This one's for my mum

I don't think the residents of Doo-Town are particularly creative, but you've gotta give them credit for their commitment to their little town. Somewhere between Hobart and Port Arthur, Doo-Town is only a couple of streets of small houses but each one is specially named doo-style. It's cute ... but only my mum will truly appreciate this Doo-Town homage.

An arctic blast: Hobart and around

The old Jam Factory at the waterfront

Triple Js Hottest 100 of All Time. 

At times it is the perfect soundtrack. At other times, not so much. But when you're exploring the rugged Tasmanian countryside, a little musical variety is crucial. Add a little bit of nostalgia and some cringe-worthy strolls down memory lane, and you've got a good mix of up and down to take you, well, up and down - from Hobart through Doo Town to Port Arthur, up Mount Wellington for our first taste of snow, along the coast and back to a cosy bar for some warmth and a lot of scrummy seafood.

This is our first foray this far south. Never before have we ventured to the apple isles, and some would argue that we are mad to head to Hobart in the middle of winter. I mean the only place colder than Victoria right now is Tasmania. But Carl had to go for work and everyone knows that I hate to be left out of any travel plans particularly when I haven't had a holiday in a while. A long while. Weather never stops me, even cold weather and everyone also knows how I feel about the cold.

Even the art rugs up against the cold

To survive, we're employing a few important coping strategies, most of them consumable - food, wine, coffee - in substantial quantities. Lucky for us, Hobart gets it. It gets that you need sustenance to keep you buoyant in bad weather and this little town is a tidy package of buzzing cafes, bars and restaurants, from the wine at Salamanca to the fresh seafood at the harbour, and right down to the cutest little bakery among the sandstone cottages at Battery Point. Like Scandinavians, Tasmanians aren't afraid of the cold: just rug up and get out there.

Salamanca from the harbour

It's a tough call, but the cold shouldn't stop you from getting out of the city

Fast forward a year

Luna Park, St Kilda, Victoria

We find ourselves in Melbourne. Here's the abridged version of how we got here:

Arrive home to Australia.
Emma ponders navel at Sunshine Coast in Queensland.
Carl sent to work.
Emma ponders navel over coffee and lunch with friends.
Carl sent to work.
Melbourne? Sydney? Melbourne? Sydney? Melbourne? Sydney?
Okay. Melbourne.
Emma goes to interviews. Emma turns down jobs.
Carl gets new career with free car. YAYYY!
Carl says Emma must choose a job.
Emma fights but loses battle to become perpetual navel-gazer.
Takes crap job.
Look for house with backyard. Can't find one.
Get apartment without backyard.
Move in and unpack backpacks, slowly.
Slowly admit we need things. Like furniture. Like cutlery. Like a TV.
Fill house with stuff that can't fit in a backpack. Emma looks uncomfortable. Melbourne Cup.
Two weeks of summer.
Family onslaught for festive season.
New Year camping in sub-zero temps on Great Ocean Road.
Inherit two dogs. Small white fluffy things that need a home after Emma's family abruptly leave town - is their departure linked to our return? Don't dwell on it.
Maybe we should buy a house? Look at houses.
Camping in Grampians. Ignore weather warnings. Drink wine instead.
Emma turns 30 and flips out.
Camping at 90-mile beach inspires big decisions: no more houses, no more big commitments. Emma breathes a sigh of relief.
Kingscliff for birthday weekend. So this is where summer went.
Carl turns 30 and gets drunk.
Melbourne Comedy Festival.
Emma gets new job, books a holiday and finally stop whinging.
Melbourne Grand Prix.
Work. Play. Drink coffee. Work. Play. Drink coffee.
Winter.
No heating.
Work. Play. Drink coffee. Work. Play. Drink coffee.
Still winter.

Sunset at 90-Mile Beach in Gippsland, Victoria

So when you get down to it, not much has really changed since our London days. In fact, these days we call Melbourne our mini Stinktown. The weather is still crap. We still drink too much. And our skin is still a pastey sickly shade of white.

We've not lost our lust for travel but we've taken to coffee and brunch like native melbournians, probably more so, and Emma has certainly found her shopping mojo after so long subsisting on a stingy travellers budget. And we're not in a share house, which after four years of bathroom schedules is liberating.

Sure, our overseas jaunts are much MUCH less frequent, and that certainly takes some getting used to but we have been re-acquainting ourselves with this amazing country and our fantastic friends here. Believe it or not, that actually does make up for the trips to Europe and other far-away places. At least for now.

