The kindness of strangers (except triathletes)

Fittingly, after my comments yesterday about noisy humans, I was woken by a large group of triathletes who seemed to believe that their performance today would be enhanced by repeated banging of tea mugs and cereal bowls over raucous conversations. At 5.15 am. Half an hour later, when the ritual was still continuing, I conceded defeat and got up so had plenty of time to do a week's laundry before catching the 8.30 bus to Blackheath, a new place to explore in the Blue Mountains. The driver promised to tell me when we reached my stop and was interested that one reason for going there was that I spent my childhood in Blackheath in London.

I was astonished to be the only passenger until we reached Blackheath 11 km later and it became a local bus. Even then only four others joined me, all of whom the driver knew by name. At the furthest point on the circuitous route but before I reached my stop (I know that doesn't make sense but, honestly, you don't want to see the bus map), the driver stopped the bus and got out to greetings and a cup of coffee. As this group chatted I leapt out of the bus with my camera and asked permission to record the informal coffee break. 'Bet this doesn't happen in England,' said John (as I discovered my driver was called). But it happens on this route every morning. Once I told them about blipfoto and had permission to upload this I began to worry that it might be the dreadful snap that it has turned out to be. Sorry, all.

John was extremely helpful telling me where I needed to head and advising me about times back and other places to visit. I set off on a cliff-top walk that was described variously as taking one-and-a-half and two hours but which took me three because I kept stopping to look at trees and flowers; to talk with friendly fellow-walkers; to try (and fail) to record the extraordinary birdsong, some of which sounded like varieties of gunfire on a video game; to clamber over new streams created by the recent torrential rain and trees felled by it; to gaze at vibrant blue and red birds I'd startled; and to take loads of pictures which, like yesterday's don't begin to record the grandeur of the place. At the end of the cliff-top walk I had a long, tedious road-hike back into town. Frustratingly I missed John's next bus which would have taken me there by only nine minutes. I did see him later on his circuitous route but by this time he was heading out of Blackheath and I was still trekking in.

John - if you're reading this I'm sorry I missed you. And so are my feet.