Broom Broom to Broome

Wiluna is at the southern end of the Canning Stock Route. The route is a 2000km long track that crosses The Little Sandy and the Great Sandy Desert. Initially it was a cattle drovers route made possible by the sinking of 50 odd wells by a team led by the surveyor Alfred Canning in the early 20th Century. It is hailed as the ultimate off-road adventure in Australia. Since reaching the end of Africa we had been planning to attempt this route.

The night before embarking on the Canning Stock route we were camped near to a couple of chaps, Terry and John, who had lost their wives somewhere between Melbourne and Wiluna and were headed along the same route as us, also looking for some off-road adventure. For various reasons they became known as the Hema Map Boys (something to do with the long distances they travelled on all of the back roads in the area). That night there was some ominous evidence in the sky of a front moving in from the north. Not to worry, everything we had read indicated that this was the dry season.

The next day we were up bright and early expecting the sun to be up with us. It was up, but behind the clouds. Undeterred we set off. The Hema Map Boys had set off a short time ahead of us but they were taking a detour to visit Well1. By the time we stopped for lunch it was decidedly chilly and windy, the sun had not shown its face yet. We carried on to Well 3 and by this time light drizzle had turned into sheets of rain. This well was quite impressive and had been fully restored. When we opened the lid there were many thumbnail frogs all piled on top of each other and periodically one would lose its balance and assume a sky-diving pose as it plummeted back down the abyss to the bottom of the well.

At this point the route is diverted onto a station track and there is a big sign indicating that this part of the route is a dry weather track only. So we were compelled to sit and wait it out. While we were waiting the Hema Map Boys arrived. We had expected them to overtake us ages ago but they had ended up taking a slightly longer detour than anticipated which had necessitated them returning to Wiluna for more diesel (yes they got lost).

As dusk fell the weather cleared up a bit but the boys who had been listening in to their HF radio had nothing but bad news. There was another front moving in from the east and all of the station access roads were closed. So we had a cheery campfire and decided to wait and see what the morning brought.

The morning brought even more bad news. There were people bogged in all over the show with no indication of how many days they were going to be stuck for. Even with our Michelin mud tyres we did not think we would be immune to the bogging. So after all that we turned around. We decided to head up to Newman, about 500km away, and see if we could find a way in to the route up there. The following day we arrived in Newman and bumped in to the Hema Map Boys again. They had yet more bad news for us. It seemed that every unsealed road within a 700km radius was closed. There was not much else for them to do but to turn around and head home, a week long journey. Such a shame but before they left John very kindly gave us his copy of “The Canning Stock Route” by Gard. We had visited just about every new and second-hand book shop in Perth but none had a copy.

Newman is home to the world’s largest open cast mine, from which high grade iron ore is extracted and then transported on the world’s longest private railway to Port Hedland. The trucks are just huge, they work 24 hours per day and during that time consume over 4700 litres of diesel. That is about the same volume of diesel we have used over the past year on this trip.

Over the last couple of days Gavin had noticed a new leak, only this time it was diesel originating from the fuel injection pump. Only a few drops per minute but enough to be of concern. We asked at one auto repairs place and they just send them back to Perth for servicing at rather considerable cost and time. Not something we really wanted to do- be stuck in a mining town in the middle of the outback governed by the twice daily shift change.

With a lemonade can carefully suspended under the pump to catch the drips (diesel is pretty dear in Australia) we carried on our way heading towards Broome where we hoped to get it unofficially serviced.

On the way we popped into the Karijini National Park where we spent a morning exploring the Dales Canyon with its pools and waterfalls. I had read that at this time of year the water is icy cold for swimming so had not taken my swimming togs. The water was a beautiful temperature and there were just a few too many people for me to go skinny dipping. I really am beginning to learn that one should not believe much of what one reads about the various conditions.

Two days later we emerged in Broome, a colourful tropical beachside resort town. The temperature also seem to have quite suddenly lifted also since leaving Newman and once again we are very pleased with our fridge supplying cold water and the odd treat of a lemonade or fruit jelly. Whilst in the Broome Visitors Centre Gavin was accosted by a young chap, JP, who having spied our car with UK plates decided that Gavin looked like a likely candidate to be the driver. Unsurprising really considering he really does need a haircut, has grown his customary winter facial hair and was wearing a holey and very faded T-shirt. JP was interested because he had also shipped his Land Rover over from the UK, was currently travelling around Australia and then planning to ship onto South Africa. We exchanged a few Quarantine horror stories- he certainly trumped us as he explained how he was forced to empty the refrigerant gas from his air conditioning unit. We arranged to meet up the next day as we went off to look for a mechanic. As luck would have we found such a place and with the fuel injector pump booked in for after the weekend we found ourselves with a bit of time on our hands. A little way north of Broome we spotted a bush camping area and so made a bee-line for Barred Creek.

Barred Creek turned out to be a warren of sandy tracks meandering through the tidal mangrove areas and forests of really slow growing gum trees. The next day we returned to Broome to catch up with JP and his friend Charles and also to view the local attraction known as Staircase to the Moon. As the full moon rises over the mud flats of a low spring tide the reflections result in a highly photogenic effect called Staircase to the Moon. Or so we are informed- it was cloudy that night. But there was a bit of a festival atmosphere, the town being full, with lots of food stalls and craft markets. So in exchange for a few tips on how to appease bribe happy African policemen (basically brush up on your Premier Football League knowledge) JP treated us to a tasty dish from one of the stalls.

