Whales harassed by jet ski in Shellharbour

I recently visited Shellharbour as a tourist and was privileged to view humpback whales from the coastline. But for the whales seeking sanctuary in this harbour during their southern migration, I found that their space is not always respected. This is my experience.

It's early October, and a contingent of long lens photographers are beginning to gather at Bass Point in Shellharbour when I arrive at the Reserve. They clearly know each other, with the mood cheerful.

Large cameras sit atop tripods. Camp chairs on a grassy hill facing the shimmering ocean are occupied. A photographer is chatting to a lady about wind direction and I'm eager to eavesdrop. I have heard that whale watching can be an exercise in persistence, but I get word that a whale is out there and I catch my first glimpse.

I do not have to wait long to witness my first breach, as my binoculars train on an energetic calf twisting and backflipping high into the air, coming down with a splash. It is exciting, exhilarating, an unscripted yet showstopping wonder of nature.

The calf continues to play and gradually moves away under water with its mother. I move along too, diligently following some photographers down the hill, as they happily answer my whale questions. I am on the rock shore line when the calf pops up again. Cameras start snapping like papparazzi.

A Jet Ski type watercraft moves rapidly from the direction of the marina towards the whales a distance off Bass Point. I wait for it to stop to respect the exclusion zones, which authorities define as 100 metres or 300 metres for a whale with calf. The Jet Ski does not stop for either of those metrics. 

The Jet Ski, with one passenger, moves quickly to within metres of the whales, a calf and its mother, as both riders pull out mobile phones. The Jet Ski circles and then moves away and then circles back as a whale breaches, missing the Jet Ski, and the vehicle circles again, arguably tormenting these creatures, and unmistakably breaking the law as it is defined. 

The NSW National Parks and Wildlife Service define harassing and chasing of whales as illegal activity that should be reported. I watch in disbelief, and wonder about the whale mother's stress levels.

I am unfamilar with whale behaviour, but I overhear a bystander comment that the continuous splashing and lunging is likely the whale trying to establish a boundary. It is explicitly uncomfortable to watch, as I look to the marina expectantly for the arrival of some type of marine authority who I imagine monitor their waters in the harbour, on a long weekend during school holidays, during a whale migration, who could speed over to provide some sanctuary to these whales. Protected whales.

Commendably, around me, the photographers are clicking away, taking footage, recording evidence. There is commentary from many bystanders that suggests this is a frequent occurrence with some Jet Ski riders. All are capturing the licensing details, discussing the extent that the law is being broken. For my part, I helplessly video and audio the incident on my mobile phone. 

An event that needs capturing, evidently, as I later discover the reporting system can rely on bystanders recording and reporting a minimum of 30 seconds of footage of harassment, including vehicle licensing.  

Back in my home town, I consider the importance of enforcement when it comes to marine life protection laws. Can more be done to protect humpback whales? Because as I watched that Jet Ski return to the marina, it struck me that the rider wore the confidence of someone who regularly torments marine life. A good argument for on the spot enforcement of laws for those lack basic common sense in those situations, or respect for marine life, or the law.

Elizabeth Neil is a freelance writer who travelled to Shellharbour as a tourist.

Corporate Themepark America: A Rant

If there’s one thing guaranteed to fire up my blogging jets, it’s brushing up against self-absorbed, Corporate America—Themepark Division, in this case. It doesn't happen often, given that I neither live in the U.S. nor work in the corporate world. But sometimes, the stars align and I find myself right in the thick of it.

On the Simpsons Ride at Universal Studios Hollywood, Homer cracks a line: “They won’t stop until they take your last dime.” It’s a joke, but also not a joke. He’s entirely right.

I recently went online to buy two tickets to USH. Let me tell you, American theme parks see you approaching with your modest little wallet and immediately dispatch a giant SUV to meet you at the virtual pay gate. The SUV then transforms into a gleaming red, white, and blue Transformer, which rips the wallet from your hands, salutes the flag, and vaporizes your bank account.

How much did one ticket cost, you ask? More than $500 AUD? Yes. Yes, it did. Try AUD$540 per person. For one day.

