Tag Archives: vacation

Climb every mountain… on Lord Howe Island

A life lived half in the city and half on the coast has left both EB and I temporarily speechless. The upside is I’ve overcome my fear of packing, but that’s another story. I’m taking a mental break with some retrospective travelling while we adjust to our life in motion. It’s 2011, we’re off to Lord Howe Island, and I have no idea what I’m in for…

Copyright: Louise Ralph

We’ve just landed at Lord Howe Island, 600km off Australia’s east coast. It’s a tiny speck on the ocean dominated by two enormous mountains,  Mount Gower and ‘little bro’ Mt Lidgbird.  EB points at the biggest one (in case I hadn’t noticed).

That’s Mount Gower.

I’ve been here before, back in the day with my parents, so I nod. Yep. That’s Mount Gower.

We’re climbing it tomorrow, he informs me.

I shudder the full length of my desk-fit body. Eight kilometres straight up.

No, I say. EB looks at me incredulously. What do you mean no? I mean ‘never’. I’d love to, but I can’t do it. I just can’t.

EB appears to agree, reluctantly booking in for the climb later in the week – on his own.

He is ever the optimist. So, he leads me off cycling around the island, walking the trails, climbing every mountain.

Except Mount Gower. Never Mount Gower.

Bring it on… or something

Way too early one morning, I’m on yet another path that hugs the spectacular rugged coastline. This one leads to the base of  Mount Gower (Don’t even ask!).

The walk is long enough for me to find comfort in a group where some find rock hopping challenging. Okay, I’m still nervous about the 8-plus km straight up, but I’m suddenly glad I decided to come.

Imagine how annoyed I’d be with myself if EB returned and told me the group wasn’t made up of fearless fitness freaks and rangy mountain folk. Just people like me – excited, in a slightly hysterical way, but definitely more puffing than puffed up.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

The rope-assisted climb begins and I’m remembering how much I love this walking-slash-scrambling up mountains thing, edging along narrow paths above sheer drops, challenging my fears (and yes, there’s nowhere to hide when EB knows this about me!).

A few tough but amazing hours later, we reach the summit and find ourselves in a mystical forest where pathways made by wild creatures could just as easily lead you off the edge of the cliff.

Our guide Jack Shick is a fifth generation Islander and third generation mountain guide. His passion for this place – and shimmying-up-palm-tree ability – is already obvious. But wait, there’s more.

A bird’s-eye view

Jack points out some elegant birds, with wingspans slightly over a metre, gliding on the thermals high above us.

Providence Petrels, he says. This is the only place they breed, and you can ‘call them down’. Yeah right.

Then he starts making weird noises that sound suspiciously like mating calls.

Suddenly one of these totally wild and extremely rare birds plops to the ground at Jack’s feet and fearlessly climbs into his hands. Then there’s a lot of serious plopping going on as several others land in awkward feathery bundles around us.

Their landing ability may be severely lacking, but they have to be the extroverts of the bird world.

They soon toddle off, unimpressed by the motley bunch of humans. So do we, back down to a sunny spot overlooking Mount Lidgbird.

For me, there’s always a moment, on a walk like this, when I look back to where I’ve come from and feel stunned. How did my legs carry me that far or that high?

Soon EB and I are sliding and scrambling down the mountain with two 13 year-old boys who have energy to burn (and yes, our well-honed parenting instincts are in full swing!).

At the bottom there’s a lot of whoop-whooping going on (mostly in my head). Not just because it’s a fascinating climb or even because I conquered the mountain – but because I did something tougher. I faced down my fears.

And there endeth the lesson.

Except… all that learning maketh me peckish (and thirsty). Time for a celebratory bubbly and a very civilized dinner in the fabulous Pandanus restaurant.

…and there’s still some walks we haven’t done yet.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

On the track to the Goat House Cave…

A ‘climb every mountain’ chorus line: It’s all here. Pick your grade – from 1-5. There is Transit Hill (2 km return), Malabar Hill and Kims Lookout (5 hours return), Goat House Cave (5 hours return and awesome), Mount Gower (8 hours return), Rocky Run and Boat Harbour, Intermediate Hill and more. (Note to self: next time, hide all maps from EB).

Climb the mountain…


Another Byron Bay sunrise…

When our weeks are so jam-packed that the fast-lane looks like easy street, there’s nothing better than jumping in the DA and heading off for some chill time in Byron Bay.

We arrive late afternoon Friday and, as always, head straight to the beach.

