London, Paris, New York - they're nice places, I've heard. But we went to Dubbo instead. As you do. Especially if you're a couple of bogans.
The trip accross the Bass Strait went smoothly. We had booked all accommodation with a budget motel chain. Let's just call them 'Best Bogan'. The first place we checked into, I went into reception.
"Hello," I said, approaching the lady at reception "we have a booking." She checked our details then exclaimed "Oh, it's your honeymoon!"
"Yes," I said, wondering how she knew.
"We're giving you the honeymoon Suite!" she beamed. Okay.
We entered the room. It was the same as any other run of the mill motel room. Except for the giant, red, shiny, love heart shaped water bed in the middle of the room. Classy.
From Hobart we travelled on to Cradle Mountain. Micky Blue Eyes really enjoys nature. In spite of the fact that he is actually an Accountant, he prefers to ignore that and think of himself as an Albhy Mangels type of adventurer when we're on holidays. However, this was our honeymoon. It's supposed be to romantic, right?
|Somewhere in Tasmania. I can't remember where|
exactly, it was 17 years ago for FFS.
A four hour walk around the lake in the rain while starving and nearly passing out from hunger, wasn't exactly cutting it. Neither was the near death experience of a cruise on the river Strahan through Hell's Gate. And I know why they call it that. This boat trip and another one to Maria Island, certainly did absolutely nothing to cure my fear of boats and water. I freak out going on the Manly ferry now.
The following year we headed over to Perth, Western Australia and stayed in the Park Royal in the city. We have fond memories of sitting in the foyer sipping cappuccinos while a piano player tinkled away in the background. Such is a thing is impossible now. Sigh. We hired a car and headed up north to Monkey Mia.
The only thing to actually do at Monkey Mia was sit on a beach, albiet, a stunningly beautiful beach, and wait for dolphins to decide whether or not they wish to appear. They did, eventually.
Another memorable vacation involved a trip up to Cairns in sunny Queensland. We spent several days staring at the four walls of the motel room while a cyclone raged outside. At one point, it became deadly calm and Mick remarked that he'd love to go for a walk. Just then the announcer on the radio said "You'd have to be out or your mind to go out there now." Apparently it was the 'eye' of the cyclone passing over so everything becomes still and calm until it starts raging away again.
In spite of this, we did make out to see the Great Barrier Reef and I actually went snorkelling, which is a minor miracle considering my intense fear of water. Not to mention being seen in a swim suit.
The following year we went to Darwin. We thought this was like visiting the 7th Circle of Hell. We were wrong. We discovered that is actually Broken Hill in the middle of January. Somehow I survived the heat, blissfully unaware that I was pregnant. Maybe the jogging worked, not sure.
Our happy holidays reached a whole new level with the arrival of children. Now any jaunts around winding roads are filled with the wonderful sounds of Mr8 puking his guts up. This happened on our trip to Tassie (again) last year. Not to mention the relaxing flight to get there, when we received the wrath of the flight attendant numerous times for not being able to control a recalcitrant Mr3 who proceeded to take his seat belt off as we were preparing to land and busy himself turning on the overhead lights. Fun.
And the fun continues...as we are in the process of planning for our next adventure. Which exciting destination will we choose for a September school holidays road trip? Dubbo? Orange? Timbuktu or Woop Woop? Stay tuned for some (not so) exciting developments.