SOLD!!!

In a stroke of irony, we finally unloaded the car the day we submitted an ad to the trading post. We ended up following a tried and true rule of dating (to continue the analogy): if you lower your standards enough, things will happen for you. That being said, we went for half of our original asking price. Sure, we could have held out for more, setting up appointments with flaky backpackers who stand us up or perhaps living in the carpark dungeon for a while, but we opted for "bird in hand" logic on this one.

Now we are footloose and fancy free! Good-bye, fair Queeda!

Corroboree

Greetings from the majestic city of Sydney where, in an odd twist of harbour geography, the sun still sets over water even though we're on the east coast of Australia (my sister told me that this would be an interesting fact to put in the blog).

We arrived here last Tuesday, after using the (I'm sure) fascinating Victorian city of Bendigo for little more than a supermarket/laundry stop so that we wouldn't show up unclean and hungry. Bob's friends from a few years ago--the elementary school teacher Claire and the Mexican named Hans--are still around and have generously welcomed us with open arms. The combination of old friends and city life means that we have made much party in the past week. No complaints yet, but it may start to take its toll soon.

Queeda has, unfortunately, been a cause of undue stress. I suppose the situation is analogous to when you've decided that you need to break up with someone but haven't yet worked out the logistical details in your head. We made a flyer, posted them in heavily trafficked backpacker areas among dozens of other similar car-hawking flyers, and got the oil changed. Have had one nibble thus far, an English couple who seemed less than enthralled and who had one comment for us: "It's a bit rusty, isn't it?"

Fortunately, as you can imagine, the resourceful team of Bob and Mel still has a few tricks up the collective sleeve. Our strategies include, but are certainly not limited to a) putting an ad in the trading post, b) re-papering popular backpacker areas with more flyers, since ours are very likely buried by now, and c) accepting that we may end up taking a loss and moving on with life. "C" is looking more and more like our best option.

There's actually a place where backpackers trying to sell their car can park it in a quasi-dealership. Basically, a little money will get you a spot and will guarantee buyers that your car has all its papers (like a purebred dog), because otherwise the owners of this particular racket won't have you. It's an odd little community of people living out of their vehicles, waiting for buyers, all on a parking deck level that's three floors underground. Saw a newspaper article on the subject and hear that the max stay in this dungeon was 37 days. Wonder if the carbon monoxide finally got them.

For our concerned readers, the above set-up is a last resort, if anything. As it is, we're not too desperate (yet); when push comes to shove, we can always take it to the wrecker and strip 'er down for parts.

None of this should come as a surprise, since getting people to part with their money (especially when the exchange is a 1987 Ford Falcon XF) is never easy.

In the meantime, Sydney is fabulous if a little tough on the wallet and liver. Today is Anzac Day, so we're off to the pub a little later to do some gambling (maybe we can make the price of the car that way, but somehow I doubt it).

Like a band of gypsies we roll down the highway

Bob has mused before that gypsies often get a bad name for little reason at all, but we certainly fit the stereotype as we rolled into Bendigo (a goldfields town in Victoria) this morning, filthy from a two-day shower hiatus and hungry in spite of our McDonald's breakfast (we caved).

I posted the poorly-oriented pictures in Adelaide a week ago. Since Adelaide, we've had a few days of wine touring (my new favorite travel activity), have come into a new state, and have spent a few days in one of the most impressive (in my opinion) national parks in Australia. The Barossa Valley was our first stopover, and the scale of wine production and quality in this region makes the wineries in Margaret River look like kid's stuff. A great benefit to this area was that we were able to walk to five vineyards from our caravan park. Possibly on account of all of the walking, we managed to go to sleep at 6:00 after a day of wine tasting and consumption of a substantial cheese platter. Then it was on to the Grampians, which I had visited during my first trip to Australia. It was a great opportunity to do some good treks and 'get back to nature.' (We certainly smelled natural.)

The autumn weather is nice during the day, but isn't doing us any favors at night. I've managed to stave off hypothermia by sleeping in all my clothes (which works out to be about seven layers), but am growing a little weary of being unable to bend my arms. Nonetheless, we're pretty happy that we have at most three nights' more camping before we arrive in Sydney to begin the long, painful process of saying good-bye to Queeda.

The end is near! We are feeling 'the opposite of restless,' whatever that is, and look forward to returning to the warm bosom of our friends and family.

The Morning Ritual

No photo post would be complete without a picture of Q-dog. Here, observe the common (and necessary) activity of checking the coolant and oil.

At the Petting Zoo

We enjoyed fattening up this particular kangaroo, preferring its exoticism to the more mundane goats, sheep, rabbits, and alpaca.

Pellets go a long way

Bob cuddles up to his new friend, who mainly likes him because he has food.

The view from Mount Trio

Elephant Rocks

We visited this secluded beach but alas, it was too cold for swimming. For those who may be concerned that the appearance of the same outfit in every picture reflects a cavalier attitude towards hygeine, I can only say that the weather and living conditions (i.e. camping) mandated that many items be worn more than once.

The majestic karri

Bob uses his massive wingspan to indicate the substantial girth of this particular tree, a former fire lookout.

The Gloucester Tree

In another instance of the Australian government giving its citizens more credit than our government does, behold a tourist attraction where one is allowed to climb up this 61-meter tall tree, with little more than a net between tourists and impending death. They cover their backs by advising visitors not to climb in windy conditions, and admonish that 'your safety is our concern but your responsibility.' Clearly, it's only a matter of time before the trial lawyers take over.

Really big trees

We said we'd see big trees and we did. These enormous old-growth forests have been saved from logging by eco-tourism. We spent a few days cruising through this beautiful scenery. Apologies for the wonky orientation; Bob is more the picture expert and would have rotated it.

Come inside and stay awhile

Giant red tingle trees, such as this one, require fire to survive (like most eucalypt species). Notice the charred cavity.

The Rain in Spain

Actually, it's more like the rain in Australia, because that's ALL we've seen for the past few days as we headed south from Perth into the Margaret River region. It's pretty much been the worst weather we've had for the past 5 months. We waited it out by visiting the region's wineries, dairies, chocolate and coffee factories, with a few breweries thrown in for good measure. (It was the best kind of activity--lots of freebies!) So no complaints here--after all, what better activity for rainy, cold weather than driving around to a bunch of wineries? But no worries, we were responsible.

Some of our more concerned readers may be wondering how the 'sleeping in the car' arrangement held up. We are no longer exclusively calling Queeda our home, as we are now the proud owners of a $35 Australian-made tent. What it lacks in aesthetics it makes up for in functionality, because we've managed to stay dry. Today we are looking at beautiful blue skies and will be visiting a big tree along with doing some bushwalking through the area's famous forests of other big trees.

I'm writing this in a bit of a hurry because the internet places out in these country towns like to charge you a kidney (or two) if you stay on for too long, so my apologies for the poor syntax. I want to send a shout out to all of our commenters, especially my brother-in-law. You're right, Zach, I think I could save tons of money by living in the Suburban in your driveway, showering at your house or the gym. I also want to congratulate our fly-counting contest winner...Jennifer Srygley! Srygley must be well versed in my fly-like back moles (must have just finished some derm classes) to have guessed the correct number, which is 43. If you send in your address, you'll get a postcard (which will probably be lewd).

Take care all. Say a little prayer for the three of us (but especially Queeda).