Much Ado About Nothing

After all the purchases and preparations, the innoculations and immunisations, Timbuktu will have to wait.

Rabies, revisited

Today's lavender injection, the second of three, is administered by an eager-to-please medical student, under the nurse's close supervision.

Afterwards, a tiny carnelia flower blooms on my flesh.

I've got rabies

...and typhoid, to boot.

The first of my rabies injections was a lurid purple in the syringe, but it was the typhoid injection I actually felt squirt! into my right arm.

And all this in aid of a voyage of exploration: an adventure.

And finally: my carbon footprint

Well, I offset my flights to, from - and indeed in - Australia.

Now, I know that offsetting doesn't actually wipe out the emissions resulting from the flight (hence the name, one might observe). It doesn't get me off the proverbial Carbon Hook, or solve the larger problems of climate change.

The particular scheme, operated by Qantas, and approved by the Australian Government, supports carbon sequestration through tree planting. I know it's a token gesture.

But it is a positive step. It is action, rather than inaction. I did consider the issue. I made a choice. And - most importantly - I took action. That definitely counts for something.

If you need more, see qantas.com/flycarbonneutral.

Back in Blighty

Home, England.

After 29 days, a ridiculously large number of miles, and - most recently - 12 hours on an aeroplane, I arrived back in England a little after six o'clock this morning.

I'd like to say that my eyes were bright and my step was jaunty as I sashayed through customs and onto British soil. But the truth of the matter is that I was tired and jaded - I slept through take-off! - and full of twinges.

I was, however, very happy to have had a wonderful time away. And very happy to be home.

Vegetarians don't eat spinach for breakfast

Somewhere over Europe.

I watched wistfully as the person in the seat next to me was given their non-vegetarian breakfast. Perched on top of the expanded-polystyrene egg was a pallid slither of bacon that looked very tempting to my weary eyes. And there, the tomato, the mushroom, the glossy pile of spinach.

But my vegetarian meal was about to arrive; what need did I have for lustful thoughts for bacon? A forkful or two of limp spinach would soon restore my equilibrium. I suspect I was licking my lips as I peeled away the foil lid of the breakfast tray.

Wonder of wonders! There was - naturally - no bacon. There was my egg, thicker than plaster of paris and as spongy as foam. And there my tomato, and mushroom.

But no spinach. Oh no, not for the vegetarians, no sir. Vegetarians do not, after all, eat spinach for breakfast, do they? No no no. Keep that for the meat eaters.

Vegetarians eat broccoli for breakfast.



Well, obviously.

The Royal Palace, Bangkok

The Royal Palace in Bangkok is jammed with beautiful paintings, amazing statues, awe-inspiring architecture, and buckets of history.

So I'm sharing this photograph, which shows none of the aforementioned wonders.

It is a pretty flower, though.

48 Hours in Bangkok

Well, alright then, call it 50. But we only expected to be there for 48 hours. Or 49.

Having landed just about 23h00 hours on the 28th, our departing flight is at 00h20 on the 31st. Little did we know that it would be delayed a little bit, so we had an extra hour or so in Thailand. Bonus!

Of course, we spent that additional free-to-you-sir time in an aeroplane, so we might as well have been anywhere. And I slept through it. In fact, I slept through take-off. But I'm getting ahead of myself. When we left our brave friends, they'd just landed in Bangkok, tired from the longish flight, and the smallest bit grumpy that they'd left Australia, which had been so much fun.

But they were full of hope, too, because here was yet another wonderful new destination, begging to be explored and examined and enjoyed. So that's what we did in the little time available to us.

In short: Arrive. Hotel. Chinatown. Hotel. Thai dancing. Sleep. Royal Palace. Hotel. Depart.

In long:
I really liked Bangkok, the crazy heady rush and whirl of it; I would suddenly find myself smiling delightedly at the madness of it. But as a friend of mine said:

"The reasons you'll love Bangkok are the reasons you'll hate it."

I think I know what he means.

More sisters

Back to the Blue Mountains today, and what a change! Today there was thunder and lightning and - yes - rain over the National Park.

We arrived just in time to watch a massive downpour from the dubious comfort of the car before venturing forth once it had abated.

The view from Point Echo was rather different from the last time I visited, with the clouds rising from the forest as the rain stopped. And my camera at a strange angle, judging by the horizon in the image above!

In the distance, lightning flashed and forked over the mountains, and I irritated onlookers attempting to capture it by using the continuous shooting feature of my camera. My memory card filled before the lightning came again!

I slept through 36 kangaroos

That's sightings, not splatterings.

The drive from Yulara resort to Kings Canyon is long, and departs early in the morning. So early that it's really the late-middle of the night. As a consequence, I found myself dozing off more often than I might have liked.

(In honesty, I found myself waking up rather than dozing off. I admit I don't recall the falling asleep part of the cycle whatsoever.)

Anyhoo, I would have preferred to be awake, because the coach driver had warned us that there might be wildlife straying onto the road and I was eager to catch my first bleary-eyed glimpses of Australian wildlife in the Wild. Kangaroo-caught-in-the-headlights, if you will.

