields, linking small villages. Bits of rainforest existed with exotic crops such as banana and mango tucked in beside fields of rice.
People to’d and fro’d. Mopeds laden with large bunches of green stuff. Feed for animals? Some form of crop? Who knows but it was on the move. The deft riding of the pilot was impressive. They negotiated the narrow track, his or her large bunch of green stuff stuck out behind the moped like a peacock’s fan. We pulled to the side to let them past and received smiles of thanks. The puzzled looks of villagers, mostly the elderly, contrasted with the enthusiastic “halo, halo” from children, accompanied by a big smile. This was wonderful and though these greetings and goodbyes combined were fleeting, such joyous encounters carried us forward.
The people are workers. They toil, for sure and it made me feel humble, very lucky and a softy at times.
Women and men seem to work in equal measure from what I could see. Whether it was the harvesting crops in the fields, or moving soil or rocks in some type of building work, or cleaning (they are very fastidious - always sweeping!). Balinese of all ages were actively doing something, despite the heat.
We made a little detour to see a temple.
Amanda paid the entrance fee (this is common in many temples) and wearing a sarong, she went with a guide to walk through the fields to the temple to see some stone carvings.
I was suffering in the heat somewhat. I decided to give it a miss and remained with the bikes and tried to hide in the thin shadow of a fat truck to stop me melting in what was now the burning heat of late morning.
Onward and back onto the main road.
It was the usual constant traffic and requirement for cycling vigilance. The numerous trucks, travelling slowly were constantly overtaken by cars. Cars overtaking trucks, scooters overtaking cars…and then add in the same coming towards us on the opposite side of the road. A tad intense.
A quick stop at the ‘Bat Cave’ temple. We planned to come back here at dusk to see the bats who live in a cave at the back of the temple grounds (note: we ended up not doing this as we met Nick).
As we stopped I was pounced upon by several small ladies who wanted to sell me things. As we raced through the usual introductions and general questions as they ascertained what I needed, wanted etc. and so approach with the correct sales strategy and selling patter. The first lady was nice and staked her claim upon me (Amanda had gone over the road to see the bat statue) and she beckoned me to come to her stall. I was thirsty and agreed to buy a soda and said I would come when my wife returned. Then another popped up and butted in. The same questions as her eyes darted around me, our bikes and I felt possibly sizing me up? Another one then approached and they had me in a pincer movement. I wasn’t thirsty enough to buy drinks from all so I had to say that I had agreed to buy from Lady No.1. as she had approached me first. This seemed to raise a slight smile in Lady No. 1 as she returned to her stall, enthusiastically directing me as to its location. The others retreated, figuring that I wasn’t worth a battle and possible combination of bicycles, not going into the temple and not being a high roller meant sales angles for them were slim to nothing.
After a refreshing drink we headed off the short distance to our digs. Set in the middle of nowhere, Bhalance Retreat sounded like it could be a new age facility for former cult members. The picture looked nice with
a common layout of small lodges, set in a garden around a pool.
We arrived after a ten minute cycle along a path set in the forest to a walled entrance.
Parking the bikes we stepped over the threshold into a green oasis. The grass led grounds faced onto a lake, covered in water lillies and some other floating plants and flowers. Swifts skimmed the calm water, grabbing flies on the wing, sending ripples to break the reflection of the clouds in the sky. Hills rose about a mile distant and the scene reminded me of the type of scene depicted in a film. The place was quiet. A couple of guests lounged around the pool and staff pottered around, sweeping, and it seemed very relaxed. We were checked in by the friendy receptionist and were given a welcome drink whilst our room was readied. It sounds like luxury doesn’t it?
It was to us! A nice room, beautiful location and its own small restaurant made it ideal.
All for the price of around £25 per night. This would be several hundred if it were elsewhere in the world I’m sure.
A shower and the now regular process of ‘defunking’ of our riding clothes by the method of hand wash. This is usually done in a basin or by taking clothes into the shower, then manual wringing and then hanging out on a makeshift washing line (done with sympathy as much as possible so as not to lower the tone of the place).
We went to the bar area to do some planning. Several staff busied themselves behind the bar and staff to guest ratio seemed high. We have noticed that many places in Indonesia have several workers in some roles that would seem like almost too many for the task at hand and customer requirement. I wonder if this is because the population is so high and cost of labour very low and incentive also to keep people in employment?
A bar tender mixed cocktails at the bar. A special event or possible influx of people for an evenings soirée perhaps? It turned out not to be the case, as the bar tender preceded to drink some of the cocktails, as did some of the staff, who watched on, intently!
We ordered a drink at the bar and I ordered a Coca Cola. The bar keep quipped “would you like some whisky in it?” I said no as I was from Scotland and only drink whisky neat!
This seemed to pique his interest and he also told us later he had seen us looking at maps earlier, as we sat in the bar area doing our planning on the laptop. He was curious and this was an ‘in’ for what turned out to be an evening that we weren’t expecting at all.
Nicholas (Nick) was Javanese. He was a roving bar keep. A sort of alcoholic troubadour, his job was to move amongst his bosses properties (the place we were staying at being one), teach staff the bar trade, and create a signature cocktail menu to reflect each place.
He made one for us to try, at no cost, and wanted honest feedback on how we found it. A cocktail called a Negroni with his own twist was made and we tried it watched on by Nick and the other staff. This led to a prolonged discussion on drinks, including whisky . He talked about his ingredients and why the flavours are paired. He sounded passionate and knowledgeable and admitted he was somewhat of an alcohol nerd. He read up on the history of cocktail names, when they were first created or introduced and knew so much about the whisky process and facts on other spirits and liqueurs that we were in awe of his information recall.
As we progressed onto test cocktail No. 2 he digressed and we offered our honest feelings on his concoction and remained his only customers. I think we had connected with Nick and although he was technically working, he seemed extremely laid back, as did the other staff.
Post dinner we chatted again when he came over to check on us and as we were about to head off to bed, he asked to join him for a wee dram of Black Label as a nightcap, so the staff could close up for the night.
Nick had an interesting life. His father was in the military and known person in Java. He and his brother were beaten by his father with a rubber hose “to toughen them up”. In a bid to escape the influence of his father, and military school, he and his brother ran away and lived independently in the middle of nowwhere.
He worked as a bar tender in Jakarta and at one of the cities’ craziest nightclubs, served his apprenticeship and learnt his trade and knowledge. He hated the term ‘mixologist’ and explained that he’d participated in competitions to face off against other ‘mixologists’ from other countries and how he was treated by those he competed against. He gave an honest account of addiction to opioids and other drugs and about having an epiphany to straighten up, in part for his relationship with his wife and for the love of his daughter. He found that the travelling part of his role is hard, as it takes him away from home for weeks at a time. We could tell that he cared about his daughter and together with his profession, which he extolled as being about the customer and not the drink and how important meeting people is and of the exchanges that follow. That’s what seemed to drive him and it is this addiction that replaced the chemical ones he used to rely upon. As he threw back several whiskies (we declined as we had already had several cocktails) it was now late and we reluctantly retreated to bed. We said that we would take him to our local pub for a whisky, should he make it to Edinburgh.
Another encounter created in the random way of things that our trip throws up from time to time - unexpected , memorable and at the generosity of strangers.
Waking early the next day and hangover free we hit the road to the port of Padangbai, to catch the ferry to the small island of Nusa Penida.
About six miles to the port we arrived in time to allow us to buy tickets and find out where the ferry departed. Looking puzzled and unsure, we asked where we could buy tickets and immediately a local on a scooter bade us follow him. He took us right up to the front of the queue. No ticket booth? He offered to get our tickets, but the price was higher than we’d read it should be. We declined and he motored off. Amanda volunteered to go and find where tickets could be bought.
It materialised that official tickets were hard to come by. Tickets were sold by all and sundry - small booths by the port and men on scooters with leather bum bags who sort of acted as ticket agents or brokers. It meant a ticket would cost you a varied amount depending on the agent, his commission and how he was feeling. After buying a ticket, Amanda then had to get a boarding pass, which involved going somewhere else. Convoluted and seemingly inefficient to us, this is probably totally logical to Indonesians (and a way for another group of people to make a living). The result was that the prices we researched were not the case in reality.
With small bits of paper in hand to get on the ferry, we waited in line as mopeds and motorcycles arrived to swell our numbers.
Mostly Indonesians, there were a couple of other westerners amongst us. We got chatting to a nice American called Chris. He was living and working in Bali and was a passionate snorkeller. He was on an overnight trip with his guide Eddie to do some snorkelling on the island. He riffed at length on Indonesia, snorkelling, politics and geopolitics and was no lover of the current US administration. In part, maybe why he was on the other side of the world.
It was welcome again to have a conversation with another in a common language. It is so easy and not exhausting. It just flows and is something we have missed, although our lack of language has been put to shame many times by the proficient conversational English spoken by some of the people we have met.
The ferry approached and docked. It looked a bit top heavy but relatively sea worthy. It was also painted a jaunty yellow colour so that gave me some comfort.
As the arriving vehicle and passengers disembarked, our motorcade lined up, like the starting grid of a moto Grand Prix. We hung back as we figured there must be some order to the loading. As the cars, trucks a vans rolled on, we were invited and walked our bikes into the belly of the beast and tucked Thom and Pete at the bottom of the stairway leading up to the upper decks.
We climbed the stairs to the small seating area, with rows of chairs facing forward, covered above but open to port and starboard, allowing a nice breeze through. Hawkers acted quickly to try and sell food, drink and others items to passengers before they had to get off. To the smell of diesel fumes we settled ourselves into a seat for the crossing and hoped it wouldn’t be too choppy.Read more
Bali - exploring Ubud
October 22, 2025 in Indonesia ⋅ 🌧 26 °C
Panniers off! When Maybe Thom and Sexy Pete are unladen they feel so airy to ride.
We’re taking the bikes up a ten-mile incline (and then back down again, weeeee), to see some of the countryside and temples around Ubud. Although enjoying the new sights, sounds and smells, we are increasingly feeling uncomfortable in our tourist role, another pair of westerners unintentionally changing the face of the place we are visiting.
I liked getting free of the Ubud craziness. On the one hand we really liked the place: it is pretty and easy for us westerners with lovely places to eat and drink, arts and handicrafts everywhere, and promotion of wellness and alternative living on every corner. However, as Lilz I think mentioned in his Ubud post, it all feels a bit unreal being in vegan brunch hangouts, surrounded by digital nomads taking video-calls between bites of their organic Buddha bowls and sips of their oat milk cappuccinos. Everything seems set up to be Instagram-worthy, the polished aesthetics just begging to be photographed.
It was wonderful cycling through little villages, and being surrounded by lush greens: the vibrant acid green of the rice paddies, creeping vines, huge banana leaves and swaying palms. A high point (literally and figuratively) was pausing at the Tegallalang rice terraces, cascading down a steep narrow valley. A cafe overlooking the terraces gave us reprieve from the already brutal mid-morning sun, where we stopped for a cold drink and hoped the dripping sweat would cease. It also gave us pause to watch tourists fly their drones and take photos of their girlfriends with arms outstretched to the sky.
Tegallalang is one of five rice terrace areas with UNESCO World Heritage status due to its traditional ‘subak’ irrigation system. Rice is seen as a gift from the gods, and the subak system is part of temple culture. Water temples are the focus of cooperative management of springs, canals and weirs controlling flows of water out onto the paddy fields. Since the 11th century the temple network has managed the ecology of rice terraces for whole watersheds, providing a communal and egalitarian farming practice that has enabled the Balinese to have very high rice productivity. However, the success of the terraces as a tourist destination has led to shifting livelihoods as farmers earn more by switching from farming to tourism, while others have sold their land to investors building tourist facilities… perhaps the very cafe we are sitting in.
Onwards and upwards we reach the water temple, Pura Gunung Kawi Sebatu. One of the lesser visited temples, it has beautiful carvings, tranquil ponds, and is a sacred site for purification rituals (Melukat). We found it utterly peaceful to wander around, enjoying marvelling at the intricate shrines and lazily watching koi move in the pools.
Many locals visit to bathe in the holy springs, believed to cleanse the body and soul of negative energy. Balinese use water purification as an important step before starting something new: e.g. as spiritual cleansing before weddings, graduation, coming of age. It is an activity open to people of all faiths, and there has been a sharp rise in tourists wanting to experience this traditional Balinese ritual.
Whilst the few tourists we saw taking part in Melukat seemed respectful of the process, we have heard there are many - largely at other more visited water temples - who show total disregard, simply taking part to create social media content. Also I wasn’t sure about the ritual being marketed as a ‘spiritual experience,’ with marked up prices for foreigners. I’ve seen websites promote Melukat as “a cool and unique thing to do in Bali”. Should sacred rituals be put up for sale? The dependence on tourism for local livelihoods motivates commodification of the ritual, turning the sacred practice to profit-driven performance, often simplified to align with tourist expectations. Tourists then receive an information asymmetry: they are often unfamiliar with Melukat’s cultural and spiritual significance, and consume it as a superficial experience. By diluting the practice as a ‘tourist attraction’ I wonder if it also compromises its cultural integrity for Balinese Hindus themselves.
We cycled on under darkening skies, feeling the promise of rain build. As the first drops fell we took shelter and watched in awe as the heavens opened, lightening and thunder shaking reality. It felt like a different world when the rain finally stopped. Cooler, fresher, the humidity wall broken, and the insect sounds came to life.
Soon on the downhill return to Ubud we almost free-wheeled all the way back, happily taking in local sights as we went, before returning to Ubud’s traffic chaos.Read more
Bali - Ubud
Oct 21–24, 2025 in Indonesia ⋅ 🌧 29 °C
We cycled to town of Ubud, located in the uplands of Bali. Set amongst lush rain forest and rice terraces and dotted with many holy Hindu Temples and Shrines, the region would seem to represent the Bali of magazine articles, travel blogs and social media feeds.
The town of Ubud and its surrounding villages are known for their arts, culture and crafts.
From the 1960’s onward, tourism has increased rapidly and Ubud receives several million visitors a year, If the figures are correct it means that the weekly total of visitors outnumbers the population by about 5:1. It would be interesting to see what, if any, impact this had on the town.
Cycling to Ubud we hoped for a chance to see some more of the countryside and hopefully, experience some ‘normal’ Bali life…
On the road…
It’s wonderful what can be carried on a moped. As we cycled along, we saw motorcycles with baskets of chickens attached and men riding along balancing long bundles of bamboo!
Other with ladders and tools, women with bunches of foliage cut from the fields, scooters with multiple family members on them…and the odd dog being given a ride (many people didn’t bother with crash helmets and neither did the dogs).
I’d say that the moped is embedded in the way of life here. The women riding pillion, seated side saddle, relaxed and with poise. They seem to have little need to put arms around their driver, or hold onto the bike as they zipped along. Many passengers often held something, so had no ‘free arms’ with which to cling on! Collecting the kids from school, the adults drove, whilst the kids stood on the footplate, cradled between the adults legs. We witnessed solo children riding motorcycles, some seemed of an early school age, and appeared at ease. This made sense, as we spotted toddlers, and even babies riding along with their parents and siblings.
A nation of shopkeepers.
