The advantages of hairy legs

Nuku Hiva has a population of 2,800 souls and a population of 2.8 trillion mustiques or mosquitos. These later love the soft smooth skin of fair haired Irish folk but they avoid the hairy bits. This fact is borne out by poor Mrs Poodle. She is destroyed. On our trip into the jungle yesterday we visited an ancient site where human sacrifice was performed. Some atavistic memories have transferred to the mosquito population who remembered all when they saw Georgina. As I write her legs are like the surface of a very red moon. We counted roughly 50 bites on one of my legs but not where the hair grows and not inflamed like Mrs P.

Camille has not fared much better, although she avoided the sacred site, she declares that she does not want to live in the tropics. This all goes to prove the wisdom of the Irish proverb; 'there's a pike in every pool. '

I must quote the official view of things for Polynesie Francaise: 'No snakes, poisonous spiders or fearsome animals frequent these islands'.

Our best friend has become the little lizzard who lives in our rooms, the Gekko. Two reasons: he eats mosquitos and he makes the most delightful 'tut tut tut tut' noises like a scolding granny.

Forza Gekko!

Nuku Hiva

We land at Nuku Hiva airport, a rough dodecagonal wooden hut on a scrubby deserted headland on the Western tip of the island. The chief delight was being met by the airport dog and cat; They greeted most of the passengers and the cat curled up under Camille's seat, she being aLeo and cat lover. Dublin airport please copy.

There were three other animals on reception duty in the men's toilet. In the pan of the leaking rusty shower were three of the largest cockroaches I have ever seen.

From the air the island strongly resembled the terrain of West Cork, a kind of tropical Glengarriff. As soon as we were loaded into a fleet of Land Rover Defenders, the only transport, we began to realise what a pothole can really be; all that fuss in Ireland about a few creases in the road! The tarred road gave up after the first bend and we wallowed and bounced over dirt tracks, through fords and more urgently round 180 degree bends with precipitous drops; the road climbing continuously. After an hour or so we reached a summit of 4,000 feet. At this height the land is forrested with fir trees (Casuarinas) 'ironwoods' which the Marquesans make tools from. They can only be carved on the first day after cutting and for a couple of hours the next day after being soaked in water. Then the wood turns to 'iron'.

Near the summit we hit a wet patch of mud and the Landrover went what American racecar drivers call 'loose'. The back hangs out sideways. Instead of heading along our ledge nice and neat we had a brief frontward view of the chasm below. Racecar drivers call this the brown trouser moment. It elicited a few gasps at least.

We travelled through this new terrain for two hours passing not a human although a scattering of horses (originally introduced from Chile), cows, goats and a scattering of pigs were to be seen. We covered the 45 kilometres in 2 hours eventually descending from the high plateau into the bowl of of 800 metre hills and a little coastal village Taiepae, population 1,800. It would remind one of a tropical Allihies, althpugh the houses are constructed of corrugated iron and wickerwork in the upper regions and some concrete ones near the shore.

Papeete

Georgina, Camille, Darren and Tim landed in Papeete, the captial of Tahiti, on the evening of Feb 19th having set out 5 hours previously from Auckland midday on the 20th of Feb.

We were hit by a wall of humidity and met by pretty Tahitians who placed floral leis around our weary necks. Serenading us were three middle aged male musicians wearing sarongs and floral shirts, chewing gum and looking bored as hell. But I'd kill for those close harmonies.

It's great to see passengers of all shapes and sizes walking around the airport wearing flowers round the neck and in the hair.

Chief memory of Papeete; rain rain and more. To be honest we were there only a day but the word 'dump' came to mind. The hotel, more like motel, was on the outskirts of the city. It seems very poor and run down around there; high rise flats with crumbling façades. Lovely trees enliven 'though. We saw Moira's snack bar and Patricia's hair salon. Ex-pats?

After a day of looking at rain it was time to go the airport for the Marquesan flight. Passing through the rigorous security as usual we were reminded not to bring any 'feux d'artifices' with us. We were clean out of them anyway.

So, we boarded the propellor driven AT 72 of Tahiti Air and took the 3 hour flight to Nuku Hiva.

Basket Talk

To better understand la langue de la caniche d'hiver it's important to start with the various uses of the word 'basket'.

The older usages can be traced to a polynesian pidgin language.
Examples:

'Basket belong trouser'................pocket.
'Titti basket'.................................Brassiére

Modern Poodle Usages:

Cotton basket...............................Bed.
Water basket................................Bath.
Earth basket.................................Grave.
Air basket......................................Aeroplane, (of course derived from Montgolfier's invention).

