We left Byron Bay and crossed the border into Queensland. The first place one gets to is the famous stretch known as the Gold Coast which incorporates the resort of Surfers' Paradise. We'd heard that it was a bit of a dump and so pressed straight on towards Brisbane. As we went through the place we realised that it was indeed a bit of a dump, being a bizarrely incongrous thin line of concrete skyscrapers along the coast, which being an easterly coast means that the beach is in the shadow for all of the latter part of the day. Nice forward thinking, Bruce. Some people on the bus who did go there confirmed our visual suspicions, which was pleasing. We did however, have a breakfast stop just before Surfers where most people nursed their hangovers but I had a bit of an explore and took this rather pleasing photo of some coloured rocks.
You can just make out the concrete jungle of the gold coast on the top of the picture.
We arrived in Brisbane and had a brief siesta before heading out to the town centre as it was January 26th - Australia Day - which is the cue for fireworks and celebrations in all the state capitals. Pleasingly, Brisbane was about the only one without a total fire ban that day so we were definitely in the right place. [reckon I can probably take at least some of the credit for any place I attend NOT having a fire ban!]. It occurred to me that England (or Britain) is one of the few places without a national day. In fact it saddens me to point out that the closest thing we have - St. George's Day - wouldn't even be known to most citizens. [April 23].
Anyway, we made it down to the river front in time to watch a fairly impressive set of fireworks fired from various boats on Brisbane's eponymous river.
Fireworks over the Brisbane River
After the fireworks were over we decided to apply the old "When in Rome..." saying and so hit a few pubs. Rather stupendously, (and unwittingly, though perhaps based on a subconscious rebelliousness) we ended up spending most of the night of Australia Day in a British pub called the Underground. Here I was able to enjoy my first pint of real beer since September. Thank God for Old Speckled Hen. I also introduced it to one of our friends from across the pond, who professed that it was actually very good. [Mind you, for anyone brought up in the land that gave us Molsen Canadian, all other beer is going to taste good!]
And I thought I never wanted to see that red, white and blue sign again. [Blurriness caused by use of long-exposue to bring out colour, though many of us were probably seeing the world a bit like that by the end of the evening...]
The following day was earmarked as a "let's discover Brisbane" day, so we set off at about midday to have a look around. Brisbane is a fairly quiet city at the best of times and, it being a public holiday, there really wasn't a great deal to see so we stopped for a drink at a bizarre open-air pub on one of the pedestrianized central streets.
Just a swift one...
Needless to say, we were still there well after sunset and to be honest my memories of subsequent events are a little hazy. I do vaguely remember leaving the Downunder backpackers club in the early hours of the morning but somehow contrived to part company with my glasses on the way back! Despite some frantic and hopelessly optimistic early morning searches of the park where we'd stopped on the way back, they were gone. That was an expensive evening out!
The next stop on the Oz Bus is the wonderfully named Mooloolaba. Whilst on the bus the option to do a skydive was given to us and, obviously, I was unable to say no despite the non-ideal combination of a mild hangover and excessive quantities of Red Bull the previous night. Luckily, one other person from our little group was also not too badly hungover, so off Ulrik and I went to go and throw ourselves out of a perfectly functioning plane. As you do.
Ulrik - the Iceman (in the middle). Note how the instructor bloke in the left corner appears far more nervous. Note also how I am not putting up a photo of me in the same situation ;-)
The ascent to jumping altitude seemed to take forever and I have to admit to getting genuinely scared. Conversely to all normal people, I believe that the fact that you go when your tandem instructor wants to go and don't have to jump yourself makes it much worse. I am much happier being in control and making that decision myself - I would never be like many bungy jumpers and ask to be pushed. Anyway, once we were at the 12,000 feet height they opened the door and out we went, tumbling at first and then stabilised by the small drogue 'chute that they open almost immediately.