Now, to be fair, we opted for the tickets that include one free Express Pass per ride—because if you’ve flown halfway around the world, you don’t want to spend your one day queuing for 90 minutes at a time. 

Then came the inevitable upsell: for an extra $50, we could upgrade to unlimited Express access. And yes, fine, we clicked ‘yes.’ Because we don’t do this every day, and USH knows that. They know the psychology of the long-haul tourist, and they absolutely bank on it.

But here’s the thing: the price isn’t the problem. I get it—these places cost money to run, and no one expects a bargain at a major theme park.

My issue is this: at no point during the entire purchase process does Universal Studios Hollywood tell you the price is in U.S. dollars. Not on the website. Not in the payment window. Not even in the email confirmation. 

It’s implied, sure, and we assumed as much—but you only really find out when you check your bank statement. It’s a deceitful, scammy way to run a business. But that’s Corporate America: if you didn't explicitly ask whether the shark was going to bite, they assume you consented to being eaten.

And it’s not just the shady pricing. It’s the cultural myopia. To Corporate America, nothing outside of the United States exists. It never crosses their radar to display prices in local currencies or even mention the possibility of foreign customers. Because to them, there is no “outside the U.S.” Unless you’re shipping them cheap labor or coffee beans, you’re not part of the equation.

Anyway. I'm fine now. I’ve decided I’ll just ride the Simpsons Ride on loop all day and set a world record for most spins. They won’t stop me.

Oh—and bonus anecdote: while we were at the park, there was an actual earthquake. A real one. So that was exciting. Glad we weren’t stuck underground. Or on the Transformers ride. That would’ve been poetic

Feeling Homesick in California? Laguna Beach Might Just Be the Cure

You could drop your finger almost anywhere on a map of California and land on a place that's become part of pop culture since the 1960s. Laguna Beach is one of those spots.

Tucked behind a winding canyon road and nestled between Crystal Cove State Park and the Pacific Ocean, Laguna Beach is a coastal enclave that was once quiet and unassuming. Then came the 2000s and Laguna Beach: The Real Orange County — the MTV reality show that launched the town into global fame. It followed the lives, romances, and drama of rich local teens, making the town a backdrop for youthful aspiration and beachside glamour.

But despite its celebrity, what struck me on a recent visit was something entirely different: Laguna Beach felt like home — home being Australia. If you’re feeling homesick on a Californian trip, here are five reasons to head south of Los Angeles and find a little slice of Oz in Orange County.

1. The Weather

Southern California’s climate mirrors the east coast of Australia in summertime — warm days, not overly humid, and comfortably mild evenings. Rain is rare, and while that’s a plus for sunshine chasers, it also means the region flirts with desert-like conditions and occasional extreme weather. Still, for a homesick Aussie, the sun-drenched days feel just right.

2. The Vibe

Laguna Beach oozes that laid-back, beachside charm you find in coastal Australian towns. Cafés spill onto the streets, locals wander around in relaxed attire, and the general mood is unhurried. It has an element of Mediterranean chic, without any pretension — think white arches, Mediterranean rooftops, and eucalyptus trees swaying above the sidewalks. Somehow, it just feels Australian.

3. The Landscape

Reaching Laguna Beach involves a drive through low coastal canyons — dry, scrubby, and sun-soaked — the kind of landscape every Aussie recognizes from childhood trips to the coast. The hills are dotted with muted-toned mansions, many perched on stilts, facing the Pacific like lions soaking in the sun. They’re designed with Mediterranean flair: terracotta tiles, arched windows, and balconies that cling to cliff edges.

The roads carve through gulleys lined with hardy desert plants, eucalyptus trees, and dry grasses. And just like many of our best Aussie beaches, the final stretch to the coast feels like a hidden reward at the end of a bushland drive.

4. The Eucalypts

There’s no mistaking the scent. The sharp, nostalgic aroma of eucalyptus fills the air. Their leaves gather in gutters, their shade cools the streets, and their presence — visually and aromatically — completes the illusion. It looks like Australia. It smells like Australia. If you close your eyes for a moment, you might just forget where you are.