We passed many small shop fronts, open to the road. Often dark, belying their main purpose and with produce set out on small table front, or goods piled on shelves, or hung from an awning. The proprietor sat patiently or dozed, sprawled out on a wooden platform, as they waited for business. They would often be cooking up something on a grill or makeshift stove. Smoke billowed across the road as we passed through a ‘scent cocktail’ of smoke and cooking meat. These ‘shops’ are called warungs. A warung is a type of small family-owned business, such as a store , stall or place to eat, or a mixture. They are simple and many warungs sell the same things. They appear confusing to us as signage is often limited, or non-existent, or in Indonesian and so far from our western idea of a shop or eatery.
Arriving in Ubud.
As we arrived into the outskirts of Ubud, traffic picked up the road was now much busier. Arriving early afternoon, we crawled along the main road toward the centre. The narrow road and amount of vehicles meant a laborious staccato of stop, start, stop for what seemed like an age. Our clothes, now wet and clingy with sweat, had moulded to our bodies, our tops vacuum packed, clinging tight to our torsos. The fumes and heat of exhausts and engines from surrounding vehicles added to the mix of what was a heady miasma. Mopeds crept along the road to the left of the cars, sneaking yards by riding in the gutter, or mounting the path. We followed suit, keen to break out.
Eventually we arrived at a cafe, where we pulled in for some food. Slightly off the main drag, Suka Expresso was a respite from the heat and fumes. We dismounted, sweat dripping from our faces, we were not calm and cool like some of the other tourist couples who arrived by moped. That is, cool (as in, not sweaty) and cool (as in, like they were in an Italian movie). Our appearance didn’t put off the cheery cafe staff, who welcomed us to a table outside. After some food, liquid and rest under a most welcome roof fan, we continued through the constant hum of smelly vehicles to reach our accommodation.
Reaching our homestay.
We arrived at our home stay, hidden behind a large wall, broken by a typical gate of double doors, intricately carved and painted bright colours. The stairway of high steps led up to the doors guarding an inner compound and threshold to what looked a temple!
Amanda went in to check us in and came out smiling. The reason for this was the place was a very very beautiful traditional Balinese home. Entering the compound was like stepping into a calm bubble. Greeted by a serene statue of Ganesha who provided a friendly but vigilant welcome at the door to the street, we climbed down the steps into a quiet courtyard with trees and potted plants. Incense wafted through the air, lingering from the mornings offerings. Running water falling into a small water pool provided the only sound. The inner compound contained several small ‘houses’, outdoor shelters for rest and several personal shrines. It was truly amazing. Ornately decorated with carved stone idols, friezes and painted woodwork, depicting stories and characters from Hinduism, we likened it to staying in a palace.
The Gedong family and staff made us feel very welcome. Speaking to Mr. Gedong later in our stay, he explained that he was a speciality Balinese architect and had designed the carvings himself, including the statue of Ganesha. He had overseen the creation of his ideas on wood and stone by a team of 20 or so craftsman over many man hours. Many of the images came to him while he slept he told us, and he then drew these out on paper before honing the designs ready for them to be created. He was a lovely man and he wished us well on our travels as he departed for a relative’s funeral, dressed in his finest white formal dress gown and headscarf. Our stay here was my favourite memory of Ubud.
Final thoughts;
After wandering the streets of Ubud, I had mixed feelings about the place.
Tourism is about 80% of the Bali economy and Ubud especially feels like it is set up to cater for the tourist. Lots of cafes and restaurants with similar (natural boutique) decor and international menus, with an emphasis on healthy food - juices, smoothies, poke bowls and açai bowls. There is nothing Indonesian about these places: once inside you could be anywhere in the world. There are also numerous places offering yoga, spa, beauty treatments and massages.
The streets were full of small stalls selling shirts, sarongs and vests. How do they all survive? Many stall holders say hello. They want your business of course. Some proprietors are nice and others less so, more mercenary and a bit more insistent. I am not good at hard-nosed negotiating, and so probably paid too much for a sarong to use for temple visits. I later saw them elsewhere costing much less. The lady was canny. Well done to her.
Many items did not have a visible price - of course one should always ask but it is also difficult to browse. Showing any kind of interest seems to indicate you have entered an ‘invisible contract’ to buy something, like shaking someone’s hand and then finding it difficult to let go. Often, you are observed or ‘helped’. Falling back on my British sensibilities, I tended to avoid the whole thing. Fortunately, travelling by bike means we are not interested in buying much, unless it’s practical.
There were many tourists on scooters - either grabbing a Gojek (like Uber but on a moped) or riding a hired one. They buzzed along through the streets and backroads, appearing at cafes and temples. Mostly couples - the guy wearing shorts and a vest or often shirtless, and girl, in a floaty dress, often holding a mobile phone and most seemed to be young and European.
The area may have been a quiet place, discovered by adventure travellers ahead of the curve and by those who were seeking a hippy bohemian lifestyle, or those with a more spiritual slant.
For me, the place felt a bit over saturated and is quite mainstream and all of us who visit now tread a well worn path, that is less authentic. The scales seem to have tipped toward the visitors. Although we only visited for a small time, being in this place felt like a being is a surreal bubble, like being a character in the film ‘The Truman Show’ but within a false facade dominated by the trappings of mass tourism rather than a true representation of a more traditional Bali. I hope that we find the real Bali during our journey.Read more
Bali - Uluwatu to Sanur
Oct 20–21, 2025 in Indonesia ⋅ ☀️ 30 °C
From Uluwatu we had to head back to the airport to cycle off the Bukit peninsula, before heading east along the coast.
We hit crazy rush hour traffic around 8am - never seen so many scooters - and were glad to turn off at the Garuda Wisnu Kencana (GWK) Cultural Park. Immediate peacefulness.
Opened seven years ago, GWK holds the towering copper and brass statue of the Hindu God Wisnu, atop his mount the mythical eagle, Garuda. I’d seen the immense statue from the plane, as it soars above Bali to a height of over 120 meters, the fourth largest statue in the world. (I’m a nerd, so I googled the other three: Statue of Unity (India), Spring Temple Buddha (China), Laykyun Sekkya Buddha (Myanmar)).
GWK is an odd place. The grounds of the cultural park are vast, holding other large statues and corridors of colossal cut limestone pillars. It was weird wandering through this strange oversized exotic landscape that we virtually had to ourselves. Sadly, we didn’t learn much about Bali’s culture except perhaps how to monetise the tourist dollar. When GWK was first put forward religious authorities worried its massive size might disrupt the spiritual balance of the island, and its commercial nature was inappropriate, but the project went ahead, favoured as a new tourist attraction on barren land. It was weird visiting, but at least we got to see a fish unicorn…
Back on the bikes, negotiating busy roads channelling a heave of traffic through the narrow isthmus connecting Bukit peninsula to the rest of Bali, squeezing past the airport, we finally got on to the pedestrian/cycleway that borders Sanur beach.
Holiday atmosphere all around. This is the Bali you hear about from holidaymakers. Sand, sea, palm trees, manicured resorts, and white guests wearing very little. Beachfront restaurants with western menus exude laid-back surf-boutique vibes with polished natural design decors, all just begging to be Instagrammed. It felt safe, very relaxing, and a little surreal. I had avocado smash on sourdough and Lilz savoured a flat white!
Our homestay was tucked down a side street away from the beachfront, our room perched above red tiled rooftops. Plants abounded. Our host owns six bicycles and enjoys cycling around Ubud’s rice fields. I liked it!
Behind the beach, Sanur and its busy streets are difficult to navigate on foot. Pavements (when they’re there) have very high curbs, broken slabs, deep dark holes, lying dogs, parked scooters, and ever-present canang sari (small offerings made of square baskets woven from palm leaves, filled with flowers, incense, and sometimes food, cigarettes, or money. You have to be careful not to step on these as a sign of respect).
We slowly wove our way to the Night Market and had a delicious dish of noodles, rice and vegetables sitting behind the stall as we watched the cook throw ingredients around his intensely heated wok. This was swallowed down with fruit smoothies from another stall, and finished off with pisang nutella terang bulan (banana and nutella pancake). Out of this world. I can definitely get used to this!
High on sugar and Bali good feelings we decided to round the night off with a Bintang beer on the beach.
Rising early in an attempt to beat the heat we were cycling only 15 miles, all a gradual uphill, to reach Ubud in central Bali on the foothills of the volcanic mountains. (Ubud: pronounced OO-bood).
We enjoyed cycling the roads into Ubud as it did seem the creative cultural hub it is known to be. We cycled past workshops kite making, wood carving, stone temple chiselling, basket weaving, and thatch making. I screeched to a halt outside Agung Dian Egg Painting workshop. Love a painted egg. A teeny tiny lady came out and showed me her husband’s work: beautifully intricate paintings on chicken, duck, cassowary and ostrich eggs. It takes him seven hours to paint one egg. And luckily wooden eggs too - an unbreakable souvenir for me!Read more
Bali - Denpasar to Uluwatu
Oct 16–20, 2025 in Indonesia ⋅ ☀️ 30 °C
A six hour flight took us from the reasonably familiar culture of Australia, to the culturally different island of Bali. A soft landing (for us) to this new the country. Although well established now on the increasingly mainstream tourist map, and its flux of international visitors, we envisaged some challenges. In the main, heat, humidity and language.
Three words to sum up my first impressions over the first couple of days - sweat, smells and smoke.
As we flew into Denpasar, the island’s capital and main city late in the evening, we would need to pass through immigration, grab our luggage and bikes, find somewhere to unpack them, assemble them and dispose of the boxes and packing material. We also needed to withdraw some currency, and sort out some local SIM cards for our phones. We landed at about 9:30pm local time, so it was going to be a late night.
The airport was busy and we passed through without issue. The only question asked of us - Why had we brought bicycles? Sometimes I wonder?
On the concourse outside, the heat and humidity were oppressive and the smells and sounds unfamiliar. Feeling a bit ‘mingy ’ already after the flight, the discomfort progressed as we assembled the bikes, generating more sweat from all parts of the body!
Set up and ready to go, we went out into the sticky night air to head to our guest house, and hoped to get there quickly as it was only a ten minute cycle. Getting out of an airport by bike is usually a challenge and it proved so again. Darkness, unfamiliar signage and Google Map conundrums meant we stopped often to check directions. We took a couple of wrong turns. Navigating off the main road onto tiny side roads and a maze of small alleyways, we eventually arrived at our guest house after midnight.
We arrived to a friendly and bemused welcome and manhandled the bikes into the guest house courtyard, as the heavens opened with our first tropical shower.
After a poor nights sleep we were awake early. Taking our breakfast in the courtyard, the heat was crazy and it wasn’t yet 8:30am! With a temperature close to 30 and humidity of around 80%, it was going to be a daunting first day, and we would cross part of the city to head south to visit the temple of Uluwatu.
Cycling into downtown Denpasar, the traffic was intense. Everything was happening, everywhere, and all at once! Cars, motorcycles, pedestrians, hawkers with carts, dogs - all negotiating the same stretch of road. The intense heat, fumes and horns mixed in a tumultuous melee and we had to concentrate; on the road ahead, behind us, traffic passing, traffic coming toward us (motorcycles often drove on our side of the road towards us! We had to react to who was starting, who was stopping and who was turning, and get ready for our turning well in advance. This proved to be stimulating and overwhelming at the same time. Right turns were difficult. If we didn’t get over into the centre of the road in time, we’d get stuck in the left lane. If we stopped on the left to wait to cross, it was impossible to cross or slot back into the flow, as a break in traffic would rarely occur.
After a couple of hours we started to get it a bit. We had to be assertive, go with the flow and use the accompanying traffic to help us. Turning with the mopeds, we became part of their ‘flock’ and take advantage of a perceived safety in numbers.
The use of horns was normal. Drivers use them to let you know that they were approaching or passing, or to warn other vehicles of something. We found this etiquette of communication to be useful and witnessed no road rage. Many junctions have no discernible right of way and there are few traffic lights, except for major arteries. Despite all this, things seemed to work and everyone seemed aware of everyone else.
As we travelled slowly in the congestion, boxed in by the traffic around us, it strangely felt much safer than the highways in New Zealand and Australia.
We eventually turned off onto quieter roads. On the coast were large resort hotels, their entrance gates manned by security staff, often decked out smartly in traditional Indonesian dress, eyeing us as we sweated and huffed and puffed our way past.
Reaching a more rural area, our route took us along potholed roads, along tiny alleyways that could be a path but then a car would appear to remind us it was a road. We zig zagged back and forth, climbing to the top of a significant hill, where we looked back to grab views of the city and its airport on a narrow choke of land between the main city and the Bukit peninsula where we were headed. The blistering heat of the afternoon made pushing the bikes to the top of some of these hills hard. As we leant into a steep gradient, applying brakes at each rest stop to stop the bikes rolling away, sweat making everything slippy, we gulped the warm air and waited for our hearts and heads to stop pounding.
We arrived at our guest house close to Uluwatu late afternoon. Set on top of a hill with views across to the Uluwatu temple site and sea beyond, it was a welcoming place and in peaceful contrast to the hectic and frenetic pace of the day’s cycle.
We had booked tickets to see a traditional Kecak (pronounced kechak) dance at the Temple that night. Background - a Kecak is a traditional Balinese dance and musical drama. It uses no instruments and is driven by a large male chorus that chant rhythmically for the majority of the performance, demonstrating amazing physical stamina. The narrative tells the story of the Ramayana, the ancient epic of Hinduism, through dance and drama, and part of it features a fire dance. Although the performance had its origin in the 1930s from a Balinese trance dance ritual called Sanghyang, it was adapted and developed by Balinese artist Wayan Limbak and German painter Walter Spies (which we would learn about later from visiting the Art Museum in Ubud). The two of them helped create and shape the dance by their collaboration into the dance form known as Kecak.
The male choir sit in a circle, moving their hands and bodies in a rhythmic sway that represents flames. It’s primal and exotic. They are shirtless and wear a sarong. Some have body paint. More flamboyantly dressed performers enter the stage and depict Rama, Sita, Hanoman, Ravana and others. My favourite was Hanoman, the divine monkey. He was cheeky and mischievous but also fearless, courageous and loyal.
The story is told in acts - one of good (Rama and Sita) v evil (Ravana) in what I can only describe as a ‘voodoo opera with pantomime touches wrapped up in a B movie vibe’. We, the audience, are like adventurers to a distant isle, where we stumble upon, and witness, an ancient ritual of natives.
…and there is fire! Hanoman is ceremonially burnt by Ravana and his cohorts in a circle of flames. The brave monkey overcomes this and precedes to kick the fire (real fireballs) high into the air and all over the stage. You wouldn’t get that in the West End. H&S nightmare!
Good eventually prevails and Ravana is defeated. All this as sun went down so it was very dramatic. To continue the drama a man and woman get pulled on to stage - what is going on? - and the man proceeds to go down on one knee, offering up a ring to his girlfriend! With the whole audience watching she accepted: what a proposal!!
We walked back up the hill to the small restaurant where we were staying and ate dinner as the traffic below picked up for those attending the second Kecak show of the evening. There are two shows each evening, every day and makes the performers endurance more amazing as each show lasts and hour, non-stop.
The following day we returned to visit the temple. As a sign of respect, any persons with bare legs must wear a sarong, or, a sash if wearing clothes that cover the legs. As well as good etiquette it is to demonstrate purity. Located on the edge of cliffs with the sea 70m below, Uluwatu is one of Bali’s six most important temples, said to protect the island and maintain a spiritual balance. The Hindu temple has a number of shrines and pavilions that are located inside different compounds enclosed by walls with decorated gates between. Certain parts of the temple are accessible by worshippers only. The temple layout follows an ancient design and has a sacred arrangement and meaning.
