The Gap!

26 October 2009

The trees are in fact Briazilian jacarandas, and they bloom their lilac-purple flowers for just a few weeks in October, so we've inadvertently timed it right. This I know because we have been to Brisbane, and stayed with two of the loveliest people ever. Louise's mum and dad, Peter and Fiona Firth, were good enough (and grateful enough for our blog when their own child failed to keep hers up: naughty Louise!) to offer us their hospitality. And we are unemployed enough to accept gratefully. On Friday night, after a little education concerning Australian flora, they fed us and put us to bed in Louise's room. We're generaly really comfy in the van, but I must say, it was so nice to sleep in a real bed. And in a neighbourhood called The Gap!

Brisbane is the third city of Oz, and was long considered a bit of a backward cousin to Sydney and Melbourne. But it's growing quickly (1000 new residents a week), and has a great transport system, and is a thoroughly nice place. On Friday afternoon we moseyed up to Mount Coot-tha, with it's lookout over the whole city. Saturday morning took the bus into town to give David and break on the driving, and spent the day wandering along a bit of a walking tour. Variously encountering Ann, Margaret, Elizabeth, and Catherine Streets...sorry, Fran. Clearly Bris-Vegas was meant for me...both The Gap and a free fashion exhibit at the Brisbane Museum ('Dressing Brisbane') featuring clothes by all the best dressmakers of Brizzie; really, what else could any city offer me? It's a cultural mecca. And you can buy enchiladas made by Chinese people for lunch.

The City Hall was once the most expensive building in Australia (beaten down by the Sydney Opera House in 1971. Bad Opera House!) Went up the clock tower to see the view. There's an Anzac Square with neoclassical tempiettos and bizarre trees with bulbous trunks...all very diverting.

There is also a cathedral, the oldest Catholic one in Australia (or Queensland, can't recall), designed by Augustus Pugin himself and dedicated to Blessed Mary Mackillop, in line to be the very first Australian saint. Very inspiring or something. Next door is the nouveau-riche, OTT cathedral which clearly fails to exhibit Pugin's brilliance and also has no Scottish Outback saints in residence.

Took the very good city cat ferry thing down the river to New Farm Park and Fortitude Valley, home to the sort of hipster boho middle-class kids who like their t-shirts expensive and their tattoos visible. Freebie music festival on, featuring a White Stripes-esque rock country group at the time, doing a decent cover of 'Jolene,' although I suspect they don't know that Dolly did the original and instead were attempting to channel Jack White. Dinner at a place called Breakfast Creek Hotel, which is an institution because they still serve beer from a wooden cask. Whatever. They tried to make us eat in the rain, so they're not that cool. Gorgeous steaks, though.

Purple Trees and Polar Bears

23 October 2009

Since we last spoke, David and I have been drifting down the east coast of Queensland doing not much. It's a good country for doing not much, hot and sunny and chillaxed and spread out. It's hard to believe there are 20 million people here, as approximately 8 appear to live in the Northern Territory, with maybe 30 more in Queensland...in that sense it reminds me a lot of the Flyover parts of the States. You can drive ages and see nothing but corn (in this case, cane—sugar cane), then happen onto a little old town full of gingerbread-houses and petrol stations. Then nothing again. They do have purple trees, though, which exist as if to remind you that you are in fact in a strange and foreign country on the bottom part of the planet.

The birds and flowers are all suitably foreign, actually. Turkey-like things strutting around campgrounds, sickle-billed big white buggers who appear to fear nothing, smaller black-and-white birds that land on your back while you're hunched over assembling gourmet meals in the back of vans. I can quite see why 18th century naturalists thought Australia was a wet dream of a continent—it's all so very different from what's gone before, with no comfortable segue to make it logical. Every third river or town has a woman's name—I trust all the Ediths and Marys and Graces at home in Suffolk or Kent were suitably impressed with the thought of their own personal dry creekbed/mighty river/clearing in the Queensland hinterland, named by a devoted bloke they hadn't actually seen in a good year or seven.



From Rockhampton down a bit to Bundaberg. I wanted to see it because I once read one of my mother's Harlequin romance novels set in Bundaberg (circa 1988, and it was old then); it took me most of the book to figure out that it was set in Australia, as with my typical Amero-centric education it never occurred to me why these people kept calling each other mate. Anyway. Bundaberg is home to the world-famous (in Australia-World and New Zealand-World) rum, called cunningly, Bundaberg Rum. The black-and-yellow package is iconic here (they do like to drink in this country, that is not a cliché), and has a polar bear as it's mascot. Not a local species, no, but when they wanted a mascot to convey that rum will keep you warm in winter, they first considered the only cold-weather animal native to Australia. This is apparently a “Fairy Penguin”. So, no.