The adrenaline rush is completely unbelievable. Looking above you, you see the plane appear to spiral rapidly upwards (a classic example of frames of reference!). From this height you then get about 45 seconds of freefall which has to be the most exhilarating 45 seconds of my life. The view is also fabulous with the coast, beaches and sandbanks colourfully prominent. However, I was still absolutely terrified. Again, this puts me out of line with almost everyone else. You don't actually see the ground coming towards you as it is so far away and most people aren't scared at this point.
The only rationale I have been able to come up with for this is my sometimes annoyingly over-analysing mind. On a bungy jump, for example, the freefall is less than 5 seconds after which you realise the rope hasn't snapped and that you're not going to die - there is therefore no time to think about consequences. With 45 seconds, there is plenty of time for the little demons to speak: "hmmm, what if the 'chute doesn't open?" "what if it gets twisted and we spiral out of control?" "what if he pulls the wrong cord?" "what if the instructor guy has a heart attack on the way down?". Yes, my inner mind is sad enough to still think about these things in freefall!
Well, once we got down to about 4,000 feet the guy hadn't had a heart attack, he didn't pull the wrong rip cord, the chute didn't fail to open and the chute didn't twist. The immense jerk upwards that you get took me by surprise and the photo of me at this point (alas not in digital form) is hilarious. However for the first time I was now able to relax and really enjoy it without the little voices. He let me take control of the two steering ropes and we executed some highly-thrilling spiral turns including the gravity defying achievement of getting the sail below our apparent horizon (and hence lower than us) at one point. To crown it off we then made a textbook landing on the beach.
I'm told that I was speechless for many minutes afterwards (must have been quite something to manage that!) and that the grin on my face lasted several hours! I thoroughly recommend it - definitely the biggest rush I've ever had - but advise against doing it the day after 7 cans of Red Bull. Again, the photos of this are of the old-fashioned type and without a scanner I can't put them up yet, so you'll just have to come round and I'll show them. [though I may put them up later.]
Mooloolaba itself is a very pleasant and quite smart coastal resort. The beach is up to usual Aussie standards and there are some nice bars in town. However, directly opposite our hostel was a lawn bowls club, in which the cheapest beers in town were to be found. Obviously, most of the bus were soon inside once this fact was established. I'm not quite sure what the normal club clientele get up to after a hard days bowling but I suspect that our enthusiastic sing along to Bon Jovi's Livin' on a Prayer is not a regular occurrence!
Bowling club singing team
There's not a great deal else to report from Mooloolaba other than that I had a superb meal at a Thai restaurant and spent a lot of quality time boogie-boarding, bodysurfing and soaking up the rays on the beach. Also, and excellently, whilst exiting Subway and commenting that a little town like this was never going to have an optician I realised that the very next door shop was indeed an optician so I was even able to restore my powers of vision.
The bus then heads up to Hervey Bay, which is the gateway to Fraser Island - a must on the backpacker circuit. Ah yes, Fraser Island. Three of the more interesting days of my trip.
Fraser island is the largest sand island in the world at approx. 100km long and has a few smart resorts and a handful of campsites on it. You can also camp rough on the beach if you want. The key sites on the island are some oddly coloured sandstone rocks, a wreck or two on the beach and some stunning clear lakes.
The way one sees Fraser is to divide into groups of about 10 (we had 9 in our little gang so were able to go all together) and hire a 4x4 vehicle for 3 days. You take tents, water, supplies of food and, most importantly, lots of beer and coolboxes. Ice is available on the island so the beers even get to stay cool-ish. Once on the island you are free to go where you want with the beach serving as the main roads and a few sandy trails venturing inland.
Our Toyota Landcruiser was not exactly a spring chicken, with some 280,000km on the clock but it still pumped out diesel-powered four wheel drive which was allegedly all we needed. The first bit of driving is across the island and fairly straightforward, although driving on soft sand is bizarre, being a bit like driving on snow. The weather was sunny and spirits were high. This was going to be an awesome few days...
First beer of the day with the trusty Landcruiser Troop Carrier.
