Name of Ship: CMA-CGM Utrillo
Length: 196 meters (small for a cargo ship)
Made in: China in 1999
Crew: 25 men, made up of mostly Romanian officers and Filipino crew
Our route: From Melbourne, Australia to  Napier, New Zealand. (The ship was carrying on to Panama, the U.S. and back to Europe)
In our cabin: Double bed. Sofa. Coffee table. Desk and chair. Wardrobe. Bar fridge. Ensuite bathroom.
Facilities: Ping pong table, library, swimming pool (filled with sea water), gym and TV room with a DVD player and plenty of movies.
Our fare: €500 per person
Other passengers: Christiane, a 72-year-old French woman, going around the world in 80 days.
Best moment: It’s a tie. Was it the evening BBQ on the back deck with the crew, singing with the sailors, drinking beer and watching a pod of dolphins swim alongside? Or maybe it was going up to the bridge at 5:30am on our last day to watch the harbour pilot come aboard and guide us into Napier as the sun rose.
Daily routine: Wake up at 6:30am. Breakfast at 7am. Ping pong until 9am. Then relax. Maybe walk around the deck or go up to the bridge to check our position. Eat lunch at noon, followed by more ping pong and relaxing. Evening meal at 7pm. Watch a film or go for a swim. Go to sleep at 11pm.
Typical meal: Hearty and meaty. Potatoes, potatoes, potatoes along with a large serving of meat, followed by desert. Salad, bread and a bottle of wine were always on the table, along with fresh garlic for the Romanians, who enjoy eating whole, raw cloves. For snacking between meals, there was always plenty of coffee, tea, water and fresh fruit.
Seasickness: None. Not even any queasiness. Our crossing was very smooth.
Fascinating fact: It currently costs $60,000 a day for the 80 tons of fuel to run a small cargo ship. And that’s with relatively low fuel prices! The overall daily running cost for the ship is about $100,000.
Sobering fact: Be very careful when walking on deck to not fall off. You’re done for if you slip into the water because it’s very unlikely anyone will hear or see you. For this reason, don’t go out in bad weather. This advice was given to us by the first mate.
What we learned: Sailors are quite gentlemanly, despite our rougher impression before we took this trip. We also were struck by just how much stuff we humans move around the world. Until you watch the volumes going through a port like Melbourne, you can’t quite imagine it.
Next time we’d take: Something to share with the crew.
Rating: We give our trip 9/10 points. The overall experience was far more interesting and relaxing than flying. We could take on as much baggage as we liked (100kg/person is the nominal limit). All the sailors were very polite, helpful and friendly. We found the experience of being at sea relaxing and the days flew by quickly. We only deduct points for the slightly heavy meals and because we realise that if we had encountered rough seas, we could have been fairly miserable. Overall we loved our time on board. Given enough cash and time, we’re not sure we’d ever return to the airport. We far prefer the seaport.

We buy a bus, train and ferry pass to do all this running around and when the cashier asks for A$125 in return, we can’t help but miss our trusty, economical bicycles. This backpacking malarky gets expensive quickly! Either that or travelling by bike has just made us very, very cheap indeed. Since we still tend to compare everything to the cost of a 50-cent iced coffee in Thailand, maybe it’s the latter.

But really, we can’t complain and we certainly can’t feel hard done by when we arrive at Dave and Nancy’s flat. They quickly get added to our list of the world’s most wonderful people (even if Dave does tease us about putting everything ‘on the invoice’) and during our visit we’re treated to many fantastic meals and cycling chatter. Dave also points out that we’re lucky enough to be staying in a flat with an Ocean View, which is mostly true, if you squint and look really hard at the dip in the landscape on a clear day.

Halfway through the week, we put the Sydney sightseeing tour on pause and go north to Newcastle. This part of our journey is purely cyclist-focused. We want to meet Chris, an Aussie whose feet have yet to hit the pedals on his epic journey.

Just imagine being away from home for 8 years and travelling 75,000km on a bicycle, from Australia through to Europe, down Africa, up South America and back home. It’s a huge undertaking and we try to offer some encouragement to Chris before he heads out at the end of March.

Even though Chris is saving hard for his own trip, it’s a constant battle for us to pay for anything as he shows us the beautiful seaside around his hometown. His whole family turn out to be incredibly generous and all we manage to buy are a few ice creams so if you see this Aussie pedalling up the coast, flag him down and give him a bag of pasta for his supper. He’s a top fellow and we’re sure he’d appreciate it.

