Oz Pub

In the Northern Territory, David Whitley finds the antidote to Australia’s disappointing drinking establishments.

There are a lot of rose-tinted myths about Australian pubs. The idea that they’re all magnificent places where everyone’s your mate and will buy you a beer as the good times roll is utterly absurd. The sad truth is that most Australian pubs are on a sliding scale of awfulness.

In the big cities, at least, there is variety. But your choice will often be one of the following:

A)     A cavernous barn of a place where all sense of character is sapped away by the sheer amount of people in it – most of them drinking nasty lager (or VB as it is better known) and mentally preparing for a nice fight later on.

B)      A grotty dive inhabited by lifeless shells of human beings, pouring every cent they’ve got into the pokies. For the uninitiated, pokies are gaming machines (like fruit machines without the element of skill), and in Australia they are a desperately sad plague inflicted upon just about every drinking establishment. Many lives are wrecked by them, but the pokies are what make the money – not the drinks sales.

C)      Self-consciously cool wankerbars full of preening princesses, slimeballs in suits and image-obsessed rich kids paying absurd prices for drinks because it’s the place to be seen. Their evening will be soundtracked by god-awful ‘funky’ music that belongs in lifts, but is deemed insipid enough to be chilled and fashionable.

Of course, it is possible to find genuinely good pubs – you just have to look extremely hard.

At this point, the usual cry goes up from the Australians who drive utes, only eat steak and spend their spare time playing banjos. To find a great Aussie pub, they will say, you need to leave the city behind and head to a country town.

The sad truth is that pubs in country towns can be even worse. They usually have a room devoted to sports betting and horse racing which suck out the last traces of life that the pokies missed. The drinks range will be even more pathetic, the menus almost identikit and the atmosphere curiously hostile.

Again, this is not always the case, but it’s the general rule.

To find a truly great Australian pub, you usually have to look a little further afield. It doesn’t apply all the time, but generally if there’s only one pub in town – even better if there’s only one pub for miles and miles – then that’s when it starts getting interesting.

These are the places where you’ll get a bizarre mix of oldies passing through in caravans, backpackers stopping for the night because it’s the only feasible option, hard-bitten locals armed with tall stories and hat-clad types from the nearby cattle stations stopping by for a skin- full before driving home over bumpy tracks in the dark.

Some of these pubs are the stuff of legend. The William Creek Hotel in outback South Australia, the Silverton Hotel near Broken Hill and the Birdsville Pub in South-East Queensland are legendary.

And so too is the Daly Waters Pub. Situated a couple of kilometres off the Stuart Highway in the middle of nowhere, Northern Territory, people will drive across Australia to drink in Daly Waters (population: 9).

Outside - by the fuel pumps - is a rusting helicopter, while a set of traffic lights billed as the most remote in Australia sit next to the pub. The lights are permanently set to red, and the gag catches a new mug on an almost daily basis.

Inside, the pub is a ridiculously cluttered, beautiful mess. But at least the mess is in themed sections. Above the bar hang scores of bras donated by visitors inspired by drink into a sudden burst of old-school feminism. They dangle above hundreds of ID cards, student cards and YHA membership cards that would surely be missed by their owners later down the line.

There’s a sports shirts section, running the gamut from Gaelic football to ice hockey, while boxer shorts and skimpy g-strings hang from a roof beam.

German firemen have donated their badges, passport photos fill the gaps and a United Nations of banknotes completes the display near the pool table. The wooden shelter outside is decorated with thongs (flip flops to you filthy-minded non-Australians) and a stuffed effigy sits languorously on a toilet up some scaffolding in the beer garden.

It’s unquestionably cheesy, but once darkness falls, the beef and barramundi barbecue anchors the increasing beer intake and you start swapping war stories with the next table, it feels spectacularly right. The Great Australian Pub isn’t a complete myth – you just have to go some way to find it. And when you do, it is likely to be covered in underwear. 


More photos here


Sidling up to the stingrays



David Whitley heads to one of Australia’s most famous wine regions to find wildlife-packed beaches rather than cabernet sauvignons.

Since the unfortunate death of Steve Irwin, stingrays have had a bad rap. Those barbs on their tails, if aimed right, can kill – although this is an extremely unlikely course of events. Stingrays, frankly, have little interest in hurting humans and Australia has approximately 80 zillion other animals that are worth worrying about before you get down to the stingray level.