We reached the other side of the island and headed off the "road" onto the hard sand of the beach. Well, that was the plan. We actually managed to get about 15m into the soft sand (where the high tide does not reach) before the car sank down and we were bogged. No amount of pushing, reversing etc seemed to help. A rather embarrassing start. It was left to a local painter passing by to let a whole load of air out of the tyres and miraculously get us going again. However, we knew what to do now, so we'd be fine.
Bogged after a whole 15m!
In the afternoon we saw the main sites of the east beach comprising the Maheno shipwreck (large and rusting) and Eli creek (pleasant if rather too shallow freshwater creek). It was now time to head to Indian Head Campsite for the evening. To get there one has to cross a famously difficult stretch of soft sand past some rocks and when we arrived, sure enough, there were half a dozen vehicles struggling and repeatedly failing to get up the slope.
After waiting for bloody ages for people to get out of the way and us to have a go, we lined up with our strategy of flooring it in the low ratio second gear with a team of pushers ready to jump behind at the tough bit. However, the vehicle bounced over the sand as if it were asphalt and bounced its way over to the other side untroubled. We felt very smug. We shouldn't have.
Once over the other side we located the campsite, drove off the beach to the entrance and then stopped to recce out a tent pitch before preceding. This was a big error. The key to driving on soft sand is momentum and by stopping we were never able to regain it. Indeed, after about an hour of some seriously knackering pushing to go 5m forward, then 4m back to get grip, then 5m forward etc. my legs felt as if I'd rowed the Head of the River Race and I couldn't even face a beer for a good few minutes!
After all that faffing and some minor problems erecting our stone-age tents (eventually solved in the time-honoured manner of admitting defeat and getting out the instructions) we were just in time to rush up the overlooking sand dunes and get some team photos at sunset. Everything suddenly seemed OK again and we finished the day with an excellent steak dinner and some not quite so excellent but very cheap vin rouge.
Team Fraser enjoying the sunset. Little did we know it would be the last one we saw for a while.
Team Fraser: Ulrik, Chrissy, Steve L, Nicole, Dom, Marinka, Steve B, Rhian.
However, things began to change overnight as the winds increased and a few showers rolled in. The morning dawned with that ominous aggressive grey sky reminiscent of a London November. We were just clearing up breakfast when the heavens opened, tropical style. However, this had a positive side - I have never seen a jeep packed up so fast - and it stopped fairly soon, allowing us to finish washing up. In our haste, though, we had got through all of our 20 litres of drinking water. One can only drive on the beach in the period around low tide which wasn't due until the afternoon so we were now stuck at the campsite rather ironically with the rain but without any drinking water. I don't think we'd have made it very far as 19th century explorers!
Eventually, low tide trundled in, although the weather had now deteriorated to constant strong wind and rain was clearly imminent. Another bloody 30 min struggle with the sand and we were finally out of the campsite. I took resposibility for the nasty sand road and my technique of blasting it proved successful in as far as we didn't get bogged, but disastrous in the case of a few exploded tinnies and a bid for freedom from some of our sausages on the roof!
We now found ourselves driving down the beach into a beastly storm which quickly proved too much for the Toyota's ageing waterproofing. Anyone near a window or door was getting drenched, and owing to the split tinnies it was a pleasant beer/rain/sausage mixture too. As if this wasn't enough Steve L [one of our team], whilst looking out of the back window, and in an outstandingly calm voice, simply announced "Guys, that was our table flying through the air behind us". The total lack of panic in his voice meant it took a while for us to realise the truth, which was that one by one we were leaving our kit in a trail behind us. The zip on the tarpaulin holding everything down on the roof had failed and the headwind was literally picking up large objects and blowing them away! Amazingly, nothing appeared broken and the foldaway table had even managed to erect itself midflight and was standing awkwardly in the sand. It was all rather surreal, though the driving rain was all too real and it would have been easy to start getting annoyed.