At the Royal Tahitian Hotel we dined under a basket; the roof was an inverted bowl made from the fronds of the Pandanus tree, many bungalow walls are made from this wicker.

Further advanced lessons in Poodle available on request.

Imaginary Friends

A common game in childhood was 'O'Grady says'. Whatever 'O'Grady' said we had to do, we took turns in being 'O'Grady'. Same way, as Indians say, we have to do what Perkins wants. Coming from the USA he was homesick and with simeon logic he wanted to go the long way round to make new acquantancies. You see he is fond of the photo opportunity. Accordingly he has been snapped with a Thai waitress, Roselle and Richard Wilson and friends, homeless teddy bears on the steps of the Auckland Vincent De Paul, window shoppers, Michelangelo's David in glass, guests at the Tin Dog and a very large bird. He has also posed naked at Ayre's Rock , Bang Tao Beach in Phuket and in a hot air balloon over Queenstown amongst other places. He is biding his time here in Nuku Hiva.

In NZ he was joined by Irwin, a small brown monkey, and a white poodle with very black nose and larger than average legs whom we met in Daylesford near Melbourne. Brendan the Kerry farmer has been along from day one but spends a lot of time smiling enigmatically and digesting his enormous potato lunchs. Ayre's Rock, Uluru, was far too hot for him and he stayed in the suitcase. Ever had that feeling yourself?

There are two observations that flow from these remarks:

First, in Australia and New Zealand there are inordinate supplies of stuffed animals on sale, many in the windows of the respective equivalents of the Irish Country Woman's association but also many in your common or garden 24hr convenience store. I suppose one might be stuck for a stuffed toy at 3am (sheep?).

Secondly we saw the winner of this year's Turner Prize being interviewed on TV. On the subjrct of religion he said that he had no objection to people having imaginary friends as long as these friends did not tell him how to live his life.

Our friends give no advice, only encouragement (to buy more stuffed toys).

An Incident: In a restaurant on aptly named Ponsonby Street in Auckland an elderly couple saw Perkins having his photo taken. At the end of the meal they came over and said 'We love your monkey. Don't laugh (we did) but we export NZ teddies and dollies all over the world. We travel with 6 suitcases full and have sold to Trim, Co Meath.

The whole world is in danger of becoming imaginary . Someone should give the likes of Bush, Blair and the IRA some nice cuddly toys and a cup of hot choccie. It works wonders.

Why these three I hear you say; samples of our western fundamentalists.

Polynesie Francaise-the facts.

PF is composed of 121 islands spread out over an area slightly larger than Europe in the South Pacific. It is made up of 5 Archipelagos; Marquesas, Tuamato, Australs, Society and Gambines. The largest settlement is Papeete on Tahiti, which is on the Windward Islands one part of the Society Islands.

The population of the lot is just over 250,000.

Tahiti is 6,000 kilometres roughly from both Australia and West coast America. It is 18,000 kilometres from France.

1,500 kilometres NE of Tahiti lie the Marquesas and that's where we are at this date. It's a 3 hour flight and the local time is plus half an hour from Tahiti. We are staying on the largest of the northerly islands called Nuku Hiva.

French Polynesia has one of the highest costs of living in the world.

Veni Vidi VISA. Ouch!

Donkeys etc

On the flight to Nuku Hiva on the smallish ATR 72 propellor plane we were served lunch. Georgie and I were presented with two large slabs of meat. I asked the hostess what they were and was astounded to hear her say 'donkey'. I questioned her again and found out that the old hearing is definately defective. It was turkey. Still, that's an innovative idea for ethnic airlines.

This leads me to a little known fact; more people are killed each year by donkeys than by aircrashes. Comforting for non farmers.

Another piece of useful info: Charlie Chaplin once won third prize in a Charlie Chaplin look-alike competition.

And again: when you lick a stamp you ingest 0.1 of a calorie. Georgie and I have been putting on weight.

Lobe Toner is an anagram of Toblerone.

