The Real Hema Map Boy

We spent another night in a roadside rest area near the access road to the Bungle Bungles, some of these areas are quite nice and campfires are sanctioned, just sometimes the generators some people use to power their fridges or air-conditioning or ovens or I do not know what can be a bit intrusive until they are switched off. The next day we trundled into the metropolis of Halls Creek. Another quite pleasant outback town with everything we could want; mainly fuel and groceries but also a tyre repair service, but more of that later. We stocked up on some very expensive groceries - we are quite a long way from anywhere, also despite having heard about global increase in food prices over the last year on the radio, as we are still working in UK prices from 12 months ago.

Our plan from Halls Creek was to drive east to Old Halls Creek, a few kilometres along the road and site of the first old rush in Western Australia, then find a track marked on our map which would take us south to the Tanami road. This is a 1000km gravel road across the Tanami desert from Halls Creek to Alice Springs. After stopping off to view the “China Wall”, a six foot high and two foot wide perpendicular strata of white quartz poking up out of the ground, we found what we thought was the track, but this ended up at the bottom of a rather deep quarry now full of water. So we tried the next track. This just became more and more rough and after making slow progress that required the odd bit of marshalling by myself travelling at an average of 5km/hr it was just not worth the short cut. So we turned around. A few miles down the road we found a delightful place to camp, in fact my favourite camping spot so far in Australia, at Sawpit Gorge, where some river (actually flowing) cuts through the hills (or mountains if you are Australian). In the morning we enjoyed a wonderful wash, well away from the water edge, and a cool bathe before heading back to Halls Creek.


Unfortunately, just as we pulled into Halls Creek we heard the pshhhtttt of a tyre going flat. Oddly enough so far in Australia the car has caused quite a bit of attention. This is even more surprising given the large numbers of 4WD vehicles around and many highly customised and a lot more flash than ours. This occasion was no exception. As we were trying to quickly get the wheel replaced without being too obvious, a chap who turned out to be the local bobby turned up, very interested. By the time we were round to the other side of the car there was another admirer. However this was no ordinary admirer he was Hema Map Surveyor. He was very interested to hear about our fruitless endeavours the previous day. He had been trying to find the southern entrance off the Tanami road (where we would have popped out) the previous day and had given up. He then proceeded to offer us his complete collection of maps of Australia to download onto the laptop. How very useful. Thank you.

Having repaired so many punctures already we decided that Gavin should have a break and we would take it to the man with the equipment. Maybe alarm bells should have started ringing when he said that with these types of wheels (not split rims) the inner tube often tears when it comes out. None of Gavin’s have. Needless to say our fairly new inner tube ended up with a really big hole in it so it also had to be replaced. While he inspected the tyre for the cause of the puncture saying “well bloke I can’t see anything to cause a puncture here” he cut his finger on the bit of metal that caused the puncture, this did nothing to boost my confidence. However, it was soon all repaired and we were on our way again. The repair lasted for two days. The culprit of this subsequent puncture was bits of metal between the inner tube and the tyre from his workshop floor. Great job blokey, so Gavin got to be manly again after all repairing more punctures. Only this time he is sporting some very stylish headgear in honour of the large number of really pesky flies.

That night we camped at Wolfe Creek crater, not only was a particularly gory horror film based there (and no we have not seen the film, everybody asks) but it is also the world’s second largest meteorite crater. Although there is not really much to see, it is believed that it was originally 120 metres deep 300,000 years ago, we found it to be pretty impressive.

The following day we turned south off the Tanami road back onto the Canning Stock Route, the northern end where we would have come out. We carried on down for another day and a half just to see a bit of what we had missed before turning back at the Breadon Hills. It really is not the isolated track we had anticipated. During the first day we saw at least ten other vehicles and a similar number the next day. They are all travelling at twice the speed we are over the corrugations, one chap asked us why were driving so slowly toady, we just replied that we always travel so slowly, “oh”. I think it just means that we can appreciate everything so much more, after all we are not planning to return to the outback in a hurry so we may as well make the most of it. It is interesting because we can see what animals are around by identifying their tracks, we can see the birds more clearly and the plants. We took some of the sweet water from well 49 on board and headed back out.

We had seen a few bush fires in the distance and the glow from one quite close on the first night was quite exciting but one chap who overtook us, they all overtake us, said that he had just skirted round one that had seemed quite close to where we had lunch, luckily the wind was in our favour and was taking it away. A couple of hours later we came across the same chap who had zoomed past us, in the middle of the road, broken down. Lucky for him we drive slowly and had not overtaken him because the way his mind was thinking he was not going to fix it. Anyway, my boy Gavin tactfully diagnosed where the fuel line was blocked and we were soon chewing his dust again.

Back onto the Tanami road and Australian corrugations. We rather vainly hoped that the corrugations might change after we crossed in the Northern Territory. Yes our hopes were in vain. During a lunch stop Gavin noticed a wet patch on one axle, hmmm, we had not been through any water. It turned out to be fluid from our brand new Monroe heavy duty adventure shock absorbers. Oops there was a hole in it and so not much good any more. It must have just happened, how very odd we heard nothing, especially the speed at which we travel.

