10th June 2015

At 5:30 am, it was still dark enough to clearly see the Southern Cross directly overhead as I climbed out of the campervan. I first noticed it reflected through the gum trees in the little pool next to where we were parked. How apt, I thought, as this marked the start of our return journey to more familiar, star-speckled skies.

After a quick visit to the ‘dunny’ and coffees made from our now-surplus milk supply, we quietly packed up the campervan, taking care not to disturb the other campers nearby. The campsite was now nearly deserted, apart from the static caravans that seemed to be permanent residences for some of Byron Bay’s less affluent locals. I’d noticed schoolchildren leaving them in their smart, Western-style uniforms the other morning.

At 6 am, we drove through the security gates for the last time, no more need to remember ‘685501’!

We retraced our route along the Pacific Highway, pounding the same tarmac and concrete we’d travelled last week after leaving the Blue Mountains. This time, we stayed on the highway all the way into Sydney’s centre. The sights along the way were familiar, and it was a shame we didn’t have time to explore them further, perhaps another trip, another time. We stopped every three hours or so to refuel both the camper and ourselves, sharing the driving duties equally. As before, Jamie began and ended the drive in the driver’s seat.

The final stretch of our journey wasn’t without drama. We arrived in Sydney during rush hour, navigating through the city centre to reach our intended campsite on the other side. The route took us through three very long tunnels, under hills, around Botany Bay, and through the city itself, with fleeting glimpses of the skyline flashing by whenever we emerged into daylight. One of these moments gave us our first sight of the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Opera House.

As we left the last tunnel and merged onto a slip road, we inadvertently upset a pick-up truck driver. Jamie had indicated our manoeuvre, but the truck’s driver stubbornly refused to let us in. Forced to yield, he flashed his lights and honked furiously as we queued at the intersection ahead. Checking the rear-view mirrors, we saw him gesticulating angrily, and for a moment, we wondered if he’d hit the back of our van. But there had been no sound or sensation of contact.

When the traffic moved forward, the truck raced past us, abruptly swerved in front, and reversed towards us at speed. In the chaos of rush hour, his actions were a blur, and other drivers began honking in protest at his actions. Thankfully, he stopped just centimetres away, gestured rudely, and sped off down the road. It was a terrifying encounter, a stark reminder that Aussie road rage is very real. When we arrived at the campsite, we thoroughly checked the van for any signs of contact but found none.

Throughout our 2,000 km drive, we found Australian drivers to be courteous, skilled, and law-abiding. But clearly, there are exceptions.

When we checked into the campsite, it was pouring with rain. We’d tried to book ahead but hadn’t received a reply to our emails, so we were relieved to find that two plots were still available. Ours was conveniently located next to the toilet and shower block, spot on.

After coffee, the rain stopped, so we set off to explore and find somewhere to eat. After a brief detour that left us slightly lost, we eventually found the main shopping area of Brighton-Le-Sands, located across Botany Bay, opposite the airport runway.

We walked down to the shore and spent some time watching aircraft take off and land, with Sydney’s skyscrapers twinkling in the distance. The Harbour Bridge was beautifully illuminated, its colours shifting in a mesmerising display. Eventually, we found a Thai restaurant, and as usual, the meals were served with a ridiculous amount of meat. Fully satisfied, we retraced our steps back to the campsite and called it a night.

The following morning, after refreshing showers, we started cleaning the campervan and packing our bags for the return flight. I gave our surplus food to a permanent resident across the road from our plot. He was a diabetic recovering alcoholic, like many Australians we’d met, he was friendly and easy to talk to.

By just after 9 am, I drove us to the Britz Campervan Rental office, only a few miles away. We arrived without incident and parked in their lot. Although they didn’t officially open until 10 am, the staff were already there and kindly processed our vehicle straight away. Once the paperwork was completed and the van inspected, we asked if we could leave our rucksacks there for a few hours, as our flight wasn’t until the evening. They agreed, provided we picked them up before closing at 4 pm.From there, we caught the train from Mascot to Circular Quay. As soon as we arrived, it was clear that this was the tourist hub. Large groups of schoolchildren were milling about outside the station, which was conveniently located next to the many ferry terminals.

