We undertook a fairly frenzied clean-up on our last morning at Surf Park, including emptying our pantry. The kids dined on a combination of cereal and banana bread (the dizzying levels of sugar clearly a great idea before a prolonged car trip).

Our first stop was Nan Tien Temple, just shy of Wollongong. The approach consisted of weaving past multitudes of heavily-laden articulated vehicles in a profoundly industrial suburb (I don't know about you, but this clearly hints at peace and tranquility to me).

A multitude of signs greeted us, directing us to avoid alcohol and meat (fair enough for a Bhuddist enclave) but also prohibiting bicycles and picnics - which have long been known as adversaries to quiet reflection...

Nan Tien was very pretty, but very recently constructed in the scheme of things. Having been spoiled with previously wandering through both Nikko and Nara in Japan - the immense passage of time evident in both, we were a tough crowd to impress.

A very business-like volunteer foisted a fringed cloth onto Lily (her penchant for short shorts a transgression against all sorts of decorum), only to demand it back once it was clear we weren't entering the temple proper, indicating she has had issues with people stealing these frilly tea-towels in the past. Certainly, she had our measure.

After a failed attempt at gaining a car park anywhere near Wollongong Botanical Garden (the place was heavily infested with Uni students and their modes of transport), resulting in us inadvertently getting stuck on the highway out of town - we took a birds-eye view from Mt Keira Lookout. The brilliant blue sky making a mockery of weather predictions (fortunately).

Undeterred by wall-to-wall P-plated vehicles, we eventually gained access to the Gardens, which were awesome, and gave the kids a chance to stretch their legs.

We made our way to the Lighthouse in Wollongong to take a look around and grab a bite to eat. We negotiated both the freeway and train-line (that bisect the city most unfairly), and encountered a soft-serve ice cream van.

I'd never been to Wollongong previously, and came away with the impression of an almost Gold Coast, almost Forster, together with an industrial Newcastle thrown in. It appears to be in the midst of an identity-crisis, but has plenty of potential (and its choc-tops are superb).

Wanting to avoid another climb up the highway out of Wollongong, we thought we'd stick to the coast. We passed a different suburb/town/hamlet every kilometer or so - each with an embarrassingly gorgeous view of the ocean.

We eventually made our way past Sea Cliff Bridge. with numerous folks walking the length of it and waving at passing cars. We wove our way past a bunch of towns with names largely relating to cliffs, and managed to grab a piccie of the Bridge in question.

Fortunately, we avoided a repeat of our Sydney traffic adventure and made relatively good time back to Newcastle, much to the relief of the Martin kiddies (muttering something about regaining access to wi-fi as they stumbled through the front door).

We made our way out to Jamberoo Action Park after breakfast, expecting a fair crowd of folks clamoring at the entrance due to its size and renown. Instead, there were a couple of kids and their parents (together with some clearly misplaced tumbleweeds) – the fact that it was the middle of Autumn and the weather-folk had prognosticated precipitation may have had something to do with this.

After committing to a second mortgage to generate sufficient funds to cover our tickets, we made our way to a suitable set of changing rooms and storage facilities. Our first stop was Splash Out, twin water slides that were sufficiently tame that both Josh and I would survive the journey. I wasn’t reckoning on the owners making use of glacial melt, apparently shipped in just for the occasion. My hypothermic spluttering, as I exited the ride, providing some amusement to the teenagers staffing the place.

Emboldened, we grabbed some mats and made our way up to Surf Hill, multiple lanes of break-neck, undulating descent. The two older kiddies set off with gusto, whereas Jen and I were more concerned Josh would manage the take-off. I hadn't calculated the impact weight had on the rate of descent, and ended up accelerating past the kids like a middle-aged drag car, momentarily losing contact with the slide at each undulating drop. The sudden deceleration once I hit the pool of water at the bottom was sufficient to drive my clenched fist (previously gripping onto the above-mentioned mat) upwards, effectively giving myself a reasonable uppercut in the process.

Rubbing my jaw, I joined the rest of the Martin clan on the relatively sedate Rapid River, which consisted of sitting on an inflatable ring, drifting around a meandering water course.