We carried on rather cautiously the final 400km to Alice Springs making a beeline for Repco, we had bought the shocks from a branch in Perth. We were a bit surprised and disappointed at the response to our problem and now have the address of the factory in Brisbane where we will be paying a visit with our useless shock absorber and make a nuisance of ourselves (the shock absorbers were really expensive).

Tonight we are staying in a caravan park. It has been a while since we enjoyed running hot water and are planning to explore a little more of the red centre before our dash, or rather bumble, towards Brisbane.

Bungle Bungle

In the end we spent a week in and around Broome, and that was about long enough for us. After getting our fuel injection pump back and refitting it, we tentatively started the Land Rover, expecting that we would be able to hit the road again. Unfortunately though, we still had diesel leaking all over the place. One of the seals that had been replaced was slightly too thin, and we had to wait 24 hours whilst the correct one was ordered from Perth and air-freighted up to Broome overnight. Luckily this one could be replaced without removing the pump again. By lunchtime the next day, after the humiliation of being towed through Broome by a Toyota to the mechanic’s workshop, the new seal was in, and after a quick timing adjustment everything was running smoothly again - and no leaks. After stocking up at the local supermarket, filling our water tank and refuelling with 195 litres of diesel (we filled everything we could – it gets more expensive out of the big towns), we finally got away. That night we made it as far as a roadside rest area - one of many that are all set up for overnight stops with toilets and fireplaces – and found ourselves a spot in amongst the “grey nomads” in their caravans.


We had decided to have a crack at the Gibb River Road, which had been recommended as the best way to see the Kimberley region. After a quick lap of Derby we started on the road, which it is advised is only suitable for four wheel drive vehicles. Given that this time of the year is really the only time suitable to see the Kimberley, there was quite a lot of traffic on it and the gravel surface was very corrugated. In fact, we have nominated it as the most badly corrugated road we have been on so far – even worse than the infamous Moyale road in northern Kenya where we blew up a shock absorber in November last year. There are two schools of thought regarding driving over corrugations – one is to drive flat out and skim over the top (everyone else), and the other is to drive slowly enough to ride gently over each bump (us). So we cruised along nice and sedately while all the Toyota drivers screamed past covering us in dust. We found some fantastic bush camp sites, and thought we were going pretty well until we got a flat tyre which unfortunately turned out to be a cracked rim. We’re not sure whether it cracked because of the corrugations, or whether they just finished it off, but it’s now unserviceable. At lunchtime I got to reprise my tyre changing skills that I haven’t used since we bought the new tyres in Ethiopia. The main attraction in the Kimberley seems to be the Mitchell Falls, but that was too many corrugations away for us, so we satisfied ourselves with swimming at a couple of the smaller gorges along the route. After 500 kilometres of shuddering vibrations we emerged back on to the seal. We didn’t feel the need to visit Wyndham or Kunnunarra, but instead pointed south toward Hall’s Creek.

The next day we made it to the entrance to Purnululu National Park and the Bungle Bungle Range. Everyone we had spoken to said we had to go to the Bungle Bungles. The road in to the visitor’s centre is a rough 52km 4WD track, and there were a couple of groups of young French and German tourists trying to get lifts into the park because their Ford Falcon station wagon wasn’t suitable for the trip. One German girl came up and asked me if she and her friend could fit into the Land Rover. I was quite keen, but Catkin said “No way, Jose!” Just joking – we told them we going in to stay at one of the campsites, and they said they wanted a lift there and back in one day. We’re not sure if they ended up getting a lift or not.

Once we had paid our entry and camping fees we headed straight for the Piccaninny Creek carpark, and after lunch of sweetcorn fritters and fruit jelly (separately, of course) we spent the afternoon walking around the various tracks. The main attractions in the park are the dome-shaped formations and gorges, and the whole area is very photogenic. By the time we pulled in to the Walardi campsite, most of the good spots had gone, but acting on a tip we’d got from someone we had spoken to earlier in the day we headed for the “generator” area and found a nice spot close to a fireplace. That evening we sat around the campfire as our bread baked in the camp oven chatting to the three other couples camped in the same area. They were all caravanners, but were camping here because caravans cannot be towed into the park. We had a very entertaining evening listening to all their tales of their travels around Australia and sorting out all the world’s problems.

The next day we visited Echidna Chasm, which is a narrow gorge into which the sun shines only when directly overhead. We timed our visit for the middle of the day, so got to see it at its best. We did another short walk in the afternoon after lunch, and then made our way out of the park.

Since we left Perth nearly four weeks ago we have already travelled nearly 5000km, but still haven’t really got any closer to New Zealand. We have had our first “Shortest Day” since December 2005, although since we have crossed north over the Tropic of Capricorn we can’t really say we are in winter. The temperature during the day is still pretty hot, but it gets quite cool overnight. The sun rises here just before 6am and sets just after 5pm giving just over 11 hours of daylight. We have noticed that most of the caravanners seem to turn in at about 8pm – either that or they sit inside watching satellite TV while we sit outside listening to the BBC World Service… On the 25th of June we celebrated one year on the road, and although we both thought we would have been in New Zealand by now, we are still enjoying it. That’s not to say we aren’t looking forward to getting there, because we are, there’s just so much to see on the way…

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.