So it was with a quiet regret that I awoke on one occasion to hear the bus driver announcing:

"There's another three kangaroos, ladies and gentlemen, which I think makes it 39 that we've seen so far. Plus a dingo, a brumby, and seventeen willow-tongued blimbutts."

I did, happily, see a couple of kangaroos and camels.

The question of a hyphen

Is that rainbow-bee eaters, or rainbow bee-eaters?

The moon on a stick?

Taken in on the Kata Tjuta walk. The sky was like this pretty much all the time. Beautiful.

Uluru again

Yes, it really does meet expectations. Just go there.

No steps at Uluru

Be under no illusions: there are no steps cut into Uluru.

When people talk about "the climb", I suspect they really mean "the haul".

The thin silver line you can see snaking up the Rock in the pic above is a low hand rail, which you'd need both to drag yourself upwards, and to arrest your too-speedy descent. You'll note it doesn't start at the bottom of the Rock, either, so the preamble would be a scramble and the postscript a slither.

People regularly die on this climb - by falling off - and if it's too windy or too hot, the Park Rangers close the climb. Which is what they did today (because of the winds on the top) - you can see the little red gate and no entry sign, which seems strangely genteel, given the setting.

I hadn't been planning to climb anyway, but having seen this, I was more than happy with my decision.

Uluru

An early start today, whilst the sky is still dark, and the stars still clear in the sky. And this in aid of Seeing the Rock at Sunrise, a recurrent pass-time in this part of the world.

There's a lot written, and spoken, and rumoured, about Uluru at sunrise; the way the rock glows and changes colour. I think it depends on the type of dawn; the clouds can change the colour of the sky, and presumably the rock too. For me, it was a tremendously pleasant experience, and I'm glad I just stood there and took it in, rather than trying to capture it photographically. A short time afterwards, though, I did indulge myself and take this:

This is one of my favourite pictures of Uluru. I took it just after dawn, having stood in pretty much that spot and watched the rock change colour as the sun dragged itself above the dusty, sandy horizon behind me.

I could trim it down, but I rather like the fact that you can see the photographer (that's me, folks) - you can see how early it is by the length of my shadow. And I haven't done any other work on the picture, either; it's exactly as my camera recorded it. I love the paleness in the sky, as the sun is still rising. I love the colours and shadows on the rock. You can make out the dark stain of a water channel in the middle of that deep shadow on the left, and the distinctive face of the Mala man, killed by Kirpan whilst protecting his people.

I love the ground too, which becomes stoney rather than sandy just to the left of the viewpoint, and had gathered some water in little puddles from the rain the evening before. I tried to take an arty shot of the reflection of the rock in the water, but couldn't quite get it right. I don't mind.

Sunrise at Uluru is special - Uluru is special. I suspect the definition of that will differ wildly between most visitors.

But, damn, it's worth the trip.

A good start to the day

Some days start earlier than others, and today started particularly early. Equally, some days start better than others, and today was especially good.

As I stood, shivering, beneath a sky still black and rich with stars, gazing up at the familiar and unfamiliar consellations above me, I saw a shooting star flashing through the sky over the Southern Cross.

And still to come: sunrise at Uluru.

Eat your heart out, David Copperfield

Forget that thing with the Statue of Liberty. Mother Nature just worked the most amazing vanishing act, disappearing - and reappearing - the massive monolith that is Uluru from the horizon as I watched, alarmed.

I arrived at Yulara, the Ayers Rock Resort, hungry for Uluru. I had spent the entire flight with my face pressed to the window, drinking in the view as we passed over ground that was coloured the most fantastic colours - from purples, to mustard-yellows, here pale and near-white and there dark, brown-red. I was enthralled the entire time.

But this was all but a prelude to the main act. We all knew why we were there. And, as we began our descent, the fidgeting and fussing on board grew to new levels, everyone craning their necks for the first sight. Not for me. Sitting on the right hand side of the 'plane, I did not glimpse Uluru as we landed, nor on the short ride (courtesy bus, not camel) to the hotel.

So it was that by the time I was finally There, by the time I had actually Arrived, I was desperate to see the Rock. Desperate not to be disappointed, too. But eager for it nonetheless.

I scurried out to the nearest lookout, scuffing my feet through the red sandy earth gleefully, watching my sandalled toes getting grubbier and grubbier, and smiling all the while. But also rushing to see the monolith. And rushing because I was racing both sunset and the clouds that were gathering all about.

As I crested the low rise - the highest thing around, little more than a molehill, yet still an ideal vantage to see the famous rock, I stared eagerly ahead to see -

(dramatic pause)

Absolutely nothing!

Like those visits to the high mountains - the Andes, perhaps - where the clouds cheat the viewer of the postcard view, there was no Rock. There was simply a wall of clouds, grey and disappointing.

At that moment, I was fairly close to being gutted, I don't mind telling you.

But then the thunder came, and the lightning. And I realised that I was in for a spectacle not enjoyed by every other visitor, on every other day of the year. I was in for a somewhat rarer treat.

It was raining in the desert.

Again the thunder came. Thunder and more lightning. And then a rainbow somewhere over the vanished monolith.