Standing on the quay, we were surprised to see the ‘Legend of the Seas’ berthed nearby. It was the same ship that Sue and I had sailed on during our cruise to Japan, Korea, and China. It looked just as it had then, unchanged and familiar.

Our first stop was the Opera House, where we took plenty of photos. Just opposite was the Harbour Bridge, which also got its fair share of attention from our cameras. The Opera House offered incredibly fast free WiFi, so we took a moment to browse on our phones. It was then that I discovered that the screen on my tablet was cracked and completely unresponsive. I’d been carrying it in my small rucksack, and somehow it must have been crushed. Strangely, it had survived unscathed through Vietnam and Cambodia the other week. I’ll see if Suraj can work his magic on it when I get back.

Next, we booked a water taxi to explore the harbour. As we boarded, it started to drizzle, but fortunately, the rain stopped just as our trip began. The taxi took us around the Opera House, over to the Botanical Gardens, past the old fort set on a small island (now converted into a restaurant), and then by the Prime Minister’s summer residence. We passed under the Harbour Bridge, all while tourist helicopters buzzed continuously overhead. (Perhaps that’s something to try next time!)

From the water, we spotted groups of tiny figures, like ants, climbing the arch of the Harbour Bridge. We had planned to do this ourselves, but time wasn’t on our side; it would have taken around three hours. On reflection, though, the views must be tremendous. Perhaps it’s a better value alternative to the helicopter tour, and definitely one to save for another visit.

Returning to the quay, we strolled around the bay to get a closer look at the cruise ship and a smaller sailing vessel from the 1700s, the first ship to circumnavigate this continent.

Our next stop was under the Harbour Bridge, accompanied by the rhythmic rumbling of trains tracking across its immense span. Jamie was particularly bemused by the sheer size of the nuts and bolts holding the structure together. The security presence around the bridge was impressive, with at least a couple of constables stationed at every section, idly standing by. Waiting for what, we wondered? It seems only a catastrophic event, perhaps something on the scale of a 747 strike, could challenge the integrity of such a monumental structure.

We took a brief wander into the city before boarding our return train to Mascot, where we collected our rucksacks. From there, we caught another train to the International Airport Terminal.

After a long wait before the check-in desks opened, we grabbed a bite to eat and browsed the duty-free shops. Check-in, security, and passport control went smoothly. At the check-in desk, I jokingly asked if they could ensure our luggage wouldn’t be sent on another holiday, as it had been on our outward journey. The agent smiled and promised it would arrive with us at Heathrow.

Our flight departed on time, though this time we were in economy class, mingling with the hoi polloi. Just over eight hours and two meals later, we landed in Kuala Lumpur. Unlike previously, we weren’t in a rush; we had a five-hour layover.

At the departure gate for our 9:40 am flight, an announcement informed us of a delay due to operational issues. Our new departure time was noon, from a different gate. We later learned that the flight following ours from Sydney had experienced a fire, contributing to our delay. The airline issued meal vouchers, and we opted to eat at ‘Noodles’, a restaurant specialising in, you guessed it, noodles. It was a good choice, considering the alternative was a KFC with a queue stretching 50 metres.

After a satisfying meal, we finally boarded at noon. The nearly 13-hour flight included three meals, two snack services, two films, three episodes of the TV series ‘Longmire’, and a long sleep. We landed at Heathrow in the rain, a fitting welcome back, given that Malaysia had been plagued by thunderstorms and torrential rain, preventing us from visiting the airport’s tropical rainforest (yes, they really have one!).

With our e-passports, we breezed through immigration and waited for our luggage. Predictably, mine appeared right away, but we endured some tense moments waiting for Jamie’s bag, which arrived with the very last batch.

Rucksacks in hand, we found our transfer to Purple Parking and retrieved my little Fiesta. It’s funny how quickly you adapt to a foreign vehicle’s quirks; for the first few miles, I had to reacquaint myself with the indicators, lights, and wipers. One silver lining of our delayed flight was that we avoided the Friday night London rush hour.

Jamie slept during the drive, and I dropped him off at his apartment by 9:30 pm. After a quick chat with Sue, I made myself a drink and relished the luxury of sleeping in a proper bed, no boards, no mats. Absolute heaven!