We wandered around, following the cliff top wall and path, wondering how long before parts fall into the sea, far below. The temple is populated with long tailed macaques. If you saw the David Attenborough Planet Earth III episode you’ll have seen these entrepreneurial monkeys nicking sunglasses, hats, cameras and phones from the tourists. They then ‘negotiate’ to return them upon the reward of food. The cheeky monkey muggers of Uluwatu. Stealthy, sneaky and learned, they pop out from trees or drop from the temple roofs suddenly. There are signs warning you. “No phone, take off glasses, no hat” and so forth. There are many guides offering to ‘guard you’ from the monkeys, and help reclaim your belongings if they get stolen. Some of the temple guides have small slingshots and snacks to aid the return of ‘lost property’. I wonder if the guides and macaques are in cahoots, like Fagin and his band of urchins and have a team meeting every morning before the temple opens.
“Tommo, you are on iPhones today. I want at least 5”
“Marty. Sunglasses. Go for the designer ones”
“Kids, just look cute and distract the human idiots”
“Now, go forth and steal. A ripe mango goes to the one who pilfers the most”
A small young one tries to grab my phone when I wasn’t looking! I felt the snatch before I even saw the monkey. Luckily, I had a tight hold.
Leaving the temple and relived to be monkey free, we had a large chilled coconut sold by the nice ladies in the car park. One small and slight lady chopped into the green husk with a very sharp machete. Using rapid strokes close to her fingers, it was fear inducing, witnessing the speed and dexterity with which she chopped - demonstrating that she has probably done this thousands of times. She looked over at me and squeezed her bicep and smiled with a toothy grin. I was living a tourist cliche but didn’t care as on this hot afternoon it was the most refreshing thing I have ever tasted.
On last evening on the terrace we enjoyed watching the flashes of lightning in the distance but the storm never came.
We could hear the sound of an Imams call to prayer drifting in and out above the noise of traffic as it picked up on the road below. Red lines of tail lights heading for the temple and evenings Kecak performance.
The show must go on and so must we. Tomorrow we head through the city again to reach Sanur and the east coast, before heading inland (and probably uphill).Read more
Sydney city break
Oct 11–12, 2025 in Australia ⋅ ☀️ 29 °C
We are excited about exploring the city for two days! I didn’t have a great time in Sydney last time I was here so want to enjoy the city with its internationally iconic cityscape this time around.
Catching the bus in from Dee Why is much quicker, but not as enjoyable as taking the Manly ferry. We see dolphins on our way, and gliding up alongside the Sydney Opera house (SOH) can’t be beat.
The Opera House is our first stop. We join a tour, a large group with headphones to hear our guide, but despite this I love it. It’s great to get a peak inside and learn the iconic building’s stories and how through its conception and completion it tested the limits of friendships, engineering, construction and design. I find the tour fascinating - some of the titbits here:
• Designed by Jørn Utzon, an unknown 38-year-old architect from Denmark who, in 1956 submitted his design in response to the international competition for “a National Opera House at Bennelong Point”. His was one of 223 entries from 28 countries.
• I loved that Utzon’s sculptural design takes inspiration from his love of nature - evoking Sydney’s cliffs, sails in the harbour, and swans. Each roof shell is not a single structure but made up of a series of precast concrete segments with steel cables inserted into channels within each segment. The tensioned cables, pulled incredibly tight, enables each shell to stand self-supporting.
• Japanese ceramic bowls inspired the roof tiles. Utzon wanted the shells to contrast with the deep blues of the harbour and Australian sky. The tiles needed to be gloss but not cause glare. The subtle coarseness of Japanese bowls was exactly what Utzon was looking for. Three years of work by Höganäs of Sweden produced the granular texture Utzon wanted for his tiles, made from clay with a small percentage of crushed stone.
• Utzon was forced into resigning in the middle of construction. In 1965 the government changed. After 24 years of (left-wing) Labor rule, the Liberal party formed a (right-wing) coalition with Davis Hughes’s Country party. Hughes made himself Minister for Public Works and with rising SOH costs refused to pay Utzon for critical works. Relations between Utzon and the NSW Government fell apart. Utzon never saw the finished building with his own eyes. He is only one of two people to live to see his building recognised as a UNESCO building.
• Inside there are four main venue spaces. They now all have nets over the orchestra pit because in the 80s an opera performed with live chickens, one of which walked off the stage and landed on the cellists head! The biggest venue houses the largest mechanical organ in the world with 10,000+ pipes from the size of a straw to pipes 3 storeys high.
• SOH opened its doors in 1973. It continues to be a building for dreams.
Knowing we could easily spend longer appreciating the SOH we tear ourselves away and walk on into the brilliant sunshine, reluctantly heading to the shops. We easily get distracted by three pieces of city art that I really love on route…
… ‘bara’ is a stunningly beautiful white crescent sculpture inspired by the shell fish hooks crafted and used by Gadigal women; it is a reflection of the moon in the sky and the bays in the harbour, and echoes the sails of the SOH.
… ‘Edge of the Trees’ is a complex ‘forest' of 29 pillars signifying the 29 local Aboriginal clans. The pillars bring together Aboriginal experiences and colonial history, and are made from different materials: sandstone and wood for the country, and steel for the built history of Sydney. Engraved on the pillars are names of Aboriginal people and places and of First Fleeters.
… ‘Forgotten Songs’ makes me sad, commemorating the songs of 50 birds once heard in Central Sydney, before they were gradually forced out by European settlement. Bird calls filter down from the canopy of birdcages suspended above, whilst the names of the birds whose calls can no longer be heard are embedded in the floor underneath. Variegated Fairy Wren, Tawny Frogmouth, Golden Whistler…
Shopping cannot be put off any longer. The shops are Saturday busy. We pick up the few clothes we need for Indonesia and with moods frayed by the consumer hustle we walk briskly away to search out Cantina OK!
The bar is in a converted garage, now teeny tiny margarita den that describes itself as a ‘micro mezcal mecca’. My kind of place! Found at the end of a small delivery lane, it is standing room only, with space for only 20 peeps at a push. Luckily we went early to beat the Saturday night crowd and had plenty room to drink and watch with fascination the deft speed shaved ice, agave spirits and hand-pressed limes were shaken and poured.
Stomachs starting to stir we walked across town to Darlinghurst to eat at Govindas, a Sydney institution. This was a nostalgic throw-back for me from when I was last in Sydney in 1998. I loved going to Govindas then when it was rooted in the Hare Krishna movement and served a very cheap vegetarian buffet and hosted a cinema with mattresses and throws on the floor. 27 years on it is more upmarket than I remember, but still serving delicious affordable food and as we leave we squeeze past people queuing to see a film screening. Happily not much has changed!
Starting to feel all the walking, I was glad to curl up in our hotel, our room high above Sydney’s streets.
Sunday early morning finds us up on our hotel roof drinking free coffee (yes!), after eating a supermarket-bought breakfast (muffins, yoghurt and fruit) in our room. The place is amazingly peaceful and we have it all to ourselves. Not wanting to go, I leave Lilz to drink more coffee whilst I head to the Museum of Contemporary Art (MCA) on the harbour front to take a Tai Chi class. Up on the roof the class has great views of the harbour bridge and - I’m annoyed at this - a gargantuan cruise ship blocking any sight of the Sydney Opera House! 😡 Never having done Tai Chi, I’m expertly guided by Grandmaster Gary Khor “the father of Tai Chi in Australia”. I enjoy the class - although find putting the movements, mental symbolism, and breathing all together tricky and I’m pretty clumsy with it all. Something I may well look into once back home.
At 10am I see Lilz walking up to the gallery and we wander around the MCA collection. To get a better insight into the main exhibition - ‘In light of the visible’ by Cerith Wyn Evans - we join a free tour that takes us round the light installations and neon 'drawings in space' and learn about Evans’ interests, including gardens, language, Japan, music, time and perception - and his character… he sounds hard work: very demanding in search of perfection! I am pretty hypnotised by the slow flow of a free dance show by three 4th year Catchment Dance Collective students. They snake their way through the rooms improvising their interpretation of the exhibition as they go.
Outside it is hot and we don’t linger at the Blak Market - an Indigenous market of First Nations small business owners - too long. Just long enough to buy a wombat Christmas decoration!
Crossing the Harbour bridge to get to Kirribilli Market gives us great 360 views, the bridge itself a bit dour and traffic-noisy. We scoff Turkish spinach and feta gozlemes at the market, so good we wolf down seconds. The wind picks up, taking a gazebo with it, and the market hurriedly packs up.
We battle the wind and find the haven that is Wendy Whiteley's Secret Garden in Lavender Bay. Wendy began work on the garden after her husband, artist Brett Whiteley, died in 1992. Channeling her grief into a guerilla garden, she slowly transformed an overgrown wasteland outside their home into a beautiful sanctuary for everyone to enjoy. We love it. It’s a soothing balm after the city, surrounding us in green, and the story is a beautifully moving one. What I love most is after all her work, her garden is now recognised and safeguarded - in October 2015 it was granted a 30+30 year lease by the NSW State Government.
We walk down to the bay and make our way along the promenade to Luna Park. We never make it though. People coming in the other direction tell us the park has been evacuated because of the strong winds! We turn around and make our way up to the station and get the train back into the city.
Last stop is a wander around the Botanics. When I was last here I loved sitting in the Botanics (and once bumped into my cousin Toby randomly!) and remember looking up into the trees above to find a colony of large fruit bats. As they damage the trees they have now sadly been moved on, but we enjoy wandering around the large gardens in the sometimes rain. The only thing that spoils the experience is the booming bass beat from a wedding reception on a boat anchored in the harbour.
Ferry back to Manly, we enjoy watching the seagulls hitch a ride on the ferry’s air currents. We grab a pizza before getting the bus back to Dee Why where we finally see Fiona, now back from the UK!Read more
Dee Why
Oct 3–16, 2025 in Australia ⋅ ☀️ 25 °C
We’ve been staying with our friends Stevie and Fiona and their two children Alba (11) and Archie (8) in their home in Dee Why in the Northern Beaches for the last fortnight.
Cycling up to Stevie’s door on Friday 3 October felt like the strangest thing. We were finally here. In his home! Huge hugs all round. Although hugs for Fiona and Alba would have to wait - our timing meant they were still away visiting friends and family in the UK. They would be back from their six-week holiday the following Saturday.
Staying in Dee Why has been a wonderful mix of exploring where they live, sharing in their colourful lives, and doing an awful lot of faffing in preparation for Indonesia.
Exploring where they live meant…
… we had to have coffee at their local cafe ‘21 Grams’, just across the road from their house.
… we took a walk Saturday afternoon from the door north to Long Reef Headland. On the way we enjoyed the flower-edged peach coloured sand of Fisherman’s beach. On the headland we got caught up in addictive whale spotting, watching several breach, fin slap and tail slap activity not too far out at sea. We finally tore ourselves away to walk back south along the long stretch of Long Reef and Dee Why beaches where locals hung out, swam and surfed. There was a remaining memorial to a well-regarded surfer, Mercury Psillakis, a 57 year old killed by a great white shark here a month ago. I remember being really moved when I saw the paddle-out ceremony on the news, where 1,000 surfers honoured him.
… we got invited on the first Sunday by one of Archie’s carers - Christine - to join her husband Matt and his friend Dave Ward (Wardie) out on their small motorboat to find some whales. The water was quite choppy and we bounced along until we spotted one and then two! Thinking we’d now return back to land, instead, effervescent Matt swept us along in his vortex of enthusiasm on a magical tour of Sydney Harbour’s many inlets, pointing out things of local interest on the way. Picking up Christine, who had now finished her shift, we found ourselves zooming past Sydney Opera House (!), under Sydney Harbour Bridge (!!) and mooring up at Darling Harbour, to get fish and chips (!!!). An extraordinary surprise of a day that will live long in our memories.
… we mooched happily around the local Mall with Stevie on a public holiday Monday. The mall was so pleasant: light and breezy, filled with fountains and plants. The shops had clothes I actually liked (but sadly couldn’t buy) and fish shoes I adored for their hideousness (but didn’t want to buy).
… we went into the city for the weekend - but more of that in a separate note!
… we were kindly driven by Fiona up the coast to quickly see Palm Beach, a suburb north of Dee Why home to some of Sydney's most expensive real estate, including many luxury homes owned by celebrities. And you can see why. It’s a beautiful and secluded setting, surrounded by water on three sides, with stunning beaches and ocean views. It is also the familiar setting for ‘Home and Away’.
Sharing in their colourful lives meant…
… we properly met Archie whom we had only met as a baby many years ago in Edinburgh. Archie is an incredible boy, full of laughter, humour, courage, forceful determination and a sharp intelligence. He melts everyone’s hearts, and it was wonderful meeting some of the warm and brilliant team that Fiona and Stevie have built around him: his carers Sebastian, Paula, Rochelle, Christine, Dani, Christianne, and therapists Ana, and Mel.
The team is needed as Archie has a very rare condition called Anophthalmia causing him to be born with no eyes and Sox2 Syndrome which affects 1:250,000 births. His specific mutation is so rare there is only one other recorded case in the world. Archie has mild hearing loss requiring him to wear hearing aids, a naval gastric tube to feed, severe motor delay and struggles to lift his head up. The multidisciplinary medical and therapeutic support he receives is testament to his parents’ tenacity and the amazing services here.
… we learnt about ways colour can be experienced if you can’t see them. Our very first morning found us watching an amazing art therapy session with Ana and Mel relaying to Archie the concept of colour by associating colours with smells, touch, taste and emotion, before enabling Archie to paint with the colours using his feet. Notable was the use of dog poo for ‘brown’ which Archie happily squeezed in a bag and smelt (luckily no taste for this one), tasting lemons for yellow (which Archie wasn’t quite sure about) and associating red with angry emotions. We now own a very precious painted heart by Archie in orange, yellow and brown: the colours of Australia.
… we ate a lot of Stevie’s incredibly tasty cooking! 😋
… Lilz and Stevie watched the NRL (National Rugby League) final together with the Brisbane Broncos beating Melbourne Storm.
… we drank a scooner or two with some of Stevie and Fiona’s lovely friends at their local: a very typical Aussie sports bar complete with lingerie clad waitresses!
… I got to see the incredible work at NAPA when I joined Rochelle and Archie on Friday morning. NAPA (Sydney’s Neurological and Physical Abilitation Center) provides pediatric therapy to children with neurological and developmental disabilities. I was awestruck by the multidisciplinary approaches it offers, seeing only some of the variety of customised intensive physical, occupational, and speech therapy work. The best thing about the place was its boundless joy and absolute determination to enable.
… we were there when Libby, Archie’s support dog, joined the family. A beautiful gentle black lab, Libby settled into the Innes household immediately and is going to be a much loved addition to the family.
… we joined Stevie and Alba with a run to the pet store for new doggie things, where we bought them two rummy-nosed tetra fish christened ‘Rum and Raisin’ by Alba. These will join Stevie’s other four wee fish in his new larger fish tank.
… we got to join Alba at her trumpet lesson in the cool music school she goes to each week created by interesting musos.
… we walked along Dee Why beachfront one evening with Fiona and Alba to swim in the (refreshing!) local lido. Wonderful they have this on their doorstep: with views across the beach out to the headland.
… we got to see Alba’s high school which she moves up to next year.
… we had a final meal out together at the local Thai restaurant with beach view, followed by enormous ice-creams that dribbled down our fingers and arms as we fought to eat the delicious excess before it all melted.