Back in Sydney, we use our last afternoon to cram in a drink with more cyclists at the cozy Lord Nelson pub. Sipping our beers, we find ourselves wondering when the last time was we were surrounded by so many fans of pedal power. Catherine and Malcolm are seasoned Australian bike travellers, who’d already treated us to lunch earlier in the week and have welcomed many other cycle tourists to Sydney. And then there’s Anna, who we’ve only just met but who is planning a trip from Alaska to Panama. The bike talk flies back and forth and before we know it, it’s time to go.

We’ve promised to meet Dave and Nancy for an evening ferry trip to Manly. We think we have plenty of time to reach the dock but then we spot Nancy from a distance. She’s just outside the gates, looking slightly nervous and scanning the crowd. Friedel (the must-be-early type) starts to dash and Andrew (the calm-and-collected type) holds back but soon all three of us are sprinting onto the boat. We slide onto a bench on the bow, which Dave has already reserved, with just seconds to spare. Phew! The plan for fish ‘n’ chips on Manly remains intact.

A few short hours of sleep later and we’re back in the airport. How did it all fly by so quickly? It seems to be the story of our lives lately. Everywhere we’ve been since we landed in Perth, we’ve wished for a bit more time to explore. We’ve only covered the tiniest sliver of Australia and now there’s a cargo ship looming in our future. Yes, it’s off to the next country, New Zealand. Australia is a place we clearly need to come back to but who knows when we’ll manage the return ticket.

Three years on the road. That’s what our trip is quickly shaping up to. We reckon we’ll hit the 3-year mark just as we approach Montreal in September and complete one zig-zaggy loop of the globe.

It’s a dream for so many people, this kind of extended travel, and yet it never seems quite enough. There’s always the next deadline pushing us onward. Visas. Seasons. Money. They all send us scurrying along to the next destination before we really feel we’ve discovered the one we’re in.

And so it was with Tasmania. Just 3-1/2 short weeks after we landed we were back on the boat, rocking and rolling over the Bass Strait and trying not to feel queasy on one of the world’s roughest crossings.

“This doesn’t bode very well for our cargo ship voyage,” we said to each other as we put our heads down on the sofa for yet another nap, doped up on motion sickness pills and still feeling a bit wobbly. The doctor in Hobart who filled in our fit-to-travel forms told us most people don’t get seasick for more than 3 days. Our trip to New Zealand by boat will only be a week at most so 36 hours of seasickness is something we’re definitely hoping to avoid!

We pondered this across the waters and then landed back in Melbourne, where we found Pat waiting for us with his racing bike, ready to escort us to our new temporary home. We met Pat in Tasmania and he generously offered us a room when we returned to the North Island (as the Tasmanians call it).

That was Saturday and for the last 3 days Pat’s given us the whirlwind tour to his backyard. We’ve been up in the Dandenong Mountains, had a barbecue with friends, got beaten playing bowling on Wii by 4-year-old Carlo (Friedel is still holding out hopes for a rematch) and checked out Melbourne on Australia Day.

Thanks Pat! How did we ever get so lucky to meet all of Australia’s best citizens?

Now it’s off to Sydney for a few days in the famous city (an air journey this time, the bikes are staying in Melbourne) before coming back here for our ship out. Phew! By the time we hit the road again in another 3 weeks or so, we’ll no doubt be out of shape and puffing up those first few Kiwi hills. All that training in wild and windy Tasmania gone to waste…

“There is pure bliss in each moment: find it…”

Those words came our way some weeks back as we read John’s journals about cycling from England to Australia. We thought it wise advice for dealing with those inevitable frustrations that affect all of us occasionally. Cycling into a headwind. Feeling tired. Stressed about things you can’t control.

“There’s a silver lining here somewhere,” we’ve often said to each other in difficult moments. After all, as one particularly calm and collected Tasmanian said to us recently: “If I stress and worry about something I don’t get the time back at the end of my life. I’d better just enjoy myself in the first place.”

And so it was that we were trying to ‘find the bliss’ as we headed out of Hobart. We had our plans and then the weather had its plans. It didn’t take long to figure out who was going to win. We struggled on through headwinds and rain, punctuated by occasional sunny moments, but our resolve broke when we stopped for lunch on the second day of miserable weather.