In January, ex-tropical cyclone Oswald cut a devastating path through Queensland and hammered northern New South Wales on its way to rain on Sydney’s parade.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Ex-tropical cyclone Oswald leaves its mark on Byron Bay’s pristine shoreline.

The evidence of Oswald’s passing hits us immediately.

The sand has been effortlessly carved away, the beach is re-configured, swaths of coastal vegetation are gone.

But today, it’s calm and raining gently – and the insanity of city life and relentless storms has slipped away.

It’s one of those rare moments you just want to hang onto, when even the grey skies and persistent drizzle can’t dampen our spirits.

If I was any more relaxed, I think I’d fall over backwards.

Of course, the serenity can’t last.

EB is already nudging me to get my runners on so we can do the lighthouse circuit before the light fades.

Step aside Oswald… EB is a force to be reckoned with.

Copyright: Louise Ralph


Hanging out around Sydney Harbour

We arrive in Sydney on Friday and walk out of the airport into a wall of dry heat. At 46 degrees celsius, it’s the hottest day on record. But that doesn’t stop us taking to the scorching pavements…

Copyright: Louise Ralph

I see a photo opportunity… a seagull poses in front of a giant, world-travelled rubber duck, the mascot for the Sydney Festival

It’s my real ‘new year’ and EB likes to make sure I grow old disgracefully.

This means my birthdays usually involve things like jumping out of a plane, driving a racing car, hanging doughnuts around an oil-slicked track at a defensive driving course, or whatever crazy thing EB can think of…and that I might actually agree to.

So far he hasn’t convinced me to go bungy jumping.

This year, we’re hitting the water for something a little more relaxing. So, after a scorcher on Friday, we’re up early to join our Sydney Harbour Kayaks eco-tour of Middle Harbour – and it’s 20 degrees cooler than yesterday. Of course.

Sydney Harbour is awe-inspiring, whether you’re walking around it, sitting beside it, driving over the Harbour Bridge, or taking a ferry ride. From a kayak, it takes on a whole new perspective.

We weave between moored yachts and cruisers and past affluent harbourside residences, glide past stunning sandstone formations and remnant bushland, and stop at a tiny secluded beach fringed with oyster-clad rocks.

The hours drift by too quickly and soon we’re taking on a fiesty headwind to make it back to the Spit. It’s so beautiful out on the water, even when it’s choppy, and we’d happily keep paddling all day…

Back to reality, and EB’s plan to do another section of Sydney’s stunning coastal walk is thwarted. Too much good wine and conversation with friends on Saturday night makes waking up at dawn the next day an impossibility.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Balmoral Beach

Instead we have a lazy morning walking around Darling Harbour, before meeting up with family and heading to beautiful Balmoral Beach. The cool change evolves to threatening grey and we watch the sheets of rain cross the harbour towards us.

Soon everyone is scrambling for shelter and the beach is deserted, except for a couple of teenagers and a jogger who shakes off the rain as he splashes along the pathway.

We shake the rain off too and frock-up for dinner at the iconic (and rather posh) Bather’s Pavilion.

Mais oui, there are worse ways to welcome in another year… Bungy jumping springs to mind.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

The Bather’s Pavilion at Balmoral Beach


Hinchinbrook wanderings – a retrospective

copyright: Louise Ralph

Mt Bowen on Hinchinbrook Island

My only resolution this year is to ‘seize the moment’.

So EB and I have been lapping up the holidays, paddling the Brisbane River and freewheeling on our Bromptons around the city.

And while we’re at home, it seems like the perfect time for a little ‘armchair travelling’ – retrospective style.

Here are some memories from my first through-walk effort with EB…

October 2007: A friend of mine has just come back from Fiji and she’s still floating on ten days of waves lapping the shore just outside their beach hut, water of the perfect colour and temperature, cocktails and smiling happy people…

We’re off to the coast next week ourselves. Except I’m carefully packing bush camping gear, insect repellent, dehydrated food, snake bandages and two changes of undies into a backpack that looks big enough to carry me.

We’re getting ready to walk the Thorsborne Trail on remote and beautiful Hinchinbrook Island, off the Queensland coast near Townsville. When I say remote, I’m talking about the only way out being evacuation by emergency helicopter – or on foot.

copyright: Louise Ralph

Achtung! Crocs hang out here.

So, once the ferry drops you off, you’re on your own. Unless you count the company of estuarine crocs, marine stingers, bush rats that steal your food, and a variety of bitey insects.

