Part One: the journey

Monday, 4th December 2006: somewhere over mainland Asia.

According to the flight path display on the screen in front of me we’re currently 38,000 feet in the air above the Iranian border, 6 hours into a thirteen hour trip from the UK to Singapore. This is the first leg of our journey to Adelaide, South Australia; it's a real brute of an undertaking, 20 hours in the air and 36 hours in total. We're...

Whoa, let's just hold it there for a moment. I'm getting ahead of myself. Allow me to retrace my steps and start again, this time at the beginning.

In the weeks and months leading up to this trip we'd made every preparation imaginable. Newspapers had been cancelled, neighbours informed of our absence, wedding arrangements delegated to our friends Vicki and Ian in Adelaide, taxi to the airport booked, central heating timer set, etc. etc. By comparison the Normandy landings were planned by the Chuckle Brothers in particularly anarchic mood. In short, we were ready. Nothing could go wrong.

Then this morning, for the first time ever, we overslept. The 6am alarm went unnoticed, as did the 6:30 alarm. The sound of the doorbell when the taxi driver called at 7:00 passed unheeded and the milk lady, so often the cause of premature wakefulness, rattled by with her cheerfully clinking bottles without disturbing us. I'm sure that had we been visited by the Brighouse & Rastrick Band playing 'Knight Templar' in our bedroom we'd have slept on blissfully, even through the particularly haunting principal cornet solo. Eventually we woke at 7:35, over an hour and a half behind schedule.

To say that panic ensued would be truthful but it wouldn't describe fully the mood in Lucky Towers this morning. We were, to put it mildly, worried. You see at this time of year flights to Australia are all packed with ex-pat Aussies going home for Christmas, and British people visiting their migrant families. On top of that there'll be cricket fans going over for the Ashes series, so getting seats on another flight might well prove impossible for the next month. And beside the small matter of two thousand pounds already spent on tickets, what would happen about our wedding? So many negative thoughts, so many possible adverse outcomes. We were in a bit of a state.

Anxiety raising my usually melodic baritone croon by two whole octaves, I yodelled down the telephone for another taxi. Mercifully it came before too long but by that time the rush hour (which, as you know, lasts for much longer than an hour and which makes rushing a physically impossibility) was in full flow. Or not, if you see what I mean. Our anticipated forty minute ride to the airport would now take at least double that. Given that we were already almost two hours late it was going to be tight.

At first all seemed well. The normal roads, often clogged by queues caused by temporary traffic lights and insane bus lane schemes that narrow roads at the precise time when most people want to use them, were relatively clear. However once we hit the M60 our prospects began to look bleak. For much of the time the taxi's wheels barely revolved. The illuminated signs over the carriageway seemed to mock us with their warnings not to exceed 40mph, since for long stretches half that speed was the most we could hope to attain. However after what seemed a lifetime we left the misery of the M60 for the comparative tranquility of the M56. For the first time that morning my jaw, which until then had been permanently clenched in acute tension, relaxed to the point at which coherent speech once more became a possibility.

We made it to the airport just in time. At that point I gave thanks to whichever gods had the job of looking after lazy mongs travelling to Australia by Singapore Airlines that morning. I also awarded myself several Brownie points for having had the foresight to check in on-line the previous day, since by doing so we were able to get the seats we wanted - the ones at the extreme rear of the aircraft, where the fuselage narrows and the lines of three seats reduce to two. No obese people flopping their blubbery bulk over MY armrest this time, thank you very much. Hah!

So here we are back where we started, in mid-air over one of the most blighted lands on earth. In hindsight I could have just written 'we overslept but still made the flight' but that wouldn't really be in the true spirit of blogging, would it?

Tuesday, December 5th 2006: Changi airport, Singapore.

For me Changi airport is memorable for two reasons. First, it's immaculately clean. All the toilets have their own designated cleaner who stands by with a mop, bucket, and other equipment in case anyone has an accident. Whether their services extend to shaking off drips or wiping those important little places is something I've never explored, but I wouldn't bet against it. It's that kind of place.

Secondly Changi is huge, like a self-contained city. So huge in fact that it contains two transit hotels, in which travellers with long gaps between connecting flights can book a room in blocks of six hours. Since you never have to leave the airport complex there's no need for passport control or visas, and as your luggage is transferred to the onward flight by unseen baggage handlers it couldn't be easier. Just book a room and sleep. In our case we have sixteen hours until we leave for Adelaide, so we've booked in for twelve hours.

It's seven o'clock in the morning as we arrive in Singapore but the time difference means that our bodies think it's eleven at night, so after downing a Nytol it's heads down for us in the clean and comfortable air-conditioned room. Fantastic! I can barely countenance the alternative of spending hours slumped in a chair in the airport concourse, but I saw some people doing just that. Perhaps they didn't know about the transit hotels. Perhaps they did know about them but not that pre-booking is almost essential, and so were turned away because the hotels were full. Possibly they don't want to/can't afford the forty-odd pounds charge for a twelve hour stay; whatever the reason, I pity their uncomfortable ordeal but I also confess to feeling just a tiny bit self-satisfied as I drift off to sleep under my crisp sheets.