Jumping Ahead

Dear fellow travellers, paper tigers and running dogs this is for you;

We have temporarily jumped ahead of ourselves and landed on Nuku Hiva the largest Northerly island of the Marquesas, via rainy Tahiti. I hope to update the journey shortly from there although the computer keyboard is ectopic in the extreme. Much to tell further back along the line so keep checkin in and send your comments too if you wish. A hearty handshake across the globe and DONT POSTPONE JOY ; Today is the new tomorrow. XX

Auckland O Auckland

Back up the East coast of South Island, through Geraldine stopping for a Moor's Head and a cup of hot choccie, and up through the long outskirts of Christchurch we went. 3 hours at the airport where we had fun making inane stickers on an even inaner Japenese photo booth before boarding a flight for Auckland, a seriously big city. We arrived late in the evening and immediately got stuck in a large traffic jam, the result of a cricket match between Australia and New Zealand.

The next two days we had for visiting friends seeing Morgan's childhood neighbourhood and spotting the local advertising announcements, a good way to judge a culture; if that be then what does 'Honk if you think I'm a Hornbag mean'?

Now it's tine to leave the Antipodies after over two months and hit the South Pacific Ocean. Blue skies, sandy beaches, grass skirts and lawnmowers? Hang in dear reader.

Floating and Lugeing

Queenstown is the place for young sporty daredevils and was much loved by Camille and Darren. Senior poodles too had their fun. Apart from the basket ascent they went up the mountain that overhangs the town and made 5 descents on the 'luges' which are really three wheeled go karts without engines that run down a concrete track. The best of fun. Maybe that is where the back trouble started. Mr Poodle had a 2 wheeled 'moment' on a corner that neccesitated a foot out of kart. At the bottom an Aussie gent came up in amazement and said over and over ' I thought you were gone'.

The day previous we had ourselves inserted in a harness and were dragged into the air under a parachute from the back of a boat. High above Queenstown peace rained and we sailed soundlessly. Well almost; there was some nasty creaking from the rigging, kind of snapping sounds.

Talking of peace Georgie brought me to an establishment with eyes down on St Valentines Day. On raising them I found us to be in a massage house and we entered a flotation tank. These scary looking devices are like a cross between a body scan capsule, coffin and space luge; One lies down in the saline solution closes over the cover and floats in the dark; Only the sound of one's blood pumping to be heard and the high pitched ringing for those with tinnitus. Surprisingly the confinement and lack of spatial indicators leads to a slowing down of Mr Monkey the commentator and before you know it you are, to quote a brochure in Byron Bay, 'meditating deeper than a zen monk'. This was followed by a divine massage, so poodles have had a complete service if I may use the term and have no excuses to look for mercy.

What else in Qtown? Maybe the best outing of the lot was a two hour bike ride to Frankton and back along the shore line and through the botanical gardens.

There was some talk of a bungi jump but fortuitously a bad back intervened. Was that the CAUSE of the bad back?

After 5 days it was time to have one last dinner at Dux de Luxe , the stylish vegetarian and fish restaurant and brewery. We were served by a South African descendent of the founder of Foyle's bookstore in London. Charing Cross Road?

Stew Bloody Pendus

The highlight of the Queenstown visit, in feet as well, has been the dawn ascent of the winterpoodles. They achieved 7,300 feet with 2 Scots, 12 giggling Chinese (Dark Mavis opines that this gives a whole new meaning to Chinese Takeaway), a stuffed monkey and a NZ pilot in a wicker basket with a vast balloon above them containing seven tons of air.

We rose at 5.45 am, a world record, and were in the mini bus at 6.15am. We drove to a field about 5 miles from the town. Here was a bus, a trailer, and a limp lump of colourful material. On the front of the pilot's land cruiser I paid by visa card through an electronic satellite connection. Next some large hairdryers were put in place and slowly a balloon appeared above us in the dawn sky. We were told where the life jackets were and that the basket would float in water. Then all aboard into four compartments in the wicker basket. Next some very noisy blasts from the gas burner above us and within a few minutes we lifted ever so gently off the ground. beautiful. Very quickly we were looking down at the fields with their morning moisture and could hear the 'mews' of the fawns belonging to the deer flock. With ease and no turbulence we cruised through a two thousand feet and could see the sun peeping over the top of the mountains and the mist hugging the rivers. There was low cloud further off, in wisps.

Sometime at this point Mr Poodle had a most uncomfortable feeling commonly described as panic. Being a public school boy the stiff upper lip was maintained but the thought that the ground was hundreds of feet below and all that seperated him from it was a basket and the skill of this very nonchalant New Zealander who answered question as to any idea where we would land with the reply "There's no point having a plan as I will only be disappointed," was paramount.

My admiration for brother Ham who works in this medium intensified. I realised that I am a ground man, in fact love the ground under foot.