The thing is, few of us do get down to stingray level. It’s not common to encounter them on the beach. But Hamelin Bay in south-western Australia’s Margaret River region is something of an exception to this.

Cam O’Beirne, who runs the Margaret River Adventure Company’s tours down to Hamelin Bay, knows the stingrays have been hanging out there for a while. “There are some all down the coast, but this is the only place where they aggregate and interact with humans,” he explains.

“About 20 or 30 live here, and they’ve been here for 40 to 50 years. They used to come in when the fisherman came in. They learned that the fishermen would gut the fish on the beach – it became almost Pavlovian.”

When we get to the water’s edge, there’s already one stingray there. “This is Stumpy,” says Cam. “He’s lost his tail”. He’s a smooth ray, the biggest species of stingray in the world. He weighs in at around 350kg and is about the size of a car bonnet.

Stumpy is also endearingly clumsy. He brushes against the legs of adoring onlookers with their feet in the shallows, and it’s possible to bend down and stroke him. His skin is remarkably velvety – smooth, not slimy.



It’s not long before Stumpy has some company. A few more smooth rays and a couple of their smaller cousins, the eagle rays, drift in towards the shore. Everyone’s a little more careful where they put their feet now – the newcomers have tails and barbs.

“They’re the vacuum cleaners of the sea,” says Cam. “They’ll eat anything.” And there’s clearly some food beneath the sand in the shallows, because they’ve got company. Hamelin Bay’s somewhat less exotic seagulls have come to the party. They’re less cute, and considerably noisier.

This scene, however, is not one that people tend to expect from Margaret River. It’s first and foremost seen as a wine region – and an exceptionally good one at that. But the secret weapon is being surrounded by the Indian Ocean on two sides and the Southern Ocean on a third. This makes for fabulous surf breaks – which were what attracted visitors down to the region in the first place during the 1950s and 60s – but also some genuinely astonishing beaches.

Hamelin Bay is no exception here. It’s a proper white sand, vivid blue-green sea bombshell that anyone would be elated to discover. Here, sharing is required, however. But no-one really minds when it’s Stumpy and friends.

Disclosure: David was a guest of the Margaret River Adventure Company (margaretriveradventure.com.au) and Tourism Western Australia (westernaustralia.com)

5* hostels


It’s now almost seven months since I left London for Panama and began this little jaunt around the world. Seven months living out of a backpack, eating in cafés and cheap restaurants. Seven months of working on magazine stories (more stories than I can remember now) in what must by now be a couple of dozen ‘hijacked offices’ in the corners of cafes, bars, airports, hotel lobbies, private sitting rooms and even railway carriages.


Seven months sleeping in such a motley mingled mishmash of different accommodation that it is almost impossible to recall them all now. There have been nights lately when I’ve woken up in the complete darkness of the wee hours and literally struggled to remember where I am: well I can remember going through X…and the night before last I slept in Y…therefore I must now be in Z. One night I lay in bed unable even to reach for a light switch because it was impossible to conjure up a picture of what the inside of the room looked like. Don’t imagine that I’m complaining. Swap this variety (or ‘insecurity’) for the predictability of the 9 to 5…? Not on your nelly!

But it would be reassuring sometimes to have a nice clean room, a comfortable lounge to chill out in, a few friendly faces to share a beer with in my own language, even a kitchen where for once I can do some cooking for myself. So, even before I arrived in Australia I decided that the best option – and very likely the cheapest too – would be to stay in YHA hostels. The Aussie Youth Hostel Association (www.yha.com.au) has a network of more than 140 hostels all over the country. They range from the big Sydney Central hostel which is more like a business class hotel in many other countries (with comfortable en-suite rooms, round the clock wifi, rooftop pool and spa and even a mini cinema) to quirky and charming little ‘boutique hotels’ where you can relax in your own self-contained apartment complete with kitchen and a barby on the terrace!

It seems that things have changed since my school holidays backpacking through the hostels of Northumberland, sleeping in cramped dorms that have been impregnated by decades of sweaty socks. Dorm accommodation is still available in most Australian hostels and you can still often find a bed for as little as eight quid. Since the hostels have fully-equipped kitchens you can end up saving another fortune on restaurant bills. (The bigger hostels have rows of fully-equipped individual kitchenettes so that you cook in your own space…and don’t have to climb over other people’s dirty dishes).