The older two kids dragged Jen off to the Taipan (a high-speed thrill-ride by raft in complete darkness), as well as The Funnel Web (more disorientation, accompanied by a ride in a giant washing machine at the end) while Josh and I cooled our heels in Banjo's Billabong, catering for the younger crowd. Nevertheless, after copping a giant bucket of water to the noggin, and fleeing some fairly suspect wasps nesting near one of the slides, I almost wished I'd opted for the serpentine slide.

The older kiddies returned, with eyes firmly set on The Rock (a 5 metre and 3 metre drop into the water. Lily opted to go for the 3 metre drop after taking a peek at how high 5 metres really was. Hamish on the other hand, simply shrugged upon looking over the abyss, and leapt without a care in the world. I'd done sufficient damage to my nether regions with the relatively sedate slide off The Rock to count me out of any higher leaps (or walking in a straight line for some time).

We made our way back to Surf Park, having exhausted all ride options without a queue to be seen.

By now ravenous, we took on the burgers at Hungry Monkey, with Hamish and I sampling the "Bad Boy" (a multi-layered monstrosity), while Jen and the kids tried some Super Shakes (Kit Kat and Oreo shakes anyone?). Suffice to say, the burgers out-bad boyed the Martin bad boys, and we waddled our way past some Farmer's Markets, set up right on Kiama harbour.

The morning saw Jen and the Martin kiddies descend upon some old guy, proffering gifts in celebration of him becoming just that bit older. After breakfast, and to the groans of the children (fans of combining nature with exercise), we prepared to set out for Minnamurra Rainforest for a spot of bushwalking.

Despite Jen’s failed audition as a GPS replacement (we DID get to see more of the Kiama region than intended) we eventually made it to Minnamurra Rainforest, where we were met by an abrupt, yet friendly park ranger who pointed out where we should park with gestures akin to ground crew working with taxiing aircraft.

The walk set out from the Visitor’s Centre and snaked its way across the creek, providing plenty of opportunities for suspension bridges to the delight of the kids. 

There was an optional Falls Walk (some 2.6 kilometres in addition to the teeny 1.3 kilometres of the Rainforest Loop), that would somehow require an hour to get there and back. More moans ensured from the Martin children. It turns out that the additional hour accounted for the near vertical gradient that the good people of the Minnamurra Rainforest somehow managed to get pavers to adhere to.

We eventually made it to the falls themselves (Lily threatening no one in particular that they’d BETTER be impressive), took some happy snaps and turned to make our way back down the paved cliff-face. 

The tranquillity of the rainforest undergrowth broken by Joshie’s spontaneous rendition of the Violent Femme’s Blister in the Sun. We made it back to the Loop proper, and rewarded ourselves with some scones and shakes.

All sugared up, we made our way to seek out Cathedral Rocks, once again taking several wrong turns and inadvertently discovered some secret surf spot of the locals (if the annoyed yet impressed glares were anything to go by). 

Despite Kiama Downs Council literally blocking our path, we managed to finally locate said Cathedral Rocks, although we needed to scarper across a number of rocks in the face of an incoming tide to get a photo.

Our adventure wasn’t complete it seemed, as we spotted a boat ablaze out in Kiama Bay on our way back to town. Curious (aka inappropriately nosey), we drove over to take a peek - as did the entirety of Kiama it seemed. According to the local news later that evening, the two people on board managed to jump from the boat without injury (although no word on whether the 3 resident Bull sharks gave them a welcome party or not).

The kiddies were finally able to access the Park pool (despite the overcast 19 degree conditions), which they got to share with a number of ‘delightful’ children (one maniacally beating the surface of the water with a pool noodle for no apparent reason for a good 15 minutes, and another covering about a third of the pool with what appeared to be the largest inflatable flamingo in the southern hemisphere).

We set out for a night on the town, ending up at Ritzy Gritz, the local Mexican Restaurant. The serves were huge (not flamingo-sized, but pretty big all the same), and were delicious.

This morning saw the Martin clan partake in a variety of ‘holiday cereals’ (ie sugar lightly dusted with processed grain and food colouring) before setting off for a jaunt about Kiama. We made our way to the Little Blowhole, a more petite yet far more reliable aperture.

From here we drove over to Kiama Lighthouse to take a peek at the Little Blowhole’s more gaping cousin. To be honest, it was a tad underwhelming, but I did manage to snag a delightful (completely kitsch) stubby holder from the Tourist Information Centre, and we also noticed a fairly nice-looking rockpool.