… we discovered just how incredible Archie is at maths. Fiona showed us how she uses voice-recordable buttons to create multiple choice options for Archie to select after working out mental arithmetic problems Fiona gives him. Archie never gets it wrong and he doesn’t have to use a calculator (unlike us adults).
Indonesia faffage meant we were kept busy…
… getting health checks using our Medicare card. Appointments were easy to get, booked online with a choice of doctor/dentist, and we found the service very efficient and modern. Turns out my arm which has been sore since NZ South Island is due to Tennis Elbow. Lilz’s dental checkup passed with flying colours: phew!
… booking our bikes in for a service. The first general bike store we tried couldn’t fit us in until December! We lucked out however with Ride Through Workshop where Jordan, an experienced cycle tourer himself, fitted us in on Monday and serviced our bikes for half price as there was only a bit of tweaking. They now run like a dream.
… sourcing and packing bikes into bike boxes, with Stevie’s help and then weighing the bike boxes and our kit, and seemingly endless moving things around to get the right distribution across carry-on (7kg) and hold (40kg) allowance across us both, whilst also adhering to what can go in the cabin and what needs to be packed in the hold.
… researching Indonesia: to determine what there is to see that we don’t want to miss, best routes to incorporate these things with the least hillage and traffic, how long the route is likely to take and if it fits into our two-month visa period, and what bus and ferry options there are and do they take bikes. (Frequent fast ferries and trains we found do not which is a nuisance). Also what the best e-sim provider is likely to be, and I’ve booked up the first few days’ accommodation for peace of mind whilst we find our feet.
… repacking our panniers for hot-season use (thanks to our lovely friend Dana for sending our ‘summer’ kit to Stevie’s for us) and packing up our cold-season stuff to send home (thanks to lovely Liam for agreeing to receive and store!).
Now our hearts are full and we hold some truly beautiful memories, we are all set for the ‘next leg’. We fly to the island of Bali, in Indonesia, on Friday 17 October.
To find out more about Archie:
https://www.gofundme.com/f/our-miracle-man-archieRead more
Our last cycling day in Oz
October 3, 2025 in Australia ⋅ ☀️ 22 °C
Our last cycling day in Australia was full of smiles. Warm and sunny our route took us around the edge of Botany Bay, west of the airport, through the suburbs of Alexandria, Redfern and Surrey Hills, before the CBD skyscrapers loomed above us. Through them a glimpse of the steel arch of Sydney Harbour Bridge. Suddenly we felt as if we’d been spat out onto Circular Quay, the towering buildings behind us, with sky and sea and sunshine all before us.
And there it was…
The Sydney Opera House.
Shining white and all in 3D. It was a moment. Known so well as a symbol of modern Australia, it was there in real life. And seeing it meant we had reached our journey’s end in Australia.
I gave Lilz a big hug.
We sat a while taking it all in.
We’d catch the ferry from here to Manly (stopping at Manly Beach to eat the most delicious pistachio icecream we’d ever tasted) and cycle the remaining 6 miles up the coast to our friends Stevie and Fiona’s house. Here we’d stay with them in their lovely home before heading on to Indonesia.
We’d loved Australia, but sadly the budget and time mean we need to move on. Bigger picture sees us trying to cycle the Silk Road in the most favourable seasons, and working back from that we’re a little bit behind schedule. Plus our purse will welcome the cheaper cost of Southeast Asia.
But for now we’re going to enjoy a fortnight with our friends, exploring their neighbourhood and getting ready for hotter and humid climes ahead!Read more
Traveler
Aw, I love this bold fellow... trying all the angles. An upgrade on a ballsy seagull 😅
TravelerI can’t believe you’re already almost on the Indo leg! It will be AMAZING. But so much well done for completing this first big bit. Lots of wonderful memories to bottle and many more to come. Onwards team 💚
TravelerCheers. Massive culture shock for me as we arrived in Bali 3 days ago. I am homesick a bit but enjoying the lovely people here. LOVELY!
Stanwell Park to Cronulla
Oct 2–4, 2025 in Australia ⋅ 🌬 19 °C
Stanwell Park is a beautiful wee place caught in a valley bowl between two green headlands holding a yellow charm of a beach.
Kieran Tapsell has made Stanwell Park his home for the last fifty years. And what a home it is. A retired lawyer he lives near the beach, surrounded by parkland rainforest, in a beautiful home with a large balcony deck, indoor fire pit, and a telescope to spy the whales out at sea in the third floor eagle’s nest. Invited to stay as Warmshower guests we got to share in this little parcel of wonder for a night.
Kieran is an impossible 80yr old, actively making ceramics, sea kayaking, gardening, regenerating bush, and translating from Spanish to English. He holds seemingly endless interests. He also told us “I have many pets, but they are all wild, nocturnal and feed themselves: ringtail and brush tail possums and sugar gliders, that reside in the mansions I built for them and are stuck up in the trees.”
Whilst we were there Kieran’s Russian friend Karina and her daughter Keira were also staying, having taken a few days to drive over from Melbourne. It was great having new conversations with interesting people, around a hearty stew.
In the morning Kieran took us for a walk through the littoral rainforest he had grown by hand over the years he’s lived there. He told us of his battles with non-native Rusa deer, invasive weeds such as Lantana, Senna and Ochna which were choking the regenerating bush. Creatively he has made giant nests made from the weed stalks, in collaboration with local children. These nests have three purposes, serving as compost heaps to provide nutrients for the plants downhill, shelter for insects, and as the MATE exhibition - Modern Art Tributes on Eggs! Inside each nest is a single ceramic egg with a miniature art painting by Kieran in homage to modern artists.
Back at the house, just as we were about to leave, two scarlet King Parrots flew down to the balcony. Kieran gave us some bird food and they fed from our hands, delighting both me and Keira.
Averse to leaving such a paradise we puffed up the steep side of the headland to emerge on top of Bald Hill. A stunning view stretched back down the long coastline. One of the world's best hang gliding and paragliding locations (Kieran flew a hang glider here for 20 years) there stands on the hill a monument to Lawrence Hargrave. Hargrave’s 1890s pioneering research and designs in aeronautics at Stanwell Park played a vital role in aeroplane development.
We were cycling high surrounded by open sea-sky blues, before slipping down the hill to be enveloped by the endless tree canopy of Royal National Park. We whizzed happily through woodland, reaching Lady Carrington Drive - a historic carriage route named after the wife of former Governor of New South Wales - by late morning. The wide off-road route follows the Hacking River through blue gums, turpentines and patches of rainforest.
We heard a loud scuffling on the trail - a female lyrebird, and at the end - the behind of an echidna as it hid itself in the scrub. On the track we met Eddy, our second encounter with a fellow cycle tourer! Eddy had cycled from Cooktown at the top of eastern Australia and was heading to Melbourne in time to go to watch Oasis play.
The hilly National Park roads - wonderful when there were no cars - gave us glimpses across a continuous expanse of bush all the way to the cliffs and the sea, and as we neared Maianbar our first sight of Sydney skyscrapers, small on the horizon. We arrived at Bundeena, after a hike-a-bike section at Maianbar and having cycled through the jam-packed Bonnyvale campsite. The combination of school holidays and a public holiday weekend meant we’d missed out on a camping spot here, the place was totally booked up. We caught the 5pm Cronulla ferry, only a short cycle from our motel. Tomorrow will be our last day cycling in Australia as we’ll reach Sydney!Read more
TravelerWow…we wait ages for an update ;-) and then we get two in an hour! Look forward to hearing what you think of Sydney
Huskisson to Stanwell Park
Sep 29–Oct 1, 2025 in Australia ⋅ ⛅ 21 °C
Leaving Stig and Kerry’s, waved off by Stig and his broad smile and good wishes shepherded us onward. We rode toward the dock to catch a small ferry and short hop across Currambene Creek to Myola, and continue our journey north.
Arriving at the waterfront, the ferry man asked us to wait whilst he paddleboarded out to the moored boat to bring it back in to the dock. A small craft with a bow that opened up to allow our bikes to be rolled on, the jovial skipper chatted away during the ten minute crossing. Arriving at the wooded peninsula, he kindly moored up at a suitable place to allow us to wheel our bikes onto shore, rather than have to manhandle them up some steps. Nice chap!
Initially we cycled along a dedicated cycle route through a small leafy hamlet of houses tucked away on lanes on a quiet Monday morning. However, traffic picked up as we routed along increasingly bigger roads through what seemed like thick coastal forest, before emerging into farmland, following a creek winding through agricultural fields.
A quick stop at Jindyandy Mill, and Vons Cafe set amongst an old heritage mill - now vintage shop with antiques and store selling Christmas decorations!
The first big town of the day was Nowra. Passing through its backstreets and suburban neighbourhood with its resident ‘characters’ felt like the real Australia, of function, convenience and people going about their business - a big contrast to the past week of quiet green landscapes, remote coastal bush and birdsong.
We decided not to linger in Nowra despite a kind offer from Pete (who we met at the campground at Middle Beach), to stay over at the house of his friend, for whom he was dog sitting. The timing didn’t work as we planned to reach a place called Gerringong, keeping us on track to reach Sydney by the weekend.
Glad to turn off the busy A1 highway after crossing the Shoalhaven River, we passed a massive grain processing plant that covered several acres We were greeted with a slight sweet vinegary smell that lingered in our nostrils, possibly a product of the large fermentation tanks that rose from plant with all its tangled interlinking pipes, like an illustration from a Dr. Seuss book.
We continued and the road turned northward and climbed, passing lines of vines laid out across the hillside and an accompanying sign to advertise the Coolangatta Estate and its pleasurable offer of wine tours, tasting, bistro and accommodation - none of which were on our agenda (unfortunately). We consoled ourselves by stopping at the top of the hill at a well timed bus shelter and short respite from the rain, sat, and ate our egg sandwiches. A strange day - it was trying to be be sunny but clouds blew in from the sea and produced a strange ‘mizzle’ causing us to put on and take off our waterproofs for much of the day. Big puffs of cloud loitered over the foothills behind the vineyard, as sun and rain battled to see who would come out on top, and our hope, to settle the need for waterproofs…..or not.
Onward and through Seven Mile Beach National Park, fronted by a long crescent shaped beach of the same name. It looked out to Berry Bay and stretched from Comerong Island in the south, to Gerroa farther north and we guessed, must be about seven miles long. That’s a lot of beach!
We rolled through the coastal forest along the wide shoulder of a road sheltered by trees on either side, providing welcome shade as the sunshine prevailed in the afternoon. Our day of flat cycling came to an abrupt end with a short brutal climb on reaching Gerroa, a town nestled on a hill, overlooking a creek and lovely beach (most NSW towns see to have at least one lovely beach!). Huffing and puffing, we reached the top of the hill and received a small ‘chapeau’ from an elderly gentleman out for a walk!
At the Sir. Charles Kingsford Smith Lookout we were rewarded with an amazing view south, stretching far into the distant sea spray, which veiled Seven Mile Beach.
For the last few miles into Gerringong we rode on an undulating cycle path by the road and after one last final hill, reached town. Our legs were tired and we looked forward to our dinner.
Gerringong had a nice feel. It was small and ‘well to do’ , with shops, boutiques and places to eat, and had several large, and seemingly vacant properties with spectacular views of the ocean (as we found out by nosing in the window of a property agent, houses with spectacular prices to match).
We checked out a potential wild camp at a local reserve whilst it was still light. Cruising down to the small cove we arrived at a car park next to a grassy area opposite the ocean, There was a toilet block and a shelter with a bench, currently in use by a group of lads having a barbecue. Scoping out a couple of spots for our tent, we were happy with tonight’s location and would return later.
Heading back into the centre of town, we called into the Hill Bar and Kitchen for some
dinner. It was right on the high street and had an outside terrace with a view across the bay. The restaurant was busy and we enjoyed a great view as we ate, while the wind blew with gusto through the gaps in the clear plastic screens. After a hearty feed and as the sun had set, we went back to the cove which was nice a quiet. We managed to squeeze the tent under the shelter, making the tent and us, less obvious and out of the intermittent rain. We drifted off to sleep with the sound of the waves breaking.
Awake at early light, we were roused by the noise of vehicles arriving, which hurried our packing up. Locals were parking for an early morning swim in the lido rock pool around the headland. It was buzzing and not even 6:00a.m. The rockpool - a seawater pool, had a great view out to sea, with the odd wave breaking over the manmade wall. A perfect spot for a dip and convenient for a morning bathe. Amanda and I took turns to have a swim amongst the morning rush. A great way to start our day, and we followed it with a cold outdoor shower and a morning cuppa to warm up.
We called in town to grab breakfast at the Sea Vista Cafe on a sunny day. The first part of the day’s ride was along the shoulder of the busy M1 which the Princes Highway had become. A dual carriageway, it was busy and its shoulder width varied from generous to miserly. The road ascended over a couple of kilometres from Werri Beach to Kiama Heights and the shoulder narrowed to almost nothing as it rounded the hill on a blind bend, the highway pinching in as it wiggled around the contours. Combining hill, traffic and wind resulted in the most unpleasant period of the days cycling - we had to focus intensely and wished every metre ahead of us to pass quickly until we could turn off.
At the sign for the seaside town of Kiama, we escaped the highway, firstly a downhill….. and then back uphill. As has often been the case on this coast, which we have found quite challenging. Although the hills have not been huge in terms of height above sea level, the repetitive up, down, up, down and some short steep ascents, have taxed the leg muscles.
We rode into Kiama past several small beach coves and made for the headland. We wanted to see the blowhole which lay on the point near the lighthouse The place was very busy with lots of tourists as we wandered down to the viewing platform to see the blowhole, which obliged by ejecting its foamy shower several times, vertically through a fissure in the basalt rock as the waves hit the headland cliffs!
Whilst the blowhole was the centre attraction, we rather enjoyed seeing whales as they passed the headland, mostly unnoticed by the tourist throng. Amanda spotted several with her acuity and binocular vision. We spent nearly an hour addictively waiting for their fin slaps, tails slaps and breaches and fixed us in a state of “one more, then we will leave” mantra.
It was time to crack on and we followed the coast through the towns of Kiama Downs and Minnamura, accompanied by expansive views of the sea, until we reached the built up area of Shell Cove, Shell Harbour, Barrack Point and Lake Illawarra, all merging in one big urban sprawl. We cycled on paths next to busy roads through the sprawl of its industrial estate’s, outlets, malls, golf courses and suburban neighbourhoods of flats and condos. We made a quick stop at a supermarket to pick up supplies and then hurried ourselves onward to get to reach a motel for the night and the joy of a shower and a bed.
After a quick breakfast in our room, we packed up and crossed the busy carriageway to join another cycle path/shared footpath . We expected today to be mostly shadowing main roads as we drew closer to Wollongong, a large coastal city, and the last big place before reaching the outskirts of South Sydney.
The aquamarine and turquoise colours of the sea popped on a bright sunny day, and white waves crashed into the golden sand at what seemed like every turn. In shortish time we reached Port Kembla. Port Kembla is a suburb south of Wollongong, and known for its harbour and its significant role in the industrial history of the Illawarra region. A massive container port and international gateway for trade including agricultural, construction and mining industries (2nd largest for coal export) as well as being New South Wales' largest motor vehicle import hub.