So for twenty minutes I think I experienced what is called 'the fear of flying'. But the cure was the sheer beauty of the earth below, the patterns, the long shadows of a new day and the peaks of the mountain ranges. All the same we were only in a basket.

Georgina was captivated and leaning frightenly over the side, not a care in the world.

We soared to 7,300 feet, at one point rising at 600 feet per minute. The maximum is 1200 feet per minute.

The time arrived to return to earth; apparently the gas supply is limited.

So we descended to about 20 feet above a golf course and just avoided a hole in one. The pilot was on the phone to ground crew and said he didn't know where we would land, but he had a brainwave, gunned the burners and we rose to 1,000 feet and got blown to the other side of the valley. To cut a long story short we skiimmed across a road swooped up a bank, cleared a barbed wire fence and hopped down in a new cut corn field. Perks was out first and first in line for the breakfast table that miracuously appeared with white tablecloth, Champagne, croissants, fruit and coffee. To further Chinese giggling and horseplay we were presented with diplomas attesting to our status as Balloonatics. My favourite status was being on the ground again.

One of the aviators wrote in the visitors book 'Stew Bloody Pendus', hard to better that.

Hot Air

Queenstown:
It beads along the side of a large lake at the foot of giant Alpine Peaks. Playground in summer and skifields in winter. Here you can do the most extreme outdoor manoeuvres or play crazy golf. Here the winterpoodles found a lovely serviced appartment on the lakeshore, the first room even having a rooftop hot tub. We wake up and wonder what the ... we are doing here. It really is a dream. OK there are always little niggles; why is the curry burnt, where did those spots come from, who took the scissors, why is my back so sore etc . And why do we have to leave tomorrow? Well a good answer for that one is that we will see Camille in Auckland.

There is SO MUCH to report from here that I am going to take a dinner break and resume soon again. Love to all family and friends . We look forward to seeing you all again soon, Inshallah.

Information for seasoned travellers

It has been found that the surfaces that contain the most germs in the average household are in and around the kitchen sink. The least are to be found on the toilet seat. If Aliens came to earth their most sensible course of action would be to eat off the toilet seat and .........in the sink.

Lupins and Fruit Farms.

As we left Lake Tekapo we noticed the last flowers on hundreds of lupins along the road. The verges were smothered in them for many miles, both ordinary and tree lupins. Apparently these were sown many years ago by a pioneering gardener in Tekapo. Now they are 'garden escapes'.

Soon we were driving through lakeland and mountains iced with snow. In the valley we passed vineyards and wonderful fruit farms . We stopped for fresh apricots , peaches, plums, raspberries etc. Onwards to Queenstown the playground of New Zealand and the site of Perkins's first ascent in a hot air balloon.

It's the gaps between the notes

that make the rythm.

Driving in the sparse interior of OZ and a lesser extent NZ I realised that this holds true for town and country. As Gerard Manky Hopkins said "Long Live the weeds and the wilderness yet". Breathing spaces are often overlooked.

Pause.

Mosney Gone Wrong

This was Mrs Poodle's first impression of Lake Tekapo where we stayed the second night in NZ.
The first night we stopped at the little town of Geraldine and stayed at the local pub. It seemed a dismal place after a fairly dismal drive through flatlands reminiscent of Belgium, the difference being GIANT hedges of what looked like clipped Leylandii forty feet high in long straight lines. It was raining and chilly after the Australian interior. Mosney premonition.

The next morning Geraldine seemed a bit happier. Well, it does have a Swiss chocolate factory in a storefront location, a poodle can purchase a hot choccie and treat for a snack. We saw what the germans sell as Moorenkopf and I said to the lady proprietor you have moorenkopf. "We do not call them that anymore" preceded an icy stare.

The town museum was invigilated by an elderly lady who had an accent second only to the newsworthy Camilla Parker Bowles. She had spent time in Dublin and grew up in London and Buckinghamshire. She said "do people still send their children to Public Schools?" . Big question. Which people? She was knitting and told us of her new found love of growing oraganic veg.


I was torn away from Geraldine by the ever alert Mrs P and we set off towards Queenstown, leaving the low country and climbing towards Alpine scenery. We stopped at Lake Tepako, whose colors are an iridescent turquoise due to crushed ice from the glaciers above. Huddled at water's edge is an ugly town of tourist facilities. At this Georgie pronounced the country to be like 'Mosney gone wrong'.