“Uh oh. Better get the tarp up,” we said as dark clouds rolled in.

We set our cooked lunch aside and rushed to put a roof up but it wasn’t to be. Within seconds, rain was pelting down and a strong gust of wind came out of nowhere, from just the right direction to shrink-wrap the picnic table in one green tarp. A small grease spot marked the place where our scrambled eggs, potatoes and onions were going cold while we got steadily wetter.

Disgusted, we threw out the water we’d just boiled for coffee and quickly packed up, throwing things in our bags between mouthfuls of soggy food. It took less than a minute to decide that we were cold, wet, fed up and ready to call it quits for the day.

We turned on our heels and headed for a campsite we’d seen less than a kilometer away. Chilled to the bone, we knocked on the door of a simple bungalow, hoping for a space. “Have you got room for a tent?” we asked the pensioner who answered.

“Sure do!” came the cheery reply. “Oh, you’re cycling! Well, let me get the kettle on. We don’t do that for everyone you know but cyclists are special.”

They were words to warm our hearts. We pitched our tent. Mike boiled the water. And as soon as the sun returned, Mike led us on a tour of his backyard campground. It wasn’t very big but he had a lot to show.

First was the chicken coop, where 10 hens clucked happily away, producing eggs for what Mike assured us were the world’s best omelets. Then it was on to the organic vegetable garden, where our hands were filled with fresh parsley, sage and mint.

Next up was the garage. “Now, I’ve got my car in here. But if it’s too cold for you, I’ll move the car out and you can sleep inside.” We assured Mike we’d be fine. Did we want extra blankets? We turned that offer down but happily said yes when he returned a few moments later with a table and chairs. We couldn’t resist the tray of chocolates that appeared at our tent door either or the raspberries on the bush, within an arm’s grasp.

All this for just a few dollars. It seemed too much. It was too much.

“Some people say I should raise my prices,” Mike mused to us later. “But things are too expensive these days. We just do what we can.”

This was Tasmanian hospitality at its best. How lucky we were that the weather slowed us down enough to take notice of Mike and his campground. When we left the next day, we were in no doubt that we’d found the bliss in the middle of the storm.

The morning dawned clear and we knew we were in for a cycling treat. We rode up and over the hills, past the lofty peaks of Mount Field National Park and through dry farmland, climbing steadily until we reached the Central Highlands – an area noted for its absence of towns, dirt roads and huge lakes.

“Why do you want to go there anyway? There’s nothing up there.” one cyclist asked us in Hobart, when we pointed out our destination on a map.

A whole lot of nothingness sounded perfect to us, compared with the crowded tourist resorts of the east coast.

When we reached the town of Miena, little more than a fishing village on the shores of Great Lake, we pitched our tent behind the local pub, scrubbed up in a bit of hot water warmed on our stove and went in for a beer. A few feather-laced bras decorated the bulletin board on the way in so naturally we stopped to read the notices.

“Population Explosion,” read the headline on a newspaper clipping pinned to the wall. The inhabitants of nearby Liawenee had surged 17 percent overnight. One baby was born – the first in 22 years – taking the population from 6 to 7 people.

We felt like we were crowding out Liawenee when we added 2 more people temporarily to the mix as we cycled through the next day. There was a police station, a ranger’s outpost and not much else.

Soon we were speeding down a glorious descent from the peak of the road at 1,210 meters to the farming fields far below. As we slipped down the mountain, the scrubby bushland gave way to a waft of earthy tones from a far more lush and fertile forest. A few hundred meters later and a warm wall of air hit us as we entered the valley.

We stripped off our jackets and took advantage of a tailwind to zip along to Westbury, where we returned to a favourite discovery of our first days in Tasmania: Andy’s 24-hour bakery and campground. Two waffle cones full of gelato later and a loaf of bread safely stored in our bags, we relaxed over a glass of red wine. All that nasty weather seemed so far away. Maybe it wasn’t so bad…

It’s a brave man who’ll show up for a bike ride with two people he’s never met before, willing to take on whatever comes his way. Meet Frank – just such a guy.

You’d think the cold breezes of Tasmania alone would have been enough for anyone from balmy Queensland to go running for the first plane home but Frank put up with the bracing weather and everything else these two Canadians could throw at him.