I’m sure I’ll appreciate the cloud-covered mountains, fragile heath vegetation, patches of lush rainforest, sweeping sandy beaches and rocky headlands – once I’ve dumped my pack for the day.

Did I mention I won’t be able to have a wine for a week?

But there’s bound to be a bit of whine-ing going on! The whole ‘experienced and fit bushwalkers’ thing has me shaking in my sturdy footwear. What was I thinking?

Next time my intrepid adventurer partner EB decides we need a holiday, I’m going to be there when he books it.

Five days later…

copyright: Louise Ralph

As we wait for the ferry to collect us at the end of our Hinchinbrook walk, you could knock me over with a feather. Not because I’m exhausted, but because I am in shock.

I started the walk thinking I’d be counting the days and the kilometres until I reached the end. But here I am, feeling sad that it’s over and wanting more.

I’ve lugged my 15 kg pack along rocky trails criss-crossed with tangled roots, negotiated slippery creek crossings, scrambled up and down rocky sections, and (almost) got used to March flies with a fatal attraction to my hair.

And I’ve loved every bit of it, with the possible exception of EB whacking me over the head constantly (It’s a March fly, he says. Yeah right).

Even with the bities and the humidity, it’s a fantastic walk. One moment we are deep in cool, lush rainforest or rock hopping across crystal clear creeks, the next we’re walking through mangrove and palm swamps, open eucalypt forest or grass tree shrubland.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Zoe Falls

Along the way, we stop to cool off in deep forest pools beneath cascading falls or slide into the pristine blue of one of Hinchinbrook’s bays.

At night, the island comes alive in a very Jurassic Park kind of way.

There’s a whole lot of squawking, hunting and foraging going on beyond the campsite – which is strangely comforting, except when you want to go outside for a pee.

Who would have thought carrying all your stuff on your back for four days could be so relaxing?

Hinchinbrook has left us both floating…and there wasn’t a cocktail in sight. Perfect.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Crab art on Hinchinbrook


Everything is possible: holiday resolutions

You know the drill. You’re on holidays and the stress has melted away, leaving you feeling like anything is possible.

You’ll get back home and do those things you’ve been putting off forever.

You’ll change your life, or at least your attitude to it.

You won’t be sucked back into the stress zone. And those end of the day ‘power wine-downs’ will be a thing of the past.

You can almost hear your liver whispering ‘thank you’.

Yep, anything is possible.

Fast forward a few weeks and it’s easy to forget you’ve ever been away. The relentless pace of life sucks you in – and under.

Almost.

The other day, I found myself grabbing lunch and taking it back to my desk. I stopped mid-stride.

‘I reckon you wouldn’t find a single French person eating lunch at their desk,’ I thought.

And I went back outside to find a place in the sun…

My friend posted this Seth Godin quote on faffbook recently, and it’s worth repeating (even if we are planning our next getaway!):

Maybe it’s not about big changes and Humpty-Dumpty resolutions. Maybe hanging onto that ‘holiday spirit’ is about the little things that build momentum in your life and eventually add up to the way you live.

And where you eat lunch.

 


Wildlife adventures in Singapore

Food may be a national pastime in Singapore, but you can’t eat all day. Sometimes you have to lie down.

…or visit some of the fascinating places in and around the city.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Singapore Botanic Gardens

First stop, the 150-year old Singapore Botanic Gardens. These are simply amazing – and a tribute to the passion and hard work of an army of horticulturalists and gardeners.

Open from five in the morning until midnight, the Gardens are clearly a favourite for locals and tourists alike. And with Singapore’s rules and regulations, they’re a safe place to be (see Getting into the Singapore swing).

Spread over 63 hectares, it’s a great place for a run (I wasn’t about to test that theory…) and huge enough to find a peaceful corner to hang out in or do a few tai chi moves.

And even if you’re not into plant-gazing, it’s impossible not to be blown away by the stunning tropical orchids, bromeliads, ferns and other horticultural wonders.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

So if you’re ever in Singapore, make this number one on your list. But go in good walking shoes and light clothing, otherwise you’ll be like so many other tourists we saw melting in their heels and woollies (the cranked-up air conditioning in those hotels can be deceiving).

Sticking with the gardens theme, the recently-opened Gardens by the Bay is another incredible display of Singapore’s vision and determination.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Gardens by the Bay from the viewing deck of Marina Bay Sands resort

Unlike the botanic gardens built around original stands of vegetation, these gardens were created from the ground up… and up.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Supertrees…a mere 25-50 metres tall

The grove of ‘supertrees’ look extra-terrestrial and, when the vines, ferns, elkhorns and staghorns cover those enormous frames, it will be beyond surreal.