Back out at Barred Creek we hid out for a few days. Enjoying a couple of hours on the deserted beach in the afternoons and exploring the area. One evening a couple of chaps pulled up asking where the good fishing spots were. When we responded that we did not know they wondered what on earth we were doing there if we weren’t fishing.

On our final evening, just as we were making a fire to bake bread we had heard a vehicle engine straining quite close by, it sounded as if was stuck in the sand. Not long after a chap turned up on foot asking for a tow. So off went Gavin to the rescue again and returned half an hour later with his new friend who joined us for a while round the fire. The following morning he turned up with loads of tins of food, that his mum had packed for him, to say thank you.

Yesterday morning we booked into a campsite, just off the beach and Gavin immediately set to disconnecting the fuel injector pump. Amazingly, nothing broke taking it out and today it is being fitted with a new O-ring at considerable cost- all of this for a blooming O-ring.

"The Outback Starts Here"

We had one final errand to run before leaving Perth. Back in December when we replaced the front shock absorbers in Kenya, we had realised that the rear shocks were also due for replacement, and decided that we would get a new set in South Africa. We looked around in Cape Town, but couldn’t find the ones we wanted, so decided in the end to wait until we got to Australia. What we hadn’t counted on was that they are three times the price here. We considered having a pair shipped out from the UK, but although the shocks are cheaper, postage isn’t so it wasn’t worth it. We finally found the one store in Perth that had a pair in stock, so it was there that we headed before our Grande Departe.

It was mid afternoon on Saturday before we were actually on the road north. We had decided to follow the coast to Geraldton, and had spied a likely looking four-wheel-drive track to try things out on. Our first night out of Perth we stayed in the luxury of a caravan park at Ledge Point. The next morning saw us in Lancelin, looking for the start of the track. After a couple of wrong turns some local lads set us right. The track was sandy but firm, and was great fun. At one point we came across a stranded Toyota Hilux that had broken down in the middle of the track. The driver was about to call out the RAC for a tow, but after suggesting a couple of things we narrowed it down to his fuel filter and got him on his way.

After a no-horse town called Wedge the track became almost non-existent, but we plugged on. At one stage we were out on the beach with only a narrow strip of sand to drive on between the dunes and the tide.

Soon enough we turned inland again and the track became better defined once more, and eventually led us to the sealed road. Carrying on north, we found a great campsite at Sandy Cape.

It started raining overnight, and was quite stormy by the morning. We decamped to try and find a sheltered spot for breakfast, luckily finding a covered picnic table at Green Head. We still got wet though, while we waited for our porridge to cook.

From there it was a long drive through to Geraldton for lunch by the waterfront. From Geraldton, we planned to head east into the outback, so decided that now would be the best time to have a go a replacing the rear shocks, just in case anything else should need replacing at the same time. We have had so many stubborn fixings break when replacing parts in the past, and this time was no exception. I had already sprayed the fixings with GT85 lubricant well in advance to let it soak in and try and free things up, but sure enough, when trying to undo the top mount for the first shock the fixing sheared off. Unfortunately the fixing is not just a simple bolt, but required a whole new mounting. So once again, Catkin got to spend the rest of the day traipsing around the industrial areas trying to find the local Land Rover garage. Luckily, and thanks to some very helpful people, she did find one, and even more luckily they just happened to have one of what we needed in stock. Apparently they had ordered one in for a customer who had never picked it up. Catkin arrived back at the carpark over two hours after she had left, but with the required part in hand. By this stage it was too late to carry on, so with the old shock well and truly wired on to what was left of the mounting we went to find a campground for the night.

The following day we started again, taking even greater care with the top fixing on the other side of the vehicle. Fortunately this time it came off with out breaking, much to my relief. After this the whole job was completed relatively quickly, and we finally had our new shocks on. The improvement in the rear suspension was immediately noticeable.

Once that was done we were clear to go. We stopped on the way out of town to top up our fuel and water tanks, as well as filling up the jerry cans on the roof rack. With about 100 litres of water and 230 litres of diesel, as well as enough food to last for about three weeks or more, we were carrying more weight than we ever had before. We drove about 100km inland and found a great campsite beside a watering hole.

On the road between Yalgoo and Mt Magnet the next day we were waved down by an Aboriginal family in a V6 Commodore that wouldn’t go. We gave them a jump start which got them a few kilometres down the road before their car again stopped. In the end we towed them for about 60km to Mt Magnet, where they could have the car looked at. I think the guy was well and truly over looking at our spare tyre on the back door by the time we got there. All the way we were passed by the massive Road Trains.


Since then we have carried into ‘the interior’ and have reached Wiluna. There’s not much here, but now we have to decide where we head to next, based on track conditions, the weather forecast and local advice. It’s likely that we will be heading into some pretty remote areas for two or three weeks, so we probably won’t be able to update the blog for a while, even by text. Don’t worry though Mum, we bought a personal EPRIB before we left Perth, so if everything goes wrong we can at least set it off and await rescue.