A 100km ‘day trip’ to Cradle Mountain? No problem. Want to go bush camping, Frank? Sure. Cycling into a headwind under rainy skies? Frank was game. Even when the days stretched into early evening and ended with impossibly steep hills, Frank just kept his legs spinning around without complaint – and he didn’t have the benefit of two year’s training beforehand!

Frank even found time between the climbing and dubious weather to teach us a few Aussie words. “Oh, they’re having a domestic,” we say now when we see a couple having a fight. And an easy day on the road is now a bludge of a ride. Not only that but the man cooks a mean wallaby curry (yes, really, we ate wallaby) and can be trusted to have the coffee going at 5am.

What a legend.

We tried to convince Frank to keep going with us but instead he insisted on going back to work (did we tire him out that quickly?) and seeing his family. He kept on talking about a soak in the bathtub. Must have been all those hills that finally brought on a case of aching muscles after 620km and 8 straight days of riding.

We understand but we were sad to seem him go. When we left Hobart for a trip to Bruny Island on Saturday morning, we felt the team was incomplete. Frank, come back! Team Wallaby misses you.

With such a beautiful backdrop, we couldn’t resist taking a ‘glamour shot’ at Dove Lake, with Tasmania’s Cradle Mountain in the background to celebrate 35,000km on our bikes – a milestone we just passed in the last few days. This is how you throw your back out, we thought as we grinned stupidly and posed for the photo….

We rolled off the ferry in Devonport, a small coastal town (well, we call it a town – the tourist literature describes it as a city) on Tasmania’s northern shore.

After 10 hours on the boat – a crossing often noted as one of the roughest in the world – we took a while to get our land legs back. In fact, it was well after midday when we finally felt the earth had stopped spinning. So as the world was turning around us, we thought we heard wrong when a bus driver waiting for passengers started going on about snow.

“There’s going to be snow above 800 meters tonight,” he said, before slipping an offer to put our bikes on the bus for just a few bucks. Snow?? Wait a minute. This is the southern hemisphere and we are in summer. What in the world…?

The bus driver wasn’t lying and we weren’t hallucinating. Snow indeed came to Tasmania that night, although thankfully not anywhere near where we were. We certainly got some of the ‘gale force winds’ advertised on the radio though and it was all of 3pm on New Year’s Eve when we crawled into our tent to take refuge from the strong breezes.

We emerged briefly to make supper, watch a wallaby wander past and greet another bicycle tourist, Sue from Hobart, who’d tried the West Coast route we planned on taking a few days earlier and turned back because of the miserable weather but was preparing to give it another go.

By the time the fireworks starting going off to bring in 2009 we were fast asleep to the sound of wind howling outside our tent. It kept right on blowing the next day as we rode down the banks of the beautiful blue waters of the Tamar River. Thankfully sometimes it had the kindness to puff on our backs, which made getting up the hills a bit easier. That made a nice change from the spate of headwinds we encountered in Western Australia.

Still, by 3pm we were fresh out of extra energy and with a mere 50km on the clock we called it a day, putting up our tent in the ruins of a flour mill. An angler came passed and greeted us as if he’d seen 100 other people tenting there. Maybe he had.

Our early stop meant there was a push to cover the 50km to Launceston Airport the next morning. We made it just in time to meet a flight carrying Frank, a fellow from Brisbane who stumbled on our blog and decided to come along for the ride for a week. Why not? The more the merrier.

The chilly weather of Tassie came as quite a shock to poor Frank, who’d been basking in 40°C temperatures at home, and he shivered all the way through his first night. We’ve never seen someone look so grateful for a cup of coffee at 6am and while we slept well, it was quite the struggle to get out of our bags to even make the coffee in the first place.

For the whole first hour of riding we froze. Friedel dug out her long cycling pants and headband to keep the ears warm. Andrew wondered if he would ever unzip his jacket during our whole 3-1/2 weeks in Tasmania. And Frank, well, Frank just hadn’t slept at all and was a little the worse for wear.

“Is this normal?” we asked one man who stopped to talk to us in Deloraine.

“Oh, yeah.” he said. “Never goes over 30°C here.”

We couldn’t be sure of the temperature, but it hardly felt more than 10°C to us! Things did warm up a bit by midday and when we reached our campsite in Gowrie Park, the owners assured us the cold front was moving out. Maybe we’ll soon see something you could really call summer in Tasmania?

“Would you like this?”

We looked up from our train seats to find Angus smiling at us. A young fellow with blond hair to match the golden fields outside the windows and a face full of freckles, he was holding out a picture of a boat he’d drawn.

