Finally, I head for France tomorrow. That's not to say I haven't enjoyed my time here in Sydney, but it seems like I've been waiting for this moment for awhile. Well, 3 months actually - that's how long ago I finished work!
Mid February saw me fly down to Hobart, Tasmania, to meet up with Tom & Jiri for some walking. Tom's theory of exponential increases in organisational difficulty with increased numbers in the party came into full force with this trip. After some 63 changes in plan, it was decided Tom and I would walk, somewhere, for 8 days, while Jiri would only join us for 4, as he had to get back to Sydney for a job interview.
Our trip started from Derwent Bridge, from which we ascended onto the Travellers Range, after some road bashing and forest walking. By lunch time we reached Travellers Rest Lagoon, which was extremely dry. Jiri and I, neither of whom had been to Tasmania before, were both surprised to see such a barren landscape after all the tales you hear of Tasmania. (I believe that most of Tassie's rainfall occurs on the West coast)
Once on the Travellers Range proper, the landscape changed dramatically. The Range is essentially a high plateau, perched above Lake St Clair, dotted by pristine tarns (lakes). The following days were spent between scrub bashes from hell, to perfect lunch and camping spots by the sides of these beautiful tarns. It was a brilliant end to the day to go for a dip in the cool, clean water.
Day 3 however, I woke up with a sore knee. Not too unusual given the circumstances. It progressively worsened through the day, though, with the 'highlight' being the descent (a lot better track than anticipated) off the Range and onto the Overland Track. Oh what fun - crowds of guided walkers after 3 days of solace.
The following morning, after Jiri had already left to get the ferry back across Lake St Clair, Tom and I agreed we would be best to follow, given that my knee was not improving. As all good adventures go, that night saw us staying at a most excellent establishment in Hobart (the New Sydney) drinking excellent beer, supplemented by a great steak. Still, it didn't have a patch on the dehydrated fish pie from the previous evening...
Flights were changed, and after a day in Hobart checking out the famous heated wall at the botanical gardens, and sampling some scallop pies, I made way back to Sydney. Here ends the stories, really, as all I've been doing since is whinging about my knee and finalising which music library I take with me overseas.
Well, that's not entirely true. A week after Tassie a few of us Doomies headed out canyoning for "the burial of the life of the boy" - ie, Gareth's bucks party. The cold was biting, the VB tinnies warming, and the pink tu-tu very entertaining. A great day out, followed by a fake moustache filled Wednesday night in the city - gold. Of course the main event, the wedding of Gareth and Bec the following weekend, was also a great event for which I'm grateful that I had the chance to go.
And so tomorrow, I depart for France. I'll only be in Paris for a few hours, before jumping on a TGV (a 300km/hr train? surely not! they make those? wonder when we'll get one over here...) east to Dijon, where I'll be lucky enough to pick up a friends car to use over the next couple of months. Sunday will be a crash course in driving on the wrong side of the road down to Marseille, where I will meet up with my cousin, the good Dr Nik.
Rough plan at the moment? Drive to Spain. Drive back to France. Drive around the Alps - Italy, Switzerland, back to France. Climbing in between. I'll let you know how it goes!
Mid February saw me fly down to Hobart, Tasmania, to meet up with Tom & Jiri for some walking. Tom's theory of exponential increases in organisational difficulty with increased numbers in the party came into full force with this trip. After some 63 changes in plan, it was decided Tom and I would walk, somewhere, for 8 days, while Jiri would only join us for 4, as he had to get back to Sydney for a job interview.
Our trip started from Derwent Bridge, from which we ascended onto the Travellers Range, after some road bashing and forest walking. By lunch time we reached Travellers Rest Lagoon, which was extremely dry. Jiri and I, neither of whom had been to Tasmania before, were both surprised to see such a barren landscape after all the tales you hear of Tasmania. (I believe that most of Tassie's rainfall occurs on the West coast)
Once on the Travellers Range proper, the landscape changed dramatically. The Range is essentially a high plateau, perched above Lake St Clair, dotted by pristine tarns (lakes). The following days were spent between scrub bashes from hell, to perfect lunch and camping spots by the sides of these beautiful tarns. It was a brilliant end to the day to go for a dip in the cool, clean water.
Day 3 however, I woke up with a sore knee. Not too unusual given the circumstances. It progressively worsened through the day, though, with the 'highlight' being the descent (a lot better track than anticipated) off the Range and onto the Overland Track. Oh what fun - crowds of guided walkers after 3 days of solace.
The following morning, after Jiri had already left to get the ferry back across Lake St Clair, Tom and I agreed we would be best to follow, given that my knee was not improving. As all good adventures go, that night saw us staying at a most excellent establishment in Hobart (the New Sydney) drinking excellent beer, supplemented by a great steak. Still, it didn't have a patch on the dehydrated fish pie from the previous evening...
Flights were changed, and after a day in Hobart checking out the famous heated wall at the botanical gardens, and sampling some scallop pies, I made way back to Sydney. Here ends the stories, really, as all I've been doing since is whinging about my knee and finalising which music library I take with me overseas.
Well, that's not entirely true. A week after Tassie a few of us Doomies headed out canyoning for "the burial of the life of the boy" - ie, Gareth's bucks party. The cold was biting, the VB tinnies warming, and the pink tu-tu very entertaining. A great day out, followed by a fake moustache filled Wednesday night in the city - gold. Of course the main event, the wedding of Gareth and Bec the following weekend, was also a great event for which I'm grateful that I had the chance to go.
And so tomorrow, I depart for France. I'll only be in Paris for a few hours, before jumping on a TGV (a 300km/hr train? surely not! they make those? wonder when we'll get one over here...) east to Dijon, where I'll be lucky enough to pick up a friends car to use over the next couple of months. Sunday will be a crash course in driving on the wrong side of the road down to Marseille, where I will meet up with my cousin, the good Dr Nik.
Rough plan at the moment? Drive to Spain. Drive back to France. Drive around the Alps - Italy, Switzerland, back to France. Climbing in between. I'll let you know how it goes!
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