I had just walked 45km with a substantial pack, eaten no hot food for three days, slept in a wet tent with a damp sleeping bag*, and been rained on for two days. So a hotel looming out of the forest was a vision of loveliness.

*I should have taken a pack liner as water seeped from my packed tent through to my bag while I was walking. Silly me. I thought the country was having years of drought.

This rural landscape was just near Alum Creek. A few grey kangaroos were lounging in the grass nearby.

The ant nests are marked by clear patches of small stones up to a metre across. I stood on one of these patches for a closer photo and found my boot to be covered in ants in just seconds. They laid into my laces.

The scenery of the Blue Mountains is dramatic, yet  monotonous. Sheer cliffs, tree-covered valley floors. A microclimate of damp forest exists in the shade of the cliffs, which changes rapidly once you move away. Of course, there are only a few points where you can actually walk onto the valley floors. 

This photograph is interesting as one side of the street was just regular suburban houses in Katoomba. The other side was this spectacular void.

I took this kickass salad along to a singing course at the weekend and it met with universal acclaim. It's by Judith Sutton, and was printed in The Press.  

Keep the three parts (salad greens, fruit, feta and dressing) separate until serving.

In a jar, combine 6 tbsp olive oil, 1 tsbp balsamic vinegar, 1 tbsp cider vinegar, 2 tbsp lemon juice, 1/2 tsp honey, salt, pepper, and a handful of chopped mint. Add a cubed block of feta and marinate.

Combine 1 cup diced watermelon, 1 punnet halved strawberries, 1 cup sliced telegraph cucumber.

Line a bowl with salad greens. Add feta, then add the fruit. Toss lightly.

Wednesday afternoon, I flew to Australia, caught two trains and arrived here two hours earlier than expected after some competent Central train station navigation (the tricky devils changed the platform number minutes before departure but I was too sharp for those shenanigans). I wandered up the main road of lovely Katoomba, mountain town, boutique town, slow food town, arts and music town, photographing kitschy yet earnest window displays, and I spotted a freakishly large spider inside the "what's on" notice board. At first I thought it was graphic design. Honestly, it was as big as my cellphone, and I don't upgrade every 18 months.

Next day I started walking. It was hot. I got dehydrated. I saw no people. There was no water at the campsite. I had the wrong gas cylinder. I had inadvertantly picked up the telephoto lens for a camera I didn't bring so had that dead weight. I had a diet of muesli bars to look forward to for three days. I stepped on an anthill and had hundreds of them covering my boots and biting my laces in mere seconds. Big ones, like iPods with jaws.

That night it rained. I packed up a wet tent and walked in the rain. I saw no people. I saw many grey kangaroos, and a smaller wallaby with buff haunches. Yes — that's all I saw as it bounded away. Haunches of buff. Buff, dun, nankeen even. The thing is that greys (I want to write "gries" as the plural) drift around all over the show and keep stopping to check you out. These other ones make a beeline away from you. I must look them up (under "beeline" I presume).

That night, it not only rained, but it stormed. The wind howled and ripped my tent pegs out of the ground. My tent was wet through as they get when rolled up wet. My sleeping bag was damp. I put on all the clothes I had and waited for my body heat to dry them. Rather than sleep, I just waited for light. I read my novel as escapism. Also, I couldn't put it down or it would get wet.

Yesterday I walked into Jenolan, where the limestone caves are. The receptionist ("from Taupo, in the North Island") at the grand old faded flower of a hotel upgraded me for free from the backpackers to a hotel room so I had lots of fun using all the towels for inappropriate purposes and bouncing on the bed. Then I fished out my least disgusting clothes and dined (yes, dined) in the restaurant. I had soup and wine and risotto and a side salad and a cloth napkin and there was a pianist and I stuck my little finger out like nobody's business. Nobody needed to know I was wearing tramping boots with no socks.

I spent much of yesterday and today underground in the glorious caves there in Jenolan. But now I'm back in Katoomba, and feeling the gravitational pull of Christchurch bringing me home.

The YHA stereo seems to be playing my music, although a slightly banal, easy-listening mix. I just got Bic Runga, Sarah McLachlan and a double helping of James Blunt. A little Shins wouldn't hurt. All this time, I've been working my way through The Lovely Bones: it's gripping. 

Tomorrow, I shall meet my parents at the Echo Point car park at midday. They are, somewhat coincidentally, in the same place at the same time. I shall be the man smoking two newspapers.  

So I've been visiting websites and booking things. I even talked to a nice Australian woman on the phone earlier. I've only encountered friendliness and helpfulness so far.

Tomorrow I fly to Sydney then take two trains to Katoomba. I shall arrive there sometime around midnight New Zealand time. I'm staying in the Katoomba YHA which is a glorious, handsome historic building. Thursday I swing by the supermarket, and set off on the Six Foot Track. After camping two nights, I arrive in Jenolan, where I'm staying at the Gatehouse. Jenolan is home to the Jenolan limestone caves, so I'll be getting spelunky.

Then back to Katoomba to meet up with my parents Monday, and we'll knock off the Blue Mountains scenic highlights before I wave goodbye to them and fly home Tuesday.

Everything is so booked and planned that I pretty much just need to sit back and watch it happen! This evening is being spent charging things: iPod, phone, camera.

There has been a wave of advertising in New Zealand that takes objectification of women's bodies to a new level. Ah but it's OK this time as it's ironic, and irony means that everything is the opposite of what you think it is, right? The Tui ads feature "hot" bikini-clad women working in a brewery. Burger King ads feature gratuitous shots of women riding horses on bikinis, a billboard near my work featured a taggline stating (yes, stating, not implying) that if you drive a certain type of car, you will be able to have sexual relations with hot hitchhikers. And the then there's that other ad for whatever it is with bikini-clad women bouncing around a warehouse on those inflatable bouncy toy things.

Of course, all of these ads are intentionally gratuitous. That's the point. That's the hilarious joke. It's ironic. So it's OK. But is ironic sexism really OK? Isn't it still sexism? And if ironic sexism becomes the norm, is it really even ironic? 

Don't get me wrong. I have no problem with girls wearing bikinis. You could also argue there is nothing wrong with girls wearing bikinis and being used to sell French fries -- it's just pathetic (deep fried potatoes = unsexy food) but then pretty much all advertising is lame. So there is an implied male gaze in these ads. That's not necessarily bad. Men are the primary consumers of beer. Nothing new there. I would be surprised if women don't also consume lots of disgusting junk food. They don't seem to be immune from the (very sexy?) obesity epidemic. But I could be wrong.

The problem I have is that it appears to be only the male gaze that is exposed to "ironic" images of scantily clad members of the opposite sex. The implication is that women are just too dumb to "get" the irony of pictures of scantily clad men riding on horses. Or perhaps the implication is that they're too sophisticated for it. Either way though it's sexist. Come on. Lets see more bikini boys.

Can there really be anything cuter than a mouse in a tennis ball? Thanks Peter for the rumour.

It is that time of year
When the birds' nests fall
And I line them up at my door.
Empty cups of woven grass
Next to green-shelled pumpkins:
Order established.