“Well, thanks Angus,” we said, both surprised and touched by our unexpected gift. For the next hour we watched Angus work the carriage, giving out a picture to nearly everyone on board. The couple next to us put a sketch of his family up on the window. The woman in the seat ahead grinned broadly and then folded her rainbow drawing carefully into her purse.

Angus brought a smile to quite a few faces that afternoon and reminded us that sometimes the simplest things in life, the smallest gesture of generosity, can create great joy. If the lack of snow dampened our Christmas spirits, then it’s people like Angus who have lifted them back up.

People like Grace, a cycling friend we bumped into online some months ago and who met us as we descended in Adelaide, after 2 nights on the train from Perth. Grace and his partner Susan are legends in the bicycle community. They’ve been opening their doors to cyclists for the better part of 20 years and we’d barely set our bags down before Grace was imparting some of his wisdom to us. Three nights later, we left full of wholesome food, including Susan’s amazing apricot crumble, tips on cycling in Australia and with our helmets covered in reflective stickers. Grace is big on visibility and we have to agree. The more, the better.

Amanda and Will fall into our ‘wonderful’ category too – yet another example of the kindness we’ve experienced in Australia. Here’s a couple who didn’t know us at all (we only made contact because Amanda and Friedel both enjoy the cooking site Recipezaar) but nevertheless encouraged us to come visit in the hills just north of Adelaide. For the better part of a weekend, they took us on a tour of local breweries, villages and vineyards and, for our part, we tried to convince them to come visit us in Canada one day. We hope they take us up on the offer so we can begin to reciprocate some of the generosity that we’ve experienced on our tour.

Suffice it to say that anyone reading this site and passing by our door in the future has an open invitation to come visit! It’s the least we can do after spending so much time on the receiving end.

Now we’ve got just one night in Melbourne and then we’re off to Tasmania, where we’ll eagerly jump in the saddle again. We’ve every reason to believe that a few more stellar Aussies are in our path, just waiting to be met.

Still, we did get into the swing of things in the last couple of days when we visited Andrew & Joanne Hooker, two Aussies who have ridden their recumbent tricycles all around Australia and through North America. Here’s their story, along with a quick update on what we’re up to over the festive season. Merry Christmas everyone!

Time passes so quickly. When we were sitting on the beaches of Yallingup, just staring at the waves crashing on the rocks, we felt we could have stayed forever. A few short days later and we’re nearly back in Perth – back in civilization with its grand homes and green lawns, a supermarket and a frothy cappuccino shop on every corner.

Cycling around the country towns and quiet woodlands of rural Western Australia, we felt we were readjusting to life in the developed world just fine. Gorgeous national parks and isolated camping combined with a barbecue and toilets in every little village was the perfect mix of nature and nurture for two wandering cyclists.

But returning to the city after two weeks of camping, it’s hard not to feel a bit adrift. One of the things a long bike trip does to you is that it greatly simplifies your life. What you can’t carry in four bags on your bicycle, you just don’t need. Food, warmth and a safe place to sleep are your only requirements. It’s like being a baby again.

And if then, on top of that, you spend the better part of the last year, as we have, cycling through less developed countries, you feel your needs shrinking even more. You see people every day who make do and raise families on only the barest of resources and you start to look like the rich one – you with what you thought was a humble bicycle and a few meager bags.

The developed world we came from two years ago, now feels like a different universe. It’s one we are struggling to identify with. Who are all these people with their big cars and boats in the garage? What does the baker mean when he tells us he throws his bread out every day? “Don’t you know there are kids in Cambodia who need that bread?” we feel like telling him, in the same tone our mothers used when they threatened to send our uneaten food to Ethiopia.

And what is this Christmas madness? People rolling huge shopping carts out of every supermarket, loaded from top to bottom. On the radio they talk constantly about shopping days to Christmas and how many presents so-and-so has left to buy and did you know the average Australian spends about $600 U.S. on Christmas gifts?

“That’s enough for two frugal people to ride bikes in Australia for a month!” we cry simultaneously.

And then we stop ourselves. Wait. The world was doing this before we left and it was doing it while we met Wafa in Syria and the nomads of Central Asia and the people in the mountain villages in Laos. Is it really so surprising to find everything still turning just as it was when we took that first pedalstroke?

