The Great, Great Ocean Road

March 10^th- 15^th

            It seems like we just got back, but the three amigos are off again. We get our routine airport beers. Expensive airport alcohol only seems good for two things: to calm heightened nerves or excite adventuresome attitudes. We were b. As we exchanged casual conversation about the weeks past events whether in class, in the water, or elsewhere the gate became less crowded.

            After I took another glimpse around, it was less crowded because everyone was on the plane already! We chugged what remained in our bottles and ran to the counter. I took my designated seat and began to read, excited for a weekend of driving the Great Ocean Road and getting another beer.

            “In-flight service has now been suspended”

            If I can still makeout my already borderline illegible handwriting that has been written during the ups, downs, and side-to-sides that the “unexpected turbulence” has caused, then I think the flight attendants can serve me the beer that I have yet to receive.

            Melbourne bound today. My ipod has been reloaded with over 300 new songs, so I put down the book to jam and write.

            I’ve never liked the taste of Heineken. Tonight is no different. I’m sure that Victoria Bitter is viewed as an embarrassment comparatively, but there are different strokes for different folks. But, to be honest I’m just content with being beered

            We arrived late and snagged a cab to a friend’s place about 20 minutes away. We are greeted with cold coronas with pre-sliced limes. It was about one when we headed out. The streets seemed pretty tame for a Thursday night, so instead of going to a club we stopped at some tables outside of a Lebanese restaurant and ordered a few over a some stories. Ignoring our early rise in a few hours we headed to another bar that was interestingly placed inside of a mall. The whole place was dead and there were only a few advertisements lit up that proved people actually come here. As we went up a few flights of stairs the noise seemed to become louder and more bar-like. We have a few pitchers and head back to our respective beds. Mine is a comfortably carpeted floor.

            Friday we are up early in search of a rental car. Nowhere seems to have anything. The receptionists laugh before wishing us luck and hanging up. Franticness ensues. The calling and rejections go on for close to an hour before we have a lead. We are told that there is a Land Cruiser that is available which will be perfect for our makeshift bedroom. After a long walk and a cab ride we arrived at Thrifty only to find out that the driver had to be 25. I let out a four letter word as I dropped my shoulders. The manager typed some things into the computer and told us that the Ford Focus would be available and that it would only cost a little fee for being underage. Fair enough.

            We went back to the place that we slept the night before to get some blankets for our new home before hitting the road to Torquay.

            Melbourne is an interesting place. If you care to go right in this town it’s slightly different than anything you’ve ever thought of in your life. Due to the trams sharing the road with normal cars and the morons that designed the roads, to go right you must first get all the way to the left hand lane, and even further over. After almost hitting the traffic perpendicular to you, you wait until the following lanes are all open at the same time: the two going in the same direction to the immediate right of you, the tram lane that unforgivingly speeds through the centre, and the two lanes furthest away from you that are heading in the opposite direction. Did you know that if all particles (electrons, neutrons, protons) inside of an atom align in a certain way, it is possible to drop a pencil through a desk? That is about what it is like making a right handed turn in downtown Melbourne, unbelievable and borderline impossible.

            We escaped from the city with the car still in tact and headed for Torquay, the city where the Great Ocean Road begins. We stopped and we all scarfed down a big brekky special; I had a coffee.

            The Great Ocean Road is exactly that. The seaside view from our car was really amazing as we zigged and zagged around corners around cliffs. To the left, the south, the view was the ocean that seemed to be never ending; to the right, the north, there were empty farming fields and a few scattered houses every once in a while. Kangaroos hopped freely across the plains. An information centre seemed like a good idea, since none of us had done any research on the sites along the road. We had a map that was circled with places to stay and things to see, so we got a case of Tooheys and started driving.

            Our first stop was Kennet, where we were told that there would be koala bears. As we pulled up and grabbed a few brodos, we saw a group of people standing under a tree all hovering over each other attempting to snap photos that wouldn’t have any evidence that there was anyone else there. A “natural” view, if you will. We looked and quickly got walking up a dirt road that was heading up in the mountains, away from everyone else. Not far off, we saw koalas in trees, everywhere really. Every time we looked in a new tree we would see another snoozing koala, and we had them all to ourselves. We enjoyed the scene for a while before getting back into the car and driving further west.

            After ignoring the forewarning of a passing car that there was a cop ahead, we received a $227 speeding ticket. This was the sixth cop I had seen in Australia, the other five were in Sydney the weekend before. The driver remained carefree, and we continued to make our way up the coast. We followed a sign that said something about waterfalls. The misty fog had rolled in pretty heavy now, especially up in the mountains where we drove. There was suppose to be a great view overlooking all the surrounding land and the water, but it was hidden by a blanket of grey. We walked around the hillside making fun of the sheep in the opposing field by bahhing, when the sound of approaching hooves reached our ears. Out of the grey mist, like that of a movie, a white horse appeared and he was curious. I was frightened and immediately I slid down the steepest part of the hill to the left down towards some woods in hopes that the mare would not attempt to charge down it. Rory on the other hand had issues. After yelling at the horse he quickly changed his demeanour to a nicer more relaxed tone and talked to the horse. They exchanged a moment. The horse whinnied and trotted off.

            We continued to admire the surroundings on the road. Occasionally we would pass a small town, or string of homes and we wondered what it would be like to grow up down here. We stopped at a lighthouse before realising that it would be dark soon and we wanted to reach the 12 Apostles sunset show before 8. I drove fast, but under control thinking about the ordeal with the officer earlier.