We did the factory tour for the bargain price of $25 each—through the molasses shed (9 feet deep in viscous dark brown goo that smells of licorice and sugar), the curing vats, the bottling plant. Then the free drinks. Trust me, $25 is a deal for two drinks in Australia. First: huge rum and coke. Second: Dark & Stormy, a pre-mixed drink of Bundaberg ginger beer and Bundaberg rum....sooooooo nice. This may be my new favourite thing today. Unfortunately, they are something like $26 for a six-pack at the liquor store, and so I will not be drinking many. One last note on the Bundaberg Rum—the secret that gives the rum it's colour and flavour? American White Oak. Yep, 6 tons per vat at a cost of $75,000 each, grown on Bundaberg's plantation in the “Abalution” mountains of West Virgina, which, according to Stephanie the Queenslander tour guide, are on the border with Canada. Americans are not the only charmingly ignorant people on earth when it comes to geography after all!

Once again we stayed in one of Queensland's freebie side-of-the-road rest areas, this one screened from the road by a stand of lacy trees and really very pretty, with toilets and all. Apparently what in Laos is a long-drop in Bundaberg is an 'Eco Toilet.' To be fair, it does have a seat and one doesn't have to look at what has gone before, so to speak, and it doesn't smell at all. I say Australia should forget sending well-drilling equipment and educational supplies and medicine to the third world, and focus instead on exporting these things.

The Big Mango

21 October 2009

From Townsville along the coast, stopping in Bowen for a picnic lunch on the gorgeous Horseshoe Bay. This is Australia as I was led to believe...clear blue water, crashing waves, tanned kids toting surfboards around. Also home to the Big Mango. I'm so pleased to have seen it, it wouldn't have been a real trip to Australia without some sort of enormous fruit, you know?

Driving down to Airlie Beach, hub for the Whitsunday Islands. And by hub I mean there are a lot of 20 year olds hanging out in tiny bikinis and tattoos and not much else. It's a nice little town, stacked up on a hill overlooking a picture-perfect harbour, and has loads of bars and restaurants and bikini shops. Also Cold Rock Ice Cream, in which they chop up bits of candy into your ice cream on a heated metal plate so it all gets gooey and mixed up...Bailey's ice cream with chocolate mint cookies is my new favourite thing. Or maybe coconut ice cream with Snickers bars.

Booked ourselves onto a day trip out to the Reef, through the Whitsundays. It's not cheap, but how often are you here? Well, none of you are here at all, so that just proves my point. Anyway, up early yesterday for the 3 hour trip out to Knuckle Reef with a company called Cruise Whitsundays, in a posh double-hulled fast ferry sort of boat, to the floating pontoon thing anchored at the reef. Chatted with a really nice couple from Tasmania called Rob & Vicky, about everything from Tall poppy Syndrome to why beards are a good thing. As we are not sociable people in general, we were surprised to have had such a good time—especially as the sea was a bit rough and there was some vomiting going on.

Out to the pontoon, equipped with a water slide, semi-submersible boat, a glass-bottomed boat, and loads of snorkeling and diving equipment. They also fed us—huge fresh shrimp and guacamole (have I mentioned I love Australia?). David did the requisite Dive the Great Barrier Reef thing (for 4 times the cost of a dive in Malaysia, natch), and we both snorkelled and I went around on the semi-sub thing with some really miserable Germans and a large woman who turned green even though it felt more like a ride at Disney than a boat trip. The snorkeling meant we got to have wetsuits and flippers and look like complete tools; on the plus side, I apparently wear size small flippers, and that's the first time my feet have been classed as small since about 1985. Saw some gigantic prehistoric looking fish and mountains of coral, yadda yadda. David saw a shark. I did not, thank god.

After our blissful and very expensive day, we left Airlie and the hippies to drive down the coast a bit last night. Driving at dusk or night is stupid, of course, as there are mases of animals about and death by kangaroo is always moments away. So we stopped at the first rest stop we came to, and parked ourselves for the evening for free. Ahhh...back to the good old days, peeing in drainage ditches and trying to find the headtorch at 3am. Ooh, al most forgot to mention that we're driving through Sugar Can country, and apparently Australians don't keep packs of Haitians around to cut the cane, unlike in the Dominican Republic. They do have a whole lot of cane railroads, though.

Today we're in Rockhampton, the cattle capital of Australia. Lonely Planet tells me there are like 250 million cows in a 250 mile radius of this place. Whatever. We've got local steaks for dinner from the IGA (pretty much all chains in Australia appear to be American). Spent the afternoon at the free zoo—where I was forced by peer pressure (and the fact that the 4 -year olds had already done it) to touch a koala bear. Photographic evidence and all. Koalas are the only animal whose brain size has devolved, they tell me, and is in fact smaller than their skull. They need more energy to eat and digest the poisonous eucalyptus. Call me crazy, but maybe the fact that they have small brains has something to do with eating poisonous plants? Anyway, have now ticked off the koalas, kangaroos, wallaroos, emus, dingos, and black swans. Australian wildlife—check.