Coming back to the city, we feel as if the world has taken leave of its senses but maybe we are the crazy ones. This is just the way things are.

The whole concept of ‘fitting back in’ to society is a constant discussion for us now. It’s been an ongoing topic for some months, but it wasn’t until very recently – after the initial euphoria of landing in Australia died down – that we realized what that return might mean.

Fitting back in…. to be honest, we aren’t sure how or if we want to do it.

We get a late start out of Busselton – the biggest tourist town in this part of Australia. People just can’t resist those white, sandy beaches and the area apparently triples in size over Christmas.

Our late start isn’t down to sightseeing. The trendy cafes are out of our budget and we definitely don’t need a Busselton t-shirt. We just can’t drag ourselves out of bed. The relentless wind since we left Perth never seems to turn in the right direction. It’s worn us down.

Two pots of coffee later, we finally get going and for the first few kilometers the cycling is straight out of a dream. We’re on a beautiful bike path by the teal green ocean and the wind hasn’t yet kicked in.

When the bike path ends, however, the whole situation turns around. We are unceremoniously dumped onto a busy highway with no shoulder. Most cars are courteous and leave enough space as they pass but the few vehicles that cut it fine make us nervous.

We spend the next half hour with our eyes glued to our mirrors, waving our hands as each car approaches to make sure they see us. Once or twice we can’t see any sign of movement so we make an emergency escape to the unpaved shoulder. This isn’t our idea of fun.

We’re happy when the next town appears and we can once again escape to more quiet roads. We cross our fingers for quieter cycling ahead as we sort out a few chores. With the post office visited, the grocery shopping done and emails checked, we’re off again.

Our afternoon plan is to head to a microbrewery, where they have free BBQs for customers to use. What an idea! We are very tempted to try some local beer and even more so if we don’t have to buy an expensive meal. Rain clouds are gathering overhead, but we decide to go for it anyway.

The Bushshack brewery staff couldn’t be more welcoming. Within moments, they’re asking if we need any utensils or condiments and making sure we know it’s okay to bring our food into the restaurant, especially if it starts to rain. We are under strict orders to make ourselves at home.

This flabbergasts us. We have never before seen a restaurant that was so happy to have people bring their own food. We show our thanks by ordering a taster tray of beer and we get our lunch cooked just as the heavens open. Safely under the wooden roof of the porch, we both agree that chili beer is our favourite, followed by a Scottish ale and a dark chocolate brew.

As soon as the weather clears, we’re off again, this time heading for the surfing town of Yallingup. We actually expect to go further but as soon as we see the gorgeous coastline it’s clear we’re not budging. The rocky landscape reminds us a little of Cape Breton and we find the perfect tent spot on a walking trail along the seaside. We don’t see a single person for the rest of the afternoon or evening and the views rank right up there with the best we’ve seen on our trip.

We wake up thinking that the day just gone will be hard to beat in terms of scenery. As we turn inland, it’s true the rolling hills aren’t so picturesque. But now we’re heading for the heart of the Margaret River wine region and we’re in for a gourmet feast.

Dark chocolate or white chocolate? Blue cheese or cheddar cheese? Should I try
the yogurt? Have you tasted these olive oils? Five samples of fudge each? Plus honeycomb? Heaven!

We eat our way through the tasting sections of at least five specialty food shops, wash it all down with two winery visits and still make room for lunch in the middle. By the end of the day, we’re feeling very satisfied with ourselves.

More Australian beauty comes our way the next morning as we glide through a tall forest of silvery trees, on our way to Augusta and Cape Leeuwin, at the tip of southwest Australia. We don’t go into the lighthouse but we do watch dolphins and rays swimming just offshore as we eat our lunch at a deserted beach.

That evening we do the calculations and we’re really disappointed when we realise that soon we must turn around and head back to Perth if we’re going to make our train to Adelaide. We’ve only covered the smallest sliver of Australia and there’s so much more we’d love to see.

Saturday has the potential to be really boring. A long, straight road awaits us, across a stretch of forest without any towns or landmarks. But we’re just 10km in when things get more interesting. “Come and have coffee,” we hear someone shout. That’s our call! We turn our bikes around and soon we’re sipping a cuppa with a group of protesters, trying to save the forest from being logged. They’re a dedicated group and tell us we’re welcome to pitch our tent with them for a few nights.