We sampled some gelato we found in one of the many cafes located on the main street, and attempted to cross said street to the nearby park. Kiama feels that while it signposts designated crossing areas, pedestrians should give way to cars instead of the other way around. The vehicles that appear to accelerate as you make your way across the road of doom (complete with a rapidly-melting Italian desert clenched in your fist) clearly see the sport in this. Somehow we managed to avoid both carnage and serious dairy stains on the kids clothes, and made our way back to Surf Park.

We’d promised the kids we’d descend the goat track once again, to the nearby beach for a swim. 

The goat track.

They were racing along the sand gleefully, and we were just sizing up which bit of the beach afforded the least risky surf, when a young teen ran up to advise us that the jet ski we’d seen circling for the last 10 minutes had just warned all swimmers out of the water due to an overly-curious Bull Shark. 

Retreating back up the above-mentioned goat track, the Martin kiddies decided that the Park pool wasn’t such a bad option after all - particularly when the coastguard  called in a helicopter and later a surf plane (complete with sirens) warning people to get the heck away from the water. We later saw on the news that there was not one, but three Bull Sharks cruising up and down the beaches of Kiama.

We sampled some pies at the local (award-winning!!) pie shop and drove west along Saddleback Mountain road to take a peek at the lookout. The final few hundred metres was of sufficient gradient to leave the mighty CX5’s engine running a little hot.

After viewing some very pretty pastureland with an ocean backdrop,  we headed back to the car. It appeared ours was not the only car experiencing some elevated engine temps.

Giving up on the idea of beaches for the time-being, we revisited the rock pool we had spotted earlier. The water was so cold I let out a harrowing sob that drew pitying/embarrassed looks from the young people nearby. Once I lost feeling in my extremities, I started to relax and make my way around the rock pool (the lack of sensation evidenced by my surprise when I later noticed some minor lacerations to my feet, likely coming from any number of molluscs festooning the depths and walls). The place was essentially a very large, naturally-occurring rock pool that had two sides walled up. Hamish was nearly taken out by an overly-enthusiastic octogenarian who flailed his way across the pool undertaking an overly-territorial version of backstroke.

The local news not only gave us the run-down on the sharks circling the town of Kiama (and effectively about 20 metres away from our cabin), but of a prison escapee sighted at the local blowhole. Admittedly, it was some kid that had absconded from a minimum security outing…and was a couple of days ago – but still, we are clearly living through some dangerous times here.

Jen undertook a hurried game of luggage tetris after Lily returned from a Sunday morning outing with the WPL (1-1 against the South Wallsend Wolves for the record).

Stuff about to be crammed into the CX-5.

Our destination plugged into the GPS (whom we named Dolores), we promptly turned left instead of the recommended right (a feminine Irish-accented sigh coming from the GPS). Josh asked earnestly about 10 minutes into the 4 hour journey whether we’d be arriving at Kiama soon…

Instead of taking the tollways to the west of Sydney, Jen felt we might save some time weaving past Homebush Bay. Instead, we got to experience the joys of not one but two traffic blocking bingles (handy hint: Sydney drivers appear to view merging with another lane as a bloodsport). We survived this, a FWD with immensely squeaky brakes (the tortured vehicle kept pulling level with us during said traffic jam) as well as a novel-reading young lady in a fancy BMW, complete with enormous Hello Kitty decals and fluffy toys bestrewn across her dashboard.

Hamish admitting to Josh that Wollongong
was not in fact Kiama.

On the lookout for more Hello Kitty vehicles.

The vistas took a turn for the picturesque as we left Wollongong behind, with sweeping beaches abutting farmland. Our destination was Surf Beach caravan park, perched on a headland between a couple of genuinely pretty beaches. We avoided one lady who was strutting about the park with a proprietorial air (labelled Camp Boss by Lily) and unpacked our things. The cabin we’d be calling home for the next few days appeared to be more spacious than our Newcastle residence.

Our shanty by the sea.

We made a quick trip down a goat track with a handrail to one of the nearby beaches, before setting off to the town proper and picking up some obligatory fish and chips.

Kendall Beach - just a short stumble down a cliff away.

Martin kiddies glad to be set loose on the South Coast.