Worse, we had to pay a fortune to stay at a very classy B+B, every mod con BUT. We were informed that drinks would be served in the drawing room at 6.00pm. Our jaws dropped when we entered. Poor Mrs Poodle, she was being born while the others were just retiring. The topic of rather forced conversation was Camilla and Charles. Sweet people really, especially the Yorkshire farmer and wife and the very elderly couple who chafed each other and winked at us. Reminded me of the time I met an eighty year old man in Mallow who said "would you like to see my wife?". Simple and obligatory reply "yes". But what was I to say when he said in front of her "she's awful isn't she?". Several replies stuck in my throat such as "Not too bad" and "wonderful considering". I think I got away with " Now don't be saying that."

We had our drinks and rushed to the town to find everything close to closed. So NZ is the same as OZ. The chef throws in the spatula at around 8.00 pm.

50 million sheep and 2 caniches d'hivers

live in New Zealand on over 25,000 farms. The T-Shirts here read "Baa Baa Baa Bar Bar Bar'.
Or as they say One tequila Two tequila Three tequila Floor.

Over three and half million people live here too. So it's two islands with a similar population to Ireland and a size a bit bigger than the UK. The immediate difference is that the stuffed toys are mostly sheep rather than bears.

We landed in Christchuuuurch, yes it was quite bumpy over the Tasman Sea.

NZ is very strict on the import of organic matter. Very strict, I said. This neccessitated the consumption of a banana in the queue up for customs. No fruit allowed in.

On the other hand the Post Offices here are wicked. An Post please copy. Everything you need in the one place; stickers, cardboard boxes, tape, silly postcards, padded envelopes (no cells yet), maps, and FRIENDLY postal agents. (Beara please ignore that last comment). Should we start some private post offices in Ireland?

Back to sheep; we lined up for ages to get in to the country but once through find the denizens exceedingly friendly helpful and laid back. They even use the 'no worries' beloved of Australians.

We hired a grand buzzer of a car, Toyota Starlet from the man in Christchurch who hadn't been to the Rod Stewart concert the night before. Rod had been quoted on marriage the day before. On asked would he 'go' again he replied. "I think I'll just find a girl I don't like and give her a house".

We headed South rather than North which, believe it or not, was the Belfast Road. We passed Hamilton Road. In OZ we saw Lingard Street and Goulding Road. Homely.

I LOVE GERALDINE

Mr Poodle insisted that it be recorded how wonderful it has been to travel with Mrs Poodle. She has amongst her many assets an angelic influence and a lightheartedness that gentlemen and poodles of a certain age and worldweariness can only lap up. This being a strictly General Release rated site there is little more to be said but a big thank you and a message of love . An attitude of gratitude.

This posting is explicable by the date of it's publication, at least at this side of the world, 14th Feb.

As to Geraldine; it's a town on the road to Queenstown from Christchurch, more on that later.

Shaking the dust off our feet

It was getting time to leave the Red Centre, say goodbye to that rather uneasy town Alice Springs, return the large car to Avis, have another dekko at Tim Storrier's large fire in the bush painting at the airport and zoom into the air to look down on the vast flat expanses of scrubby 'emptiness' that fills the middle of this landmass, 5% of the Earth's.

Time to shake the red dust off the sandals.

We flew to Sydney where the airline lost Mrs Poodle's bag, as reported earlier. We checked into our favourite hotel 'The Dive' on Coogee Beach near to Bondi Beach. We got the T-Shirt to prove it that reads 'my favourite hotel is a dive'. It is run by an Ozzie architect, his Thai? wife and their Alaskan wolf 'Bella' and yes grumpy poodle 'Babe'. This is a must stay hotel and should be included in the 'Hip Hotel' series. Minimalist and functional and friendly. In the communal area I met a man called John who was born on the Meath Road in Bray. It was time for rest amd recreation and bag reorganisation and LAUNDRY. Mr Poodle has developed an obsession with spotting washing facilities along with trying to lighten his 20 kilo bag. This is not helped by purchases of T-Shirts, fluffy toys and postcards. The way he judges a town is by it's standard of Internet, Laundry, Post, Fluffy toy facilities. Art is for vultures. Himmler is quoted as saying "When I hear the word culture I reach for my revolver". This could be a downward spiral if not checked. He saw a very supportive quote somewhere however: 'You look reasonable, time to up my medication'.

Yuluru

'Yuluru' means meeting place in the local aboriginal language, there are hundreds. It is deemed sacred by them.The Protestant hymn 'Rock of Ages' comes to mind.