On the road again

After what seemed like endless pointless bureaucracy we have the car back and are heading north. We had anticipated a number of hurdles we would have to leap over in order for the car to be legal in Australia but had not realised just how problematic, time consuming and expensive this would be. Not wanting to whinge but here is a little story of how it went.

The day the car arrived in Fremantle the wharf workers were engaged in a stop work meeting for four hours, so little chance of getting the car off the wharf that day. The next day we were up bright and early for our two hour pubic transport journey down to Fremantle where we paid off the shipping company, visited Customs and the container depot whom we had engaged to retrieve our container. Our visit to Customs went rather well after a previously disastrous visit to another Customs office a few days earlier where some idiot stamped our carnet and then told us a whole load of nonsense explaining that we needed all sorts of documents that as it turned out we did not need. Basically the Customs officer in Fremantle was not interested in us because the carnet was already stamped and they did not even want to see the car or the contents.

The following day the container depot informed us that the container would be arriving in their depot that evening. We turned up at the depot the next morning to find out there had been a mistake and it was coming off the wharf that evening instead. Jan, of the depot was very kind and drove us back into Fremantle (about 6 km) and even arranged to collect us in the morning, she lived quite close to where we are staying. We enjoyed a spot of sightseeing around Fremantle which is a delightful old Port town and got chatting to a local who had lived there all his life watching the port change. Incidentally Fremantle was founded by a descendant of the current Fremantle family of Swanbourne, a very small village in England where I went to Primary School.

The following morning Jan and her husband David picked us up at 6.10 in the morning. Funnily enough they had driven from the UK to Australia in the 70’s in a brand new Austin Princess. By 7.10 am we were at the depot with our container being unlocked. The car was in the same condition we had left it in. Next was the quarantine inspection. It all seemed to be going fairly well, everything we declared was passed, the inside of the car was deemed clean enough it just needed a quick hose down and the radiator needed a clean out (we remembered about the radiator after we had put the car in the container). The depot also had a wash pit so David made space for us - there is usually quite a long waiting time for this. As the car was being water blasted still more dirt was coming out of it (how much more could there be?) but not only that, due it’s rather holey nature, dirt was washing back inside the car. Then we had rather a large stroke of bad luck.

We popped off for an hour to get a bite to eat and on returning we discovered that the original quarantine officer had been audited, his superior had heard that a car from Africa had arrived, and our car had been re-inspected and been gone over with a fine tooth comb and FAILED. It suddenly all felt rather hopeless, apparently such cars usually take at least a week of being water blasted and are pretty well dismantled in the process. However we were determined and set to re-scrubbing ourselves too and eventually late afternoon the car was passed, if sopping wet.

We cannot help but think that if we had not cleaned the car extensively ourselves already things would have turned out very differently due to the fact that it all served to make a good impression which interestingly did matter. Next to our car in the wash pit was a car, or rather a wreck, which had been imported from the States and the car was an absolute mess and filthy. We understand that basically the car was being left to rot for a few long weeks to get a clear and strong message to the owner. There were also some huge vehicles for the mining industry which were being dismantled and cleaned.

Unfortunately it was by now too late in the day to take the car to a vehicle testing station and being a Friday and Monday a Bank Holiday Tuesday was the soonest we could get it done. Indeed, although the car is fully taxed in the UK it still has to pass an inspection in Western Australia. Although we finally had the car, we could not use it because it was still not fully legal.

On the Tuesday by the time we had obtained a new permit to take the car the vehicle testing station we did not arrive until mid morning, the nearest one being miles a way in Perth Centre. Again, unfortunately for us they were closing early on this day so after queuing for a few hours were advised to return the following morning. OK, my patience is beginning to wear thin, but of course I am still smiling. The next morning we arrived back at the testing station 15 minutes after it opened and there were already 20 vehicles in front of us. Some people must have arrived before 5am.Funnily enough there were many of the same chaps in the queue as yesterday but with different cars. They worked for the car dealerships and each time a vehicle is sold it has to be inspected, so the dealerships employ people to take the vehicles to the testing station and wait there all day. Oddly enough private vehicles registered in Western Australia only need to be inspected if the registration lapses. This is just absurd- our vehicle has to be tested but an old hunk of junk only has to be if the police find something wrong with it as they are driving around.

Talking to the other chaps in the queue we learnt that the inspections are most rigorous and the vehicle can be failed on the most minor detail. Great. We notice that many of the cars being inspected are in fact being re-inspected having already failed. Finally, after queuing for 5 hours it is our turn. Our inspector is a very pleasant chap from Northern Ireland. “It’s pretty dry for a Land rover” he calls out from underneath, my heart swells with pride after all Gavin’s hard work on the leaks. 15 minutes later it is all passed. We cannot believe it. Our final errand is to visit the vehicle licensing department to pay for the compulsory 3rd party injury insurance.

IT IS ALL DONE

Today we say goodbye to Ian, Christine and her lovely boys, their hospitality has been wonderful and we set off on the final leg of the journey.

The Journey So Far...

