Flushed

Katoomba seems a decent sort of place. I went for a long walk today down from Echo Point through Federal Pass and up all 900 of the burning-muscle Giant Stairs. I was sweating like a footballer in a tax office by the time I reached the top. At every junction I had to stand aside for the people who seemed to think the stairs would be better approached downwards, rather than up. I had a short conversation in French with a Jacques Tati-type and then an old Japanese man didn't quite grasp how far down the stairs went. In fact I think he called me a liar, but I bet he ends up spending the night down there.


The Three Sisters at Echo Point. For a sense of scale you might be able to make out the people on the viewing platform top-left.


Katoomba Falls

I walked back past suburban gardens, where Jack Russell terriers hide in the beads of overgrown grass and watch with inky eyes. Still filmed in sweat, I went into a cafe near my hostel. I checked my watch - 3pm. Good timing: "Just how happy is the Happy Hour?" I asked the man behind the counter. He stared at me through goldfish glasses as though I'd just proudly announced selling his daughter to the gypsies. It's a fair cop. She'll be in Russia by now. I sat on the balcony, and poured my beer too fast. It foamed up over the table. Thinking quickly, and not wanting a lap full of beer, I flicked it all over the edge of the table. It was unfortunate that there were people sitting on the patio underneath the balcony; I heard some exclamations of disgust and beat a chuckling retreat to a safer spot.

The hostel is fairly decent, an Art Deco oddity built halfway down a steep hill with the railway station at the top and Echo Point at the bottom. We are situated just across from the ambitiously titled 'Palais Royale'. The place is full of children who run and scream and play the pinball. Every flat footstep thuds through the parquet flooring and up the sofas. The rabble of kids were playing the giant outdoor chess with three teams, taking it in strict turns regardless of who was black or white. I've been playing the best pool of my life with no-one around to see it.

There has also been an unfortunate incident with my hipflask. The ink has been washed out of my pocket notebook by Jim Beam. On the plus side, it was quite new and I hadn't written much, and the ink is now flushed into pretty patterns throughout the book, and it smells of bourbon. All in all it's a good result, but I think next time I'll remember to cap the flask if I'm going to set about falling asleep while drinking it on my bunk.

I'm considering a day rock climbing tomorrow or on Monday, though it's expensive and I'm horribly out of shape. I also might try 'canyoning', though I've yet to find out what it involves. I managed the medium-grade bushwalk in my flip-flops in about two-thirds of the suggested time today, and I don't want to buy walking boots.

I sat and watched a local cricket match for a while. It was much better than the test matches. I saw about forty runs and three wickets in the first six overs. I think I recognised Trevor Somney running in to bowl.