Information boards note the numerous shell middens discovered in the area. These provide evidence of the Wodi Wodi community of Aboriginal people, who were the original inhabitants and are the traditional custodians of Illawarra Land. Forcibly removed from the area and from Hill 60 south of this headland by the Government during the years of WWII, to create military defences to protect the steelworks from Japanese invasion, they were never allowed to return.
Popping out at Port Kemble Heritage Park and the former Breakwater Batter station, now museum sat on a grassy headland looking out to sea, next to a former gun emplacement and set amongst some memorial sculptures. Greeted by a carpet of white triangles - white painted concrete tank traps originally installed on the beach, create a surreal sight when viewed against the blue sky. These sit next to a large memorial to the Dalfram Dispute of 1938. A large grenade split in two is what it looked like to me. It also has a ladder type motive, projecting from the top. The protest was by the dockworkers. They did not want to load pig iron from Australia onto a ship (the SS Dalfram) bound for Japan during the second war between Japan and China, when Japan occupied China and carried out the Nanjing Massacre. The dockers, or ‘Wharfies’ as they were called, refused to the load the pig iron in solidarity with the Chinese and against imperial aggression of Japan against another nations people and went on strike. The Wharfies believed the iron would be used to make bullets and bombs and voted unanimously to defy the Government and their contract to supply the pig iron to Japan. The dispute lasted for weeks and even as the government tried to force the workers back to work, and accuse the workers union of trying to dictate Australia’s foreign policy, they underestimated the groundswell of support from the public, including the local Chinese community and Illawarra farmers, who donated produce to the striking workers and their families. Other unions showed solidarity and even the Governor General shared his support. A resolution was reached eventually between union and Government. The workers agreed to load the pig iron ‘under protest’ but on the condition that it would be the last shipment of pig iron to be exported. The Second World War started later that year and the SS Dalfram was struck by a torpedo and sank. A cruel legacy.
The stand by the dockers against military aggression, and a stand for peace, forever forged a bond between Australia and China and proved the point of a Chinese proverb “Across the waters, all men are brothers”. A profound lesson is history and solidarity that would help much of the geopolitical issues we see today, perhaps?
From the elevated position on the point we could see the industrial city of the large Bluescope steel plant. It accounts for more than $2 billion in sales of locally produced steel each year, and has a production capacity of just over 3 million tonnes of steel per annum.
It took us about 30 mins to circumnavigate the plant, such was its scale (760 hectares).
Port Kembla merged into Wollongong, with more signs of civilisation and even office and apartment tower blocks, which we had forgotten existed. Rows of garages lined the road as we passed along the path, all selling their version of the ‘Ute’
Tangent …..UTE - the Aussie Utility Vehicle, multi-purpose and adaptable, beloved by ‘tradies’ (tradespeople and possibly the Aussie version of white van man?) and chosen form of transport by Joe Mangel, of Neighbours during its heyday (if you are old enough to remember him). The size of these things is on an American scale, like a normal 4x4 jeep that has been over inflated. Some of the older ones sound like a tank or lorry, exhibiting a low grunting rumble. I have become a bit obsessed by them whilst I have been here, looking at the model, driver, what is being towed and what accessories feature e.g. toolbox, surfboard, tent, bicycle, scrap, pipes, dog, motorcycle. The list could go on. Often driven by men wearing wellies and often left with engine running whilst the driver attends an errand or calls into a shop - maybe to keep the air con running??
We cycled along the promenade in North Wollongong where beach life was in full swing. We dodged the people walking along on what was turning out to be a very hot day. Swimming, sunbathing and surfing the order of for many and the numerous eateries were busy.
We stopped near the a photo montage showing bathing life, set out on a wall, like a mural. We read some history about public bathing and how it had a long history in Wollongong, with its public bath opening in 1842, and how the sexes were strictly segregated and bathing hours tightly controlled. The rules stretched to the beaches when ‘surf’ bathing became more popular, with regulations “All persons over 8 years must be in neck-to-knee. No male should trespass on the part of the beach reserved for females, nor shall females trespass on part reserved for males”.
So different to the scenes in front of us.
The increased popularity led to the formation of the local life saving club (SLSC) and installation of changing facilities.
We pressed on northward with the ocean a constant companion and what seemed to be endless golden beaches, including Bellamy and Bulli, as we wound amongst dunes and creeks. The coastal hills once distant, now crept closer and we joined the road again as it squeezed its way between thickly forested hills dotted with rocky outcrops of stone in a vibrant rust colour. The coastal road undulated and connected several communities and houses precariously clung to the hillside, looking out to sea and providing their lucky owners a glorious panorama. One of the most stunning sections of our coastal route was further elevated when we arrived at Clifton and the Sea Cliff Bridge. Picture a road built on concrete stilts that stand in the sea where a road could not be built due to the sheer cliffs. 665m long, using 11,000 tones of steel and built far enough away from the rock face to prevent rock falls onto the road. Built in 18 months at the cost of $49M. A wide footpath made it possible to cycle. On reaching the far end we saw a sign that instructed cyclists to dismount. Oops! It was most fun. Slightly downhill and with the feeling of flying, it put grins on our faces, which must of made us look slightly demented. We grinned our way past copious groups of tourists who were walking out along the bridge to capture an ‘Insta’ moment on what is a popular tourist attraction, and part of a scenic drive along this part of the coast.
We arrived at the village of Stanwell Park located in a cove, with its de facto local beach and backed by dense forested hills. As the sun was sinking, it painted this vista in a lovely golden pink late afternoon light. What a welcome sight!
We turned off the main road along at a gaggle of nice looking cafes, closed - but a possible breakfast option for the following day. We had arranged our second Warmshowers stay in the village, with a gentleman called Kieran. He had kindly accepted our request and would host us and Amanda and I were excited to meet him. We found his house as dusk fell. It was on a cul-de-sac, surrounded by trees and barely noticeable on its sloping hillside plot.Read more
Tomakin to Huskisson
Sep 26–28, 2025 in Australia ⋅ ☁️ 26 °C
We undulated our way up the coast, stopping for short breaks at Malau Bay, Surf Beach, and Batemans Bay. Whilst we ate our sandwiches we spoke to a holidaying retired couple. Being the closest seaside town to Canberra Batesmans Bay is a popular holiday destination for the capital. This couple were here for two days from Wagga Wagga - a six-hour drive away - to see the sea again after two years. He used to be a Royal guard and showed us photos of him in uniform 💂and standing behind the queen.
After crossing the bridge we were on the highway for 14 miles before turning off on Mt Agony road into Murramarang National Park. Hearts lifted immediately leaving the highway and we were greeted by a mob of eastern grey kangaroos. The woods were beautiful - tall white spotted gums with a lush dark green understorey of burrawang palms and dainty yellow and purple flowers. We were cycling isolated off-road tracks for ten miles, the condition of which were a bit dubious: we needed to ford a stream, manoeuvre the bikes over a fallen tree, and navigate numerous potholes and water runnings.
After being in the wilds it felt surreal emerging from the woods into remote suburbia - houses and tarmac and lawns. Was beautifully warm and we glided the last few miles - the 25 hills behind us - to Pretty Beach campground.
It was busy! School holidays. Campsites had car roof tents, gazebos, awnings, lots of camping gear and apparatus. At the beach all the campground sounds were far away and we had the place to ourselves. And the beach is indeed very pretty. The rocks a swirling mix of red, peach, ochre, and shaped as if sea spray had frozen into rock. The sky turned a pearly pink, the waves were the deepest dark teal and the surf and spray crashed loudly with such energy it revitalised everything within me. We sat a while, curled into each other, marvelling at where we were.
We cooked with bold possums (many with joeys in pouches or clinging to their backs) scavenging for food. A hand sized huntsman spider sat next to Lilz’s bike.
It’s consistently warm now, and the morning was already 21 degrees. Other parts of the country are pretty hot, with a total fire ban in parts of Queensland. Today was great - one big main 850ft hill to avoid the highway and it was quiet, leafy and enabled us to chat all the way up. The views from the top were spectacular and far reaching looking out over endless trees all the way to the coast in one direction and across to notable Pigeon House mountain on the other. Freewheeling down the other side was glorious: nearly all the way to Milton.
A surprise of a little town it had turned pink to raise awareness of breast cancer with hanging bras, crocheted decorated trees, and models of women dotted about town. The town itself was charming, with little galleries, vintage and boutique shops, bakeries and cafes.
At 30 degrees the afternoon was pretty warm and had little shade cycling the last miles to Lake Conjola campground, down a side road off the highway. The campground was quiet and peaceful, with kangaroos hopping about munching grass.
On our way to Huskisson we enjoyed the dirt road through Conjola NP to avoid the highway, accompanied by large helicopter dragonflies. We had set off early to avoid the forecasted afternoon rain and as we arrived in Huskisson the sky was dark and brooding.
We stayed in Huskisson with Stig and Kerry (and Floyd their dog) in their beautiful home. They are Warmshower hosts and we’d contacted them a few days before on the online platform to see if they were available to host us. Warmshowers connects touring cyclists with hosts who offer a free hot shower, a place to sleep, and cultural exchange. Similar to Couchsurfing but specifically for bike tourers, the community operates on reciprocal hospitality - we intend to be hosts once we’re back in Edinburgh.
Stig is Danish, but has lived in Australia for the last three decades after meeting Kerry whilst travelling in the country. We both share a love of Australian magpies. He is retired from working at the local Botanical Gardens. Kerry advocates for women suffering domestic abuse and people coming out of prison.
We had interesting conversations learning about ‘The Voice’, a yes/no referendum held two years ago to give greater political rights to Indigenous people. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people - who make up 3.8% of the nation's 26 million population - have inhabited Australia for at least 65,000 years but are not mentioned in the constitution. They are, by most socio-economic measures, the most disadvantaged people in the country. The proposal to amend the constitution to recognise First Nations people and create a body for them to advise the government was overwhelmingly rejected. All six states voted No - when ballots were counted the No vote led 60% to 40%. Australia still has a way to go.Read more
Merimbula to Tomakin
Sep 21–26, 2025 in Australia ⋅ ☀️ 20 °C
We are heading north now, following NSW’s coast up to Sydney. A string of national parks runs up the coastline, protecting huge swathes of forest between the highway and the coast, with little towns dotted along the sea. Our aim is to stay off the Princes Highway as much as possible and enjoy the beautiful beaches.
The next four days gave us camps in Middle beach, Wallaga Lake, and Brou Lake, and a rest stop in a caravan park cabin in Tomakin.
Our first night after leaving Merimbula highlighted all my anxious neuroticisms (which have got worse as I’ve gotten older). Middle Beach campground was small and remote, on the edge of a stunning beach that held all the colours people dream of - sunset coral pinks and radiant cobalt blues - enjoyed in total seclusion. Absolutely stunning and what this trip is all about searching out. We loved it and felt so fortunate to experience it.
However, it also held shining blue spider eyes all along the path in the light of my headtorch, a huntsman spider on my panniers, a tick on my midriff, bold pointy-nosed bandicoots snuffling for food, and a black snake (either a Tiger or Red-bellied: both deadly poisonous). At night, in these remote wild spaces the dark shoots my anxiety levels sky-high. Poor Lilz is very patient and good at keeping calm. In the light of day I’m better, but I envy the easy laid-back attitude Aussies have for their fellow critters having lived alongside them all their lives. Calming this apprehension is something I want to get a better handle on!
Cycling along the coast was indeed stunning, helped along by the blue-skies, to the point where I am almost blasé about seeing golden crescent beaches and aquamarine seas. Almost!
Every time we stopped to draw breath, we met lovely people. Lyle, an Aussie outdoorsy surfer, spoke with us as we had our breakfast at Middle Beach. Johnny, an engineer who had lived in Borneo and Nepal, chatted to us when we stopped for lunch at Cuttagee Beach. A group of holidaying neighbours from Phillip Island asked us about our trip as we prepared our dinner in the camp kitchen at Wallaga Lake. The following evening Pete, a South-African Aussie, cornered me to ask searching details about our bikes as I was setting up camp in the remote Brou Lake national park campground. Out of the corner of my eye, behind his shoulder, I could see a whale breach and the sunset throw fiery pinks across the sky.
This route up the coast has so far been an undulating one, hill-after-hill, which we’ve found tiring. Some drivers haven’t given us much room on the road which is frightening: and we had our first radge Aussie who shouted abuse from his car and threw a half eaten apple at us. Two route closures added extra mileage along the hated highway on two consecutive days: on our way to Tomakin this meant another seven hills.
When we reached Tomakin I was absolutely pooped - the hills had gotten to me, and also I think the lack of downtime as we had been enjoying chatting to so many folk. We extended our stay at the caravan park to two nights.
Once rested, we head to camp at Pretty Beach.Read more
Merimbula
Sep 12–21, 2025 in Australia ⋅ ☁️ 17 °C
We loved Merimbula. Our introduction to the Sapphire Coast lived up to its name: we were surrounded by all shades of dazzling blue. And we had a very special introduction to one of its most wonderous visitors. It was hard to leave. We lingered…
Arriving in Merimbula late on a Friday afternoon, we cycled along the cycle path from Pambula, to our digs, located in the Fishpen area of the town. A neighbourhood set on a peninsula, ocean to one side and bay and lagoon on the other, Fishpen got its name from the former salmon pens set in the bay, now replaced by oyster beds, placed in lines across the bay, where Sydney Rock Oysters (great name for a band) are grown in submerged bags.
It was quiet and sleepy, with wide, quiet streets lined with manicured grass verges and populated by holiday apartments blocks and condo style complexes, seemingly a holiday place with not much else. We aimed to stay a few days to plan our route to Sydney and onward to Indonesia.
Walking along the footpath fronting the bay the sun reflected off the rippling water, translucent and turquoise coloured. Terns darted across the sky heading to roost and pelicans gently floated by, comical by their size and appearance. The water lapped against the shore and we rounded the sand spit to a long gently curving beach of golden sand, stretching all the way to Pambula Beach, six miles away. This was the Australia of my imagined expectation, as surfers played amongst the waves.
Sunday we had booked a morning whale watching trip with Sapphire Coastal Adventures, a local outfit based in town. The small friendly team of skipper and tour guide took good care of us all, pointing out the fur seals taking a break on some private jetties as we passed, slug like and dozing.
Merimbula has the advantage of lying on the coastal route of migration for Humpback Whales. From May to November you can see them as they travel north to warmer waters to breed and calve and then back south, with their calves, to the southern ocean and rich feeding grounds. This whale highway makes New South Wales’ Sapphire Coast a great place to see them.
The skipper told us all to keep an eye out for sea life and shout out if we saw anything. We headed out across the bay, a couple of dolphins buzzed the boat, their dorsal fins cutting through the water and their white and grey bodies visible as they sliced in front of the prow. Hoping that would not be the only mammals we saw, we travelled only a bit farther when a shot of water went up in the distance. A hoot of joy went up from the crew and folks on the boat to greet this exhalation and our first whale!
Then, a part breach in the distance! A big splash! A happy squeal of delight from us all on board! The skipper headed for the area of this spectacle and I think we were all hoping we would be lucky. A sight of a hump, then dorsal fin followed, smoothly gliding across the water. Not one but two whales, fleeting but lovely to see. They can hold their breath for 45 mins so no guarantee they would stick around.
Another visible blow farther out to sea and a quick pursuit to get us in its vicinity.