5. Fish and Chips by the Beach

No Aussie beach visit is complete without fish and chips, and Laguna doesn’t disappoint. Picture this: white lounge chairs on the sand, shaded by soft umbrellas; cafés with pale yellow tablecloths and planters full of hardy native plants; the gentle clink of cutlery as diners enjoy their meals under fairy lights strung across boho boutiques. Even a knight in shining brass armor stands guard outside one shop — because why not?

Just across from the beach, a candy store offers mountains of taffy in vintage barrels, next to cafes serving grilled seafood, cool drinks, and — yes — fish and chips. It’s the ultimate comfort food for anyone a little too far from home.

A Stroll Through Town

Wandering the streets, you’ll spot a mix of architectural styles — from Swiss-inspired wooden buildings with white shutters to Mediterranean villas with ivy-covered walls and terracotta roofs. Big wooden planters line the footpaths where car parks once were, now full of café tables and fairy lights.

Umbrellas in red, yellow, and blue flap gently in the breeze, while boutiques sell neutral-toned clothing and handmade accessories. The street lights are delicately styled, almost Victorian, and the sidewalks are shaded by those ever-present gum trees.

Down on the Beach

A long wooden boardwalk runs the length of the beach, where rules strictly protect pedestrians from rollerbladers and cyclists — a rare but welcome regulation. Volleyball nets lie dormant, likely waiting for a weekend crowd. The sand is pale and soft. The waves, at least today, are calm. An offshore island provides a playground for birds.

The lifeguard tower stands like a piece of ornate sculpture — a whitewashed beacon with blue trimmings, overlooking the water. Looking south, the coastline curves to reveal a headland dotted with hotels and swaying palms.

Final Thoughts

Laguna Beach might not be the Australia you left, but it’s the kind of place that understands the rhythm of beach life — relaxed, understated, beautiful in its own way. Whether it’s the scent of eucalyptus, the taste of salt on the air, or the familiar crunch of chips by the shore, it offers a comforting echo of home. And sometimes, that’s all you need

A Glimpse of “Jamala” – A Little Tour Recap

I recently took a tour of Canberra’s National Zoo and Aquarium’s famed Jamala Wildlife Lodges, and from the moment I stepped into uShaka Lodge I was completely charmed.

Before the tour officially began, I wandered through uShaka, taking in the stunning African-inspired interior—rich in detail, with artefacts either ethically sourced from Africa or specially commissioned for Jamala. The vibe? Think Disneyland’s Adventureland meets The Lost City, with a healthy dose of high-end design flair.

Walking past a glowing firepit and two towering lion statues flanking a staircase, I half-expected to see Indiana Jones hunched over a weathered map, plotting something thrilling and wildly under-researched. (No photo, just my imagination.)

As we exited uShaka to begin the guided tour, I gave one last look at the wall that also houses the aquarium’s shark tank—which, impressively, managed to almost be upstaged by the ambiance of this African dreamscape.

We were whisked away in proper adventurer fashion (read: a comfy minibus), led by a guide with Indy-level charm and wit. Thankfully, she steered us clear of giant rolling boulders and snake pits. First stop: the Tiger Jungle Bungalow.

Epic moment—one of the tigers was snoozing on the balcony, his massive paws pressed against the floor-to-ceiling glass, stretching and yawning like an oversized housecat. 

Next, we arrived at the Giraffe Treehouses, stopping at the gate to feed the wandering fallow deer with carrot and celery snacks. Once inside, the treehouses lived up to Jamala’s reputation for exquisite design—chic, immersive, and absolutely committed to its stylish animal print aesthetic. Outside, the giraffes were calmly munching on treetop treats.

The tour went for about an hour and was well worth the time. Great experience. 

view of Jamala” tour - did a lil write-up. On entry, I was immediately charmed by the uShaka Lodge (pic), on a tour of Canberra’s National Zoo and Aquarium’s famed Jamala Wildlife Lodges. 

Prior to the tour, I poked around uShaka (pic), admiring the stunningly detailed African inspired interior design, with artefacts ethically sourced mainly from Africa, or commissioned for Jamala. It’s giving Disneyland’s Adventureland meets The Lost City meets extremely stylish design. 

