Day 32, Swan Hill

It's taken us a while to get going, only now finishing navigating Swan Hill's badly planned streets. Another cool day outside, the van's already warm and the prickly heat's spreading up my legs from the engines comforting vibrations. The van smells like home, slightly damp warmed up carpet! We listen to our mp3 player on the slightly crackly stereo and I bite my lip resisting the urge to sing along and ruin another good song.

Day 31, Wood Wood / Nyah - Vehicle wreckers yard

Hands aching we walked out of work, never to come back.

Now feeling proud of our stand and efficient we're trying to get the van fixed up for the journey south.
The wrecker's yard's dusty, the machine shop oil and sweat and banging of metal on metal. I'm standing uncomfortably, waiting to be noticed, resisting the urge to touch the matt rubber tyres or shiny smooth cold gas cylinders. I can still taste the barbecue sauce topping the cold pizza we ate as we walked out of the farm.

Day 30, Wood Wood - Pruning

My hands sting, we've been pruning for five hours and when I release the secateurs my hands feel frozen to a claw. My body's frozen too, we had a cold night and a cold dark morning at work, it's now cloudy with an icy wind. It smells fresh, no more rotting grapes although our hands are red-brown from the sap and juice of a few lonely raisins.

Day 29, Wood Wood

We've just arrived, it's a cold, cloudy, rainy day that half an hour ago saw us stuck in deep sand on a track road we were exploring. My hands are dirty and boots even more so from pushing the van. The park's simple, quiet, every so often there's a wafting smell of the recycled water they're using to save water, some from the river just across the desolate but fast highway. Dust blows in sprints, it's origins unexplained across the car and us. I'm used to breathing it, dry and warm as we stand by the van, it gently ticks and whirrs, cooling down for the rest.

Day 28, Irimple Hostel

My head's spinning, that dizzy sick feeling hungover from the night before.

I haven't missed this.

The house is relatively tidy, the bin piled high and a smell of cigarettes, cheap beer and wine from the after party we had. I'm eating beans on toast, the thick sauce dry in my mouth. Everyone else in the house is cooking or eating, slow, lethargic, slightly unsteady. Excitedly we talk through the night before, closer now than this time yesterday. I feel hot but my skin's cold to the touch, cold water freezing my throat by the glassful.

I'm mindful we have to drive soon.

Day 27, Irimple

Last day on the farm, the grapes have run out. I'm not sad to be leaving but am now picking with a renewed vigour! I'm even eating a few, sucking the dirt off before popping them under my teeth. I've got used to feeling dirty, dry and sweaty. My mp3 player keeps turning off mid song, it's costing me a fortune in batteries, one that I'm definitely not making here.

Day 26, Irimple

So many rotten now, your hands go straight through them as you pick them leaving just the skin stuck you you. I'm hungry, lunch break seems further away than usual. Little spots keep forming on my vision as I try to focus on the bunches hanging in the shade.

Day 56, Nullabore Plain

The start of the Nullabore, the adventure and worry starts here. If you break down in the middle of this long lonely road, it takes a long time and a fair amount of money to get you off. Fingers crossed, we'll be ok, we've packed enough food and water for ten days although we hope to take only four. It's very hot and dusty, still plagued by flies although no signs of the kangaroo's or wombats this sign promises us. I'm hungry already, we had an early lunch of noodles and although i can taste it in my mouth still it hasn't made an impact on my stomach. Ahead of us the road stretches straight, an invitation and a challenge.

Day 25, Irimple

Same smells, sweat, rotten fruit, dust.

No taste bar the dry dust on my lips and tongue.

Music, the roar of the tractor and barking of the dog that runs ahead.

Pain, in my ears and in my fingers. Heat, the itching of sweat on my back.

Grapes, grapes, more grapes.

Day 24, Irimple

Rotten grapes smell like wine.

Strong and pungent and sticky on my fingers and then hair and warm skin. I'm working bare chested. The sour sweet grapes mingle with the soft sun lotion smell and the sharp chemical deet to keep the insects away. I'm sweating, dirt collects and sticks, trickles down my skin, my hands are dry with dust. I'm awake, tired only physically, my head's alive with music. Slightly sore ears house deep ear plugs.

