The Blue Mountains - Australia Info

The Blue Mountains - Australia

Koalas are lucky little bastards when you think about it. Not only do they get to hang around all day doing absolutely bugger all, but their main source of food is the eucalyptus leaf -- a leaf whose chemical properties have the envious side effect on koalas of getting them stoned -- almost literally -- out of their tree. It's no wonder they don't feel like doing anything all day. I'm just surprised that none of them have started wearing headphones, listening to Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd. About two hours on the train west of Sydney is an area of the Great Dividing Range packed so full of eucalyptus trees that the vapours they emit give the impression that the very air has turned a faint shade of pale blue. The region was first discovered by white settlers in 1813 when explorers Wentworth, Blaxland and Lawson finally crested the ridge they'd been trying to climb, were presented with the illusion caused by the vapour, and exclaimed something like “Hey, look at the Blue Mountains!” No doubt adding “Uh, guys -- is that koala stoned?” shortly thereafter. The name obviously stuck, and the area encompassing the towns of Katoomba, Wentworth Falls, Leura and others has been known as The Blue Mountains ever since.
I'd been looking forward to seeing the mountains. Even people in Melbourne had told me that I should visit the area, as it was one of the most amazing sites of natural beauty in Australia; apparently, seeing the blue haze hanging over the ranges was little short of awe-inspiring. You can understand, then, why I sat cross-armed and huffing on the train, when the sun set just after I left Sydney, and I saw nothing at all on my journey to Katoomba except for my own grumpy visage reflected in the darkened window of the train.
Katoomba is the biggest town in the Blue Mountains region, yet it is no bigger than any average village. As I stumbled from the train, my backpack high on my shoulder, and walked confidently into the darkness of the night, I was a little disappointed at just how small the place was. It had been in the back of my mind that I might be able to find some work here for a couple of weeks, so that I could replenish my ever depleting funds and be able to travel on to Queensland without being too strapped for cash. Walking towards the hostel, past the shops and stores on Katoomba Street - a hill so steep that in icy weather unsuspecting day trippers from Sydney must step merrily off the train and slide straight down the hill and over the ravine into Jamieson Valley, screaming loudly and clawing at the pavement all the way - I knew that I'd find no work here. This was a hick town if ever I saw one; I could even picture the scenes in my mind of me going door to door asking for a job -- it would be like something from that BBC comedy show, The League of Gentlemen: 'Hello, anyone around?'
'Now, now what's all this shouting -- we'll have no trouble here.'
'Excuse me, but I'm looking for work.'
'Work? Are you local?'
The Falls are only a few hundred feet down from Echo Point and I decided I was fit enough to manage that. I did want to walk through Jamieson Valley, but I knew that there was no way I'd ever be able to climb the kilometre back again, straight up from the valley floor.
Katoomba Falls weren't that impressive; to be honest, I'd seen more impressive drinking fountains. I was quite annoyed that I'd walked all the way down here just for this. I still took a few photos though, more as a way of stopping for a breather than anything else, then began the long climb back up again. By the time I reached the top my shirt was soaked in sweat and was sticking to me like wet papier-mâché. I looked as if I'd been jumping in the Falls, not just looking at them. The hot sun dried me as I walked back to the hostel, a hot shower and writing some postcards foremost on my agenda. After that I had some planning to do
I really did need to find some work soon -- my money was dripping away like water from a broken tap. I had been right about the work situation in Katoomba too -- there were none to be found anywhere in the town. I had been met with crazed expressions when I went into shops asking for a job; the owners had reached under their counters to finger their shotguns, nodding to their wives to take the kids upstairs and lock all the doors. In a final attempt to find some kind of work I even bought one of the local newspapers. Unfortunately it didn't find me a job -- but it did provide me with an afternoon's laughter. I like small town newspapers. Because they deal with local events, and because nothing much ever happens in small towns, the stories they run are often so ridiculous that they are hilarious. This one was no exception. The Blue Mountains Gazette was so funny that it could teach a few comedians a thing or two about comedy writing. I spent the remainder of that afternoon sat in the hostel common room howling at the articles, spilling tea as I rocked in my seat, people glancing at me as if I was crazy.
The cover story was a full page spread on how a local gardener wouldn't be able to cut lawns around the town for the next couple of weeks, as his mower had broken down and he had to send it to a neighbouring town to have it repaired. They had not only interviewed him, but also some of the town's residents as well, to get their reactions on the disaster.
Another story involved a cafe on the main street, which had done such a brisk trade from all the tourists one day the previous week when it had rained, that they had actually run out of muffins.
But my favourite articles were the competitions. In the edition I bought were two competitions alone that had me curled up in a ball, howling in delight. One was the result of the previous week's effort, the Look Like Your Dog competition. Spread across the page were photos of the winner and the two runners up, pictured with their dogs. What made it all the funnier was that in no imaginable way could it ever be said that any of them looked like their mutts. My only conclusion was that it had to be a misprint, and it had actually been a Smell Like Your Dog competition.
The other competition was for the coming week, and it impressed me so much I seriously considered sticking around just so I could enter it -- in bold letters it tempted locals with a glorious prize, to Meet Your Local Chemist! Just wandering into his store had obviously never occurred to anyone around here. Perhaps he was a busy man and this was their way of deciding who got medicine each week. I smiled as I closed the paper, imagining some old dear, bedridden with pneumonia, opening the paper each week with trembling hands to see if she'd won the chance to get some treatment. As her good eye scanned down the column, past that week's Scratch Yourself Like Your Monkey competition, it would light on the competition winner -- another name -- and she'd scrunch up the paper with an oath: 'Bugger!' she'd say, before drifting into a coma.
But all this wasn't finding me any work. I decided that perhaps I should have a chat with one of the guys on the hostel reception; maybe they'd be able to recommend somewhere. 'You want work? Go to Sydney, mate. There's nothing around here.'
I wrinkled my nose: 'No, I've just come from there -- and anyway it's not really a place I could afford to stay, even with a job.' He nodded knowingly: 'Yeah, mate, I know what you mean. Well look, have you thought about Newcastle?' 'Newcastle? That's up the coast a little, right?'
'Yeah. Second biggest town in New South Wales after Sydney. You might find something there, why don't you give it a go?' It sounded plausible. Second biggest town in New South Wales? I was bound to find work there. 'Yeah, cheers -- I think I will give it a go.' 'No worries.'
'I take it you've been there?'
'Actually no, mate, I haven't. But hey, how bad can it be?'

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