First stop at Lancelin- for old time's sake- where the vicious squalls made me decide against a little goodbye- windsurf in the bay. The famous dunes were hidden behind a curtain of water. On to Cervantes. A 'Must See' according to the infallable Lonely Planet guidebook. Speaking of lonely planets, there was a 60 k' stretch of dirtroad which connected the two. It had become a mud-road which had the groaning Pajero at right angles to the desired direction several times. Possibly because of this, traffic was nonexistent.

In Cervantes we checked into the Backpacker's (recommended) and I quickly put in a bit of surfing in a dying wind. In the local bar we found a couple of fishermen, we shared drinks, traded stories and were treated to a crayfish at one of their homes. The best seafood I've ever had. Also found out about the price of a Crayfish licence (millions), and the number of elegible women passing through every year (five). Learned a bit about coping with the above and was generally very impressed with Cervantes. But it's claim to fame is the pinnacles desert. Some geological oddity has produced a golden strip of desert in the dunes populated by limestone pillars in all shapes and sizes. At this point my digital camera gave up- you'll have to take my word for it. Impressive.

The next day to Geraldton which was mainly interesting because it offers hanggliding, windsurfing and a shortage of doctors. I thought I'd check it out. 'T was OK. I bought a guitar there, but could't compete against the professionals on CD.

Northward via Port Gregory- a charming village between the ocean and a bright pink lake- to Kalbarri. A very scenic town on a rivermouth. Blue ocean, sandbanks in the river, grassy areas beside both. Gorges , or rather small indentations in the cliffy coastline, were signposted so we dutifully had a look. If you've seen a fjord in Norway - gorgy clawing of the sea into the land, 100's of k's long- then the odd 100 m don't seem so impressive. Having said that, without an expedition- type mentality and -outfit most of the coast is actually inaccessible. Both from land and sea. The many Dutch ships which were wrecked on this particular bit of Australia earned it the name 'Batavia Coast'. So, the opportunity of seeing a small stretch of it thanks to a road, is not one to be missed.

It was getting noticeably more outbacky. Three quarters of all vehicles heading South were humongous 4WD's bristling with antennas for every possible frequency. Often with more tires on the roof than on the wheels. We had to stop at every petrol station for fear of not making it to the next (which also says something about the Pajero's cravings for fuel). The Lonely Planet mentioned a certain artistic delicacy in architecture of the main roadhouses/ fuel stops on the way. I must confess to expecting grandiose colonial style, rather than dilapidated tin-roofed shacks. A holiday-mood set in. In me, that means appreciating Irish music on the long and boring straights. Finding pleasure in the little patches of purple and yellow wildflowers in the bush. Making promises to myself that I wouldn't touch the diet-coke until the next bend (that one almost had me in hospital with dehydration). And singing along with Abba. How much more fun can you have in a car? Sunshine, passport, credit card, running car and every view a first, a new.

The next stop was the Shark's Bay Heritage Park. The landscape was flat, and a monotonous green bushy colour. On entering the park (with massive concrete signs guarding its borders) nothing changed. Fortunately, we were near the 'stromatolites' of Hamelin pool. You walk out onto a jetty into the shallow sea and look at rocks.

The story, however, is that them's no rocks, them's ALIVE! Allegedly, colonies of bacteria trap sediment which coalesces into -well, rocks. This is a major achievement of these bacteria (which died out everywhere the odd couple of million years ago except for Hamelin Pool) but the net result is a rock. Apparently geologists were out of their depth, these particular rocks are in fact to be studied by biologists.

Shark Bay is crystal clear and shallow. The skies were blue. The beaches are white ( consisting of untold millions of tiny seashells, about 1 cm each) and the earth is ochre. Damn my digicam!

The next attraction was Monkey Mia. Where dolphins gather, and swim to shore often enough to call it an attraction. I anticipated disppointment - who has never been at a place where the dolphins don't just swim nearby, but actually jump through hoops and sing a song?. Partly, it's psychological. No dolphins guaranteed, so if you see one, you're lucky. Also, they don't jump through hoops. Which is fantastic, they must be real wild dolphins! Standing in knee- deep water with dolphins an arm's lenghth away, coming and going for no apparent reason was in fact a very satisfying experience. It was only later that I heard that the conservationists called that stretch of beach a 'protected dolphin interaction zone'.

I'm sure the dolphins would head out to sea forever, if they found out.

I finally arrived in Carnarvon, a pleasant little town on the Gascoyne river. I put the contents of the Pajero into my massive bungalow, taking special pains to put at least one item in every room. I had a look at the back garden, with a palm and a lemon tree in it. Admired the purple and orange flowering trees next to the palm and went for dinner with the practice manager and practice nurse at a very good pizzeria. Had a look around the practice. Purpose built, no doctor, but instead boasting a spirometer, slit-lamp, ECG, echograpy and a dentist- chair with x-ray equipment. Toys for the boys!

There's a lot more about Carnarvon and working there. I'll get to it later.

Kees