Having now departed African shores, and as we prepare to cross the Australian outback, now seems like a good time to recap on our journey so far.

We left London on 25 June 2007, still buzzing after the previous afternoon’s get-together at the Windmill Pub on Clapham Common where we were farewelled in style by our friends and family. The UK was in the middle of a wet summer, and it rained heavily as we headed out of London town on our way to Ash, where we stayed with friends before our ferry crossing the next morning.

We spent our first few days in Belgium, fine tuning our routines and storage arrangements. After a detour north to the Netherlands to stay with more friends, we pointed south, heading through Luxembourg and into France. We were still encountering a lot of rain, and the awning was paying for itself, giving us somewhere dry to cook and eat.

In southern France the rains finally eased and the temperature rose. Now we noticed that the engine temperature on the Land Rover seemed to rise quickly on hills, probably due to the amount of weight we were carrying.

Over the Alps into Italy to stay with more friends near Piacenza, we then headed for Venice to be tourists for a day. From Venice we headed north (weren’t we meant to be heading south?) into Austria. We even helped in a helicopter rescue of an injured walker near the Grossglockner High Alpine Road.

Our reason for going north was to visit the German equivalent of the AA, the ADAC, in Munich in order to collect our Carnet de Passages en Douane. This is the document that would enable us to take the Land Rover across borders without too much hassle. We also took the opportunity to have some steering components replaced and a wheel alignment whilst in Munich.

From Munich we headed north-east across Germany and the Czech Republic and into Poland so that we could visit Auschwitz Concentration Camp. This was an amazing place to visit, and brings a new level of comprehension of the atrocities carried out there and in other camps during World War II.

Southward bound again, we crossed Slovakia, with a slight deviation to Vienna to collect some mail. Vienna would be our last truly western city until Cape Town, so we celebrated making it that far by enjoying a Weiss bier on the banks of the Danube.

Slovenia was beautiful, and seemed like a lost fairy-tale kingdom. We enjoyed a hot day boating and swimming at Lake Bled, and we were amazed by the underworld-like Skocjan Caves. On to Croatia, and we nearly got blown away by the high winds coming over the mountains and slamming into the Adriatic Sea. It was a windy night in the roof tent.

Due to insurance restrictions we were unable to cross Bosnia and Serbia, so instead detoured around through Hungary, Romania and Bulgaria, where we spent a few days at the Black Sea.

The border with Turkey marked our exit from the European Union. Istanbul was fascinating – east and west crash together here. We spent a full day at Gallipoli, and for the most part had the place to ourselves. The walk from the shore at Anzac Cove up to Lone Pine and the top of Chunuk Bair really made us appreciate the difficulties and hardships faced by the Anzacs in 1915.

Across the Dardanelles, we were now officially in Asia. Our sight-seeing highlights included Troy and Ephesus. We enjoyed our two weeks or so in Turkey – the people were very friendly and hospitable. The carpet that we bought in Cappadocia will always bring back those special memories.

The only visas we had arranged before leaving the UK were for Syria, so we needed to be there before they expired. Syria has extremely cheap diesel, but charges a diesel tax of $100 per week. We exited after six days, having visited Aleppo, Crac des Chevalier, Palmyra and Damascus, and with nice full diesel tanks.

In Jordan we had intended to apply for transit visas to cross Saudi Arabia in order to get to the United Arab Emirates and Oman, but although we tried a few times we were refused. In the end we decided to revise our travel plans and drive through Egypt instead. We had a chance meeting with ‘The Duke’ who allowed us to camp on his land for the five days we were in Amman. After visiting Petra and Wadi Rum, we spent some time on the Red Sea in Aqaba diving while we waited for a new Carnet (to include Egypt). We made friends with a French family, Jeff, Estelle, Jeremie and Hugo, who were in the same predicament as us, and we were to see them again later in our travels.

Although part of Egypt, the Sinai Peninsula is very different to the rest of the country. We managed some more diving in Dahab, and the snorkelling at Ras Mohammed National Park was spectacular. After a quick trip to the top of Mt Sinai we made for Cairo, unfortunately arriving in the dark on a Saturday night. The traffic was the craziest we have ever seen. In Cairo we applied for and were granted visas for Sudan. In order to avoid the bustling Red Sea resorts on the coast and the compulsory convoys alongside the Nile, we headed to the Western Desert which forms the edge of the Sahara, and made our way to Luxor , where we made new friends in Louis the Dutchman and the Dutch Bikers Luuk and Guido. In Luxor we hired a couple of clapped out bicycles and spent a very hot day riding around, visiting the Valley of the Kings and seeing the ancient Egyptian tombs. The ferry to Sudan leaves from Aswan only once a week, though due to public holidays we were forced to wait an extra week before we could depart. Aswan is not really the best place in the world to kill a week. By this time, our French friends had caught up to us again, and another two motorcyclists from the UK, Cathy and Glyn, also arrived just in the nick of time to catch the weekly ferry.