The YHA has just opened a spectacular new hostel in Sydney’s most historic quarter. It is the first budget accommodation in The Rocks and it is very likely the most ecologically friendly and environmentally sensitive hotel in Australia. It is built on top of the remains of the first settlement that date back to 1795. But the entire 106-room hostel is raised up on specially designed pillars so that less than 2% of its area even touches the ground. Other hotels might talk about their carbon footprint but this unique building barely has a footprint at all.

My room in the Bondi hostel had wonderful views over the beach and there was a killer rooftop terrace for a stubby or two at the end of the day. In the big Perth hostel I was able to set up a temporary office in one of several quiet chill-out lounges before having a quick workout in the hostel’s gym and then a couple of beers in the company of a pretty Japanese yoga instructor who could get spectacularly tipsy on kahlua and milk. I headed down to Margaret River on a mission for some frosty and feisty surf and booked into an entire family apartment (could sleep six) where I could barbecue thick steaks in Margaret River olive oil and wash them down with local ‘Bare Rooted’ vino. In Adelaide I was lucky enough to coincide my visit with the arrival of a touring Aboriginal drum group (and then travelled on with them as far as Alice Spring). The hostel in Alice is built in an old building that was once an outdoor cinema – the scene of many a dramatic evening no doubt. Now there is a tempting swimming pool here too and in the evening cultural films are still shown to backpackers who want to understand something about Outback history and Aboriginal society. (Most importantly the hostel is just down the road from Bojangles, which on any given Saturday night remains one of my favourite pubs.)

By my reckoning I figure that if I continue at this rate it would only take me eight and a half months to stay in every hostel in Australia. Am I tired of living on the road yet? Don’t be silly.


The bits of Australia that have really improved


David Whitley takes a look at the regions of Australia that have changed for the better in the last decade-and-a-half.

I first arrived in Australia in 2001, and after living there for five years, have managed to go back once or twice a year since. In that time, the country has changed – some of it for the better, some of it for the worse. But some improvements have been more significant than others… 


The Victorian capital always struck me as a bit try-hard, desperate to compare itself to a European city and bang on about the things it does better than Sydney. Now, Melbourne has grown into itself, and many of things it pretended to have are now real. The laneway scene is superb, and Melbourne has become a genuine world city – worth coming to in its own right, and for its own personality. It no longer wastes its energy comparing itself to other places; the food, drink and cultural scenes are top rank.




Once an almost abandoned city centre, surrounded by suburbia, Perth has thrown money at its faults. The city centre is coming back to life, with lots of bars, restaurants and street art tucked down lanes and precincts set back from the main streets. Big developments at Elizabeth Quay and Scarborough Beach, plus the burying of a train line to join the centre and Northbridge, have also helped. Basically, if another Aussie city is going to join Sydney and Melbourne on the must-see list, Perth is likely to be it. 

Margaret River

Once just a surf spot and wine region, Margaret River has started properly tapping into the market of people willing to drive three hours south from Perth, and a whole host of nature, wildlife and adventure tour operators have sprung up in the last couple of years. The effect is to increase the number of people ‘Margs’ appeals to, and the number of days they want to stay there. The switch from backwater to mainstream is almost complete.


Once a bit fuddy duddy, focusing on historic attractions, Tasmania has properly embraced its natural side. Much of the island is wilderness, with mountain hikes, river rafting and clifftop walks to photogenic beaches rounding things off. But, crucially, it has embraced the arts. The daring, controversial MONA in Hobart has been the main catalyst for this, but Hobart itself has clicked that being small doesn’t have to mean being parochial. It now has a little sass to go along with the prettiness. 

The Red Centre

The ban on climbing Uluru is coming – and not before time. But it’s interesting to see how the Red Centre has changed over time. At one point, it’d be a case of driving for hours, exploring the big red rock, then not having much to do. Now, there is an emphasis on providing other activities – camel rides, stargazing sessions, dot painting workshops, desert wildlife tours and giant art installations. It’s all an attempt to get people to stay longer at the Ayers Rock Resort, of course, and prices are still uncomfortably steep, but it’s a vastly better offering and makes the detour to the middle of nowhere more appealing.



by David Whitley




You can get the Australia included as a stopover on a Navigator round the world