It can be spotted on the horizon from about 31 ks out and is resplendent in a purplely red hue with deep violet shadows. The sheer size becomes apparent on closer inspection especially set against the dead flat bush. In fact it is not one rock but a peak of an underground mountain range that runs for 1500 ks. The smoothness of it's exterior is a feature as, of course, is it's colour which is in fact rust, iron oxide. It is quite tightly controlled by the Parks Authority in conjunction with the Aboriginal owners of the land. A viewing position is designated and photography denied in many areas. We felt a bit like battery tourists but What the Hey as the Americanos say. Mostly Japanese tourists here rather than the transatlantic types.

We cicumnavigated the rock, 7 ks, and then settled into the sunset viewing station to let Perkins get a good view. He was positioned in a prickly bush and only when his owner started to be stung al lover his arm did I realise that Perks was covered in ants. Bush Tucker for the brave, and Salavador Dali apparently.

We stayed the night at the only designated stopover, Yaluru. This is a government built high-end tourist resort which is now run by a private monopoly. We booked into the second cheapest accomodation which turned out to be about 25o euro for one night. The whole complex looked like a science fiction vision of an emcampment on the moon in the sixties. It is apparently riddled with bush mice and we were warned to report them to management if spotted. We saw nothing more than a gekko, on Georgie's side of the bed luckily, lovely as they are.

In the morning we visited the nearby Aboriginal Cultural Centre a much more ' organic' wooden building that rambled in a curvilinear shnake like pattern in the bush. Here we read a bit about the bush culture, saw a video of several large bare breasted and painted middle aged ladies dancing rather embarrasedly in a small circle in the tundra and visited the shop where they sold local paintings. Here we saw an aboriginal painter working on a dot painting with the ever present bottle of coke and choccie beside her.

Thank God for air conditioning. My admiration for the indiginous people who lived for c.50,000 in these conditions is boundless. Not to mention their diet of live grubs, giving a whole new meaning to 'grubs up'.

Ready to Rock

From Alice we set out on the 450 kilometre drive to Uluru (Ayre's Rock) hoping to reach it by sunset. No problem when you are driving on dead straight roads with almost no traffic apart from the occasional road train, comprising a tractor and three trailors 55 metres long all in all. In Ireland you cannot drive for a quarter of an hour at 100 mph without lifting off (I timed it). Well, maybe Ling excepted.

The outside temperature was 39 degrees which means that after two minutes outside it's time for water and certainly for hat. Mr Poodles hat was left behind in the Art Gallery in Alice later on the trip.

We were very much alert for Kangaroos. We saw them ok but all dead, roadkill every few kilometres and roasted like steaks beside the road. One or two were being feasted on by the biggest bastards, sorry bustards, that I've ever seen. Then we saw the larger meat; two dead cows and two dead camels. Yes, there are 25,000 thousand feral camels in the interior and they are doubling in number every year. They were brought here by Afghani cameleers in the pioneering days.

Wildlife that we did see in spades were fies, I cannot begin to describe their persistence around the face. Many shops sell face nets a bit like beekeepers masks. It makes a strange sight to see two Irish Poodles draped in these, with and without hats, and holding a stuffed monkey for a photo opportunity. The things one does far from home!

If I was a botanist I could write reams about the bush. I was always of the opinion that the interior was one vast barren sandy desert. In fact it is an everchanging prospect of small and large shrubs and grasses, spinafex mostly, punctuated by the occasional gum tree and stands of the most lovely 'Desert Oaks', which are ramrod straight trees with weeping leaves a bit like pine needles. The background is a rusty indian red sand/earth which has to be seen to be believed. The colour of the bush changes by the hour from many blue greens to dusty olive colours and then the red of the gum and the blackened bark of some, like soot. The wonderful 'Ghost Gum' with it's pure white bark is to be seen also. This is one vast garden and brings into comprehension the aboriginal art. In fact our drive was like travelling through a vast canvas.

About 100 ks out from Uluru we saw the giant shape of Mt Connors on the horizon, a long symetrical table shaped mass with diagonal sides falling away at each end and about half a kilometre long . We had stopped at a fuel/refreshment settlement about 200 ks back and the proprietor, Jim, directed us to Uluru by saying "watch out for the second lump on the left".

