A weather report: the results from my latest poll

So how much do you let the weather impact your travel plans? That's what I asked you in two recent posts (the weather, part 1: how much does it impact your travel plans & part 2: how much do you let it affect your enjoyment of travel?) and in a recent poll on Cool Travel Guide. I gave you a scenario - you were days away from travelling overseas on a big trip - and I asked you what you did about researching the weather. This is what you said: only 11% said you checked several weather websites and changed plans entirely if necessary; 55% said you checked a weather site or two and adapted the itinerary, skipping a destination, or changing direction if necessary; none of you simply watched the weather on TV and threw a coat in the bag; and 33% said you ignored the weather completely, that you'd been planning the trip for a while and nothing was going to stop you, not a little rain, a heatwave, nor even a flood or two. Fascinating stuff. One of the reasons I was motivated to explore the topic (aside from trying to prevent a young traveller from heading to a drenched Northern Queensland during the wet season!) was our own experience on a recent trip along Victoria's southern coast. Heavy fog and grey skies spoiled our experience of the normally stunning Great Ocean Road. This time the Twelve Apostles were uninspiring and the scenery drab. We were working, however, we weren't on holidays. We were updating a book, so it didn't really matter. And Terry and I had been before, over 15 years ago, when the weather was superb, and I'd also been as a child. They're the memories I'm going to hold onto!

Pictured? One of the most horrific thunderstorms I've ever seen roll in (quite literally) during the opera in the Arena at Verona, Italy, last summer. I'll tell you that story another time.

The weather, part 2: how much do you let it affect your enjoyment of travel?

Perhaps the issue of how weather impacts your travel experience, providing it's not of disastrous proportions (epic heatwaves and heavy floods aside) is more a question of attitude than planning? We were at a restaurant the other night at Apollo Bay on the southern coast of Victoria where we met a keen young traveller who'd been waitressing for a couple of months to save money to do the big drive north with her boyfriend in a Wicked Camper. When we warned her not to travel to Northern Queensland before April, when the Wet season ends, she said they were in fact leaving Australia in April, so they'd intended to set out soon to ensure they covered the vast distance before then. I imagined the poor things huddled in the back of their Wicked Camper in a caravan park, the relentless rain pelting down around them. And because Australia's geography is the way it is, they'd have little choice but to head back south again, or take an expensive flight to another (drier) part of the country. I wondered if they'd persist with their original travel plans and if they did strike weeks of neverending rain, whether they'd see it as a disaster, a terrible end to what had otherwise been a good trip so far. Or whether they'd still enjoy it and think of it as an adventure, snapping pics of the flood waters rising around them, determined to make the most of it. I'm keen to know how you react to the onset of bad weather that puts a damper on your travel plans. Are you the type of traveller who endeavours to ensure you're not caught in snow storm in the first place? But if you are and the circumstances are beyond your control, do you make the most of it? I'm keen to learn more about how you travel and I'd also love you to complete my poll (top right), please.

South Australia: from heavenly summer days to the living hell of a heatwave

A couple of weeks ago we were holed up writing in an apartment overlooking the sea at Glenelg beach, Adelaide, South Australia. While the days were warm and balmy, topping 30 degrees celcius, a little higher than the typical heavenly summer temperatures they get here, the evenings were deliciously cool. Cool enough to pop on a cardigan. We've been on the road in South Australia for a week or so now and it's a completely different story. We're making our way across the southern coast to Victoria and the Great Ocean Road, and it's been hot - scorching hot! And that's saying something coming from someone who lives in Dubai. It's so hot Australians are calling it a heatwave. The heatwave - and it's very definition (several days of continually high, above-average temperatures) - is being discussed endlessly by everybody it seems. These are record breaking temperatures. In the south here that means mid- to high-40s, but in some parts it's reached as high as 51. We listen to the radio a lot as we drive these days (we're bored with our music and podcasts; it's our third month on the road, after all) and the heatwave and ensuing chaos are all that's discussed: the affect upon health, cancellation of major sporting events, the threat of fires, total fire bans, the need to be 'fire ready', to put 'bushfire contingency plans' in place, train and tram cancellations and derailments (tracks are buckling), traffic light outrages, the accidental blackouts, and the planned power cuts. It's hell here. And in the midst of this chaos and suffering, Australia's 'power wholesaler', the National Electricity Market Management Company (NEMMCO), which controls the country's electricity usage decided to impose further planned power cuts (um, 'load-shedding') to 'protect the security of the grid'. (Interestingly, their share price subsequently went up.). NEMMCO has been providing the radio station with lists of suburbs that will lose power for 30 minute intervals, so they people can prepare themselves. The problem is that these people are calling the station and sending SMS messages complaining that they've already been without electricity for 24 hours. They are irate. It's like living in a third world country, they say. Now we're bored with the radio too. Whenever we go to the bakery, tourist office, service station, or check into a motel, we're asked how we're coping with the heat. We live in Dubai, we tell them, but how are you? A few years ago Australians would ask "Dubai, where's that?" We'd need to qualify it by saying "the Arabian Peninsula, Persian Gulf, that tiny country above Saudi Arabia and below Afghanistan and Iran". But now they not only know Dubai, they have family who work there, friends who have just been there, or are planning a trip themselves. "It's this hot all the time?" they ask. "Yep, plus there's high humidity, up to 90%. Our glasses fog up every time we leave an air-conditioned building." "Well if we can handle this..." they say. How things have changed. This time I'm not talking about the weather.

Sleet in Crete and floods in Dubai

Last month there was so much rain in Dubai (for three whole days) that the city flooded and life in the metropolis ground to a halt. Whoever could have expected such weather in an Arabian Gulf city? When we first moved to the Emirates ten years ago it had been so dry that the imans in the mosques were calling for worshippers to pray for rain. Abu Dhabi hadn't see any decent rain in two years. In the guidebooks we wrote on Dubai, we'd tell travellers to visit between December and January when there was guaranteed blue skies and sunshine. These days the sky is often cloudy and grey and it's chilly enough to wear a sweater. Our advice has had to change: wait until February-March or go in October-November. In Crete, over this last week, we've had sleet, hail and snow. Not just in the mountains where this kind of cold weather is normally felt in winter, but in the waterfront cities and resort towns on the Mediterranean sea. We were stuck in our hotel room in Heraklion for three days last weekend while it blew a gale and the wild sea tossed the boats about in the Venetian harbour and snow gathered on our window pane. The locals said they couldn't recall seeing such weather before. Since then we've driven all over the spectacular, isolated, eastern end of the island, and some equally dramatic parts of the central interior and desolate south coast where the mountains meet the sea. We've driven in roads half-buried in snow and slippery with ice, in all kinds of weather - but not the weather one expects in the Mediterranean. And we've driven on pot-holed roads with two lanes that suddenly become one, or that give away entirely altogether, crumbling away to rubble, without guard rails or posts, and it's been a long way down, over a thousand meters above sea level. Believe me, I have dared not look down. I find it incredible that some still doubt that global weather patterns are changing. What's your take on global warming? Has it impacted how you travel?