For the first few days in Sudan we all travelled in convoy, made up of three four-wheel-drive vehicles and four motorcycles. This section of the journey, following the Nile toward Khartoum, was the roughest section of road we had encountered so far. Construction of a new highway is well underway, so soon there will be asphalt all the way. Cathy and Glyn eventually made their own way off, and then Jeremie came down with Appendicitis, so the French hurried off to Khartoum on their own. After getting our visas for Ethiopia we made an overnight trip to camp out near the dramatic windswept pyramids of Meroe, and then made for the border. Our travels in Sudan were confined to the northern areas, so we were well away from the trouble spots in the south and Darfur.


Within 24 hours of crossing the border into Ethiopia we had climbed 3000 metres in elevation, and the temperature had dropped by 30ºC. In fact, that night it dropped below freezing in the tent. The highlands were spectacular, and the highest we got to in the Land Rover was a pass at 4200 metres. After visiting the rock-hewn churches of Lalibela we made our way to Addis Ababa, and managed to track down Louis the Dutchman. It was good to see him again.

We exited Ethiopia through the less-travelled Omo Valley, coming into Kenya beside Lake Turkana. The roads in northern Kenya are pretty bad, and one of our front shock absorbers blew up a day from Nairobi. Highlights in Kenya included camping next to grazing hippos beside Lake Naivasha, and relaxing beside the Indian Ocean at Tiwi Beach. Fortunately we had departed Kenya well before the disputed elections.

Into Tanzania, and on to Dar es Salaam. We parked the Camel at a campsite and went to Zanzibar for four days. This was the longest we had been away from the vehicle, and it was hard to adjust to hotel rooms and bought food. The Spice Tour was great value. Back on the mainland and on our way to Malawi for Christmas, one of our front springs snapped. Luckily we could still drive with it, and managed to get a temporary replacement the next day.

We arrived at Chinteche Inn on the shore of Lake Malawi on Christmas Eve. Christmas dinner consisted of roast chicken and veges cooked on a fire in our cast-iron ‘potje’ (camp oven) and it was delicious.

For New Years’ Eve we made it to Flat Dogs Camp at South Luangwa National Park in Zambia. This was the beginning of the wet season, and it rained heavily to welcome the New Year in. We drove into the park and spent a day studying the game, seeing giraffes, zebras, elephants and even some lions among other creatures, as well as lots of birds. We completed our stay in Zambia with a day at Victoria Falls, where we even managed to walk over the bridge and put a foot in Zimbabwe.

In Botswana we drove through the Chobe National Park towards the Okavango Delta. Unfortunately we got a little stuck at one point, but with a little digging and jacking and a bit of a push from some locals we managed to get out and carry on along our way. On the way north to Namibia we went to the Tsodilo Hills, and saw some very interesting bushman rock paintings, thousands of years old.

One of Namibia’s most popular attractions is the watering holes of the Etosha National Park, but it had rained a few days before we arrived and consequently the animals no longer needed to frequent the holes for water. We had fun in the puddles though. Further north we saw the Epupa Falls before making our way to the Skeleton Coast and Swakopmund, then inland to Windhoek. Here we caught up on a few necessary jobs on the Land Rover, including installing a new fuel tank and set of front coil springs. We also visited the huge dunes at Sossusvlei, and we were lucky enough to have the whole place to ourselves.

The South African border was the most orderly we had been through in months. In Springbok we collected our friend Ianthe, who accompanied us for a couple of weeks as we zig-zagged our way down the coast to Cape Town. It was good to have someone along for the ride. We finally arrived at Cape Point just over eight months from when we had left London. In Cape Town we carried out a few more essential repairs, as well as taking the opportunity to have our gearbox and transfer box both looked at in preparation for the next leg of our journey. We visited a few of Catkin’s relatives, eventually making it to Knysna via Cape Agulhas, the southern-most tip of Africa. From here it was back to Cape Town to arrange shipping to Australia. After days and days of cleaning, scrubbing, polishing and repainting, we finally loaded the Land Rover into a container, and sent it by sea to Australia.

In the meantime, we spent another week or so in Cape Town before flying to Perth via Dubai. During our stopover we also took the opportunity to see some of Oman, with five nights in Muscat. We have now been in Perth for just over a week, trying to understand just how it is you go about temporarily importing a vehicle into Australia. The Camel is scheduled to arrive this week, so with a bit of luck, by the end of the week we will have convinced the Customs authorities to let us have it back. Then we can finally get on our way, into the outback.

In the eleven months since leaving England we have visited 31 countries in four continents, driven over 44,000 kilometres, crossed both the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn as well as the Equator. We have swum in the Black Sea, floated in the Dead Sea and scuba dived in the Red Sea. We have also swum in both the Indian Ocean (warm…) and the Atlantic Ocean (cold!). We’ve crossed deserts and mountain ranges, baked under hot sun and sheltered from torrential rain, but after 335 days on the road, we still have a great journey ahead of us before we finally get to little old New Zealand.

Coffee and Doughnuts

Our little visit to the Royal Oman Police in Muscat didn’t quite go as planned. My mobile phone had gone missing somewhere around the time of our arrival in Muscat. I had it on the bus, but could not find it the next day in our hotel room. I was pretty sure it must have fallen out of my bag on the bus, but the bus company had not been able to find it so it seemed that it was gone for good. In order to satisfy the requirements of our travel insurance I needed to report it lost at a police station. I have never had to do this before, but thought it would just be a simple matter of the police filling out a form with the particulars and then giving me a copy. If only.