As to Jim; he was a man in his late fifties, aren't we all, somewhat embittered and most likely too fond of the drink. With a few minutes conversation I learnt and read from newspaper clippings on the wall that he was twice married with 7 kids, 5 living. He is son of a famous pioneer who opened up King's Canyon and another tourist destination with little more than a Dodge ammunition carrier with a large v-shaped girder on the front. In other words he built a 50k road in the seraing heat of the bush on his own. Jim succeeded him and built up a thriving business in the outback only to have his landlady foreclose on him. He offered a partnership or buy-out. She refused so he bulldozed the whole site which encompassed 15 buildings. I don't think the word forgiveness has entered his head. He lost a three month old daughter through cot death and she is buried under a tree at his old property. There were tears in the eyes of this hardbitten man as he related this. If I hadn't read it in the paper I might have thought I was audience fodder for an actor .

No worries, mate.

This is the ubiquotous greeting in OZ.

The post below mentions our stay at a B+B in Alice run by an ex-pat from South Africa and wife. He was telling us that he sang in the local glee club and was just off to choir practice. First we had tea and honemade cakes with them. During tea he wandered next door and on his return I asked if he kept a bird as I wondered where that "tuneless whistling " was coming from. He kept no bird and later I saw him making those tuneless whistles himself. He did not look pleased. Foot in mouth disease again.

Hot and not bothered

At Alice Springs we stayed at a B+B run by South African ex-pats, a lovely garden bungalow being our quarters. Breakfast was taken 'late' at 8.00am at a table in the garden. Above us in the trees swooped Galahs and Australian ring necked parrots. Beside us lay an affectionate sheared spaniel called 'Toffee' and up in the garden lurked a beautiful fudge coloured cat called 'Missy' watching her chance to down one of these birds.

The conversation strayed to Ireland and it turns out that the hosts are very friendly with people who live right next door to where Betty and Squirrel George lived in Connemara, Moyard. They have often visited.

There seems to be quite a contingent of people from S Africa and Zimbabwe living in Alice.

The first day we were there the temperature was 39 and the second day it was 41 degrees and with a humidity of 5%. This explains why locals get up at 6.oo am to walk. Of course Irish Poodles don't sit up that late.

At the other end of the day most people seem to be tucked up by 10.00pm and the restaurants seem to close their doors by 9.00 pm, a source of grave disappointment to us visitors.

It's great to be an unashamed tourist, after all we are all tourists to this planet. This is brought home by news we hear from home; some good friends had a child that was stillborn and another friend is extremely ill.

My gardening friend Tim Wallis says that gardening is all about 'Magic Moments'.

Alice is Wonderland.

We arrived at Alice Springs in the heat of the day. The heat was in the high 30s. After viewing a beautiful fire painting by Tim Storrier in the foyer of the airport we jumped into our hire car, more like a minivan, and drove the 10 miles to town. This must be one of the more peculiar corners of the planet. It is mostly a covered mall that winds through concrete buidings. The usual American Imperial Bastions are here; KFC, McDonalds etc. Amongst these are galleries selling indigenous Art and some rundown housing which is the town home of these artists. There is a definite feeling of tension between the two communities. We were sorry to see the signs of alcoholism amongst the aboriginal residents. This was later emeliorated by some inside knowledge from one of the gallery workers. She explained that the impression we might get from the towndwellers should not be a reflection on these the owners of the land for tens of thousands of years. She explained how she would go into the bush nearly every week and hang out with the communities there. She said these were people of a gentle and very humble nature. She further explained that the people we might see on the streets were those who had been affected by the white man's poison. The other poison for these people was the sugar diet of the West. She remarked on the prevalence of diabetes amongst them and that many were on dialysis because of the over consumption of "lollies". I noticed that in pictures of the artists there was nearly always a coke bottle or two. When we saw a lady painting in the Aboriginal Cultural Centre at Uluru she had chocolate beside her and the coke bottle. These foods 'may' be ok for Mr Poodle, a well known sugar addict, but how could they be ok for people whose diet for thousands of years has been ' Bush Tucker' consisting of kangaroo, goanna (tinka), grubs, ants and bush herbs etc

Georgie and I spent a wonderful couple of hours in the Mbanta Gallery which is one of the two main galleries showing the work of the Utopian Artists who live North of Alice Springs. There we saw the work of Barbara Weir who paints large paintings on black grounds. They appear to be thickets of grass and are symbolic of motherland. She actually appeared in the gallery when we were there and only shyness held us back from communicating after eyecontact. We found out that she had an Irish father and Aboriginal mother. Her mother, Minnie Pwerle, is still painting large works, 72 X 48 ins for instance, at the age of 91. The family name Weir is well known in Ireland especially as the name of one of the top Dublin jewellers. Georgie struck up conversation with Trevor, the wholesale manager of the gallery, who turns out to be from Belfast. He told us that Barbara is planning to go to Ireland next year and they are planning to have an exhibition of Aboriginal paintings both North and South. I hope I can be involved in expediting this.