Venomous, Dangerous & Deadly

18 October 2009

Praise Jesus, we've reached the coast. I can now personally vouch for the existence of water in Australia...and you thought it was just a myth. We did too.


Originally we planned to drive up inland and then over to Cairns, but given that the only road is sealed-but-single-lane, we've come straight across to Townsville. This may sound like it belongs in The Simpsons (east of Shelbyville, left at the dead kangaroo. No, the other dead kangaroo.) ; in fact, it's a nice little city on the coast, strung along the Pacific, with some really beautiful public parks. Said parks are clearly home to most of the other campervan people in this country, all parked up for the night next to the free barbecues, picnic tables, bathrooms, and stinger enclosures. Before appreciating the plethora of free stuff, we'd signed ourselves into Rowse Bay caravan park, which is very nice and has the most impossible site to pull into on earth. But it's on the sea, and the palms and breeze and washing machines made it worth the $30.

Out for drinks (Saturday night and all) at a place called the brewery, really nice ales. Saturday night is sort of like Newcastle, only it's actually warm enough to be wearing those hooker-esque fashions here. Bits of detritus scattered about on Sunday...

Did picnic on the water, though, on clearance chorizo (he is a Ludwick, and therefore unable to pass up meat on sale—it's charming, no?) sandwiches and kebab-flavoured chips. Townsville has a stinger emclosure and rockpool—saltwater lagoon-sized pools on the sea, but strung with safety nets to keep out the slightly-deadly and incredibly painful box jellyfish, or 'stingers', and also the really-deadly and also painful irukandji jellyfish. As I say, Australia is dangerous.

Spent the afternoon at the excellent aquarium here, called Reef HQ, as we're in the middle of the Great Barrier Reef. I'm not a fan of sealife if it means touching it, but through plexiglass? Brilliant. It is home to the skeleton of a fish called Oscar who lived there for like 20 years before dying by choking...on a fish bone. They have some smart fish down here. He was not one of them. Also saw a green turtle who is apparently enormous for her age (no, she's not American.) We watched the shark feeding, wandered the recreated reef and mangrove bits, and had a little talk with a sweet little old lady volunteer in which she categorized the seashells of Australia in three categories. These are (and I quote):

1.Venomous
2.Dangerous
3.Deadly

Seashells, people. Seashells.. I begin to grasp why Britain had no use for this continent until they needed someplace to keep criminals. It is pretty, though.

Anyway, we actually ate out in Townsville, seafood on one of the restaurant streets. It's almost like the real world again. Stocked up with VB beer, caffeine, and free wifi at McDonalds, and off we go down the coast.

Charlotte, Queen of the Desert

17 October 2009

From the Bush they emerge...two Americans with very uneven tans courtesy of driving with one arm out in a country with no apparent filter between the fiery sun and frail human flesh. Have used up all our suncream and already restocked. You'd think it would be cheaper in a place where one-in-four people gets skin cancer.

Met two Irish people who advised us as:re life in a campervan; they've got a year and have taken two months from Brisbane to Mataranka in a van they bought, and which is fortunately free of skulls dripping blood. It's rather usual to have a campervan here, loads of them up and down the roads; it seems like we're more common than kangaroo roadkill, and that's pretty freaking common, let me tell you. Also, really smelly (the kangaroos, not us.) Caravan parks are everywhere, every town has at least one (and these are towns with like 50 people), and most have kitchens with fridges and microwaves and whatnot. After Mataranka, we stayed at the Roadhouse in Threeways. Threeways has: a German woman who runs the campground, a bar adorned with poetry by Outback truck drivers, and yes, three ways to go. While we were parked there having dinner (Cantonese kangaroo stir-fry), an enormous semi hauling a crane or something pulled through the camping area and took out the overhead electrical lines. It was all very exciting.

The trucks out here are intense—monstrous semis called road trains, each pulling at least three full-sized trailers. When they pass you, it's like being sucked into a tornado: the windows rattle and the whole van shakes. Met a bloke at a rest stop telling stories about how he's seen them just plow through cattle on a road, leaving the animals dead and not even pausing. I feel like there's a horror movie waiting to be made here.

Stopped at a bar in Daly Waters on the Stuart Highway, famous pretty much for just existing in such an isolated place. The Irish girl manning the bar was lovely, the $5 for Gatorade was not. The place is adorned with underwear and shirts and random crap left by happy patrons, and was full of Chinese tourists taking photos. An outfit called Groovy Grape or something equally inane was there as well—they tailed us from Darwin down, clearly a second-rate Odyssey sort of deal. It does make me wonder if we seemed like quite such idiots to the Kyrgysz people we met along the way.