I first went to the police station nearest to our hotel on Thursday afternoon just after lunch, but after going through what it was I needed, I was told that everyone who could help had already finished for the day. As Friday is the weekend in the middle east, they told me to come back on Saturday morning. Saturday morning came around, but after explaining it all over again, was told to go to the bigger police station in another part of town. One of the locals sorted us out a taxi to get there more quickly, but although he had agreed a normal price, half way there the taxi driver reverted to the usual rip-off-the-tourist price, so we got out and walked the rest of the way (and he got nothing!). At the big police station, things still didn’t improve. First they claimed that because I had no record of the serial number that it would be impossible to report it lost. Then I was sent to ‘CID’. Finally someone senior decided that a report could be filed after all.

After loads of waiting around a portly police officer finally filled out a form with all the relevant details. Everything was in Arabic, but it was a start. All I wanted was a copy of the report, but it was against their rules to release this, they said. Instead, they would use it to type a letter (again all in Arabic), which we would then have to take to the main police headquarters for them to provide us with an official letter to the insurance company (not quite what we were after). By this stage, however, there was no time for us to get to the HQ before it closed at 2pm, and even if there was, nobody could tell us where it actually was anyway! And, no, we couldn’t go tomorrow, as we were heading back on the bus to Dubai at 7am. In the end, as everyone was leaving for the day, one of the CID guys told me he would email it to me the following day. We left empty-handed and without much hope of ever getting anything by email (sure enough, nothing has arrived).

We had left our hotel that morning intending to go to the Oman Dive Centre and at least do a bit of snorkelling, but it was now getting on for 3pm, and the only way to get there if you don’t have your own vehicle is, you guessed it, by rip-off taxi. In the end we decided to head back to the air-conditioned luxury of our hotel room. On foot, of course. Another one hour walk. In 45ºC heat… We’ll teach those taxi drivers a lesson.

It was now our last night in Muscat, and after posting Catkin’s blog entry, we wandered once more along the Corniche and through the souq (market). Catkin haggled for some frankincense, and we bought some Halwa, a very rich Omani sweet. It is so sickly sweet that your teeth almost drop out just looking at it. We finished off the evening at our favourite shwarma (like a kebab) shop, and then retired to our room to pack our bags and watch ‘Pimp my Ride’ on TV (at least it’s in English).

Next morning it was up at 5am to scoff our bread and cheese for breakfast before another one hour walk back to the bus station. At least at 5.30am the temperature was only 34ºC. The trip back to Dubai was uneventful, although the bus was much fuller than on the way out. The stamps out of Oman and back into the United Arab Emirates filled up another page of my passport (not many left now). Once back in Dubai our plan was to head for Abu Dhabi, as we had arranged to meet a friend from the UK who is now living and working there. We were offered a taxi ride to the bus station for only 40 Dirhams, but unfortunately for the driver we already knew we could get there for only 4 Dirhams on another bus. The bus to the Emirate of Abu Dhabi was waiting when we got to the station, and within two hours we were pounding the pavements towards our friend’s hotel. Paul has been there for two or three weeks and seemed to be enjoying the ex-pat life. We had a great night drinking beer in the hotel bar, and he managed to sneak us up to his room for a free night on the floor. We were very grateful, as our accommodation costs were beginning to stretch the budget. We had found that food, drink and public transport were very good value in Oman and UAE, but ‘budget accommodation’ seems to be aimed at someone else’s budget – not ours.

First thing the next morning it was back to the bus station and back to Dubai. We had already booked into the Dubai YHA, so jumped on another bus to get there and check in for our final night in town. The YHA has a great swimming pool which we hadn’t managed to use during our first stay there, but we whiled away the rest of the day soaking in the cool water. Later that evening we wandered up the road to the LuLu Hypermarket for another of their great value pizzas.

We had planned our trip to the airport reasonably well, I thought. Up at 6.00, pack, check out, breakfast at 7.00, out to the bus stop at 7.15, plenty of time to be at the airport by 8.30am. What we hadn’t allowed for was that the bus that is scheduled to run every 20 minutes often doesn’t turn up for an hour and a half… We only found this out when talking to a local commuter, after standing at the bus stop for over an hour. Of course, a taxi was out of the question. The bus did finally arrive, and although it was packed, we managed to squeeze on with our packs without knocking over too many locals in the process. We were late to the airport, but luckily we had already checked in on-line, and the flight was quite empty anyway, so we breezed through check-in. The only drama was me setting off the metal detector and having to take off my boots and go through again in my socks. Twice. We had 30 Dirhams left to spend, and in Duty Free finally found a copy of ‘A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian’ which Catkin’s Mum had recommended in a comment on the blog many months ago.