In disguise at the Melbourne Cup

The end is just the beginning, right?

Right?

We're sitting at Singapore's Changi Airport waiting to board our plane to Brisbane, but there's one big problem. For the first time in five years, we don't want to go home. We don't want our trip to end and we certainly don't want to face the harsh reality of work. Carl's trying to remain calm. I am trying not to hyperventilate. We've still got time, I tell him. We could still walk back to the airline and swap our tickets to, well, anywhere but home. Anywhere, I tell him, your choice. We eye the door out of the boarding lounge. We watch the passengers boarding the plane, happily handing over their boarding passes and heading down the gangway. We eye the door again. We hear the final boarding call. Carl stands up. He grips his boarding pass and grabs my hand tight. We march to the boarding gate.

That's it. It's all over. Finito.

Living the easy life

A temple in Little India

After so many months travelling around new places, it's nice to be somewhere familiar. We've been whiling away the days in Singapore doing exactly what we said we were going to do - actually probably less - and its just what the doctor ordered. No stress, no maps, no pressure to see the sights, no dodgy hostel beds ... (and breathe).

Just coffee at Great World City down the road, shopping along Orchard Road with its giant plazas and basement markets, monster-sized margaritas at Clarke Quay, an afternoon strolling through the bustling streets of Little India and into the chaos of the Mustafa Centre, and of course the obligatory cable car ride across the vast shipyards to Sentosa Island and the iconic Merlion.

The Satay Club - a new location but the satay stays the same

Sure things have changed, but not so much ... at least not for the average visitor. The Satay Club still delivers those little sticks of meaty goodness and you can still buy delicious roti at Newton Circus. It's just a more sanitised version than before. I mean there is even handwash in the toilets sometimes now. History buffs would be well advised to head to the National Museum of Singapore, with its new fangled exhibitions covering everything you could possibly imagine, from smell-a-vision displays on Singaporean food to harrowing stories of survival of prisoners at the brutal hands of the Japanese to the giant pink statue of David in the foyer.

There are also more European stores, like TopShop, and if you're not interested in riding the little trains at Sentosa you can kick back with a cocktail on a sunbed at Cafe Del Mar. Oh, and did I mention high tea and Singapore slings at Raffles?

Now that's what I'm talking about.

ERPs take their toll in Singapore

In the 10 years since our last visit, Singapore has embraced Electronic Road Pricing* like a long-lost chain store, with no motorway, inner-city street or hour of the day left untouched by its viciously priced tolls. At least, that's what our cab driver is telling us as we zoom into the city.

We'd brushed off the train in favour of an easy comfortable cab ride, indulging our laziness after the flight from Houston because that's what the stop in Singapore is all about: one last lazy stop to say hi to Em's parents, lay by their pool, eat our body weight in good Asian food and just chill out before we reached Australia and all the reality that comes with home. (Shudder)

But the cab driver is off on one and we can tell he is only just warming up. He wants to know if we've been to Singapore before - yes we have but a long time ago we tell him, hoping short answers will bring his rant to a premature end. Well, he tells us, things have gotten worse: the Government, the tolls, the cost ... on and on he goes.

We nod appropriately as the fare ticks over, throw in a polite comment here and there, but mostly we look out the window. Singapore has certainly bulged since our last visit. Apartment blocks now stretch all the way to the airport - actually maybe they always did and we just don't remember - and we're looking forward to seeing what else has changed.

We know that things are more expensive than they used to be - the cab driver isn't the only one making that observation. Emma's parents lived here 10 years ago in a large four-bedroom apartment. They now pay almost the same to live in a two-bedroom apartment in the same block. We know the famous Satay Club at Clark Quay has moved and Newton Circus, once a ramshackle outdoor food court with dubious hygiene standards but delicious food, has been cleaned up considerably. (Had it kept its ramshackle life and soul?)

As we near her parents apartment block, Emma also remembers the last time she arrived here. There was no welcome party. In fact, no-one answered when she rang the doorbell so she waited for an hour until a neighbour let her into the units to bang on the door to the apartment where her family lay comatose after a night of expat party fun.

From a distance, the tall pinky-coloured buildings still looked the same. We pulled into the complex, where we were waved through by the guard, drove around the small circular driveway and ... there were two familiar smiling faces standing at the kerb. So, Emma smiled, some things in Singapore had changed for the better then.