We found a campsite with, thankfully, fresh water to stop for lunch and much-needed ice for the beers. However, no hour was going to pass without incident on this day and sure enough, whilst cooking the bacon on the gas barbie, an audacious crow managed to fly off with a whole load of the done bits right in front of Ulrik [also one of the team]! As if that wasn't enough from the local wildlife, Steve then managed to walk straight into one of these:
Cute, eh?
It was time to leave this cursed campsite, though the surviving bacon sarnies were damn nice, and head off to pleasanter pastures. Alas, a mere 10 minutes down the road, the orange oil pressure lamp came on on the jeep and the driver reported that we were definitely down on power. It began to look like we weren't even going to make it to a garage. It was then that Ulrik uttered the immortal line "what else can go wrong now?". As stupid statements go, that has got to rank with the "there's no future for bands based on guitars" comment by the Beatles first prospective manager.
Things picked up slightly in that the warning lamp turned out to be only on intermittently and we made it to the garage turn-off. There being a short stretch of the dreaded soft sand between the hard beach and the wooden-lined path to the garage, we applied our usual high-speed approach, somehow failing to spot the enormous pothole at the start of the track. We were already holding on to our seats as protection against the bumps but the force of this one was enough to propel us AND our seats several feet in the air and into the bloody roof. Minor head injuries apart, it was actually highly funny but when the hysterics subsided the jeep had a distinct list and an odd noise was coming from the rear-right corner. Steve B [another of the gang] and I exchanged a pessimistic look and a quick lean out of the window confirmed the massive puncture. Still, we were 500m from a garage so things weren't too bad as surely they'd be able to help? And surely it couldn't rain all day.
We parked on the forecourt and began getting the jack etc. out before discovering that it didn't even come close to fitting under the car. There were no mechanics anywhere around and our only solution was to park just off the concrete forecourt so that we could dig a small hole in the mud and put the jack in there. At this point, the lady running the garage shop appeared and screamed at us to get a move on off her garage, presumably to let the hordes of invisible vehicles queued up outside to come in. When she spotted our plan of digging down a bit she flew into a rage and demanded why we had the right to dig up her "lawn". We explained the situation but to no avail and she then demanded that we leave. We would have given away untold riches to indeed leave but pointing out that we were actually incapable of this until we had changed the tyre didn't help. Reason wasn't going to get us anywhere. Various attempts were made to get everyone standing on the oposite corner of the bloody vehicle to lift up the punctured side a little and also to partially inflate the damaged tyre but there was only going to be one solution. Luckily the incessant wind and rain drove the evil witch away and so with some careful positioning to obscure her line of sight we were able to complete the change using our digging technique and thankfully to then leave.
This catalogue of diasters would have (and I believe did in several other groups on Fraser at the same time) caused the fragmentation of and temper loss within the group but a mixture of brilliantly excessive enthusiasm and a most excellent attitude of simply laughing increasingly at each new disaster got us through and in fact bonded the group together. For this I am eternally grateful to everyone.
There was now no longer enough daylight to get to the lakes as we had planned and the only option was a return to the lunch-campsite and get totally hammered. The blokes in the group (not at all led by me, oh no) couldn't resist spending an hour pretending to be engineers and erecting a simple canopy using (amongst other things) our tarpaulin, various trees, the roof-rack and some home made rope from some vines. This provided enough protection to get some playing cards out and commence some serious drinking games. I think we had deserved it.
At 9pm there is a rule that one cannot make any more noise so we were going full throttle in the early evening but until the park ranger strolled along at 9pm just as things were getting going nicely. However, he was not in the slightest bit interested in shutting us up and instead joined in the drinking game himself for the next 2 hours. What a legend. I'm not quite sure what he thought of some of the bizarre rules that had come into effect by then, but he seemed happy enough. [An example 'rule' was the penalty of consuming a marshmallow dipped in Vegemite for swearing. This did not go down well - literally - with Nicole and Chrissy (Canadian and American respectively, hence uninitiated to yeast extract products) who seemed to have quite a serious aversion to the stuff, which although inferior to Marmite, is still yummy]
The tents proved annoyingly unwaterproof during the continuing overnight storms but the existence of warm showers at this campsite almost made up for it. The tide times also meant that we had a whole morning to lounge off our hangovers before leaving.