Emirates Airlines have an amazing selection of movies and entertainment – so much, in fact, that you don’t know what to watch first. At one point I found myself watching a stupid movie called ‘Mr Woodcock,’ about a PE teacher at an American High School, which is ironic because I also had a PE teacher called Mr Woodcock (funnily enough, not the same guy…). I also managed to watch a few episodes of ‘Russell Coight’s All Aussie Adventures,’ so am now all clued up about travel in the Australian outback. One movie we both enjoyed watching was ‘Goodbye Bafana’, about one of Nelson Mandela’s jailors during his time on Robben Island and then on the mainland leading up to his release. Having spent time in South Africa and visited Robben Island, it presented a very interesting perspective.

We have now crept into Perth, Australia, under cover of darkness. By the time we arrived it seemed like we had been travelling almost constantly for three days since leaving Muscat on Sunday morning. Perth looks like a really nice place, although the temperature when we arrived was nearly 40 degrees cooler than what we had experienced in Muscat a few days earlier. We are glad now that we lugged some warm clothing around with us through those hot climates.

We decided to try reporting the phone lost in Australia, to at least have something to give the insurance company. Sure enough, five minutes later it was done. So it doesn’t have to be a test of human perseverance after all.

It is still over a week until we expect the ship carrying the container with the Land Rover inside to arrive. In the meantime we are staying at my cousin’s place with her family, and they are looking after us well. We have been searching for books to buy to help us to plan our route across the outback, as well as one to tell us about all the creatures to be wary of. So far on our journey, we have had only one confirmed sighting of a snake - a big puff adder in South Africa - and only a few scorpions and other nasties at various times. Despite the impending threat of death and disability from the Australian wildlife, we are looking forward to getting back on the road again.

Arabian Nights

Seeing as we missed off the Arabian Peninsula (thanks to the Saudi government) when we were passing by earlier on in the trip, we decided to take the opportunity of a stopover in Dubai en-route to Perth. However we still had some time to kill in South Africa as we wanted to ensure that the car had departed South African shores before we did and then there would be nearly another month before the car will arrive in Perth (via Malaysia). So we remained in beautiful Cape Town for another nine days. Plenty of time we thought for activities such as diving and taking a trip on the Cable car. This was before we realised that during our final week there were three, yes three public holidays and fairly changeable and windy weather.

As it turned out, when it was good for us go diving, the conditions were not suitable. Oh well, we thought, the diving in Oman is apparently rather good so we will just have to wait until we are there. On another beautifully clear morning we decided to take a hike up Platteklip Gorge (the particularly steep ascent up Table Mountain) with the intention of taking the cable car down (I really hate steep downhills, unless I am on a mountain bike or snowboard of course). Remembering that the last time we tried to take the cable car it was closed due to high winds we kept an eye on the cable car as we walked up to the entrance to the gorge part, especially as the wind did seem to be increasing. Thankfully we had kept a good eye on it because by the time we reached the start, yes the cable car had stopped running. We did not see it running again until the day we flew out.

Nevertheless we still enjoyed some lovely walks, right from the centre of Cape Town, up to Signal Hill and on to Lions Head, which afforded fantastic views of Cape Town and the coast.

Of course after we waved goodbye to the car we also lost our accommodation. Hardekraaltjie Campsite, however, had some cabins for rent which were considerably cheaper than a backpackers. So we moved into Rose cabin for a few nights. Rose cabin came equipped with beds, a kettle, a few aluminium pans (great for burning food) a blunt kitchen knife and a fridge. It is amazing how quickly our routine changed as we adapted to our little cabin. Losing the car also meant that we had to walk everywhere now, although one day our neighbours from when we had been camping gave us a lift to the supermarket.

A couple of days before we were due to leave Cape Town we decided to move into the centre of the city. Hardekraaltjie was a half hour walk from the train station and the train ride was another half hour into Cape Town, and the trains did not run very frequently. On a previous day we had visited a few backpackers and eventually selected one which was pretty central and seemed to be fairly quiet- we were not looking for party central, although most of the backpackers in the city are in the partying area. Unfortunately we did not view it at 4am, but it was not the other backpackers that were the problem - it was the morons outside. The noise did not stop until gone 6am. These idiots would drive around in some crappy car with a souped up stereo playing their music so loud it made our whole room vibrate (on the third floor), then they would hoot their horns continuously for minutes on end, then the police would join in switching their sirens on and off while other cars sped up and down the street with cars double parked on either side before slamming their brakes on. I was almost expecting someone to tip a drum of oil onto the road so they could skid into it. One really sophisticated chap, with a couple of ladies in tow, decided to make his own disco on the pavement. While the ladies all hung around swaying to the music emanating from his car clutching their bottles of beer, he most indiscreetly took rather a long pee- oh how we wished we had our super powerful torch with us.

After two rather sleepless nights we headed out to the airport and out of Africa. The easiest way to get to the airport is to take a shuttle. This was for us, though, rather expensive so we took a train and walked from the train station. Clearly this does happen very often. The train ticket vendor was rather surprised when I asked for 2 first class tickets to Lavistown and as we walked through the litter strewn neighbourhood after dismounting from the train it became clear that white people walking round with backpacks did not happen every day. Nonetheless everybody was polite and also everybody we passed greeted us and we arrived at the airport unscathed.

