Australia Day & The Great Ocean Road

Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Paul, Ringo... Just some of The Twelve Apostles

On 26^th January 1788, a ragtag band of British army officers and orange-stealing ne’er-do-wells came ashore at Sydney Cove at the end of a long and dangerous voyage from Portsmouth. After raising the Union Flag, they proceeded to establish Port Jackson, the first white colony on the continent of Australia.

Today, the 26^th January is celebrated each year as Australia Day, a public holiday and the occasion for many a beer-soaked barbie on the beach. Or rather it is celebrated by most Australians. For many Aboriginals, 26^th January is ‘Invasion Day’, the anniversary of the date on which the tide of history started to turn disastrously against their forefathers, bringing to an end 40 000 years of unbroken tradition.

Last year, Labor Prime Minister Kevin Rudd broke new ground by apologising to the Stolen Generation of Aboriginal children, something that his predecessor John Howard had always refused to do. This week, in the face of calls for a national debate on whether Australia Day should be moved, he was emphatic. “Let me say a simple, respectful, but straightforward no,” he told reporters.

Leaving such political hot potatoes for others to grapple with, Rosie and I decided to take full advantage of the long Australia Day weekend and head out of town to explore the Great Ocean Road. The Great Ocean Road was quite a sensation when it was completed in 1932, as it opened up the rugged coastline of south-west Victoria to the outside world for the first time. Today, the little fishing villages that used to dot the coastline have changed beyond all recognition, but the drive still remains one of the most popular and well-known in the country.

The GOR starts in earnest in the town of Torquay. Now, I realise that the formulation ‘a mecca for’ is much overused by travel writers (‘Bournemouth – a mecca for the elderly’; ‘Mecca – a mecca for Muslims’ etc.), but if ever the analogy were to hold water, so to speak, it surely must do so in the case of Torquay, which is truly a mecca for surfers. For one thing, it’s where Australian surfing was born. For another, every second shop in town sells stuff to help you surf: boards, wetsuits, bongs etc. And thirdly, there’s no ignoring the fact that there are lots of bloomin’ big waves in Torquay, just waiting for someone to surf on them.

We stopped at Bell’s Beach, a mile or so outside town, to watch the scores of hardened surfers who had paddled out into the bay and were waiting to catch a ride back in. It was a pretty calm day, but big waves there certainly were. The experience of seeing someone clamber on top of one and ride it for 15 or 20 seconds is certainly impressive and puts my narrow range of party tricks (“Look, I’ve got your nose!”) into perspective.

 

"Get orf moi larrrnd!" A koala, yesterday.

Further up the road, at Kennett River, we heard that there were koalas to be spotted. So, with cameras at the ready we set off inland, following a bumpy track through dense eucalyptus forest. After five minutes or so, we spotted what turned out be the first of many little grey balls, nestled high up in the branches of a tree. Once you’ve found one koala, it’s pretty easy to find others: they don’t move very quickly and when they do it’s invariably in the direction of some more eucalyptus leaves. Having said that, we did stumble across a couple of furry little fellas who were much more animated and closer to the ground than the rest, having been surprised in either the act of fighting or mating. We kept a proper, respectful distance but in the end were stared out by one of the creatures and had to get back in the car and drive away. (Note to self: never have a staring contest with a koala.)

Another highlight of the trip was our visit to The Twelve Apostles. I know that this was a highlight of the trip, because my guidebook told me so beforehand, as did the many tourist brochures with photographs of these natural wonders at sunset. Briefly, The Twelve Apostles are large, free-standing, offshore chunks of rock; the remnants of a coastline that has eroded around them. They’re called The Twelve Apostles because there used to be twelve of them, a number that has now been whittled down by erosion to six or seven. (There’s some confusion on this point. Our guidebook says six, but I counted seven, so maybe there’s been some de-rosian.)

The Apostles were certainly spectacular, but as we walked along the designated tourist viewing platform, I couldn’t help feeling the same way that I usually do when visiting an over-photographed attraction: “Hey, it looks just like it does in the pictures!” Maybe this had something to do with the fact that you could only really get close to the Apostles by taking a helicopter trip. If we’d been able to walk by them on the beach or take a boat trip amongst them, I’m sure we’d have seen them in a new, awe-inspiring light.

We came back to Melbourne just in time for the start of a heatwave. For three days this week, the temperature has been above 40 degrees C, climbing to a high of 44.3 on Thursday afternoon. The heat is dry and unforgiving and more intense than any I’ve ever experienced. Even at 9 AM, the only comfortable way to walk down the street is to play a kind of shadow hopscotch, where you run from one shaded area to the next, hopefully passing an air-conditioned shop doorway from time to time.

Two things have been a great solace in this heat. The first is Melbourne’s fine public library service, which throws open the doors of its air-conditioned City Library to all and sundry during the hottest part of the day. I’ve spent many happy hours this week dozing over a novel in the cool of the reading room there. The second is Bundaberg Ginger Beer, which is possibly the finest drink ever invented (and they can put that on the label if they like). Rosie and I both have a bottle-a-day habit, but we’ve got it under control (oh yes, we can stop aaaanytime we like). If one good thing came out of the events of 1788, then this is surely it.