Unfortunately, the tides and a certain amount of faffing meant that we never made it to Lake MacKenzie, supposedly the nicest part of Fraser but one that will have to wait a while for me to see. I'm told it is a stunningly beautiful clear lake. But it would probably have looked crap in the rain. Hopefully.
Team photo by the colourful sandstone rocks. Morale still remarkably high.
The oddly green Lake Wabby
All that was left was a mad dash across the island to make our ferry, as we had as ever got behind schedule and had 40 min to do the "1 hour road". Those many hours at Trinity of playing Colin McRae Rally now came in useful, as driving duties were handed to me. It's surprisingly tiring trying to drive quickly across a very uneven road. One has to concentrate really hard on the road just a few metres in front of the vehicle the whole time and I was extremely grateful for the additional pothole-spotting abilities of co-driver Ulrik!
Back in the town of Hervey Bay on the mainland, we discovered that our faceless nemesis actually had a name. Yes, when the weather is truly miserable the powers that be even give it a name. 'Cyclone Beni' had indeed just passed through. Cyclone is a term entirely synonymous with Hurricane or Typhoon and merely indicates that the system developed in the Indian or South Pacific Ocean rather than Atlantic or North Pacific. This did at least [satisfyingly!] give me pretty much the full set of world weather experiences to go with sun [Chile], rain [everywhere else], sleet [Banff], snow [Calgary, Banff, Winnipeg, Quebec, New Hampshire, Boston, Chicago, Colorado, Inca Trail, Bolivian Altiplano, Tongariro NZ], fog [Cascade Amphitheatre], ice storm [Colorado] and tornado [Bolivia]. I'm not sure if a dust-storm counts as a weather pattern but if so then I haven't quite got the full set. Expect London's first ever dust-storm some time in April.
However, there was still one more problem facing us. The blown tyre. We had let so much air out of the tyres trying to get traction on the soft sand, that when we got the puncture we put a massive dent in the wheel rim as well. We would probably be liable for this despite a valiant effort to bash it back into shape with a spanner. We were feeling nervous as the bloke began the vehicle inspection and he informed us of the $25 fine for a flat tyre before beginning to run his hand around the rim to check for dents. However, after he had felt perhaps 80% of the way round the wheel and was just about to discover the dent (cunningly positioned at the most inaccessible and invisible point), Steve L, thinking rapidly, thrust $50 in his hand and asked for change. After our change was received he forgot to continue his check and we managed to run away scot free. Tee Hee.
Looking back now, I firmly believe that despite all the disasters it was one of the most exciting 3 days of the whole trip. If you cannot still laugh and have fun when things like that happen then you miss out on perhaps the best bits of travelling. Anyway, once back in our hostel we were soon back up on the tables dancing to our new favourite cheesy anthems of Heaven and Livin' on a Prayer. Even the Tequila was flowing...
I'd like to say the happiness comes from relief at having a proper roof over us...
...But maybe it's just the tequila. No idea what Steve L is doing!
The cyclone decided to change character overnight, swapping the winds for even fiercer rain which fell astonishingly heavily for the entire next day as the bus made progress north. I cannot adequately describe the intensity of the rain, and only people who have been to the tropics will know what I am talking about but it was certainly enough to reduce visibility markedly. The road now consisted of a series of fords and we passed a lot of cars that had given up, but our driver was clearly a native Queenslander and therefore (at least) one stubbie short of a sixpack.
Yes, this photo is taken through the windscreen.
View to the left...
And the view to the right...
Just to prove I am not making the Beni bit up. For reference, a particularly wet MONTH in the UK might have between 100 and 200mm of rain.
