Blue Mountains

Blackheath - Farewell to Sydney for now - we'll be back in plenty of time to make those New Year's Eve celebrations - and hello to the Blue Mountains.
Pick up a rental car and Darren's first-rate directions ensure that we get there inside two hours.
The mystical mountains, rising from scores of hidden valleys below, are appropriately named - they are swathed, particularly during late afternoon, in a blue haze created by oil from millions and millions of eucalyptus trees.
We hope to stay in or around Katoomba, the region's main town, but find it bursting at the seams. The local tourist office points us in the direction of Blackheath, some 10 minutes drive away, and a small roadside motel there will do nicely as base for few days.
Spend late afternoon in national park just off small town of Glenbrook. Stumble across pretty pool surrounded by rocky crags and lush vegetation. We are the only ones there, with just the sounds of the surrounding forest for company.
Try to find Red Hand Cave - an old aboriginal shelter with wall carvings - but the pot-hole ridden and bumpy unsealed road just gets worse and worse (no-one else appears to be travelling along it) and, with only very low clearance on our vehicle, we reluctantly turn back. Hope to spot some kangaroos, but out of luck.
Call into so-called country pub early evening for grub - mediocre fare and an indifferent attitude. (You wan't to pay by credit card?). Shock, horror. Yes, we do actually, if that's alright with you.

The Three Sisters - The Sisters (legend has it that they were siblings turned to stone to save them from the unwanted clutches of an evil suitor) are the crowning jewel of the Mountains, which rise in some sections to 1100m.
They make up part of an incredibly scenic rock formation (we understand there were once seven, but that four have long since crumbled into the vast chasms below) jutting up from the floor of the sublime Jamison Valley.
We head out to Echo Point to take in a panoramic vista, but the only way to escape the swarms of fellow tourists ogling the Sisters from countless viewing platforms is to complete a three-hour bush walk, which involves trekking down 900 steps called The Giant Stairway at one end and up 1,000 more - The Furber Steps - at the other. In between is a relatively straightforward, but muddy, base walk along the Federal Pass deep in the heart of the eucalyptus forest.
The first part of The Stairway proves tough going - mainly because we are trying to edge our way past the masses on an incredibly steep and narrow hike down - but, thankfully, the crowds soon disappear to a trickle as we make our seemingly endless descent to the valley floor.
Once the screeching of hundreds of cockatoos die down there is only stillness. The world below is one of trees, ferns, moss, light and shade and, ahead in the distance, tumbling waterfalls and cascades.
Our valley floor walk complete, we now face the daunting prospect of The Furber Steps - there are actually 1,040 of them. It takes us, with a couple of stops to take a breather, 40 minutes (we beat the estimated time by five) to reach the top before we clamber back to Echo Point exhausted but exhilarated.
Feeling very pleased with himself, John reckons he deserves a drink or two. We head into Katoomba where he plonks himself on a barstool at a watering hole owned by the famous Aussie actor Jack (Petersen, Breaker Morant, Australia) Thompson. (How does JW find these places? Our travelling companion Lonely Planet, of course, is the answer).
Film posters of Thompson adorn the wall of the Hotel Gearin - and John, knowing he is going to ache like he has never done before, enjoys a leisurely hour sipping a few schooners, while Chris heads for a cafe to enjoy a coffee before checking out the quirky little shops and Art Deco buildings which line the street of the region's biggest town.
Back in Blackheath we can muster just enough energy between us to grab a takeaway pizza before crashing into bed and falling into the deepest of sleeps.

Megalong Valley - Sure as eggs John is aching from head to toe. Well his napper is okay, but his calf and thigh muscles have completely seized up. He likens how he feels to a car engine with no oil.
Today is a day in the rental car (hope that does have has oil) to explore the Megalong Valley - fertile green land dotted with bush and gum trees and with spectacular views of the giant sandstone plateaus and gorges of the Blue Mts.
There are some long and lovely walking trails (you have got to be joking, Chris) along the way - but we give it a miss, pulling over instead to gape at the scenery from our car window. Pathetic effort, really.
Foot firmly on the gas pedal and air con on, we point the car in the direction of Hargreaves Lookout for more stunning views of this wondrous area and Govett's Leap, from which we can see the Bridal Veil Falls - the highest in the Mountains.
On the way back to Blackheath pull into the historic ghost town of Hartley - a tiny abandoned village which once flourished in the 1830s before falling into decline when the railway took its custom elswhere some 50 years later.
Manage a very short stroll around some historic buildings (John is wincing at every step) and a picnic on a grassy knoll. Two chocolate lollies in souvenir shop costs us nearly eight dollars. Time to beat a hasty retreat. No wonder the place is a ghost town.
Round off day with another pub nosh (different place to the one we first tried, but no better and surly bar girl, with face down to her boots, didn't help. Actually she was so awful it was hilarious in a Fawlty Towers kind of a way). In hindsight, should have returned to Jack's joint in Katoomba. Top pub & happy staff there.
In fairness, 'Mrs Danvers' was exception rather than rule. The vast majority of locals we have met on our travels have gone out of their way to be welcoming, hospitable and immensely kind.
This lady, however, must have been having a bad hair day or, perhaps, it was losing The Ashes wot dun it. They do like their cricket a bit here in Oz, of course, whether male or female, but no need to be such a sore loser Sheila. Give England credit where credit is due - they were a zillion miles better than your lot wearing the baggy green cap.
Go on then, luv, we'll have the fish 'n' chips - but only if they come with a smile.