Our plane to Adelaide leaves just before midnight local time so after a sleep, shower and change of clothes we have plenty of time for duty free shopping. On our next flight the extremely strict restrictions on hand baggage that we have in Europe don't apply, so Mrs Jim can fill her bag with make-up, mascara, and all the other things she couldn't bring from the UK. Her appearance restored, my wife is happy again. Consequently so am I.

We board the aeroplane and get ready to set off but there's a last minute setback; some passengers haven't turned up. That wouldn't normally be a problem but in this case it most certainly is. Why? Because even though the passengers aren't on the plane, their luggage is. You see the difficulty here don't you? Of course you do. The Singaporean authorities do too, and so we wait until the offending luggage has been removed from the hold. The event reminds me of how vigilant everyone in air travel has to be in these troubled times, and I find that thought playing on my mind until we reach cruising height somewhere in the darkness over Indonesia.

A few hours later we cross the Australian coast between Derby and Hedland in Western Australia. There are still another three hours until we arrive in Adelaide, a fact which underlines the sheer vastness of this country. The Great Sandy Desert (full marks to the Aussies for originality in the naming of things by the way) is below us and will be for quite a while yet, so time for me to get some rest. Back soon.

Wednesday 6th December 2006: Adelaide airport, South Australia.

We land at 08:30 and clear passport control without incident. Reclaiming our baggage isn't a drama either, but we're then given three separate grillings by various officials. One even has a sniffer dog. On the way out of the customs hall there are more X-ray machines, with quite a few people being required to open their cases for examination of the contents. I'm wondering why there's a need for such high security on the way into the country, then the penny dropped. They're not looking for bombs or weapons, they're looking for food.

The Australian economy is heavily reliant on agriculture, so much so that they're wary to the point of paranoia about anything being brought in that might damage crops or infect animals. Fruit fly is particularly feared, as it can ravage the grapes that make up Australia's massive wine industry. Hence the tight restrictions on bringing in food; that orange or apple you forgot to get rid of might just end up costing millions of dollars in lost crops if a fruit fly larva were to lie hidden within.

In the taxi my pleasure at having finally arrived in the warmth of Australia is replaced by bewilderment as the radio newsreader repeats the shock result of the second Test. Once again England have crumbled and are now two nil down in the series of five. Worse still it happened right here, in Adelaide. I sink back into my seat and contemplate twenty-four days of relentless Pom-bashing. Great. Just bloody great.

Although it's still early morning we've passed through so many time zones that I'm feeling like a badly hung over Doctor Who and don’t quite know what I should be doing. I'd really like to sleep but I know I have to stay awake as long as possible so that my body clock can get the chance to readjust. So we busy ourselves with tasks like buying essentials and letting Mrs Jim's friends and family know we've arrived. Finally the evening comes, and after a good meal at a local restaurant it's back to the apartment for a few glasses of wine and bed. We're here at last.

Thursday, 7th December - Friday 8th December 2006
Melbourne Street, North Adelaide

At one o'clock on Thursday afternoon I emerge from fourteen hours solid sleep. My limbs feel rigid and semi-paralysed, but an icy shower - the sort that has you gasping for breath and wondering what happened to your wedding tackle - soon brings me round.

We spend the rest of the day recovering from our journey, doing leisurely things like reading, filling in crosswords and relaxing in the sunshine on our balcony overlooking the busy street below. It's tempting to get out and about straight away but past experience tells us that we need to recover first. The lack of activity does have its advantages though; with little of note happening for the moment, now might be a good time to let you know a few things about where we are and why we keep coming here.

Adelaide, the state capital of South Australia, is named after the wife of King William IV. It’s home to about a million people spread over a wide area. Colonel William Light set out his plans for the new city in 1837, and a fine job he made of it too. The comparatively small city centre is laid out grid-like, and is surrounded on all sides by a wide band of trees and parkland. Beyond this buffer of green lie the mostly affluent inner suburbs, which soon give way to mixed residential and industrial property. Further to the north and east are the outer suburbs, the country areas, then bushland and finally the endless desert. To the south and west is the Gulf of St Vincent, which at the moment contains over a dozen sharks within 400 yards of the beach. Spotter planes have seen them come in this close as recently as yesterday, and they report that some are the feared white pointers, or great whites. I don't think I'll be doing much swimming this trip. Through the city centre runs the river Torrens, which has been dammed to form a lake on which pleasure boats called Popeye I, II etc. carry people on picturesque tours with splendid views.

Adelaide is one of the few major Australian cities to be founded entirely by free settlers. There never were any convicts here, which I suppose is good in a way but it robs me of the more obvious ripostes whenever I have to counter the inevitable (but always good-natured) Pommie-baiting.