And finally - glory of glories! - the clouds parted the smallest amount, to reveal - faintly - water, running off the face of the Rock.

Which, on the whole, was pretty special. Not the sunset I had dreamed about, but something rarer yet. Apparently, there had not been rain like that for six months, not here.

Red sand beneath my toes and rain on my face. I think I'm going to like it here.

Sometimes, I pretend I'm a vegetarian

On Qantas flight QF728 from Sydney to Ayers Rock (Uluru), we were given a turkey and cranberry sandwich.

The front of the packet identifies the ingredients as "Panini, Turkey (28%), Cranberry Sauce (10%), Cucumber, Lettuce".

The back of the packet, however, is a whole other story. The panini - that's a kind of bread, by the way, which can be simply and deliciously made with just flour, water, salt and yeast - contains 14 ingredients that I couldn't be bothered to write down. They had names like "flour treatment agents", whatever that means, and some of them were just numbers.

The "turkey", by contrast, contains 20 ingredients.

Twenty! And some of those are truly eye-watering. Here's the full list:

Turkey Breast, Water, Acidity Regulators 326, 262, Salt, Rice Flour, Tapioca Starch, Potato Starch, Sugar, Sucrose, Mineral Salts 451, 450, Vegetable Gum 407, Dextrose, Maple Syrup, Hydrolysed Vegetable Protein, Preservative 223, Vegetable Oil, Flavours, Colours (1500)

Now I don't know about you (that's the way this whole author/reader thing works! Unless of course I do know you, in which case: Hi!) but I really can't understand why acidity regulators have a place in a turkey slice. I've never found turkey to be that acidic, have you? And what's going on with the maple syrup? On a pancake, sure! In the suitcase of a first-time visitor to Canada, why not? But in a turkey sandwich?! And that's only one of four types of sugar that are in there.

And whilst we're on some kind of rant about it (which apparently at least one of us is), what's with the rice flour, tapioca starch and potato starch?! Surely I'm getting enough starch from the bread, wouldn't you agree? But no. Obviously I need more, and for convenience sake I need it injected into my turkey, so I don't have to worry about getting hold of it myself. And while you're at it, could you squeeze some water in there, too? I'm not feeling very hydrated today.

But the one that takes the Jaffle McSnaffle Golden Biscuit is that one ingredient listed second to last: "flavours". Presumably by the time you've squeezed all that other crap into the turkey, it doesn't really taste very turkeylike. It needs a bit of a boost - an artificial boost! - to make sure it tastes like turkey. Which it probably did before someone starting messing around, injecting sugar and starch and tapioca into it.

The cranberry sauce, by the by, "only" contains 3 ingredients: water, cranberries, and sucrose, making it - strangely - the simplest major ingredient. And arguably, therefore, the most wholesome.

And that, ladies and gentlemen of the blogjury, is why I sometimes ask for a vegetarian meal on a flight. Or, more specifically - and to use the airline lingo - an ovo-lacto vegetarian meal.

On this particular flight, I wish that I had.

Wardrobe Fatigue and The Tim Tam Slam

Sydney, New South Wales.

I have packed rather sparingly for this adventure. The advantages of which are many, including a lighter bag, and a smug satisfaction. The consequences, however, include the need for more frequent laundry than might be optimal. And today, I discovered a new malaise: wardrobe fatigue.

As I have such a limited range of - dare I say it? - "outfits", I find myself simply bored of my clothing options. I have worn them all repeatedly, and now yearn for some difference, some variety, some change.

So this morning I found myself at Bondi Junction, pacing the soulless mall in search of something particular. Happily, I found the very thing: a long-sleeved linen shirt, perfect for a daywalk in the desert, only days ahead of me.

In order to celebrate, I acquired a packet of Tim Tams, which I took home and prepared a mug of coffee in order to enact the ritual of the Tim Tam Slam.

This, as anyone will tell you, involves nibbling the diagonally-opposed corners off the chocolatey-sandwich biscuits, and using them as a kind of straw to drink the attendant warm (but not hot) beverage - black coffee in my case. The biscuit quickly becomes saturated with the coffee and deliciously gooey and soft. It's a kind of faffy way of dunking, without the crumbs, and with a bit more ceremony.

Delicious.

Night Noodles and Thai Pie

Here's one for the fusion food fanatics: Thai Pie.

Imagine, if you will, a yellow chicken curry - Massaman Kaeng Gai, perhaps - lovingly encased in deliciously flaky pastry and served hot. Biting through the satisfyingly home-grown pastry reveals a mouthful of spicy exotic flavours. What a combination!

This evening, I went along to the Night Noodle Market, part of the Sydney Morning Herald's Good Food Month. All week, in Hyde Park, a bunch of stalls from the many local restaurants were dispensing excellent Asianesque food to the lucky picnickers.

This was where I had the very good fortune to sample the genius of pie-fusion. Although, in truth, the concept was better than the realisation: the filling was disappointingly dry and stodgy, rather than light and piquant. But think of the possibilities! Where will it end?

And I fulfilled a lifelong ambition to eat noodles out of a box, using chopsticks. Sometimes it really is the simple things that matter.