The road was crossing through an increasingly more remote area. Big open fields seemed to go on forever, just like the ocean that mirrored it. We made it to the Apostles just around sunset; enough time to snap a couple pictures. We stayed and watched for a long time. The twilight here was much longer than any other I’ve ever experienced the sun stays relatively low and only sets sideways to the south facing cliff, making the sunset seeming endless.

We had no idea what we were going to do now. We had literally no plans. There was a college another hour to the west. We could drive there in attempts to find the local hangout and party with some kids our age. We could drive back to the previous town, which we knew had some restaurants and maybe one bar. Or we could drive just a little further up the road to Port Campbell, which we had yet to see. Port Campbell it was.

We drove through the town in about sixty seconds and located a hostel. There wasn’t an office and the patrons inside said to go to the little villas up the street. The office was closed, now that it was about 9, but there was a number. We called, but the rooms were about $120 a night; too steep for backpacking travellers. There was a bar across the street that had a sign that said accommodation. We asked the bartender. She said no, but pointed us in direction of the other hostel in town. We lucked out, and at $22 a night, it was the cheapest hostel so far. We showered without soap or shampoo, threw on some cool weather clothes and went out for dinner, observing the few bars on the main road, placing bets on which we thought would be the most fun.

I had a great plate of the special beer battered fish and chips after an equally amazing pepper onion soup with cheese foccacia bread dippers. Our stomachs were filled and we walked to the bar whose sign read “Live Music Tonight.” We got a couple jugs and took a seat in front of the band. There were about 25 people in the room, whom we assumed were all locals.

The man next to me leaned in and asked if the band was local. I responded that I had only been in the town for an hour and had no clue. We were not alone. After a song, the man leaned in again and said:

            “I’m a married man, but if I were you I’d go out back, there were some good looking girls out there.”

I passed the word on to my friends and immediately followed them out there. We took a seat, but without cigarettes to smoke, felt awkward in that there was no other reason to sit in the cold. After 5 minutes we returned inside. The girls followed a minute later, only to be greeted by their boyfriends who were inside the whole time. Close call we though as we exchanged the notion with head nods and wide eyes.

The band was really jamming now. “Surfusion” was their name and that’s exactly what it was. It was a three-piece jazz inspired surf band with hints of punk and garage music alike. They were unpredictable and cool. We got a few more jugs and intended to leave soon. We had been up since early that morning and drove the entire day. It was literally mid-song of the last one before we decided to leave when two girls, whom we noticed earlier, pulled the three of us onto the makeshift dance floor with the other seven people dancing. Without resistance we joined them. They didn’t want to dance with us exactly but just near us. It was strange, but we all had solo sessions. Due to the music style, we never knew what was coming next. There were no clear cut dance moves that would cover the bases for the rest of the set. The dancing became increasingly more free and original as the songs progressed across the board. I was in astonishment at how ridiculous everyone looked and didn’t care. I was right there with them, sweating now.  We stayed for the rest of the set, and talked with the girls afterwards. In-between spilling her wine and some cigarettes one of the girls informed us that she had a “little one” at home. We soon left, heading to what would be the only real bed that we would have the entire trip. When we walked in the hostel I took notice to a board of facts on the wall. At the top read: Port Campbell: Population- 200. We assumed this was when all the accommodation in the town was booked.

The following day we planned on finishing the remainder of the road preceded by taking the, much shorter, inland road back to Melbourne. We had inquired the night before with the manager about the surfing close by, so he informed us on the local spots with a map. He took us to a couple, and then wished us on our way.

We stopped at the first little café we saw once we reached town and grabbed some brekky and a standard coffee for me, actually two, as advised by the waitress. We headed back to Torquay and checked out the surf museum and a couple shops.

We entered Melbourne around 5ish and began to get lost in the city in search of a hostel for the night. After getting rejected from about 5, we decided the car would do just as well, and we should get some dinner and our night started.

The pizza dinner was good and the wine and beer satisfied all of our current needs. We grabbed a bottle of Yellowtail from the bottle shop and drank it along with the rest of our beers before hitting the town. We went to a couple bars and then entered a club. Here we split. After jamming together for about an hour, the rest of my crew was no longer to be found. I left happy and almost enjoyed the fact that all of our cell phones were dead and the only way that we would all meet again would be at the car later that night. While walking back to the car I noticed a lonely table in front of a restaurant that looked as though it could use some company. I sat down and ordered a beer. I was quickly spoken to from the guests at the adjacent table. I probably told them I was from Canada. From there I slightly exaggerated about how I was a world traveller and writer. It was cool and I had the audience captivated until I departed.

I returned to the car to find the other two fast asleep. I got them to open the car, and found that the most uncomfortable seat was left for me. Given that I would have done the same, I got in without words and fell quickly asleep.

The next morning we were awoken by the city crew cleaning the parking lot. It was gloomy outside and it was very reflective of the way that I felt. We got out the map and planned our course back to the Thrifty, taking as few right handed turns as possible. We dropped off the car and headed to the markets where we were told of live music, good food, and cheap goods. After lunch we walked around the huge market for a while debating with sellers over items. It was fun and there was a lot to be seen. Near total exhaustion we took a seat in the middle of the square at a table near some live music and coffee stands.

We recounted the weekend for a while, the night in Port Campbell in particular then grabbed a cab to the airport.