Ferrying about isn’t the worst way to get around.
Any Home and Away fans recognise these fellas? We drove up to Palm Beach, where the series is filmed, and caught them shooting a scene at the water’s edge.
Summer Bay (or in the real world, Palm Beach).
Jamming for the tourists with a local aboriginal gent.
Curlcurl beach in Manly.
After exploring Sydney zoo, we hit the bowling lanes in the marina. Rafe 1, Mel 1 after two games and many gutter balls.
Sunset in Melbourne’s Brunswick neighbourhood, renowned for its coffee and bar scene. We spent a day walking about the streets and graffed up alleyways, wishing we had more suitcase space to take advantage of the all the clothing boutiques, secondhand junk stores and bookshops.
Roadtripping down the Great Ocean Road with our buddy and tour guide for the day, Brendan. We made some furry friends along the way, even spotting a couple of semi comatose koalas.
Leaving a little gift on the streets of Melbourne.
After three weeks in Sumatra, returning to Bali felt a little like coming home. Hot water, western food, wi-fi. But really, Bali is nothing like home, and nothing like the rest of Indonesia either, and that’s what makes it so special.
The island has its own culture and its religion is a mish-mash of Buddhism, Hindu, and any number of other faiths. Look beyond the pushy curio hawkers, and you’ll meet friendly, peaceful locals, proud of who they are and where they live. Yes, it’s teeming with tourists, and yes, its waves are crowded, but there’s something about this place that keeps you wanting more. As they say, “it’s bloody bagus”.
The infamous Padang Padang. A little gem of a beach in Bali.
In the shack at Temples, Uluwatu.
Ulu’s on an uncrowded day…
The view from our villa in Ubud (scored for a cut-rate price!) and monkeying about in Monkey Forest.
Brave boys from the hill-top village of Bawomataluo practise the ancient skill of Stone Jumping, defying belief (and gravity) to clear a two metre stone hurdle in front of the King’s palace.
Nias island has evolved in isolation to the rest of Indonesia, mixing Megalithic roots with modern Christianity. Village roads lined with humble churches cut a very different picture to the Mosques of the mainland, while rice paddies down in the valleys wouldn’t look out of place in Thailand or Vietnam. A place of surprising contrasts, still chiefly a surfer’s stomping ground.
From Bawomataluo village perched up on a hill, to Sorake beach down in the bay…
Sorake beach, Lagundri Bay or The Point. It’s a bit hollow…
Sunset from our bungalow on Simeulue island.
Before our 14 hour ferry from Singkil, we spent the day with two locals who took us on an impromptu canoe trip through a vast river network on the mainland. We spotted some elusive crocodiles along with monkeys and a herd of wild water buffalo. Rafe taught the lads to surf after a home-cooked picnic of rice, veg and fruit. Think they had us much fun as we did!
‘A beach so beautiful it makes grown men cry’. Quite the advertisement, so we made the trip to this deserted island about an hour’s ride from Simeulue. After swimming ashore from an anchored fishing boat, we spent a couple of hours frolicking in the waves.
Inside the greenroom.
I’m on a boat.
Teabags – a fast reef break off a sparsely inhabited island near Simeulue.
Lex and Victoria flew in from London. Two weeks together was an absolute treat. Miss you guys already.
Our hosts, Roy and Yeni, organised a special braai for Victoria’s birthday. Fresh red snapper barbecued over coconut coals and banana leaves, washed down with cold Bintangs. So good.
There are beautiful beaches all over the world, and when you get to them, you usually find them filled with beautiful people. But if you have the time, you can still find your very own island paradise.
Our journey to the Banyak Islands began in Lombok and, after two flights, we made our way from the scruffy city of Medan in the east of Sumatra, to the sleepy port town of Singkil in the west. That eight hour drive through the Sumatran jungle was an experience in itself.
The road winds up into the mountains, through dense forest that clears away in places for small-scale farming. At times it is perfectly tarred and painted, at others, in a desperate state of disrepair. People live alongside it on almost every stretch, surviving by selling their goods and services to the passing traffic.
After a night in Singkil, we caught a public ferry to the main island community in the Banyaks – Palau Balai. Here the locals call the boat schedule ‘rubber time’ and after a three hour wait, we can understand why.
Four hours on a ferry and a short boat ride later, we sailed onto the beach at Palambak, one of the 97 islands in the Banyak archipelago. There were 99 before the 2005 earthquake that shifted the seabed and caused a devastating tsunami. Our bungalow manager, Anas, lost all five siblings to the tragedy.
This is a place where Mother Nature puts on her finest display. Blindingly white sand beaches give way to clear turquoise waters. Picture that quintessential island paradise, and this is it. The best part is, you can have it almost all to yourself.
Desert Point on Lombok is remarkably quiet for a wave that’s been voted the best left in the world. Probably because the last stretch of the three hour drive is along a bumpy, rocky dirt ‘road’ that’s painfully slow going. The village is tiny – just a handful of families living a simple life, catering for the surfers who arrive with each big swell.
We missed the waves by a day, so things were more quiet than usual: a couple of other surfers, a filmmaker and a gifted artist from Java, now living in Bali, named Santoro.
The wave breaks with hypnotic perfection, even at unsurfable low tide. It’s easy to spend hours just staring out to sea. There isn’t much else to do. Surf, swim, walk, read, eat, sleep. Visitors are put up in simple bamboo huts with woven grass walls. There’s no electricity during the day, no shower or flushing toilet. Basic by any standards but you adapt quickly.
Chickens scratch in the dirt, cows laze in the shade and in the early evening local families head to the shallow waters to look for small fish and other sea treats. Two days of humble living to remind us how little we really need to be happy.
Low tide drainer
Warungs facing the reef
Our humble abode
The future of local surfing
Santoro the painter with a canvas he did for us
Part of a group of three islands just off Bali, Nusa Lembongan has all of the beauty but none of the crowds that characterise its bigger neighbour. Apart from low-key tourism, the main industry on the island is seaweed farming. At high tide, you’d never guess that below the surface lie neat cultivated patches, only revealed as the tide pulls back. Here a seaweed farmer attends to his crop. The seaweed is dried in the sun and sold to Japan where it’s used for food and cosmetics.
By pure chance, we found ourselves in Kyoto during the annual Gion festival (Gion Matsuri). It was first held in 869 (!) and has been an annual event since 970. On the final day, locals line the streets to watch the parade of elaborately designed floats, pulled along on giant wooden wheels to the sound of drums and bells. This was really a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and the perfect end to our Kyoto adventure.
One last stroll through Harajuku, boxer shorts and a plaster across the nose is where it’s at.
Japan is awesome, go see.
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