As we approached, the skipper turned off the engine and we floated about. A whale was close (our tour guide noted that it is often the females and juveniles that are most curious). ‘She’ popped up not far from the boat, and proceeded to come close and say hello. She floated, tail down, and then lifted her head out of the water to look at us, just metres from the boat. We could see the barnacles and her white chin as she eyeballed us. Our guide tapped the metal hand rail of the boat mentioning that the sound travels and it can pique the interest of a whale. Some of us obliged, with a “hello” greeting to the whale in the hope it would hang around, which it kindly did! A few slow passes underneath the boat were wonderful to witness, her size visible in the crystal clear water. A few pirouettes and more head bobbing rounded off a fantastic experience, ending with a blow and cloud of whale snot, accompanied by a muffled trumpet sound.
It was quite an emotional experience, one of privilege, to be so close to this giant gentle wanderer, and one that I will never forget.
That afternoon, high after our whale trip, we took our bikes to explore the headland. Long Point sticks out into the ocean like a fish hook of land and has a lookout at the end, reached by a path through trees. This point felt secluded, wild and undeveloped, despite being close to a nice neighbourhood of hilltop houses with amazing views. We stopped on route at the Bar Beach Kiosk which was busy on this sunny Sunday afternoon. Surfers hung out, tops off, drying out their wetsuits and towels after a morning session on the waves. Girls sunbathed, and paddle boarders punted about with grace, adding to this stereotypical snapshot of Aussie beach life. Sitting for a while we enjoyed just taking all the colours and beauty in.
Raising ourselves from our stupor we cycled to the end of the road and down the track to the lookout. As we trundled along a sandy track, and the sun with its late afternoon light painted the tree tops amber, the smell of the trees, shrubs and flowers came to the fore. The headland is home to many species with names alien to us, including giant honey myrtle, old man banksia, stunted bloodwood and toothed daisy-bush. Some, of these were producing sweet smells none of which we were used to and none that we could identify but it was wonderful.
The viewpoint at the end provided views out to sea. We could see the distant blows of whales and hear the cries of seabirds, returning to the inlet in time to find a roost. Chatting to a local couple, they mentioned that they could sometimes hear whales and their fin slaps from their house when the sea is calm, and that whales make sounds like elephants - a sort of low rumbling moan.
The following day was set aside for planning. Some discipline required which was a challenge on another beautiful day. Before shutting ourselves in, we popped to Mitchies’s Jetty, where there is a small coffee shed. It’s a focal point for locals and also seems to be a hang out for the Fishpen retirees! Dangling with our legs over the jetty we watched thousands of fish spry dart about in the water.
The following planning day we got up early to first cycle the six miles to Parambula Beach on the recommendation of Dean, the owner of the motel. Arriving at the beach, we left the bikes and took the Jiguma Walking Track to the river estuary. Walking up through the trees over a headland dotted with houses tucked against the hill with views out to sea, we enjoyed the shady respite from the sun, already hot, even at 10:00am. We could hear lizards rustle their way through the leaf litter, sprinting away as our shadows disturbed their sun bathing.
Arriving at the lovely river mouth, the smooth sand and shallow calm water surrounded by forest was indeed tranquil. We meandered back around the headland, this time by the beach route as the tide receded. Sandy coves were linked by distinctive sandstone outcrops as waves crashed into the red mudstone. The sandstone was pockmarked with holes making the stone look like liquid that had been frozen.
A large slab of sandstone made a great viewpoint and we stood leaning into the wind, Merimbula visible at the far end of the curving beach. The sandstone was a tablet for teenage angst, the unburdening of feelings, all laid down in permanent marker.
We spent over a week in Merimbula, having a truly lovely stay. We’d quickly warmed to this Aussie seaside haven, its location, friendly atmosphere and beach culture, so much so that we ended up staying longer than planned. We felt an affinity with the place but as always, we must move on.Read more
Down to the Sapphire coast
Sep 11–12, 2025 in Australia ⋅ ⛅ 12 °C
To reach the coast, we cycled the remaining 53 miles (85km) over two days, enjoying some eccentricity and one of the most magical mornings we’ve had so far.
The first 20 miles was through remote open country up to the 920m Mt Darragh highpoint. The small hamlet of Cathcart (106 population) provided the only sight of humans. Whilst waiting to be served in the tiny store I listened to locals chat about their water. Cathcart isn’t on mains supply and they rely on rain water and water cartage - they don’t have to pay for the water but for the truck transporting it to fill their water tanks. The store manager told me it was difficult estimating how much cartage you need, depending on the rain and your water use. Outside the store the wind was icy and we hung around only long enough to wolf down the bought chocolate.
What goes up (us, over the last few days) must come down! Big wide grins as we enjoyed the gorgeous long free wheel almost all the way to Wyndham, where we were staying the night. Speeding our way down, through eucalyptus oil-scented air, we glimpsed views of pale forest-covered hills stretching away into the distance.
We reached Wyndham early afternoon. Established during the gold rush of the 1860s, Wyndham is now a small quiet village with a nice friendly feel. Only an hour and a half from the Australian snowfields, Wyndham is also only a short drive to golden beaches. We grabbed a coffee at the general store before heading across the road to The Robbie Burns Hotel (I know!) where we’d booked a night through booking.com.
It looked lovely. “Classic historic charm meets artistic allure” - as the website described it. Warm ochre walls out front, faded red tin roof, dashes of stained glass, green plants and flowers. We were excited about our stay in such a welcoming looking place and hoped to treat ourselves to a bar meal that night.
Looking around however and the place seemed deserted. Peering through windows revealed dark interiors. The doors were locked - out front, and also to the side when we went round into the beautiful garden. I rang the hotel and got the answerphone recorded by a breathy creative lovey. I started to have a feeling of unease.
Lilz went back across the road to ask if the hotel opens later in the evening? An exchange of knowing glances from locals in the store. A subtle roll of the eyes. Lilz was told the proprietress may be away. The opening of the hotel a bit haphazard. There was a place down the road where we could pitch our tent if needs be…
I waited with the bikes as Lilz went to check out our potentially new grassy digs. Lilz reported it was fine, if a bit exposed to the wind. Disappointed, we decided to wait for an hour or so - enjoy sitting in the sheltered sunny hotel garden - in the hope she may turn up. 1.5 hours passed. No sign. Just as we were getting up to leave I rang the hotel again. Just in case.
I got through!
The same breathy creative voice from the answerphone told me she had no knowledge of our booking. She was currently driving to Sydney. Introducing herself as Katie Pye, hotel owner, she told me to hang on and she’d sort something.
Half an hour later, Zoe from Hull - Katie Pye’s neighbour - came round laughing to let us in. This was not the first time.
Zoe gave us a quick tour of the large rambling place - which we would have the entire run of that evening! The place was extraordinary. Katie had transformed the place from a traditional Aussie country pub into a bohemian boutique hotel infused everywhere with strange exotic paintings (many painted by Katie herself), eccentric treasures (dead lizard, blank-eyed dolls, mannequin’s hand) and intriguing objects (many from India where Katie had spent 5 years). A designer, Katie Pye was a prominent Australian fashion iconoclast in the 1980s. Now we were her sole hotel guests delighting in running around examining and exploring everything in her absence.
We spent a wonderful indulgent night reading on the verandah until twilight, making dinner in the large catering kitchen, pulling up close to the crackling fire Katie suggested we make in the bar to keep warm, before choosing one of the six uniquely decorated rooms to fall asleep in.
In the morning blinding sunlight pierced through curtains and cracks. I was overexcited about eating breakfast on the verandah. At the back of the hotel, it is one of the most peaceful magical places I’ve spent time in. The red tin roof encircled us in homely warmth. Lemons on the lemon tree popped a vibrant yellow against the blueness of the sky. A green valley below led the eye across to forested hills. Birdsong was abundant and bird flight all about, including swallows dancing above our heads. To complete this entry into nirvana an Australian magpie flew onto a wooden post next to us, gave us a long beady-eyed stare, and then serenaded us with his wonderful fluting warble song that I adore so much. Thank you.
I never wanted to leave.
With a wrench we loaded up the bikes and rolled away with the place’s magic stored bright in our hearts. I felt high as a kite. A short largely downward journey off the wooded hillsides took us into charming Pambula. We enjoyed the bustle of the town as we ate a toastie, people watching as they shopped in the vintage and wholefood stores.
Final stop: Merimbula on the Sapphire Coast. A relaxed roll along a cycle path down to the azure coloured sea. Our motel only a 5min walk from a stunning 6-mile arc of golden sand. We were definitely going to like it here!
AmandaRead more
Bombala
Sep 9–11, 2025 in Australia ⋅ 🌬 17 °C
We arrived at Bombala (derived from the Aboriginal word for ‘meeting of the waters’) around lunchtime after a shortish ride from Delegate.
The sun was shining as we stopped to walk our bikes along the Main Street and get our bearings.
We planned to stop for two nights and based ourselves at the small council run Caravan Park on the edge of the town by the Bombala River. We booked a hut, which was tiny with a bed, small shower and toilet closet and a kitchenette. We also managed to squeeze our bikes inside to safely store them.
A chance for a quick break in our journey after what felt like several days going uphill and rest our legs a bit. Bombala town grew as industries such as grazing, timber, lavender, herb and wool production developed in the surrounding region, supported by a train line that ran through town.
As we pondered what to do, we were approached by a nice lady. She shouted to us as she crossed the road, wondering if we needed any help? How friendly! She wore a t-shirt with a platypus on! An opening for Amanda to ask her if we could see them in the river which ran alongside the town. The answer was YES! The area is known for and possibly has the largest population of Platypus in New South Wales and is promoted as “Platypus Country”. She explained that she used to work at the Visitor Information Centre and spent her days assisting people and providing info, and still had a natural willingness to help and proceeded to tell us all about platypus with a joyful enthusiasm. We chatted to her for a while. Her name was Sandy. She told us how she had moved around Australia post break up of her marriage. She originally lived way up in the north of Queensland. After upping sticks, taking her van and all her possessions, she travelled around for a while, spent time in Western Australia, before finally landing in Bombala. She happened to find out about an old cottage for sale in the town whilst visiting one of her kids who lives in Canberra.. She noted that it felt like the place for her. Both job and new house arrived serendipitously, enabling her to put down roots and be not too far from her son and grand kids. She recommended a cafe and said to get a move on as it closed at 2pm (as many places seem to do, in small town Australia).
We said our farewells and quickly wheeled the bikes over the road to a cafe called Kitchen Eightyate. We sat outside and people watched. A keen wind whipped up dust along the curiously named Maybe Street and people busied themselves, arriving and departing in a flurry of utes. Large trucks rolled along the main street, accompanied by a low deep coughing rumble, and people greeted each other in that small town way, familiar and jovial.
An older gent came out of the cafe and paused, smiling and saying “G’day”. He asked us if we were passing through and we ended up having a good chinwag with him too. Gary, seemed to be a regular at the cafe by his familiar exchange with the ladies behind the counter, with much joking and frivolity. He was a farmer (we guessed in his late 60’s). He lived on a farm outside town and had what we would coin as a ‘lot of land and a lot of sheep’, but not by his, or Australian standards (he only had 6000 sheep!) He chatted away, telling us how he had travelled with his wife, before she sadly died and explained how he loved it and how it opened his mind and changed his perspective as well as how he was glad to be able to do so in a time of good health. His former job as a construction supervisor, building bridges took him to places all over the country, some quite remote. His face lit up at recalling this, breaking into a smile, lines forming in happy creases around his eyes, in what was a weathered, ruddy face. It turned out he had been to the UK. He spent several months during the 1980s playing Rugby League for Barrow-in-Furness (of all places). A nice encounter with a friendly man, he smiled as he climbed into his ute, saying goodbye to the staff and wishing us safe travels.
We cycled over the river to the Caravan Park, a large patch of grass, by the river with pitches marked out. A couple of caravans, looking like they may belong to annual or long term residents hugged the outside of the site, whilst a large bus with blacked out windows occupied a central spot. The bus came complete with a couple of cars, some furniture set outside under a shaded lean-to, and a small fenced off enclosure, corralling a miniature dog, that was going mental, running back and forth, yapping its head off!
Our hut was one of two and we unpacked and loaded our bikes inside. After a quick shower we headed back into town. Sandys tip was to look out near the road bridge for platypus as the sun set, as she knew that one was resident and the road bridge provided a good vantage point. As we crossed we looked out and managed a brief glimpse of one in the failing light. Calling into the local store, we picked up some provisions and returned to the cabin to make and eat dinner.
The next day was bright and warm and we took a walk around town, firstly along the river path, spotting another platypus which slid across the water. With its dark profile we could just make out a tail and its bill and watch it dive for food and then return to the surface to munch and grind it. We called in at the visitors centre located in a group of heritage buildings, including the red brick St. Joseph’s Convent, former railway buildings and a train turntable, along with some early settlers houses. We walked along the disused track to the old railway station with its station, sitting quietly, like an old Hornby accessory waiting to be played with. It still has its wooden foot bridge joining the two sides of the track, its timber cracking, warped and ageing. Information boards showed the station in its hey day, crowds of people welcoming the first train, connecting the town ‘to the world’, and the modernised ability to bring household goods in and ship produce out.
Circling back to town we passed many heritage buildings including the former guest house, Olympic Theatre and Imperial Hotel with its grand first floor balcony, common in many of the older buildings in Australia. We called in to browse in some of the towns Op shops. An "op shop" in Australia is an informal term for an opportunity shop, a type of charity shop that sells pre-loved, secondhand donated items like clothing, furniture, books, and homewares. Bigger on the inside, the stores were choc full of everything, from off-cuts of material to jewellery and the odd spoon (Amanda found a lovely one, of course, with a platypus on it (!). Spoons are one of her favourite household items and small enough to warrant transport by bicycle). We met another elderly man in one Op- shop. Dressed in denim dungarees, he sat in a chair, quietly cutting bits of old material into squares. A large man with white hair, he spoke softly and had a warm smile despite missing some front teeth. He asked us how we had come to be in Bombala and we told him about our journey. He revealed that he had travelled too, initially to Vietnam during the war. His face didn’t give much away but we guessed that he had seen much, being a veteran of the conflict but he spoke kindly of the people there and went onto to visit many countries in Asia and further afield with his job as a drilling rig supervisor. He recalled that meeting people was one of the things he liked the most about visiting different places and we agreed that we enjoyed that too.
Visiting the river one final time, we saw a platypus again, this time it was closer and hung around a bit longer. One final lucky encounter which cheered us as we headed back to the hut for our final night in Bombala.
Tomorrow we head onto what we hope is mostly a downhill, from the high elevations in the Snowy River and the Monaro region, down to the NSW Coast. The Sapphire Coast awaits.
LilzRead more
A lot of trees on the Bonang Road
Sep 7–9, 2025 in Australia ⋅ ☀️ 19 °C
From Orbost, taking the smaller road up to Bombala to get to the east coast rather than along the busy highway via Cann River was the best decision. (Thank you Jason).
The distance to reach the coast is more or less the same for both options. However, the Bombala route is much hillier, lying in the high country of East Gippsland and we had quite a bit of trepidation about taking this route up up up and over… but we ended up loving it! And it meant we got to meet a very shy and elusive creature.
The Bonang Road takes you 100 miles up to Bombala - (bomb-baah-la) the biggest town - with overnights for us at the remote Goongerah camp ground, the small town of Delegate and two nights at Bombala. The Mount Darragh Road then took us over and down to Wyndham (fantastic overnight!) before a short ride to Merimbula on the Sapphire Coast (where we are now as I write this). Along the route you have the magnificent ancient forests of Errinundra National Park to the road’s east and Snowy River National Park to its west, before leaving the tree cover and rolling over the top of the open Monaro plains.
