Looks like yesterday was the last day of sunshine for a while, as the rains
are coming. Took full advantage of this
by further exploring the cliffs overlooking the Jamison Valley yesterday
morning. I was here 21 years ago, but
the trend to turn every tourist spot into a 'visitor experience' has been
applied liberally, to point where I honestly don't recognise anything. The Katoomba Falls site (where the old
funicular railway took a lurching, 52 degree angle down the cliff-side) is now
called 'Scenicworld', and has a new cable car, called the Skyway, plus the
Scenicworld visitors' centre, multi-story carpark and large cafe. Multi-million dollar grant means much new
construction, hence the helicopter fetching and carrying up and down the
cliff-side the other day, like some enormous potter-wasp buzzing hither and yon
to build a nest. The cliff-side railway
is all new and very focused on health & safety (yawn) - I recall it being
little more than a series of old miners' carriages with little protection from the
dramatic drop-off. That was part of the
fun in 1992.
Progress I suppose...
There is a maze of overgrown pathways winding through the trees along the
cliff-top, with viewing sites at intervals.
Astonishing feeling, standing at the cliff edge and looking out high
above the canopy of trees far below, the waterfall to my left completely
dwarfed by the sheer expanse. Next week,
the intention is to descend to the forest floor and walk part of the Three
Sisters route, weather allowing.
Apparently, the three sisters were comely maidens who went in search of,
shall we say 'romance', and as a consequence their father (who rather
annoyingly for them, was a god), turned them to stone, or rather three
spectacular rocky outcrops, all interlinked.
Comments about the suppression of female sexuality through the ages on a
postcard please!
Obviously I caught the sun on my forehead, so brandishing a red face, I
returned via Casiopeia (sold out of Florentines, sadly) and set about packing
up ready for the drive to Taree. Mine
host (whose name is Alhazmi, by the way) ensured I was suitably fortified with
sausage and eggs before I punched in the co-ordinates and off I went. Now, it seems half of the population of New
South Wales deserts the Blue Mountains on a Sunday afternoon, so what should
have been a 4.5 hour jaunt northwards turned into a 5.5 hour slog. That said, once I hit the Pacific Highway, I
had a rather lovely feeling of familiarity, even stopping at the service
station I previously stopped at last year when it was experiencing a non-stop
deluge. This time it was warm and dry,
and I purchased a take-away coffee from a very friendly woman called Rose. Mind you, apparently the concept of
'screen-wash' is anathma to these Aussie service station johnnies! You know how you can't move for large
containers of screen-wash in any British petrol station? Not so down-under. I politely asked for said fluid, and the guy
behind the counter frowned before asking if I meant 'bug-wash'. Apparently this means the buckets of water
standing next to each petrol pump. No, I
said, the stuff you put in the bottle situated in your car's engine bay, and
which spurts out when you depress the lever in your steering column. Sadly, this didn't compute (seriously!), so I
had to settle for an over-priced bottle of mineral water.
Good grief!
After many hours of flicking back and forth between a variety of radio
stations (including a tribute to the musical theatre history of Angela Lansbury
- Elane Paige, eat your heart out!), I finally made it to the motel via a
'bottle shop', which was straight out of a stereotypical Aussie film from the
1970s and a very jolly petrol station (petrol is about the only thing cheaper
than in England). I love these antipodean
motels, and must confess that, despite the warm welcome and tremendous
hospitality I have received from Alhazmi, it feels good to be out on my own, as
I was last year. Have decided to spend
two nights here in Taree, as after my interview with Bob, I can hole up and
crack on with transcribing to the sounds of the water-feature outside. Must confess, am a little nervous about
meeting Bob... he is very much a legend in Australian motor-sports circles,
still racing at 80 and I suspect not someone who suffers fools. The other night I again watched the film he
made of his recce' journey from Sydney to London in July or August 1968, three
months before the Marathon itself. A
formidable character even at 35, and now I discover someone is writing hs
biography! However, I also know he was a
bit miffed that I didn't get to see him last year (the timing didn't allow), so
am hoping all will be fine.
As I arrived in the dark last night I had no idea of what surrounded the motel. By morning light I discover it's set among green pastures and herds of cows! Given that on the way here I passed a sign for Stroud and Gloucester, feeling a tad home sick.
Right, off to sample an Aussie motel buffet breakfast!
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