As I walked past the firepit and two giant artefact lions bookending a staircase, I could have sworn I saw Indiana Jones leaning over a desk with a giant map, plotting a terribly exciting but very inadequately considered plan (no pic, happened in my imagination). 

On the way out of uShaka as our tour commenced, I glanced at the wall that our guide mentioned co-houses the aquarium’s shark tank, which, unusually, had to compete for my attention in this African dreamland. 

We were shuttled in true Indiana Jones style (okay, minibus), and I noted our tour guide had Indy’s charm and wit, and I quietly entrusted she was not going to drive us into the path of giant rolling boulders or a hissing pit of pythons. Our next lodge was the tiger Jungle Bungalow! 

Epically, one of the tigers was snoozing on the balcony with its giant paws resting on the floor to ceiling window, stretching and yawning in classic cat mode (pic). Here I am with the sleepy striped one (pic). That’s probably his TV remote (pic). 

 We then headed to the third lodge on our tour, where we were greeted at the gate by and fed the roaming fallow deer healthy snacks of carrot and celery, and then we entered the Giraffe Treehouses (pic).

Again, the design and detail! Jamala are masters of extremely stylish animal print decor. The giraffes were outside, feasting on tree snacks. 

A Modern Wanderer at the Antiques Fair

While vintage shopping has become trendy among younger generations—many of whom are turning away from fast fashion due to its ethical and environmental pitfalls—I’m not convinced antique shopping is quite on their radar just yet. But maybe it should be.

I recently attended my first antiques fair, and it felt like stepping out of modern consumerism and into something slower, quieter, more thoughtful. At an antiques fair, everything decelerates. It’s less frantic shopping spree, more watching an old movie through a 35mm slide viewer. Buyers nod appreciatively, linger over items, debate, deliberate, appraise, and compare. Though "comparing prices" becomes interesting when the items in question are hundreds of years apart. Imagine trying to weigh up two iPhones—one from 2023 and one from, say, 1830.

The experience goes beyond objects—it’s a social event threaded with stories. Buyers and sellers swap tales about the pieces, their origins, and the families they came from. I became something of an antique fair eavesdropper, learning by listening. One man told me about his 15th-century Normandy cabinet, now repurposed to store evening drinks and model aircraft. 

I admired a Victorian mahogany writing slope—complete with compartments for quills, ink, and whatever one stored in 1860—and wondered aloud if the seller could throw in a free ergonomic assessment for a home office setup.

Antique fairs exist in a completely different headspace from modern consumerism. They’re not tailored to quick purchases, budget constraints, or the allure of new tech and contemporary furniture. There’s no grabbing things off shelves based on a glance at the price tag. 

And while today’s consumer might squint at a tag to check where something was made, it rarely deters them if the product fits their immediate need. Then, once it breaks or wears out, it’s replaced—again and again—until, presumably, we evolve past toasters and bread just cooks itself.

But antique fairs? They offer a different rhythm. There’s a certain romance in the story cards that accompany the items: describing their origin, era, use. It makes you want to research more, dig deeper, care more. 

My personal strategy as a first-timer? Watch, listen, and then, inevitably, fall for something pretty I know nothing about. Not the best approach, especially in this scene. But it’s an honest one.

Take, for instance, the pale blue salt-glazed ale jug I almost bought—a stunning early Victorian piece, circa 1850. It was beautiful, but after a quick Google search, I realized it was overpriced and outside my set budget. I walked away, a little sad but wiser. Research is invaluable, whether you’re a newcomer or seasoned collector.

On the upside, I did walk away with a charming gold spoon that sparked joy—and fit my budget. Is it durable enough to stir my coffee? Probably not. But it’s pretty.

I also met a man whose son clears out old estates. He told me how many vintage and antique items now end up in landfill. It made me think: maybe we should all attach little story cards to the things we love—important, sentimental, or just whimsical. So, if they survive us, they have a chance to be admired, discussed, and rehomed at a fair like this someday.

Because if there’s a story card, I’ll read it.