We stopped for lunch in a pub called the Raglan Tavern on the side of the highway where we had an excellent and very reasonable steak. Here, we discovered that the police had closed the road north owing to unfordable (even for a Queenslander in a big green bus) flooding ahead. We decided to wait to see if it would go down later in the afternoon so that we wouldn't have to head south and back to Hervey Bay again for the night. Instead, the opposite happened and the road south became unpassable. We were now stranded. Things looked bad. Hang on a minute. We were stranded...
... in a pub. Things suddenly looked excellent. If one is trapped in a pub for an extended period of time there are not a great deal of options. A whole load of air mattresses were brought out (this having happened before, apparently) and one room was turned into a giant dorm. We all crammed into the other room and the party kicked off. Some of the bus made the error of opting for an early night and were not best pleased when our driver led the rest of us in a giant conga line throught the dorm at about midnight and by about 1am, a hardcore group (including a disproportionate number of our Fraser crew) were dancing on the bar. Perhaps our most telling triumph of the evening was that the pub had now been reduced from 4 to 1 beers on tap.
Bet you never thought you'd me doing this! Yes, that is the bar we're on. Despite anyone moderately tall having to crouch, it was great fun.
Final photo of the crew, the driver [blue T-shirt] and a marvellous cameo from the Bundy Polar Bear.
The 'refugee camp' on the Raglan floor. There were 40 of us like this!
Miraculously, the police had got the road re-opened the following day and so we could head off up to Airlie Beach, the gateway to the Whitsunday Islands. Sadly, they had been unable to achieve similarly divine results with Beni. The Aussies, at least, were delighted. Some of the parts round here had had no rain in 2 years! Reckon I ought to have charged a fee.
Airlie contains the second of the backpacker-musts, sailing in the Whitsundays. We had arranged to spend a 3 day/2 night trip on board the Condor. This is a 60 foot ex-racing Maxi yacht, which had a fantastic racing record in the early 80's, twice winning (amongst others) the Sydney to Hobert and Fastnet races. It is now suffering a fairly undignified retirement shipping groups of c. 25 young backpackers, their beer and 4 crew around the Whitsunday islands. However, the experience is rated highly by almost everyone.
Indeed, despite some pitiful weather (it could at least have been windy if it wasn't going to be sunny) and a fairly unfriendly crew, I still enjoyed the experience massively. We had enough of a breeze to manage seven or eight knots under sail on one afternoon and lazing around on deck with a cold beer and fabulous food is never likely to be unpleasant. We also visited some magnificent beaches and snorkelling areas and they managed to create the illusion that we were helping sail the boat by letting us put up the sails [which was bloody hard work]. And it didn't rain quite thr whole time; lying on the deck one night looking up at thousands of stars as the boat gently rocked on the water was one of the most amazing feelings of the whole trip.
The picturesque Whitehaven Beach, taken in a nice sunny spell. Allegedly one of the world's top 10 beaches. Am very envious of person who's job it is to compile such lists.
And the crew posing in front of said beach
Another bay on the Whitsunday islands. There were some excellent reefs near here.
Doing what we do best on the deck.
We were invaded by a flock of these brightly coloured parrots in one bay.
Once back on solid (if not dry) land, I managed to cram in another two scuba dives on the outer Barrier reef, courtesy of a large boat that takes you 40 miles offshore to where the reef is at its best. This was again superb, with the highlight being a giant Maori (I think) wrasse. This is a fish of similar size to Pavarotti, but far better looking, being made up of bright greens and blues. It is also astonishingly docile and one can even stroke it undisturbed.
The outer Barrier Reef as viewed from our boat. It's finally sunny!!! [Can't believe I didn't feel the need for a haircut for another month from here!]
From Airlie Beach it is more driving through sugar cane country and thankfully now only periodic storms up towards Cairns. There wasn't much worthy of additional spiel here suffice to say that we stayed in another simply fabulous 'backpacker resort' sort of place where myself and the Steves carried on a noble English tradition by opting to play an hour of tennis under the midday sun in the tropical heat/humidity. We also found a decent microbrewery, offering a very reasonable beer tasting, who go a small way for making up for the disgrace to beer that is Castlemaine XXXX.