The time difference between South Australia and the UK is supposed to be nine and a half hours. In practice it never is. This is because when we in the UK set our clocks to GMT, South Australia puts its clocks forward by an hour for the southern hemisphere summer and consequently is ten and a half hours ahead. Similarly when we adjust our clocks to BST, SA puts its clocks back and for the next six months the difference becomes eight and a half hours. It's initially confusing but you get used to it after a while. I believe most Australian states change their clocks except Queensland, who don’t – just to confuse you more.

Still on the subject of time, I mentioned before how big this country is and this is evident from the fact that Australia has three time zones. Where we are it's called Central Time, with the zones on each side of us being Eastern time and Western Time. Those Aussies and their imaginative naming conventions again, eh?

This is not what you’d call a 24-hour party city. In fact it's even been called dull, but I don't agree. I find it utterly charming. There are lots of places to go and things to see, particularly in the city centre and surrounding suburbs. One of these, to the north of the city centre, is where we're staying. Named (again with typical Australian ingenuity) North Adelaide, it has some of the best eating places in the whole country. Even the small informal places are first class for quality and value for money. One of our favourite local places is called The Store, just two or three minutes walk down Melbourne Street from our apartments. It's part restaurant, part bar, part shop and delicatessen, and you can eat superbly for well under the equivalent of ten pounds each. If you like seafood you'd love it here, as everything is freshly caught locally - no need to import the frozen stuff. Kangaroo steak is on many a menu and it's the leanest, tastiest meat I've ever had. I've also eaten crocodile here; it was all right, but nothing special. I'll tell you more about the amazing variety of Adelaide food a little later.

South Australia is the driest state in the driest continent on the planet. At the time of writing they're experiencing the worst drought ever recorded, yet water still flows in the taps. It really does put the UK 'water shortage' into perspective; Britain has more water than it could ever need, it just wastes far too much of it.

It's now Friday afternoon. Outside the sky is cloudless and the mercury is touching 40 degrees Celsius, or 104 degrees Fahrenheit for those who like things in old money. In the shade, that is. We went out earlier to buy a few things and although we weren't in the sun for long we returned feeling limp and wrung out, grateful for our apartment's air conditioning.

Speaking of the apartment, not only is it well kitted out and comfortable but the positioning is nigh on faultless. Here's why:

We're on the first floor. Directly below us is a Chinese restaurant, and next door but one to that is a very large wine shop. Within three minutes walk we have Italian, Himalayan, Mexican, Japanese, Indian, Thai, and Australian restaurants, a bakery, three tea/coffee shops, two pubs, two mini-supermarkets, a newsagents, and an ice cream parlour. Oh, and there's a porn shop discreetly tucked in there too. As I said, all within a three minute walk. If you still want more, during the week once an hour until five o'clock in the afternoon a free - yes, free - air conditioned bus will take you to and from the city centre. After that the free bus no longer runs, but a ticket to the city on the ordinary service costs well under a pound.

Another reason I like Adelaide so much is that it's big enough to be a city but small enough for people to have time for you. There's none of that Sydney or Melbourne-like hustle, with everyone in a terrible rush. For example, shop assistants here smile at you warmly and greet you with a genuine cheerfulness that's totally disarming. I suppose you could say that Adelaide is secure in its own identity and doesn't feel the need to try to copy anywhere else. Perhaps that's also why everyone seems so relaxed, and why you tend to pick up the phrase 'no worries' with disturbing speed.

There is however one thing about Adelaide I don't like, and that's its drivers. The smiling, cheerful people you meet whilst on foot undergo a complete character mutation once behind the wheel. Want to change lanes? Tough, I'm not letting you in. Want to come out of that side street on to the main road? Over my dead body mate.

Driving in South Australia is subtly different from driving in the UK. They still drive on the left which is great, but watch out if you want to park on the 'wrong' side of the road, or in other words, facing the oncoming traffic. It's illegal. And when waiting to turn left or right at city traffic lights and the signal turns green, don't just set off as normal. Be careful first to check if anyone is crossing the road you're turning into, because pedestrians have right of way at these crossings and if you hit someone it's your fault, not theirs. Oh, and if it's you that's on foot in the city then make sure you use the pedestrian crossings. It's illegal not to, although people quite often do.

Other things of interest; if you want to buy beer, don't bother going to a supermarket. They don't sell it. Instead there are 'bottle shops', often great big drive-through affairs where the attendant will sell you a slab of your choice from the cool room and load it into your car boot for you.

It's also worth going on a winery tour, especially if you can get someone else to drive. Most wineries have a shop, or cellar door as they call them, in which you can taste before you buy. And then taste again, and again... For obvious reasons winery tours are very popular, to the extent that a lot of wineries don't allow coach tours because the merry tourists 'taste' more than they buy. You can get some outstanding bargains at wineries, particularly when they're selling 'clean skins' - bottles without labels that they're clearing out. There's no risk because you can taste first, and the quality is often excellent. We once bought a case of a dozen clean skins for fifteen dollars, or about six pounds sterling. Strangely I don't remember a great deal else about that holiday.

That's about all for now, but if I think of anything else you might be interested in I'll write about it as it occurs to me. 'Bye for now.