Day 23, Irimple - Grape picking

Grapes, grapes everywhere.
But not enough perfect ones.

It's baking hot already, not a cloud in the sky, my skin's pleasantly hot to the touch, the dense shade from the vines cooling when I pick directly underneath. From time to time I eat a reject grape, it's sweet and soft, pops in my mouth, completely fresh and peppered with dust.

Day 22, Sealake

We've stopped in a hot dusty town to find some lunch.

Like most we've seen on this long monotonous outback road it's low to the street, baking hot and bathed in red dust and flies. There's a constant hum of people talking in the shadowy shops and doorways although there are few people around. I'm numb from driving, one leg and bum cheek cramping from the constant vibration of our van. The road's been and a bit like driving through a movie although not as picturesque. Not much changes except the birds and tumble weeds that cross the road occasionally. My eyes are supersensitive and dry but I'm hungry and glad to be on my feet.

Day 21, On the road - Lakes Entrance towards Mildura - Melbourne area

We got a job today, nine hundred kilometers away over potentially remote and slow roads. We hit the road early and are well under way for our two day drive up north. My eyes feel like they're as much on the odometer as on the road.

I hope they're not.

The van's hot but the blustering wind through the windows is refreshing although noisy. My tongues dry with the milk I've been drinking as I drive.

Day 20, Pambula Beach

We're packing up to leave the campsite we arrived at late last night. The van was cold and my necks sore. I keep twisting it from side to side, perhaps to relieve it, perhaps just to torture myself. The site's clustered with kangaroos, just hopping around the tents, campers and caravans. Already I feel accustomed to them, walking right past them barely noticing them. They move almost silently, gently rocking between their tail and limbs.

It's gray and cold this morning so I don't mind driving. I can still taste the breakfast muesli in my mouth but my minds already on dinner.

Day 19, Broulee Beach

I'm waiting, sat on the rear roo bars of the van, staring at my feet and the concrete below them.

I feel flat today, flatter than the blown out non-existent surf across the road. It's getting cold, i need a wetsuit but can't find one to fit. I drink some cool milk from the carton, it lines my mouth and my breath. The wind cools my back through my t-shirt, I can hear it blowing through the dunes and out across the bay.

Day 18, Durris Beach Turnoff

We're off to the beach again, down a bumpy unsealed road. We were told there was a good chance of seeing kangaroo's here.
The clouds are thick in the sky, dense patches of shade advance upon our car as we drive along the red brown dirt. I can taste ice tea in the water of my continually refilled bottle.

Day 17, Canberra to Batemans Bay - Lake George Wineries

(resolution on camera changed itself and i didn't notice!!)

Lake George is the dryest lake I've ever seen.

There's no water, not even a trace of water, not in a long time. The large flat, crater-like plain stretches out between the hills, flanked on all sides by vineyards clinging onto the sides of the dry hills. The road smells dusty, my fingers feel dry. Along the few dirt tracks off the main stretch innovative and ornate mailboxes sit in rows.

I think there's a bit of competition between neighbours on this front.

Day 16, Royal National Park, NSW, near Waterfall

A waterfall, near a town called waterfall. Who ever would have thought?!

We're driving up a windy hill, up and out of the Royal National Park, itchy and unclean but fresh after having spent a night in a secluded and simple cabin in the bush. I'm covered in all sorts of bites.

Nothing serious.

All annoying.

The air smells like banana's and a sweaty smell from the wet carpet behind my seat. The moon roof leaked last night in a torrential storm.

We're pleasantly warm, its slightly warmer in the car than outside although we've only been running for minutes.

Day 15, Princes Highway (number 1) Kiama to Cronulla

It's raining, intermittently most of the journey. There's lightning and thunder - we count the seconds - almost overhead. The flashing lightning and hammering rain distort the road and the constant roar of the closed windows and the roof rack drown out my passengers conversations.

We drive on in relative silence.
I skidded earlier on the smooth, warm, wet road. My heart beats in my throat and ears and my shoulders are tense.

Day 14, Kiama Town Centre

More errands, more driving, more things we need, research to do. We've spent the morning in the hot stuffy van, driving around the smooth clean streets of this little town. I can smell bakeries, the hot metallic smell of the engine, my own fresh slightly sweet smelling sweat. My less sweet, wet dog smelling shoes. My little toe hurts, I've no socks on and my trainers are rubbing.