Next stop Queensland, and the little metropolis of Mount Isa. Keep in mind, these places are all 500+ kilometers apart...we're doing a lot of driving. The Isa is a mining town, only founded in 1924, and sits on a massive amount of lead, silver, and two other things I can't remember. Unlike the other mining areas I've been to (West Virginia, Wales), it's not depressed or gloomy or mourning the loss of a way of life. The mine chugs away 24 hours a day, the town is busy and quite proud of itself. Camped at Copper City, on the Leichardt River. Personally, I feel like Australians should use another word than “river” or “creek” if there is no actual water in said landscape feature, Fauxriver perhaps. I'm sure that during the Wet season it's lovely, but 99% of the waterways we've encountered look like they've never seen anyone spit in them, let alone flow with actual real water. The excellent little museum at Outback at Isa has a social history of the 80-year old city, with panels even on the Yanks stationed there during WWII—cheeky and underpaid Aussies who couldn't afford the services of a lady of the night would queue up anyway at the local brothel, and then sell their spot in line to a GI for £5. Awesome.

From Isa, we're on to the coast. Slept last night at one of the excellent little rest areas set up along the Flinders Highway (remember, we turned left at Threeways). Ours had brand new picnic shelters, and very posh eco-toilets, all clean and shiny, and best of all, free. They don't want people driving at night—the animals come out and a 130K/H it easier to kill or be killed by a kangaroo than you'd think—so every few hundred K's there's a designated stop to camp for free, up to 24 hours, and with basic facilities. They do know how to do the camping in Australia.

The Stuart Highway to Heaven

14 October 2009

First afternoon we drove down the (only) road from Darwin, the Stuart Highway. I'm sure Stuart himself was deeply honored, but it's pretty much thousands of kilometers of not much. Hour and a half into it, we turned off for Batchelor, population 730, which is the gateway town for Litchfield National Park. Litchfield is Jan to Kakadu's Marcia, but we'd heard good things and it's on the way south. The main sights include Magnetic Termite Hills. Uh-huh. These are giant towers of termite excreta and saliva; the rather ambitiously named Cathedral Termites build theirs with buttresses, which apparently Australians believe resemble mediaeval cathedrals (I'm not making that up, it's on the signs). Dear Australians: they do not. Love, me. 

The magnetic ones are sort of flat, and perfectly aligned north and south the regulate temperature inside. A field of them looks like a graveyard, all perfectly lined up and pale grey. Still, excreta.

On to the National Park campground at Wangi Falls. Thirteen dollars for the site, paid on an honour system, and free barbecues. Parked and immediately had a kangaroo or wallaroo or whatever watching us. We were very excited (nb: that was two days ago, and we're over it as have seen about 700 since). Sorted out Charlotte, and wandered down to the falls, which are all of 3 minutes walk away. Australia is beautiful—you drive through dry, barren land with nothing but roo roadkill and burnt trees, and then suddenly you're presented with an enormous pool with a waterfall splashing into it. There in late afternoon, we had it all to ourselves...sunlight casting shadows on the red and black rockface, the water was dark and clear and still. A couple of Aussies came along and obligingly took photos of us.

Mexican for dinner, as you do in the Northern Territory. Beef soft tacos, guacamole, salad. Cheryl should be proud.
Yesterday we drove on down the highway another few hundred kilometers. Stopped in Adelaide River to see the military cemetery established there after the Japanese bombed Darwin in 1942, it's lovely and serene and quite sad. Each stone has a quote chosen by the family of the soldier or civilian who lies there—they ranged from stiff-upper-lip lines about King and Country to 'Darlingest Daddy.' About 400+ are buried here, including one Canadian and some Brits; the Americans who died in the Territory were repatriated after the war. There were loads of Americans here for the War; who knew?

Next along was Pine Creek, which apparently was once a thriving gold town, and now has signs featuring the silhouette of Chinese coolies to mark historical places. And an old train.

On to Edith Falls, another lovely swimming pool with a slightly less dramatic waterfall. On the plus side, it does have crocodiles. Swim at your own risk. Picnicked in the shady park—taco salad (running out of ideas). I just like the name Edith, so I'm going with it. I know all these places have reverted to their aboriginal names (Edith is back to Leliyn, Katherine is now Nitmiluk) but I'm just going to stick to what I think is nicer. Edith sounds like some Edwardian Gibson girl.

Anyway, on to Katherine. The town is still Katherine, only the gorge and park have changed. Katherine is a decent sized place, stocked up on essentials (kangaroo meat, electric fan, soda). Giggled a bit at the various place names. And left to drive down to Mataranka. Popped into the local spring-fed pool at Bitter Spring...having spent two days in the dry bit of Australian, we've done more swimming than one might expect. Could be worse—swim, drive, swim, drive, tacos, drive. It's a hard life.