With a vegetable garden, compost toilet, living area and children’s playground, the protest camp is better equipped than most campgrounds we’ve been to, but we decline and carry on, anxious to do as much as we can with our remaining days.

Sunday was also supposed to be a quiet day but once again, we’re just a short distance down the road when there’s a cry from behind. This time it’s a group of racing cyclists from the nearest town. They quickly catch up with us, we chat a bit and then they’re off. “Get the coffee ready!” we shout as a joke. “The bakery will take care of that!” they reply.

Bakery? We spend the next half hour deciding whether we’ll go with the cinnamon rolls or the brownies and when we get there the boss – a cyclist himself – insists on treating us to a coffee. What a fantastic small-town welcome. We say thanks by loading up on sweets and treats for the road ahead. All Sunday mornings should be so good.

Lunch is in a nearby forest, then we climb 60 meters up a tree, where there’s a fire lookout post that gives an amazing view over the surrounding countryside. When we set off again in the afternoon the heat has really risen and by the time we get to Manjimup all we can think of is a shower. We haven’t had a proper one since leaving Busselton.

All cleaned up, we’re munching our pasta and listening to the radio.

“There’s a high wind warning for the southwest,” says the lady on the radio. After a few days of relatively peaceful riding, it looks like we’re in for more breezy days.

Here a kangaroo, there a kangaroo. Everywhere in our path, there are kangaroos!

We can’t get over how many of these bouncing creatures are roaming the fields and forests of Australia. Just five days into our ‘down under’ adventure, the Kangaroo Count is well into the dozens and we still aren’t tired of seeing them jump across our path.

It’s actually quite hard not to giggle like children when one goes bounding by. And unlike most things used to draw tourists into a place, we can assure you that kangaroos are just as cool in real life as they appear on TV!

“Do you think one will bounce on the tent tonight?” Friedel asked as we found a quiet forest to sleep in one evening. A kangaroo had wandered past while we were setting up and we wondered if our home was blocking a marsupial motorway. The kangaroos must have good night vision, because none jumped on our roof.

More than kangaroos have been keeping us amused. There are also the many-coloured cockatoos, dozens of other birds, possums, fields full of elegant horses and burly angus cows. Yes, if there’s one thing Australia does well, it’s animal life.

Australia is also pretty good at regulations and recommendations.

“Is this an Australian Approved Filling Container, sir?” the gas attendant asked as we stopped to get petrol for our campstove. “I’m just looking for a sticker. You can’t use any old plastic bottle, you know.” Well, actually…..

We kept our lips sealed as we thought about the many times a humble plastic bottle full of petrol got us through remote stretches in the Middle East and Central Asia. After some scrutiny, our campstove gas bottle was approved and filled.

Later that day, in a national park, we were happily filling our bottles with rainwater from big tanks when a fellow camper saw us and became quite alarmed. “You must boil that!” she said. Maybe she had a point but the last year has conditioned us to see rainwater as some of the safest around to drink.

Next up was the signalman, directing traffic around some road repairs. We could use the sidewalk, he said, but not before outlining our exact intended path through the construction. Well, that was a bit of a challenge without a map of the town. Eventually he made a plan for us and let us through with strict instructions not to stray away from our prescribed route.

It was the first time we’d seen anyone directing traffic around roadworks in months. In country after country, from the Middle East to Southeast Asia, cars, trucks, bicycles and donkeys pulling carts were all left to figure it out for themselves. It’s amazing they ever managed but they did and surprisingly easily too, without a signalman in sight.

And then there was the campground, which absolved itself of no less than 40 potential injuries in its laundromat on a big sign on the side of the building. They bore no responsibility for death or harm by chemicals, hard floors, sharp corners, scalding by hot water, poisoning, contact with furniture or with other users, to name a few of the many hazards we never imagined existed when washing clothes.

And here we thought bicycle touring was dangerous!

Happily, we made it in and back out again alive but perhaps it’s just safer to do the washing by hand from now on.

Yes, we’re definitely back in the developed world and it’s going to take some getting used to.

“Are you looking for anything special? Can I help you at all?” chirped a lady at the duty-free shop. We were hunting for an Irish whiskey, a favourite of our Warm Showers host in Perth.

“Yes, we’re, ummmm……”

We were taken aback. It had been so long since we’d had a real conversation in a shop – no hand gestures, facial expressions or body contortions needed – that we temporarily forgot how to respond.

