Ramblers Resort - Toogoolawah

… and so at last we’re on our way to the infamous Toogoolawah, home of the Equinox Boogie* and the place Rob has raved about for the last couple of years. Rob’s nervous (but won’t admit it!) – will it have changed, will anyone remember him… I’m nervous – will I feel an outsider as rob fits right back in. As it turns out, after a handy airport pick-up from Brisbane (thanks Roland!) We arrive 9pm in the pitch black and follow the glow of the light from the bar. There residing happily is Macca aka Dave McEvoy, chief instructor of the club and a shout of “Rob!” confirms that indeed Rob has been remembered. A few beers later and I’m sat alongside Macca on his piano stool while he bangs out a few tunes (bear in mind this is after he has already kept us entertained on his sax and clarinet) and I’m feeling right at home too.

The caravan we’ve booked for the boogie is already on site so we’re soon settled in there and into a steady pattern of jumping all day then chilling in the bar. Macca lets us know that he’s hoping for rain, they’ve been in drought since May and the whole state is parched and dry and at risk of bush fires. Thinking back that so far this year I’ve seen rain in Arizona, Dubai, Sweden, Brazil, Chile, French Polynesia and New Zealand I don’t think it will take long for the rain to follow us and sure enough after two days it arrives. The ozzies are over the moon when rain arrives and fortunately the showers are short enough not to greatly affect the jumping although the humidity afterwards is something else. You get used to jumping in on the sun set loads and watching out for Kangaroos on the landing area though, and the magpies swooping down to get your head on the way out to the plane or to attack your pilot chute on the way back in. Skydiving Oz style.

A few days on and we’re nicely settled in, when we wander back into the bar area and spy Shaz and Andy from back home, a day later and its Rob Silver, followed shortly after by Claire and Sarah and then Laura. The British contingent has arrived, Hib on tour! A couple of Freds(Red Devils), Glen and Jonno add to the numbers and then George, Cheryl, Steve, Jo etc. etc. you get the idea, the Brits must make up a good proportion of a lot of the plane loads, but then with 400 people registered for the boogie its going to be a good one.

*Boogie – definition: a gathering of skydivers with the intention of doing some fun jumping and partying hard, bit like a festival in whuffo* terminology.
*whuffo – definition: someone who has never done a single skydive, derived from “what do you do that for?”

We're off to a land downunder...

Arriving in Sydney with the usual mass of luggage and a weather uncharacteristically hot for the time of year we stagger to the bus and are crammed in for the short trip to our hostel. Picture an 18-30 holiday held in a huge converted 7storey building and you’ll get an idea of where we’re at. Fantastic old building right near the centre of the city, cool hip slick modern interior and loads of 16-22yr olds speaking at 200% volume as they try to impress all around with how cool and well travelled they really are. No, I’m being a bit harsh. The place is run like a very slick youth hostel, and to be fair is quiet at night and clean and professional in the day, the cellar bar puts on the sort of entertainment the aforementioned clientele would most appreciate, making it a cattle market just like any self respecting student union bar, but you’re in the city so if that isn’t your cup of tea you can always drink/eat elsewhere.

With two days in the city before we head off to the dropzone and a shopping list of must haves we head off to take it all in. Shopping successfully complete, we have time to take in the opera house (how small?) and Sydney harbour bridge before catching a ferry over to Manly and the beach. A bit of a surfers mecca, the place is littered with surf shops and the beach with apparently all the occupants of the hostel. A fantastic deli sandwich shop and a few gallons of water later we grab the ferry back and I’m satisfied that my whistle-stop stay in Sydney is complete.

New Zealand in a flash… we crossed the dateline and I didn’t even notice…

When we found out that Liz and Noel were going to still be around in NZ as we passed through, we changed our flights to take in a long weekend in Auckland and catch up with them, albeit briefly. Arriving at their pad just minutes before Noel got home from work we managed between us to consume a good array of beer in the short spell before Liz arrived in, having just completed her last day (for now) as a burns fellow at the Auckland area hospitals. Duly reminded that it was Liz’s leaving do that evening we nipped out for a curry (boy have I looked forward to having a curry and I’m only 6 weeks from home) and then a few beers and met a few of her colleagues. We were on best behaviour, at least until her colleagues left, then there was no stopping Rob on the dance floor as he gyrated away to James Brown, just like being back in Hib bar… quite scary in the public arena.

Saturday saw us following Noel on down to Mercer, a skydive centre about 45 minutes south of Auckland. We arrived in time to go and watch them take a demo into a local school fete, much amusement as they announced over the tannoy that “a chicken had escaped, but they didn’t know which pen it belonged in so they had put it back in the empty one, could the owner please come and identify it”… you probably had to be there. That, as well as all the sheep being lead around on bits of string and the children in their wellies made you realise you were definitely out in the country. Demo completed with only the tandem master being sicked on by the student, we returned to the DZ and enjoyed an afternoon of cloud watching, as is customary at DZs worldwide.