Then there’s the Flower Dome, Cloud Garden, Dragonfly Lake (I do love those dragonflies, said the dragonfly), and more. Just incredible…

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Dragonfly dreaming…

But enough about plants, let’s talk about Singapore’s nightlife. Wildlife, not wild-life.

Dusk is my favourite time of the day… so dusk at the zoo? Who could resist.

Night Safari Singapore is the world’s first nocturnal zoo. It’s an open-plan zoo in a rainforest setting, and the animals get heaps of room to move in environments that emulate their natural habitat.

You’re taken on a guided tram ride through eight different geographical regions and there are also walking trails where you can get (relatively) up-close and personal with the animals.

Being eyeballed by a hyena almost my size, across a ditch I’m sure it was contemplating leaping, set the nerves in my neck fizzing.

There are tigers and lions and leopards all up and about – but no, I had to have some weird connection to a hyena. Great.

With no flash allowed and my night photography on the dodgy side, the only pic we came away with was a cheesy shot in the tram before we set off. And that’s staying in the dark, where it belongs.

Then the sun came up and the humidity maxed-out again…

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Little India bling…

In Little India I fell face-first into vegetarian culinary delights (and got enveloped in bling). At the ArtScience Museum, we absorbed the photography and Andy Warhol exhibitions. We even took the lift up 50-something floors to Marina Bay Sands’ viewing platform.

So at the end of four days in Singapore, I had to come back home for a rest. Which, it turned out, was wishful thinking. But that’s another story…


Getting into the Singapore swing…

Copyright: Louise Ralph

We’ve been hanging out in Singapore for the past few days. EB finds the humidity energizing. Moi? I’m suffering from serious France-lag.

Even my mobile kept French time for two days. Perhaps that’s why they call it a smart phone.

As always, we hit the streets on day one – stepping out into 33-degree heat, complete with 90 percent humidity. Joy.

One local just laughs at us and shakes his head. “Nobody walk in Singapore. Everyone take bus or taxi,” he says.

I wish. I already feel like I’ve run a marathon. Unfortunately, I look like it too. Wringing wet and half dead.

Which makes it hard to blend in along Orchard Road, Singapore’s posh shop-til-you-drop strip. The only person about to drop is me – and I haven’t even started shopping.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Flood levels in Singapore get that high?
No, it’s just Marina Bay Sands, a humble casino resort…

But what do the locals think of their city? “Singapore is fine city,” one lady says.

This isn’t a quirk of language. She’s not the first – or the last – to tell us about how highly regulated life is in Singapore.

There are fines for littering, fines for not emptying the overflow from pot-plant trays, fines and loss of taxi-licenses for drivers ripping people off, fines and jail terms for handbag snatching and other petty crime, a complicated car-ownership permit system, and more. You can even get the cane here, and not just at school.

The pot-plant thing? That’s about making sure mosquitoes can’t breed. It’s part of a vigilant program to stop dengue fever (check out the NEA ad).

All these strict laws may be annoying to live with, but they’re designed to create a litter and crime-free tropical city that’s healthy and safe for tourists and residents, with maximum green spaces and minimum pollution – especially car emissions.

And it works. It’s the safest, cleanest, most relaxing Asian city we’ve been in so far.

It’s also one the most environmentally-responsible and innovative cities in the world.

For us, it’s been a pleasant surprise and we’ve had a great time exploring the city.

Not always on foot. EB relented and we did eventually take taxis and buses – sometimes.

Coming soon! Some of our favourite places in Singapore. Until then, here’s a trip down memory lane – by bike.

This reminds me of how I felt on the last downhill run into Tournus. Nice.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Memories of cycling in Burgundy – a bronze in Singapore’s Botanical Gardens


Off piste – from Cluny to Tournus

Copyright: Louise Ralph

“Ooo, a castle,” said the goldfish

Day 4 and a local tells us: “Vous êtes chanceux. Il fait beau”. You’re lucky. It’s good weather.

Apparently it’s usually much colder this time of year.

Vraisment? Rain threatens all day and the clouds don’t part for an instant.

The wind is bitter, but a welcome friend when it’s at our backs going up those pesky hills.

There are lots of them today – especially when we peddle up 3km, only to find we’ve gone the wrong way.

Gotta love those vague directions…

Then EB’s gears throw a tanty, and we stop to fix them. Tick, tick, tick…

We glance at a chateau, but we’re way behind time.