It took a few moments before a stupid grin broke over both our faces and we were able to finish the the sentence. The stupid grin stayed throughout the evening.

Irish whiskey successfully located, we carried on to immigration and customs. Dozens of Australians had warned us about this part. Loads of stories came our way about how the bikes might be put in quarantine, our camping gear carefully looked at, our food confiscated.

We braced for a real grilling and stepped forward to explain why we’d checked ‘yes’ to more than half the answers on the entry form. Medicines, food, animal products, things with soil and goods worth more than $900. We had it all.

“Hello Sir. Hello Ma’am. Where are you coming from? What’s this about medicines? Just your personal supply? Thanks very much. Have a nice visit.”

Wow. That was easy. It took all of 30 seconds and no one wanted to see our proof of onward travel or e-visas, which we’d been told to carry.

Next up was quarantine and here we really expected a long wait and a real inspection. As if he could read our minds, one official saw our bike boxes approaching and quipped with a wink “Here comes double trouble!”

Again though, the whole procedure was quick and easy. A quick look at our food – we both bet on at least one item confiscated but it was all approved – and a cursory glance at the bikes and we were through with a wave and a smile from the guards, who even helped repack our bags and retape our bike boxes. Our camping gear didn’t even get a brief look.

All in all, the Aussies win our vote for friendliest and easiest border crossing of the trip.

If we’re giving awards at the end of our journey, the Aussies might be in the running for a second prize: best taxi drivers.

“Pick me! Pick me!” shouted one man, jumping up and down with a smile and waving us towards his car. “Awww, his car isn’t big enough,” said another. “Go see the Kiwi down there.” “Nah, I can take them in my station wagon,” said a third.

We definitely weren’t used to taxi drivers fighting over us and all our awkward luggage. In the end we picked the Kiwi with his huge van. All the bikes and bags were loaded in on his wheelchair lift. The guy was a joke a minute and told us how he made more money driving a taxi than working as a nurse.

Rikus, our host, also turned out to be a star, welcoming us late in the evening with a drink and a comfortable room all to ourselves – one final reprieve from the tent before we head out on the road tomorrow.

After a sleep, we got the bikes back together (no damage, just a couple small scratches) and headed out for a tour of the town with Rikus. The weather was just perfect for cycling – a little cool with a light breeze – and after so much sweating in Asia we thought we’d died and gone to heaven.

It wasn’t just the weather in Perth that impressed us. They had really neat things like green grass, sprinklers, drinkable water out of taps, rubbish bins and, best of all, a big selection of cheese in the supermarket. We just about fell over when we found the parks had free electric barbeques.

We love this country!!

The only black mark in Australia’s book might be internet access. At $2 for 15 minutes in the tourist bureau, it’s a bit out of our range. If you don’t hear from us for a while, we haven’t been jumped on by a kangaroo. We just haven’t found the library.

It was a marathon. First it was into the city centre. We hunted down a box from a very friendly shop, then back on the bus. Just one problem. Where is the bus? We did the rounds of 4 bus stops before we found the right one, trekking up and down Orchard Road with bike boxes on our heads.

Then it was time to get the pedals off. We cranked and yanked with our only wrench but with no success. A local bike mechanic showed us how to do it in about 2 seconds flat with his mega ‘persuader’ wrench.

Back in the apartment, Andrew did almost all the work. We rarely fight but experience has taught us that two people trying to fit a too-big bike into a too-small box just doesn’t work. Friedel is strictly on duty for an extra pair of hands and to apply enormous quantities of packing tape to the outside of the box, while Andrew does the bike packing and works out the logistics of how to fit everything together.

The whole process was made so much easier by our two hosts, Patrizia and Bro, who are just great all-round people – the kind that don’t mind you spreading bike parts from one end of the apartment to the other. Well, they are cyclists so of course they understand and we’ve really appreciated their hospitality. This daring couple are off on a tandem to Yemen, UAE and Iran soon.

With the bikes packed, now we just have to finish stuffing our bags, get to the airport and cross our fingers for a successful flight to Perth. So far the excitement of going to a new continent outweighs the usual nervousness about the bikes.

And of course we’re in a reflective mood about our time in SE Asia. We certainly won’t miss the humidity but the great food in Thailand and Malaysia will be in our minds after our 100th plate of pasta with carrots and onions. And of course we will miss the budget accommodation. In Australia, we’ll be going back to a strictly-camping diet.

Next time, from Australia!