I saw the Blue Mountains, just to the west of Sydney. The wonderfully named town of Katooma perches on their edge - 1,000 metres above sea level. Pink sandstone mesas and cliffs break through the dense body of deep green forest that stretches forever, blanketing the landscape. Streams plummet from the cliff edges to the valley below. Distant flocks of parrots chase each other between the treetops. All together, it was a breath of fresh air after the packed backpacker hostels of Kings Cross. And I realised that, interesting as Sydney is, I had to get away from the crowded coast. I had to get out. So I boarded a bull-barred bus bound for Broken Hill - Out West and Outback.

It took 16 hours to travel the 1,100 km, which gave me an even clearer sense of scale. This isn't even half way across the island continent that is Australia. The road stretched away, narrowing to its vanishing point. As dawn broke, the bush stretched out from horizon to horizon. It is aptly named: low scrubby bushes dot the rich red earth. Here and there a solitary eucalyptus tree rises into the sunshine and the occasional dried river bed cuts a deep red brown gash in the landscape.

As we sped on we were watched curiously by kangaroos and emu. It was greener than I imagined, but this was probably due to recent heavy rains. And indeed, as we approached Broken Hill the skies ahead filled with a thick band of black. The rain hammered out a loud chaotic rhythm on the roof, battered fatly against the windows and generally made a determined attempt to gain entry. Now the dried river beds became full of red frothy runoff, swirling around trapped trees and carving further into the soft earth.

Not only did we encounter storms but also a plague of locusts. As soon as the rains had passed, strange forms could be seen clinging to walls and trees and littering the pavements. Millions of locusts had taken up residence in the area. Wherever I trod in Broken Hill, a locust jumped into flight to avoid being squished. As a result, you are preceded everywhere by a frantic winged cloud. It's not as bad as I imagined, they are pretty adept at not colliding with you - but, as I wandered around the bush outside Broken Hill, it was easy to see how they could be numerous enough to block out the sun.

Less numerous are the other inhabitants of the bush. I saw the odd bird, fearsome looking ants and as I stumbled around mumbling to myself, I looked up to see a couple of kangaroos hopping away from me, heavily thudding the ground as they did so. They watched me from behind a couple of bushes as I fumbled with the too numerous settings on my camera.

Broken Hill has a lot more human inhabitants than I expected - I had pictured a small outpost, with maybe a dirt street and a couple of horses and instead found a 23,000 strong city with over five art galleries and a McDonalds (although this is a relatively new attraction). Broken Hill exists thanks to the rich silver seams that lie just beneath the surface here. Or rather lay - after a hundred years of digging they are all but exhausted and Broken Hill's future is uncertain.

Despite its size you only have to walk out of the town to feel a sense of isolation - the nearest small town is maybe 100 km away and barren inhospitable scrubland surrounds it on all sides. Which is what I came here for.

Tomorrow I fly to New Zealand - having only seen a small corner of this vast country. Goodbye Roos - Hello Chinese Gooseberries!