Day 13, The Bead Shop, Wollongong

Rows and rows of jars.

Colours, patterns, like some crazy sweet shop or pharmacy. You could get lost in the endless Shelves forever, eight feet tall, fully stacked, wall to wall.

I picked some varnished wood ones out, smooth, smelling faintly of boat varnish and somehow liquorish, they're sticky to the touch. So light, alone they're almost weightless.

Day 12, Wollongong Shopping Centre Toilets

Another morning, more shopping needing doing.

I'm sat in a hot stuffy toilet cubicle which smells strongly of the man who used it before me. My intestines feel like they're being ripped out. My mouths dry and I can taste the soap and human smells which linger here. Above my head a yellow sharps box sits high on the wall. They have them in every public toilet here.

Almost.

Day 11, Manly Vehicle Registry (RTA) Car Park

We've been preparing to leave Manly, stop, starting the van from one parking space to another. I like the hot sweaty stuffiness inside the van. The dusty feeling of the old steering wheel under my hands and the tinny radio mixed with the crackling engine as i sit here idling.

Day 10, Warringar Mall Car Park

We're lost on the baking hot roof of a large shopping centre. My flip flops are rubbing between the toes. I can hear the odd bump of cars over the metal speed bumps and traces of music from car stereos. It smells, tastes and feels dry hot if that's possible.

Above the crazy fake landscape of white pyramids and glass turrets, clouds hang menacingly and beyond that houses shrouded with trees against the hillside.

Day 9, , Manly Backpackers/Bunnings Terry Hills

I left the phone and pad at home yet again.

We went to the DIY shop to get wood and screws, leaving in a sweaty, boiling car and returning much the same but for smokey flavoured wood dust. All day it's alternated between heavy rain and strong sun. The concrete smells warm and earthy.

We listen to the radio competing with the engine.

Day 8, Manly beach, Sydney

It's warm but windy, the perfect blue sky intermittently heavy with clouds. The Sands itching my feet. The beach is mainly quiet bar the constant roll of the sea, occasional low voices and the very occasional gull or child screaming. I can smell sea and lotion and the dusty smell of fine sand.

The paper of my book smells dry.

Day 7, Circular Quay, Sydney

Were on the way to buy the van.

My money belts hot under the belt of my jeans.

It's bright and very hot in the direct sunlight.

Close by people are busking, drumming and singing, clapping and dancing. From time to time a ships horn joins in.

There are people everywhere; sweat and body lotion and fruit.

Day 6, Kings Cross Station, Sydney

Kings Cross underground station platform 5 smells faintly of soot.

Nothing compared to the dirty, sticky, scent of the London underground, its tunnels are twice as big. The trains, double decker, platforms stacked openly on each other.

I'm carrying my rucksack, it's heavy and there's a warm dull pain in my shoulders. My bottle of water,s becoming a drip onto my leg, cold and soothing against my sticky sun tan lotion. I smell like the beach.

My phone rings

Day 5, China Town, George St, Sydney

Tramlines cross the street and the endless streams of traffic ripple across them like they're driving over cobbles. Crossings beep at odds to each other and dry small waves tickle the tarmac and sound like bubbles fizzing, beer going flat. I can smell noodles.

The warm sun and cool breeze drys my eyes up.

Day 4, Kings Cross Eva's Backpackers / Bondi Beach

I left the pad at home and went to Bondi beach - an Australian Marbella. Luckily the gentle heaving of the small swell wasn't over-shadowed by overexcited screams. Everythings clean, nothing smells, not even the dim whiff of melting ice cream. There are no discarded cones, wrappers, cans.

Do they even sell ice cream?!?

I can't even small sun lotion.

The hostel's dim amd airy, the curtains shut, windows open to keep it cool. The street's quiet but breezy.

Voices carry.

Day 3, Kings St Quay, Sydney (EST)

We just jumped up on a nose heavy ferry of pointing sunglass clad passengers. As it reverses out of the warm jetty the motors at the front roar and churn at the water turning it white. We pass a ship that sounds it's horn rudely.

It's warm and bright and makes me sleepy on my full stomach but the breeze off the water is cooling. I can smell water but it's clean.

Everywhere's clean.