Clearly, the bike-hire peeps don’t think lights are important, so we’re cycling on major thoroughfares under gray skies. Not for the feint-hearted.

But, in the end, what’s not to like?

This is our last day in France, and we’re pedalling through vineyards and gorgeous little villages that are mostly deserted. It’s Sunday, after all.

As we crest the final hill, we are (again) gobsmacked at the view. Okay, my open mouth is actually gasping for air, but let’s not labour the point.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Then it’s top gear and down the hill to Tournus – the last stop before we jump on one of those super-fast trains tomorrow.

The last four days of our trip will be spent in Singapore, before we are back to reality.

But for now, there’s that incredible view from our hotel window. And the obligatory five-course dinner…

Ah oui, je t’aime France.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

A room with a view…


The big chill – from St Boil to Cluny

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Day 3 dawns. Almost. Autumn’s chilly fingers extend across the landscape and smart people stay indoors, cranking up the central heating.

Cream-coloured beef cattle huddle in frost-powdered fields, watching with characteristic bovine disinterest as two crazy, blue-lipped cyclists pass by.

It doesn’t take much convincing to take a detour for a guided tour through the Chateau de Cormatin, a magnificently restored castle in Bourg.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Afterwards, we stop for a quick bite in the town, disturbing the grumpy old woman taking a ciggy-break behind the bar. She serves us with nicotine-stained fingers and a bad attitude.

We don’t hang around long – which is probably the intention.

As we begin the second half our our journey, the sun bursts through the hazy clouds. It’s one o’clock.

Who let the dogs out…?

We’re happy to arrive in Cluny, to stretch our legs, give our butts a rest…and gape at the lion-esque dogs that are out in force.

There’s a Leonberger club meet here this weekend and they are everywhere.

Yes, even at dinner in our posh hotel restaurant.

And it’s not like you can sneak these pooches through the door in your handbag.

I’m wishing they’d been here in time to share the first course of our ‘gastronomique toure de Bourgogne’. I’ve decided to live dangerously (for a vegetarian)…

In the candlelight, the dish looks harmless enough. Like something coated in neopolitan sauce. EB could have mentioned that shaved beef is actually raw beef – except he wouldn’t get the last laugh.

But in the absence of a Leonberger dinner companion, he has to eat mine so we don’t offend the chef. Ha! Who’s laughing now?

Raw victuals aside, the meal and the service are superb. Flawless presentation is one of the many things the French do so well.

So impressive. Which will be us tomorrow, cycling the last and longest chilly, hilly stage of our trip… Now, where’s that nurofen?

à demain


Along the voie verte…

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Day 1: We’re up before the sun today. Not a huge feat in France, I’ll admit. The sun only makes a rather lackluster appearance sometime around eight o’clock.

We soon leave Beaune behind, as we peddle along the Vélor Route through mist-shrouded vineyards and villages.

Every village smells of freshly-crushed pinot grapes and the wine caves are awash with the post-pressing cleanup.

Copyright: Louise RalphTractors are being tucked away and even the horses, which are still used in the vineyards today, get a break from their hard labour.

This pair (pictured below) wait for their owner to pick up his baguette…

It’s impossible to capture the sensational landscape we cycle through, so I give up on the photography thing and revel in the pure bliss of it.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

…on the baguette run

Then we hit the hills – those deadly endless slopes that rise slowly but surely, along with the burning in my thighs…

EB is riding rings around me. Literally.

We finally arrive in Chassay-la-Camp, and find our delightfully-retro hotel…and there are those pampered pooches again.

Guests are allowed to keep their dogs in their rooms – and bring them to the dining room.

One lady had her pug-faced dog with her for dinner and breakfast. And yes, dogs and their owners do look the same.

I desperately wanted to take a photo, but I was scared she might bite me. The lady, not the dog.

Day 2: We spend a lot of time trying to decipher directions, and even more time stopping for wine tasting and having a very long lunch in Mercurey.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

The long lunch wasn’t really our intention.

But, at the suggestion of the lovely wine-tasting guy, we soon found ourselves (in our bike duds) having a delicious silver-service, five-course lunch at the Hôtellerie du Val d’Or across the road.

For just €22 each! Incroyable…

I won’t go into the gruesome details of the remaining 40 or so kilometres we had yet to cycle (with our overfed bellies). Or the hills.

Let’s just say, I was seriously considering mainlining nurofen about 15 km into it…

Are we ready for Day 3? Bien sur.

But right now, we’re crashing. Bon nuit.