I was not sad to leave Orbost - I found it a strange town with a creepy vibe. Later looking online I found this feeling may have been justified: the crime rate is much higher than average, and a recent police operation in June arrested folk for firearms manufacturing, drug trafficking, and the supply of illicit tobacco. A cyclist described it as an odd mix of “counter-culture (the Goongerah crowd), hard-nosed rudeness (the loggers and bikers) and meth-heads (I've never seen so many prematurely aged faces).” (*counter-culture = “greenies” who moved to the area as anti-logging protesters in the 1980s and stayed).
We were prepared for a remote experience up to Bombala. There are no services and only a basic (very expensive) store at Delegate, and so had stocked up on food in Orbost the night before. We had the road to ourselves and counted only 5 cars and 5 motorbikes all day on the Sunday, and about double that on the Monday as we came into Delegate.
I had not expected the forest to be so bewitching. We had already experienced a lot of forest on our travels, but there was an unusual peacefulness and magic here. The road took us through some of the largest remaining stands of mixed old growth forest in which giant eucalypts tower over rainforest understorey and fern-filled gullies, dominated by Shining Gum and Cuttail. The trees were spectacular - a bright shining white stretching up to the sky - and got better and better the further into the wilderness we biked.
The first day’s gradient was an easy steady one and we reached Goongerah much earlier than we’d anticipated, at about 3 in the afternoon. Goongerah is a locality rather than a town, stretching for some distance along the road, not really perceptible except for the odd postbox, dirt track into the bush, or few buildings glimpsed through trees. The campground is at the northerly end, and we were pleased that here the swarms of flying insects we’d cycled through in pockets all the way up were not here. Not sure what they were: but the day’s warm conditions must have been perfect for them to bloom in emerging clouds of wings. Harmless but increasingly irritating as they hit the back of your throat and stuck to our sweaty foreheads!
The free wild campground at Goongerah consisted of an area of cleared grass under the trees by a river, with a drop toilet, fire pits, picnic benches and … a wonderful raised shelter. Being the only ones here except for a couple in a caravan down by the river, we set up home in the shelter for the night. Perfection. Wombat signs were all around, the gentle wind rustled rippling leaves, and bird calls of all kinds weaved a tapestry of sound around us. A very special place. The evening descended through a pink opal sky into a deep dark velvet, lit with the burst of a huge full cream moon rising above the hillside treeline. Frog songs lulled us to sleep.
The morning broke bright and blue to the familiar kookaburra alarm. Feeling drugged by the tranquility of the place we were slow to pack up, smiling up into trees at the birds and lazily supping hot tea. Our caravan neighbours packed up before us and stopped to chat as they drove up the track past our hut to the road above. A gentle retired couple, they had been travelling round Australia now for seven years - two years recently spent just exploring Western Australia - and “they still had so much to see.” I reckon they’ll go at least another seven.
The day was warm (low 20s) and the ride up to Delegate was a lot tougher. Consisting of two hills, one eight miles and another of six, both continuous climbs with a harder gradient than the day before. Later in the afternoon we peaked at the highest point on the road: a satisfying 961 meters (3153 ft). Definitely fatiguing, but we were rewarded by beautiful moments… Kangaroos hopping along beside us and then across the road in front. Large sprays of bright flowers painting the forest yellow and purple. Towering Spring Gums rising 60-90m above us, dwarfing our existence, and subtly competing with American redwoods for sheer height - they are the tallest flowering trees in the world. Lilz saw the prickly behind of an echidna as it shuffled into the long grass. Also, freaking me out, the sight of a large black snake slithering away from the road through dry crackling leaves.
We crossed the state border: a sad goodbye to beautiful Victoria, hello New South Wales!
Delegate was a small hamlet. As we were tired, I went over to the pub to enquire if they did meals. The place was as traditional Australian backwater as they come, the bar flies staring silently at me as a fast verbal meal list was fired in my direction by the landlady. I didn’t catch much except a very meaty impression - steak, lamb cutlets, Parmesan schnitzel.
We cycled on to the campground, having bought a tin of tomatoes and onion to have with our pasta. The campsite is nestled in the bend of the river and the evening light was soft and golden. As soon as we stopped to look, there it was!
Concentric circles rippling the river’s surface. A chain of neatly formed bubbles. A breach of a nose. The wee rounded brown oddity that is the platypus. Rare to see. Rarer to see at such close quarters. Just a glimpse here. Another there. An impression of silky fur. Beak. Webbed foot. Doing its merry thing, right in front of us.
We slept in the camp kitchen. The electric meter had been vandalised the evening before and there was no power - so no lights, kettle, stove or hot water. Which was fine for us: we had bore water (which we had to boil), toilets, and our own stove, and it meant we got to stay for free.
Having left the forest behind, we were now cycling up on the high plains and when we crested a hill in the road we were often greeted by vast open far reaching views. The sun still shone and we felt free.
As we approached Bombala the traffic increased, with loud rumbling logging trucks giving little quarter.
Lunchtime found us in Bombala, having climbed 9200ft total ascent, and with a slice of cake in our immediate future. We would spend tomorrow here to rest the sore knees, before heading onwards down to the coast.
AmandaRead more
Paynesville to Orbost
Sep 5–7, 2025 in Australia ⋅ ☁️ 13 °C
Leaving Paynesville we followed the lakeside up to Bairnsdale where we joined another rail trail - the East Gippsland Rail Trail (EGRT) - to keep us off the busy Princes Highway all the way to Orbost, with an overnight in Nowa Nowa.
Accompanied by blue skies and a gentle breeze, we cycled up from Paynesville along the coast. A quiet back road led us through the Point Fullerton Reserve and Wetland, leading onto a foreshore track, with views out to the flat blue calm water of Eagle Point Bay.
The water shimmered and the Mitchell River Silt Jetty - a long 8km spit of land - disappeared to a vanishing point
in the distant bay. We passed gangs of relaxed kangaroos bathing themselves in the warmth of the sun. One ‘sentry’ stood alert to our presence and kept a beady eye on us. Another kangaroo sat in a field with some cows. One cow and the roo seemed to be looking at each other, in a sort of nonchalant faceoff.
Pausing at the Eagle Point Hub, next to a lovely barbecue and picnic area overlooking the bay, we stopped to have a coffee bought from the community cafe, run out of the new multi-purpose community building. A council facility, it had a glorious outlook, where we sat and watched the black swans glide gracefully back and forth on the blue lake. The majority seem paired up. Occasionally, the males fluffed themselves up, posturing to other nearby stragglers to stay away from their pen, or showing off to other pens to sway them from their accompanying male.
Following the Mitchell River, we spotted cormorants, darters and herons, fishing or drying their wings. The odd fisherman sat patiently, waiting for the fish to bite. Joining the road for a few miles, we entered the town of Bairnsdale to pick up food supplies for the next few days.
The large tower of the catholic Church of St. Mary had dominated the horizon as we approached the town and we popped in. Inside the walls and ceiling were covered in frescos, showing religious biblical scenes, along with depictions of heaven, hell and purgatory. The church seemed to us to feel Italian, somehow. We learned that the decoration was done by an Italian migrant, and former art student, who was a local farm worker, and who migrated to the area during the depression. The light poured in through the stained glass and being the only people inside, we felt a great sense of peace and calm.
Pressing on through the busy hubbub of the town, we joined the East Gippsland Rail Trail. The trail follows the old Bairnsdale to Orbost line, extended from the line originating in Melbourne and opened in the early 1900s to serve the burgeoning timber and agricultural industries. The line eventually closed in 1987.
Passing through farmland, the line’s raised embankment gave us views across rolling green fields. Crossing several dry creeks and cocooned from the wind, the silence was only broken by bird calls - kookaburra’s gabbling and the ‘ogle ogling’ of the Australian magpie.
Running through and past the old stations of Nicholson and Bumberrah, we bypassed a horseshoe bend in the trail to save time by diverting at Tambo onto some backroads to climb up into the fringes of the Colquhoun Regional Park and rejoin the trail there. At the location of the old Bumberrah Railway Station, a sign informed us that the native grasslands and grassy woodland here are incredibly important. Less than 1% of the former 1800 square kilometres that existed on the Gippsland plains and covering 1/3 of Victoria prior to European settlement remains.
Following a B road initially and then turning onto a gravel road, we climbed up a hill, past red gums and arriving at the top, enjoyed the vista as parrots cackled in unison as they flew over our heads.
Rejoining the trail took us through an expanse of forest, criss crossed by thin lonely gravel roads and remote sandy tracks. It was very peaceful and we had sight of only one person in a truck the whole afternoon. A feeling of wilderness in one small area of southeast Victoria - just one state and small part of this massive island continent.
As the afternoon light made the colours of the red gum tree and white bark of the eucalyptus pop, we arrived at the Stoney Creek Trestle Bridge, spanning the large cutting and its marshy creek below. The trestle bridge is magnificent and is made from local iron
bark and grey box timber and is about 250m long and 20m high. It is one of the longest examples of this type of bridge. A chorus of frogs echoed in the wetlands below the bridge, the moon hung in the pale sky, above the tips of trees touched by the lasts rays of the sun.
We had booked a pitch at the Mingling Waters Caravan Park in Nowa Nowa, a small town of 200 people set in woodland, alongside the Highway. After setting up the tent and making dinner, we went to the bar next door to the campground. Friday night saw the small bar quite busy with folk. Rugby league played out on the large television. A musician was perched on a stool with his acoustic guitar, getting ready for his set. When he sang it was amazing. He sang in a blues style and his guitar picking and gravely voice fought against the loudness of the chat of the bars patrons. We really enjoyed listening and clapped appreciatively and he kindly smiled and nodded in acknowledgment. A lovely memory to take away as we retired to our tent for the night.
Next morning we awoke to the sun as its rose and cast its rays into the tent. It was going to be a warm day cycling to Orbost and very spring like. Leaving Nowa Nowa the trail undulated upwards through thick forest all day, through Wombat Creek Conservation Reserve, a vast old growth temperate forest populated by huge eucalyptus. Every so often the forest was pockmarked with blackened reminders of devastating fires, remaining trees stood like carbonised totems. Signs adjacent to the track provided dates of the fires, giving us an indicator of how long the new growth forest has taken to establish itself.
We descended down to the river flood plain at Orbost, passing the Snowy River Rail Bridge. This heritage 770 metre long trestle bridge built in 1916 is the longest rail bridge in Victoria. A community group is aiming to restore it to a condition suitable for walking and riding and create a stunning start or finish to the rail trail. At the moment the restored section is limited to a hundred or so metres at each end, each ending at a barrier viewing platform.
A train of cows passed beneath the cycle path, driven by a cheery and robust farmer on a quad bike helped along by his enthusiastic working collie dog.
On the outskirts of Orbost we again experienced Australia’s magpie swooping season: dive bombed repeatedly by a cross magpie (the second time in a week we had fly by magpie rage). It threw itself at both of us with brave gusto. How Amanda filmed this without falling off her bike I don’t know but it was quite scary and we moved off quickly!!
We rolled up to the Orbost Caravan Park. Amanda nipped to the shop whilst I set up the tent. We ate in the basic covered outdoor kitchen. As we were doing so, a man came over and introduced himself as Richard. He was looking for the kitchen to cook up some dinner for him and his two dogs, Dennis (😂) and Rudy. The ‘Rude Boys’ as he referred to them, were a couple of mixed cross breeds, the size of a Staffordshire Bull Terrier. Richard was staying at the campground and had travelled down from Sydney to view a property he was thinking of buying. We proceeded to chat about all things. Property, immigration into Australia, dogs, travel, work, business and the kindness of people. It was one of those conversations that could go anywhere. Amanda escaped to join a phone call with her mum and sisters, whilst I tidied up our pots. A chore I was distracted from by a lengthy discussion with Richard about many things. An intriguing person, I warmed to him as the evening wore on and we talked for about an hour, broken by his cooking of a large quantity of meat which he shared with Dennis and Rudy, who snapped into a single fixed state of trance like obedience, devouring the sausages, steak and other items with polite gluttony.
We bumped into him again the following morning, and as we parted wished each other well. With his charm, interesting stories, apologetic candidness and honest revelations about himself and his life, we certainly were richer from the encounter.
We cycled through town to the start of the Bonang Road. Now we go up, up and up! Rising from the coastal plain of Victoria to the highlands of the Monaro region of the Great Dividing Range, and Snowy River country, where we will cross the state line into New South Wales. Legs be prepared!
LilzRead more
Koalas, Raymond Island
Sep 3–5, 2025 in Australia ⋅ 🌬 19 °C
Raymond Island is on the Gippsland Lakes, Australia's largest inland waterway, about 200 miles directly east of Melbourne. Being home to more than 200 wild koalas, Raymond Island is possibly the only place in Australia where you can walk just over a mile and in that distance be guaranteed to see the celebrity marsupials. It is only a wee hop over the McMillan Strait from Paynesville where we were staying, via a five minute free ferry. Excited!
Signs told us 35,000 visitors enjoy the Koala Trail each year. Luckily on the day we seemed to be the only ones. Perhaps the weather had something to do with that… As soon as we stepped onto the island the ferry man pointed up into a tree next to the pier. Huddled in a sad little ball we saw our first wild koala! Poor thing looked very forlorn buffeted by the wind and dismal rain.
Luckily the shower soon cleared and we spent three hours tootling about the unpaved roads and little trails on the island. Looking up into trees for little grey balls of fluff - I think we saw about ten in total - enjoying the fragrant flowers and the moody ‘sea’ of huge Lake Victoria.
We very much enjoyed our grey furry meetings with such professional nappers. What’s not to like in a creature whose peaceful life goals are to eat toxic foliage and to doze?Read more
Middle of Everywhere
Aug 29–Sep 4, 2025 in Australia ⋅ ☀️ 15 °C
I didn’t like leaving Wilsons Prom.
But felt all the richer from having been so surrounded by the wildlife that had delighted us so much. Just having time to sit and have animals so close in proximity - popping out of bushes next to you, flitting through the air above you, or munching grass in front of you - never fails to inspire in us an overwhelming sense of childlike wonder. Especially holding space with the wombats which I loved so completely. It’s hard to put into words, but for me these experiences intensify deeper appreciation for the sheer beauty of the natural world and our own place in it. We felt so fortunate for having visited.
However the wheels keep turning. So with a last farewell from our friendly rosella bird friends, we set off to spend the next six days cycling to Paynesville (to see some koalas) taking us through the ‘Middle of Everywhere’ - local council branding for the central Gippsland rural area of quiet roads and small towns. On the whole, pretty straightforward - especially as some of the route was along an old rail trail - but it didn’t always go to plan!!
29 August - Tidal River to Foster (37 miles)
Full of joie de vivre from spending time at Wilsons Prom it didn’t seem as bad climbing up over the saddle and back up the peninsula to the park’s entrance. We saw a couple of emus by the road, spotted a natural beehive, and I was thrilled to find some bright blue tail feathers. The sun was out, but the wind started to pick up as the day wore on. In our last hour of cycling we were buffeted about in scary gusts. We needed to battle hard to reach Foster and were glad to have a motel to shelter from the worsening wind and rain.
30 August - Foster to Woodside (43 miles)
Still pretty breezy, we joined the Great Southern Rail Trail, navigating around detritus and a fallen tree left by last night’s wind. Easy cycling in the sunshine, under blue skies.