Oh Yes, 'Alice is Wonderland' is the forthcoming festival this month in Alice Springs. It is the gay and lesbian Mardi Gras.

Happiness

"Everyone brings happiness. Some when they arrive and some when the leave".

I thought this aphorism suitable for publishing our movements:
2nd Feb Lake Mc Quarie
3rd Feb Manly
4th Feb Airport Hotel, Sydney
5th Feb Fly to Alice Springs
6th Feb Drive 450 kilometres to Uluru (Ayre's Rock)
7th Feb Drive 450 kilometres to Alice Springs
8th Feb Fly to Sydney and stay at The Dive, Coogee Beach
9th Feb Coogee
1oth Feb Fly to Christchurch, NZ

The Wedding Dress

After a great reception and overnight stay with the indomitable Jim Scarfe at Lake Mc Quarie we drove down to Manly on the North side of Sydney. We stayed over at a guest house overlooking the beach. In the morning we were investigating the communal breakfast facilities and saw some yoghurt in the large fridge. Being unsure if this was for all guests to consume I went looking for advice from another resident. I approached a lady who was ironing a rather shapeless dress of a particularily unpleasant pink hue. She looked up as I approached and just as I was about to mention the yoghurt she let out a cry of "Oh No I've burnt a hole in it. It's my daughter's wedding dress. I think I'm going to cry. (Which she did). She's getting married at four o'clock" Her husband and another lady came over and I later heard him saying on the phone "it's irrepairable".

I opened and closed my mouth and backed away in stunned silence.

The German's have a word that has crossed into the English language: 'Schadenfreude'. It means laughing at other's misfortunes.The naughty poodles spent the rest of the morning bursting into fits of uncontrollable giggles. We wondered how the wedding went.

No Baggage

A new meaning to no baggage is evolving. Travelling light is the name of the game but the technique is rather distressing. It started with the theft of Mrs Poodle's camera at Singapore airport, which is possibly the materialistic capital of the Far East. Then we have the leaving behind of Mr Poodle's watch on Phi Phi island .It was left by the shore while it's owner was inhaling water through a snorkelling device in the bay. Soon after the sunglasses went. Then, most probably at The Crystal castle near Bangalow, Mr P's camera was left on the cafe table after a particularily sweet Strawberry Milkshake. Somewhere on the way to Sydney the reading glasses were taken by gremlins and not long afterwards the sunglasses. Today as we left Alice Springs Mr P's somewhat battered rancher's hat was left on the counter of the Mbantu Art Gallery.

As we landed at Sydney Airport for the third time in eight weeks Mr Poodle casually remarked to Mrs P that we were beginning to travel without baggage; the goal of every true traveller. We made it to the carousel to find that her checked-in bag had gone missing. Be warned and remember the old Chinese saying "Speak of Lao-Tsu and Lao-Tsu appears".

Happy epilogue: the airline tracked the bag and returned it to our hotel tonight. We are staying at 'The Dive' on Coogee Beach for the nights of 9 and 10 Feb. They sell a T-shirt that reads "My favourite hotel is a dive".

Bye Bye Bello

Today is our last day in Bellingen, a place we have got to know quite well. We will miss the small town ambience, the cafes and the magnificent trees and birds.

Georgie has gone to see the Butterfly Farm near Coff's Harbour. I am staying at home after the haircut and internet cafe visit to finish up some daubings I have been working on, mainly abstract amd very small (6X4 ins).

Last night we met Eduardo the diamond python. He had concealed his 2 metres inside a small ceramic elephant on the patio of our hosts. There he was waiting to launch himself on 'dinner', a mouse or two.

We sadly said goodbye to our wonderful hosts, Erika and Roger. They are so helpful and especially inspiring when they start to talk about wildlife. They have spent quite some time trekking in the bush and it turns out that our seemingly private Thai style chalet is far from being the preserve of humans. By night there are many strange sounds at the door and on the roof. At dusk the black cockatoos come swarming on the big red gum tree in front and start their very loud screaching. I have recorded some of this for the 2005 hit from Shotgun Studio 'Hump da Birdy'.

Tomorrow Wednesday the 2nd we drive to lake Macquarie to visit Jim Scarfe, Ling's old mining colleague from the sixties.

We think of all readers in Ireland when we open the fridge door.

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