On Sunday we headed up the country a bit to the beach area where the film “the piano” was filmed, black sands and all. No sooner were the kites out and flying than the heavens opened. Liz and I attempted shelter behind a rock, followed soon after by Noel, only rob kept trying to fly his kite in vain. Eventually even he admitted defeat and we retreated, absolutely sodden, back to the car for a picnic before moving along to the next beach along. The rain had abated and the sea was teeming with kite surfers, zooming along and leaping in the air doing stunts. Rob and Noel stacked the kites for a bit more power, Liz had to be held in place to save her from being dragged (I yellow-bellied out) and Rob ended up on his back still flying the kite from there. On the way back home we popped into the city to pick up some art materials for me and chanced upon an Irish pub which seemed too good an opportunity to miss out on, an hour later we reappeared, bellies stuffed with a full Sunday Roast washed down with Guinness, fantastic.

On Monday we headed back to Mercer, luck didn’t seem to be on our side as we got a call on the way to say the plane had broken down and could we pick the pilot up from where it was being repaired. Undeterred however we made it down and I initiated myself into NZ skydiving from a Cesna 182 with Liz in tow (literally, as we exited over the huge step) and Rob and Noel whizzing round us. That done and with the customary crate of beer bought we headed back to Auckland where we met up with Gill and Alex and had an enormous Japanese meal. It was very difficult to come to grips with the fact we were on the other side of the world and not just in the UK somewhere.

Difficult that is until the following morning… Gill unfortunately had to work, but 10am the next morning saw the rest of us clambering over the underside of Auckland Harbour Bridge. “To what end?” you might ask. A few minutes later and we were each in turn throwing ourselves off the 40m high bridge like lemmings, attached only by a bit of elastic. Even Noels emergency drills couldn’t save him as he stood on the edge of the platform. Absolutely fantastic! Liz and I came back down with huge grins on our faces to replace the grey faces and frowns of a few moments before. I always said that if I went to NZ I’d do a bungee jump and if I get the chance to go back there I want to do another, next time from even higher, sorry Mum!

French Polynesia, emphasis on the “French.”

Arriving in Papeete, Tahiti at 23:00 we expected a similar warm welcome to that of Easter Island. Obviously a much more developed region with a professional big airport, the reception was still restrained and with no sign of any adverts for accommodation we approached a couple of the tour reps and were met with blank expressions and shrugs. As one of the popular stop off points for round the world ticket holders and surfers alike it seemed surprising that there was nothing on offer and we finally, as the airport cleared, got a name of a hostel that we could give to a taxi driver there. The £30 fare for a 10minute taxi ride was our first indication of the cost of the area. The hostel that we arrived at was big but basic (note, en suite means a curtain around the toilet in your room, the shower was communal and cold at all times apart from 6:30pm, to 8:30pm, we thought that was a typo but it wasn’t), all this for US$50 a night and people sat on the veranda outside your window. Oh and the least friendly welcome ever from the woman in charge. That said, it was clean (apart from the insects, geckos and cockroaches) and really handy for the harbour front and main markets.

Papeete is a bustling city, the market itself a treat with fresh fish, fruit and veg stalls providing all the food you could want, plus a huge array of stalls selling allsorts of cooked foods from Chinese, to pizza, to crepes, all at a reasonable cost (especially by Polynesian standards). Outside is a whole area dedicated to pareos (that’s a sarong to the unitiated) and upstairs further stalls dedicated to local crafts, jewellery, clothing and suchlike. Ideal for any souvenirs of the trip, but we stopped at the purchase of a couple of pareos ready for our trip to the beach next day.

Tahiti itself, despite its fame for such, does not actually have many good beaches, but a 30minute ferry ride can take you over to Moorea, a neighbouring island, littered all round with beautiful sandy beaches and clear turquoise lagoons where you can snorkel amongst the coral reef and see the local sea life at close hand. Taking “le truck” around the island is by far the cheapest option, something we found out to our cost the second day, after getting off the last ferry that morning and seeing le truck full to busting we decided to wait for the next one. An hour later it returned but reported it wasn’t moving for another 2 hrs until the next ferry was due in so we opted for a taxi that must have cost nearly 8 times of the cost for both of us to travel in the bus. At least by then we were there for the rest of the week and we clambered out at Camp Nelson on the other side of the island. Here for less than $30 a night we had our own hut overlooking the beach, access to a communal kitchen and shower block (no hot water but with the heat of the sun that was quite a relief and pretty unnecessary) and less than a minute stroll onto a beach which during our entire stay had probably less than a dozen people, closer to half of that on it most of the time.

About 3 metres from shore was a thin stretch of dead reef which meant that a well of the local aquatic life could be seen by just getting your feet wet, while stood on there we saw stonefish (can be deadly if you stand on them and look like stone so made me a little paranoid about walking without shoes), moray eels, brightly coloured clown fish and even a stingray that was almost a metre in diameter. At night time with the sun painting the sky in all shades of orange, cerise and lavender, the colours were reflected in the sea and you could pick out the tips of reef sharks basking in the shallow waters off shore.

Our time was therefore spent, lounging on the beach, paddling/swimming/snorkelling, lounging on the beach some more etc., etc. Point to note here: When snorkelling wear a t-shirt (did that, so far so good) and preferably shorts, or at least full bottomed bikini. I had my one venture out in a string bikini and ended up with, as Rob described it, two edams with a dairylea triangle imbetween. Ow, ow and ow again. Fortunately it was a full day before we next flew but it still hurt for several days after that. In fact when we saw Liz and Noel that weekend in Auckland and showed her the picture of my poor bum in peak burnt state (we’ve all seen each other naked…. they know what we mean…) she said she’d have thought of admitting me to hospital for it. This is Liz who works as a burns specialist/plastic surgeon… like ow.