We saw our first handful of wind turbines up on the hill above small town Toora, and our first anti-wind farm placard in Yarram barely 18 miles (30 km) down the road. Intrigued by this, and by something my friend Jason said about Australia still debating whether climate change was a thing, I looked up the energy mix here. Dominated by fossil fuels - 91% oil, coal, and gas, renewables account for 9%. (UK comparison: 80% fossil fuels, 13% renewables, and nuclear 7%). Installation of wind farms has attracted strong local protests, especially in New South Wales and Victoria. Off-shore wind has more support, and Australia has vast, world-class potential for offshore wind energy comparable to or better than Europe's North Sea. The government has declared six offshore wind areas where wind turbines could be erected, but Australia doesn’t have any offshore wind turbines yet. Not one. The Gippsland offshore wind area in Victoria is predicted to come online in the early 2030s.
When the rail trail ended we cycled very straight long quiet roads through flat farmland, before taking an off-road woodland track to our caravan park in Woodside.
Marian, a soon-to-be-permanent-resident of the caravan park came and joined us whilst we were cooking dinner in the kitchen and together we enjoyed the open fire. A natural storyteller and lady who knows her own mind, we found her an inspiration. Recently diagnosed with cancer she had such a pragmatic and open approach to her death which I found quite moving. She talked freely about what she is happy she’s done in life, what remains unsaid and how she’s started to write things down for her children to read, and her plans to involve people in achieving her last aims.
31 August - Woodside to Sale (43 miles)
A sunny morning, we left Woodside to follow forestry tracks through Mullungdung Nature Reserve to avoid cycling along the highway to Sale. Mullungdung area represents the largest continuous native forest remaining in the South Gippsland Region (excluding Wilsons Promontory) and covers approximately 25,000ha. It felt vast. It all started off well… we were enjoying cycling through endless trees…however the forestry track started to deteriorate, getting narrower, becoming sandy, waterlogged and overgrown. By the time we were ‘bushwhacking’ and having to manhandle one bike at a time to navigate gnarly ruts we decided the going was far too slow and if we were to reach Sale before dark we’d need to map our way back to the highway. Sad to leave the trees, we saw a few bouncing kangaroos on our way out of the woods. The highway was straight, sunny and quiet and with the wheels automatically turning we were in Sale before we knew it.
1 and 2 Sept - Sale
A couple of rest days in Sale to plan the route ahead. Our next section contained two options to reach NSW’s east coast and we needed time to work out the comparison pros/cons : 1) main Pacific highway for five days, 150 miles, 10,000 ft total ascent, or 2) narrow, windy, scenic Bonang hwy for six days, 159 miles, 13,800 ft ascent. Option two was highlighted by our friend Jason who recommended it as a quiet, picturesque path through forests and mountains, much better than a slog along the busy main highway. After looking into options to camp and get food, we were all set to climb the Bonang route.
Exploring Sale Common Nature Conservation Reserve, part of an Aboriginal cultural landscape, took us through stunning freshwater marsh and red gum woodland. Cycling round the edge of Sales’ lakes and tranquil wetlands we found to be utterly peaceful and calming, watching the waterfowl, seeing the light play on the water, the reflections of the gums, and listening to the different bird calls, buzzing of insects, calls of frogs, and the sound of the wind in the reeds and trees.
3 Sept - Wed. Sale to Paynesville (51 miles)
A day of quiet backroads with bright warm sunshine and strong westerly winds. The wind made for tricky cycling when cycling north, but at each right turn the wind pushed at our backs and we sailed along reaching highs of 25 mph (40 kph).Read more
Wilsons Promontory National Park
Aug 26–29, 2025 in Australia ⋅ 🌬 16 °C
Looking forward to a bit of time off the bike and chance to see some wildlife, we planned to stay two nights in Wilsons Promontory National Park. Wilsons Prom is one of Victoria’s most popular National Parks (NP) and one of the best places to see… wombats!! We stayed at Tidal River campground, which sits on the SE coast of Wilsons Prom.
Initially aiming to camp, the forecasted heavy rain and strong winds caused us to re-think and we plumped for renting a little hut - a place where we could escape the worst. As the weather was due to be bad for a while, we opted to extend our stay to three nights.
The area was first occupied by the indigenous Koori people, over 6000 years ago, and is mentioned in Dreamtime stories and myths, the names remembered in some of the trails and features of the park. The Prom is still important to the Gunai/Kurnai and the Boon wurrung people.
The peninsula has had various incursions to exploit sealing, tin mining, and other resources. It later suffered from farming - with controlled burning to create pasture for livestock, and experienced drought, and rabbit infestation. The Army occupied Tidal River camp during WWII (to train Australian and NZ Commandos in guerrilla warfare and to live off the land, readying them for operations in Indonesia and Melanesia during WWII). There is a Commando Memorial, dedicated to all those that gave their lives and service to their country during many campaigns, which was very moving.
Designated as an NP around the turn of the 20th century, the Park was developed in the post wars years to encourage tourism. Facilities were improved to cope with increasing numbers of visitors - today over 500,000 visit annually - with the aim to maintain an undeveloped feel and sustainable tourism, rejecting major development such as hotels and golf courses along the way. We were amazed at the size of the campground site, and were glad we were travelling in the shoulder season. At full capacity the campground hosts over 450 camping and caravan sites. During the holiday periods, if you want to visit, it’s by ballot, such is its popularity. However the size is hidden somewhat as sites are laid out in the dunes and bush: pockets of thicket help to give the campground an intimate feel.
We went for a walk down to the river whilst it was still light. Leaving our hut, we stumbled across our first live sighting of a wombat! It was snuffing around right next us. Feeding constantly and meticulously on the grass and other shoots, totally unbothered by our presence - we practically had to step over it on the path.
Tidal River snakes its way around the camp, meeting the sea at Norman Beach, a wide expanse of golden sand, and looks out on Norman Bay. Large boulders peppered the opposite bank, their yellow brown stone streaked with red, and a counterpoint to the green vegetation behind. The tide was out and patterns in the sand had been created by the river. At its mouth, the rivers flow battled against the waves, whipped up by the wind and pushed forcefully upstream.
After a cosy night in our bunks listening to the wind and rain outside, we were woken early by the Kookaburra’s chorus of giggling - which became our regular alarm call at about 6:30am. A wonderful sound, infectious and delightful, Lilz hoped he would see one: he had wanted to see one since seeing the bird in his encyclopaedia of world birds when he was a little boy. We loved our little hut. It had two bunks, sink, gas stove/oven, kettle and toaster - luxury in the wild! A shower and toilet block was tucked up on the hill behind our hut, a 5 minute walk away. Not too far to go for a midnight wee! Also our wombat had a burrow under our cabin (!) as we could hear it in the night going about its business, unconcerned by its new noisy neighbours above!
We were up early to get to the summit of Mt. Oberon, the woody peak of 558m that looms over Tidal River. We cycled from the campsite up to Telegraph Saddle car park, where the 6.8kmwalk starts. A steady climb on a sealed road at 8am got our hearts pumping! The wind was blowing and the treetops danced providing the only sound, other than bird calls. A wallaby startled us by jumping away into thick brush. After numerous switchbacks we felt much higher up and the sound of the wind increased. Blowing stronger as we rounded the north western side of the hill, the trees, now smaller, battled against the force. As we approached the telecommunication towers near the top, they generating a haunting whistling sound in the wind, which was eerie.
We climbed the final section with steps and hand rails up to the rocky outcrop at the summit. Steps cut into the granite led us up a gully, offering some respite from the gusts of wind. Looking forward to some great views, we had to be careful as the wind was strong. We could see Tidal River far below. Snatching a view of the turquoise ocean, islands beyond and distant beaches was a great reward for the early climb.
The return cycle to the campground was a glorious downhill from the saddle, arriving back at sleepy Tidal River, mid morning and giving us the rest of the day free. We sat on the bench on the deck outside with cups of tea, and watched a pair of Maned ducks nibble the grass eagerly, enjoyed the Kookaburras flying back and forth, cackling as they went. Crimson rosellas came to investigate and check us out at close quarters and another wombat trundled by. Lilz felt like Dr Doolittle.
We took a walk along the Loo-Errn track which passes through tea tree and banksia shrubs, and then onto a boardwalk to the bend in the river. The wind stroked the water which was the colour of strongly brewed tea. Back at the hut the squally weather increased and sent wet bands of rain through the campsite, buffeting someone’s tent, its sides collapsing in as if punched by a giant invisible hand. The birds fluffed up, their feathers ruffled by the gusts as they hunkered down. When darkness fell, the weather became wilder with cracks of thunder and lighting, heavy rain and hail, which clattered down on the roof, making it sound like there was a crowd of tap dancers up there.
The next day, in a sunny spell we took a walk along Norman Beach to the Oberon Bay track, starting by the river mouth. The wind whipped up streams of sand that blew along. Waves crashed into the rocks on the headland and made for an exhilarating atmosphere. The orange sand was littered with cuttlefish bones, a strange and unfamiliar thing and some were quite large. They seem unnatural and are made of thin layers of white bone with fibrous layers between. The cuttlefish use the large ‘bone’ to regulate its buoyancy in the water.
Walking part way along the Oberon Bay track, the path ran through tea tree shrubs with their lovely white flowers and the slabs of granite that glowed in the afternoon sun. We returned through the coastal bush, the path cut in between tunnels of trees and we stumbled across more wallabies and wombats busily feeding in the quieter parts of the unoccupied camp. A lovely end to our tranquil stay at Tidal River.Read more
Inverloch to Tidal River
Aug 25–26, 2025 in Australia ⋅ ☁️ 16 °C
Our day started gently with chats with passing dog walkers as we dried our tent in the morning sunshine whilst making breakfast. I love our camp breakfasts: to set us up for the day we pimp-up our porridge.
It was a day cycling lonely back roads, passing through only one town, Tarwin Lower. We started to see evidence of wombats in the afternoon: their large hobbity burrows, their little piles of square poo, and sadly, many of their carcasses, roadkill casualties. Will we get to see a real live one?!
Climbing, we enjoyed sweeping views when we leant our bikes against a gate and ate our tupperware pasta lunch. As we continued the southern panorama included the panoramic hilly outline of Wilsons Promontory.
Beautiful ancient eucalypt bordered the road as we passed quietly through Cape Liptrap Coastal Park, before the long sweep of descent down to Sandy Point. A sleepy haven, we pitched our tent at the tiny campground and wandered up over the high dunes. The beach was stunning. A wide pearly dreamscape of sea and sand marbled together and bound only by the indigo outline of the national park peninsula on the horizon.
The following day, the quiet backroads continued, through green fields and eucalypt stands as we navigated around the top loop of Shallow Inlet. Yanakie - consisting of a public toilet, fuel pump and local store - was our only stop to stock up on supplies for our national park stay.
Into the Park and everything suddenly felt hushed and wild. The brush became thick on either side of the single road for the 18 mile / 29 km cycle to the campsite. We spotted our first emu, nonchalantly picking its way through the bush. Cycling up and over the steep Darby Saddle - a few miles before the campground - gave us endless green views across the Park on one side, and the sea on the other! We arrived just in time as the weather turned wet and blustery winds picked up. As we settled in our hut the heavens opened and the we could hear the rain pummel on the tin roof.Read more
Phillip Island to Inverloch
Aug 24–25, 2025 in Australia ⋅ ☁️ 15 °C
A loud cockerel woke us as the sun started to warm the tent. Outside he strutted importantly amongst his copper-burnished hens, all gleaming in the morning sunshine.
Light of heart we enjoyed lazily pedalling across Phillip Island looking hopefully up into the eucalypts at the koala reserve (only a giant fibreglass one spotted), and down Surf Beach’s long golden sands.
Crossing the bridge back to the mainland we were greeted with even longer goldener sands as we cruised along the Bass Coast Rail Trail, the colours popping toothpaste-blue and ochre-yellow. We delighted in hearing the loud sweet love songs of frogs every time we passed water. Lilz saw his first kangaroos which he described as like a deer-rabbit.
The gloaming found us battling head winds around the point at Cape Patterson, with exhilarating glimpses of the deep blue Bass Strait sea.
Tent up just as darkness fell and we ate noodles whilst catching up with family over FaceTime.
FROGS by Norman MacCaig
Frogs sit more solid
than anything sits. In mid-leap they are
parachutists falling
in a free fall. They die on roads
with arms across their chests and
heads high.
I love frogs that sit
like Buddha, that fall without
parachutes, that die
like Italian tenors.
Above all, I love them because,
pursued in water, they never
panic so much that they fail
to make stylish triangles
with their ballet dancer’s
legs.Read more
Mount Eliza to Phillip island
Aug 23–24, 2025 in Australia ⋅ ☁️ 13 °C
Another sunny day. More giant grins, this time on my face as we cycled past ducks sitting in trees! The elegant speckly Australian Maned duck makes its nest in a tree hollow and the male sports quite the mullet. We passed a Polocross club - apparently an Australian-invented game - polo and lacrosse mash-up.
Having crossed over the Mornington Peninsula we were back down by the sea. Drifting into Warringine Park we happily rolled along boardwalks through peaceful wetlands. Described as one of the peninsula’s best kept secrets we only saw a handful of people also enjoying the huge blue sky. In the distance large Esso LPG storage tanks juxtaposed the subtle beauty of the salt marsh.
Catching a ferry is always exciting. The small boat to Phillip Island reminded us of Highland ferries with locals nodding and chatting to each other and loading daily supplies: the main food shop, a washing machine, large tins of paint. On route we dropped passengers at off-grid sandy French Island before reaching Cowes on Phillip Island and cycling to our campsite.Read more
East coast of Port Phillip Bay
Aug 22–23, 2025 in Australia ⋅ ☁️ 17 °C
Unsure we actually wanted to leave Melbourne, but also itching to get back in the saddle, the coastal road beckoned. Our plan was to spend the next five days cycling from Melbourne’s suburb of St Kilda to Victoria’s largest national park, Wilsons Promontory.
This would take us along the eastern curve of Port Phillip bay as far as Mount Eliza, over the hill to catch the ferry to Phillip Island, and then to hug the coast with camps at Inverloch and Sandy Point, before reaching Tidal River - the NP campground - at the southern tip of the promontory.
Our start in St Kilda was happily rallied by Luna Park’s Mr Moon and his giant grinning mouth. The entrance to the historic amusement park cheered us no end! As did the sight of a smooth flat cycle path beside the sea. Heading south we sailed along breezily - for almost the day’s full 35 miles the cycleway guided us.
Barely 2 miles along and we had already stopped for a coffee at the busy Elwood Beach Shack (seemed rude not to). My cappuccino had a face in it!!!
Another 2.5 miles and we were admiring the colourful Brighton Beach Boxes, turning the beachscape into a work of art. (A beachhut reportedly sold in 2023 for $450,000: bonkers!)
We marvelled at the affluent properties as we cycled past one enormous extravagant house after another all along the bay, getting ever grander in scale and more opulent as we reached Mount Eliza.
Our day ended up on a hill, views glimpsed through trees, and the most warm-coloured beautiful fill-your-heart sunset.Read more
Traveler
If you have knees like mine up is better than down!
TravelerYou have seen the best and worst of this beautiful place - so glad you swam with the rays a magical day xx
TravelerHello. It was quite magical. We felt like we were in a nature documentary. Couldn’t quite believe it.