*ERPs to them, plain old tolls to us

Texan Bar-B-Q: git 'er done

Buzzie's Bar-B-Q

It was time. We'd done all we could to prepare for this moment. We knew we were ready but doubts still lingered in our minds. Would we be able to do our Texan hosts proud? Would we walk away with our bellies full and our heads held high? Could we recover quickly enough to enjoy apple pie tomorrow? Would we ever be able to fit our clothes again? What if we had to book extra seats on the plane?

As the 4WD pulled up in the parking lot, our apprehension grew. Sure, Buzzie's Bar-B-Q looked innocent enough but we knew that behind the corrugated iron facade lurked some of the largest servings of meat we'd ever see. It was no laughing matter. Buzzie's is one of the top 50 Bar-B-Q restaurants in Texas, which doesn't sound impressive until you realise that there are literally thousands of Bar-B-Q joints vying for a spot in that list. Competition is fierce. We looked at each other. It was now or never.

We stepped out of the car and walked across the near empty parking lot. It was late afternoon. The sun beat down on us. Mike went first. He knew what perils lay ahead. He'd faced his fears long ago. We followed.

Mike and Em tuck in

Inside Buzzie's was little more than a shed. At one end was a serving counter. At the other a drink machine, piles of bread and a salad bar. A sea of picnic tables spread in the middle. The head of a longhorn mocked us from the back wall. I took a deep breath and ordered. Half a chicken, a pile of coleslaw, a mountain of potato salad, a giant tub of Buzzie's special Bar-B-Q sauce and all the bread you can eat. I gathered my tray, watched as it buckled under the weight of my meal and struggled back to the table. Carl stepped forward. He looked the lady behind the counter in the eye and ordered. One large rack of pork ribs, lashings of coleslaw and potato salad, a giant tub of Buzzie's special Bar-B-Q sauce and all the bread you can eat. Weren't no-one gonna tell him he couldn't do it. Hell no.

We ate. Sauce slopped on our clothes and smeared across our faces. Still we ate. The longhorn glared down at us. Still we ate. And ate. And ate. Until we could eat no more. We were beaten. A quarter of a chicken sat dejected on my plate. Bernie had struggled through even less. Even Mike fell a few ribs short of the rack. But Carl didn't falter. He finished the ribs, scoffed the potato salad and coleslaw, licked his fingers and wiped his mouth. He had beaten the Bar-B-Q. He could undo the top button on his pants proudly.

Carl earns his Texan stripes

This is real cowboy country

The OST - pull up a chair or sit on a saddle, whatever works for ya

On the main street of Bandera Texas, there's space for the cowboys to tie up their horses next to massive 4wds. The old men in town meet at the OST (Old Spanish Trail) everyday for coffee, biscuits and gravy, and to just 'shoot the shit'.

This place is hot, dry and harsh. Land is bought by the five-acre. Some people buy to keep the developers out, others to breed exotic animals that they can shoot. But most people just like the quiet, the solitude, and the spectacular sunsets. They also love George Dubya.

We're visiting old family friends, who have their own little five-acre plot with horses, pygmy goats, cats and dogs. There's even a couple of hummingbirds that come to visit each morning. They're not born and bred Texans, but they've got the cowboy spirit in their blood. And we get it. We're completely hooked.

Sunny, the pygmy goat

We've gorged on fajitas, had our first taste of grits, biscuits, and gravy and learned a little about Tex Mex history. We never knew that this part of the US was once Mexico. In fact, a whole lot of the area along the border was once Mexico. But the Mexicans couldn't convince anyone to move here - there were better places in Mexico to live. So the Mexicans advertised in Spain - they gave away land or almost gave it away, and eventually people came. They were happy living as Mexicans. They elected General Santa Ana as their new President and all seemed just fine until Santa Ana got a little overexcited. He trashed their constitution and set about establishing a his own little dictatorship, but the 'Texans' wouldn't buy it. They declared their independence and vowed to fight Santa Ana to the the death. In response, Santa Ana sent in 6000 troops. They didn't just defeat the 200 men defending the Alamo in San Antonio, they decimated them, killing everyone including Davy Crocket and the handful of men who responded to their call for back up.

Bandera, the home of the cowboy

Roadkill of a different kind

Since leaving New Orleans, we've seen dead alligators and raccoons on the side of the road. Carl even made his own little contribution, accidentally driving right over a snake on the outskirts of Houston. I gotta say it's nice to see some different roadkill - it's certainly less intimidating to cross paths with a raccoon than to see a big red kangaroo flying through your windscreen.