Who couldn't smile with that in front of them?
Our final stop before Cairns was to visit a crocdile farm, where they keep and breed hundreds of the infamous predators. It is a little appreciated fact that crocodiles kill and injure a vastly larger number of people each year than sharks or spiders and so represent a very real, as opposed to 'Hollywood' danger. However, we were still in Queensland so there were plenty of 5-tinnie'd park staff around to open up the cages and wander in to feed the beasts armed only with a splendidly ineffectual plastic rake. I kid you not.
These guys can grow up to 7 metres and, yes, that cage door is open.
Place your bets. Crocodile teeth or plastic rake?
Even this little thing could take a finger off given half the chance. Luckily its mouth is totally secured - with sellotape...
Finally, the Oz bus ended its journey in Cairns where we were offered the chance to do another bungy jump. No was simply not an option and to make it more interesting I opted to do this one diving backwards. As I was told beforehand, having done one before doesn't make it any less scary; yet nor does it make it any less fun!
Early excitement at the AJ Hackett Bungy Site in Cairns
The bungy people clearly know what a sucker people like me are for adrenaline stuff and so I soon found myself taking up the offer of several more jumps. I added several more jumps to my repertoire, including the forward and backward 'Elevator' jumps [jumping upright such that when the cord tightens you are flicked upside down] and the 'Titanic' [where they hold your harness such that you are balancing at 45 degrees to the vertical leaning over the edge before being dropped]. Finally, to end it all I got talked into a 'roof jump'. This is where you attach the bungee to a full climbing harness, clamber up onto the roof of the bungee platform and simply sprint off a small ledge. It sounds not too bad but was definitely the craziest, scariest and most fun of all. I'm told I did a particularly good cartoon-style running in the air as I fell and the extra height means that the bounces are much more exciting than normal.
Going down... And don't ask me why I appear to have a lemon attached to my waist.
The roof jump. You can see where I've run off in the upper right corner.
Cairns itself is not wildly exciting although it does contain the infamous Woolshed. This is another backpacker bar, rather like Cheeky Monkeys but even more downmarket. Normally the sort of place that I have a newfound fondness for but a rather distressing set of events meant that I have no happy memories of this place. This is not the place for the full gory details, but suffice to say that on a night where I was already feeling a more than a little downhearted some Australian twat accused me of spilling his drink and promptly punched me. For reasons unknown the bouncers then threw me rather than him out. I was less than impressed by this and made the error of arguing with the bouncer over why I'd been thrown out. His reponse was merely to hand me over to a passing policeman saying I needed to be arrested. Luckily the policeman was more rational and I escaped further punishment, but then realised that my key to the hostel was still inside the bar. The evening ended with me sitting morosely outside the hostel for ages waiting for my roommates to return and let me in. Not my most enjoyable evening but you can't expect to have a great time every night for 6 months!
Clearly the solution was to head out of Cairns and so myself and the 2 Steves hired a car to explore up the coast to Port Douglas [smart if a little quaint resort] and inland to the Atherton Tablelands. The Tablelands contain a mixture of rainforests, pastures and dramatic gorges and are well worth a few days exploring.
The drive up to Port Douglas is a fantastic experience with beautiful coast to the east and rainforest-clad hills to the west.
Spectacular gorges in the Atherton Tablelands with lots of waterfalls.
An attempt at an artistic shot of the sun shining down into the rainforest
This could almost be England...
...but you wouldn't find one of these just 50m away! This is Cathedral Fig Tree and it was truly massive.
And so that ended my Oz Experience up the east coast. The 5 weeks included some of the best evenings of the whole trip and I met some fabulous people. I found the whole thing a bit intimidating at first but after I got over that I loved it and I recommend it to anyone who doesn't have a weak liver! However, by this stage I was physically exhausted from the 5 weeks of hyperactivity and so looking forward to a slowing of the pace of life in Perth where I would be staying with my Dad's cousin and his army of children - my second cousins.
On to Perth.
Back to main page.