We landed in Dubai on a warm and smoggy morning and negotiated our way to the Youth Hostel by bus. We then headed into town at 8am because we could not check in until 14.00. We spent ages wandering around trying to find a coffee shop that was open, just to have a drink and get out of the sun. On our previous forays into Arabic countries we never fully appreciated that there is nothing open in the morning. The following days we walked down the same streets in the late afternoon and it could have been a completely different place, all the shops and cafes were open and there were so many people around.

We did find a bit of life at the wharf where immigrant labourers were loading/ unloading dhows in what seemed to us a most precarious manner. After wandering through the Gold Souk and many other street including the car spare parts quarter (one of the best we have seen on the trip so far) we eventually found an air-conditioned coffee shop in a mall where we hid out for a couple of hours until it was time to claim our room at the Youth Hostel. It is a good thing we are not here in the middle of summer - at least it is only 45ºC at the moment.

Over the next couple of days we managed a bit of sightseeing. Dubai is a much more interesting city than I had imagined. We enjoyed some brief respite from the stifling heat when we made the quick trip across the creek on an Abra. These rather small but sturdy boats zip across the creek racing each other in a manner distinctly reminiscent of dodgem cars, especially when it comes to parking - this really is parking by feel. In the twilight we visited a restored area of old merchants houses with wind towers and courtyards. We viewed the inside of one which now houses a philatelic museum, it really was most interesting and enlightening. Stamp collecting has taken on a new meaning for me.

Another day we navigated our way out to Jumeira which is home to the iconic sail building (which is an hotel) of Dubai. This area of Dubai even has air-conditioned bus shelters. There are signs prohibiting eating food in them. I am sure that this is to stop people having picnics in the cool of the bus shelter. We also spent a couple of refreshing hours on the beach right opposite the famous “World” development a little way out to sea. However, we saw nothing through the smog and haze.



Although the Youth Hostel does not have a kitchen (they seem to have changed quite a bit since I last stayed in one) the street food in both Dubai and Oman has been really good value and tasty, mainly with Indian or Lebanese influences. However, one night we ended up with some food that was just a little too spicy for Gavin’s palette. Luckily for me I got to polish of the wonderfully tender chunks of lamb.

By now it was time to head towards Oman and Muscat. We had heard of a dive centre a little way out of Muscat which also rented out cabins on the beach for a reasonable price. It sounded so perfect. After a couple of days in Dubai I started to come down with a cold. Bad news for divers - a cold and diving is a nasty combination. So although I have not felt unwell at all with this stupid cold, I cannot dive. Ok we thought, why don’t we just head out to the dive centre anyway and hopefully it will improve? Well despite all our attempts to make contact with the Oman Dive Centre (from South Africa, Dubai and Muscat) we have heard nothing. Their phone numbers do not seem to work and they did not respond to our emails. Also when we could finally access their website it seems that their cabin prices have increased by 400%. So on our final day in Muscat, incidentally I am still very snotty, we thought we would go out to the dive centre and just go snorkelling. We just had the small matter of reporting a lost mobile phone to the police to complete. The phone had been lost a few days earlier but when Gavin had tried to report it he was asked to return to the police station after the weekend. Gavin will give you an indication of just how futile such a process is Oman in his next post, but needless to say four hours later we had achieved nothing and no time left to get to the dive centre.

As is commonly the case, things often turn out very differently to how we anticipated but we have had a very interesting time in Oman. We have been staying in an hotel overlooking the harbour and port in Muscat (Mutrah), which feels more like a small town than part of the capital city.

We walked along the Corniche to the old walled city of Muscat and spent an interesting hour or so in the city wall museum developing insight into Omani history and culture. Despite its rather delayed entrance to modernity the country seems to be very well developed and so much cleaner than most of the countries we have passed through since leaving Europe. The Omani border post is certainly the most grand either of us has visited. We even picked up a complimentary map of the country. How ironic that there are so many countries we have been through with no map available at all and the only one we don’t drive to ourselves has a map.

Another day we managed to find our way to Qurm beach about 10 km away which involved a bit of a walk. Here the distances when walking seem to more than double due to the heat and we have not had very good experiences with taxi drivers - again Gavin will explain. We had hoped to find some food along the way, according to our map we would walk past a major mall, but of course at 11am on a Friday nothing seemed to be open. So we had a lovely few hours on the beach with our 2 oranges to sustain us. In an effort to retain some modesty I initially kept my shorts on over my bikini, but all the men stared at me anyway, when I was sitting on the beach and when I went in the water. So after seeing some other western women bravely wearing bikinis I followed suit, but I certainly would not have behaved so rashly if Gavin had not been there.

On the way back to the bus we passed an open coffee shop so we ducked in for samoosas - yes I have managed to convert Gavin, although it is more to do with desperation as the samoosas here are not spicy.

It has been a bit of a culture shock coming here. Not only do we not have all the comforts of camping and our car but the whole rhythm of life is so different. One aspect of this that is so liberating for us is that we do not have to worry about being somewhere safe when it gets dark. In Cape Town, especially as the nights were drawing in, we needed to ensure that we could catch a train in time so that we were not walking back to the campsite in the dark. Whereas here it only starts to get lively in the evening, when it cools down enough to sit outside.

Time to make like Karen Blixen and get Out Of Africa. In departures now. Nobody has guessed correctly where to yet. Keep trying...