From Brizzee to Moree

28 October 2009

Alas, farewell to Brisbane and a real bed and people giving us fresh fruit salad for breakfast. Onwards and southwards we go, sticking to the coast for now. Popped into Coles on the eternal search for cheap ice (a fridge would so not be unwelcome), acquired Coke and tortilla chips and avocados, and down we go through the Gold Coast. This is a strip about 35k along the Pacific, which seems to be a cross between Vegas and Atlantic City, without the classy parts. Loads of high rises along the water, casinos and SUVs, and a motor race on that day. They used to hold an Indy Car race here, but Indy ceased involvement last year, and the organizers arranged for some other slightly-lesser race group to do this year (forgive my lack of specifics, I have almost zero interest in any of this). Anyhow, said group has been placed in administration (Chapter 11 to the Yanks), and the cars are currently living in a warehouse near where Jeremy Clarkson films Top Gear. In desperation, they've brought in the regional Australian version of car racing (pretty much a bloke with a truck), and this is what held us up in a bit of traffic on Saturday. The cars did zip by us as we pootled along, quite exhilarating even if they're not Indy or whatever.

We quickly decided that the Gold Coast isn't really for us, and headed straight on down through Surfer's Paradise to the bottom end of it, and Coolangatta. Coolangatta is a wide white sand beach, beautiful and a bit wild on Saturday, as some wind and rain hit just as we laid out our picnic lunch. Too chilly for swimming, but we wandered on down to Rainbow Bay and the terribly-daringly-named Danger Point to watch the surfers. Rainbow is also beautiful (the whole country is rather tiresome in that just about all of it is beautiful in one extreme way or another), and given the slightly stormy weather, it was a gorgeous afternoon. Crossed the line from Queensland into the state of New South Wales just about here.

New South Wales (and please can someone explain this name to me? I have yet to get a reasonable answer from anyone, although I have heard at least 3 explanations) is much like Queensland. At least in Coolangatta. We moseyed along the universally beautiful beaches all afternoon, stopping here and there to wade a bit and walk a bit. And spot nasty Tokyo-eating-sized lizards sunning themselves.

Oh, we did go to The Big Prawn, which was almost as cool as The Big Mango, and definitely cooler than The Big Pineapple. Unlike the dignified solitude of the Pineapple and Mango, which loom alone in their strange existence, the Prawn appears to be eating a crappy souvenir shop, which lends it a bit of an edge.

Finally made it to Byron Bay, home to yet more stunning beaches and a laid back little town full of summer clothes shops and coffee places, and also more of the lithe 20 year olds that Australia specializes in. This is much more my sort of thing (not necessarily the lithe young things, but you might like to speak to David about them). No high rises, just slightly overpriced boutiques full of pretty and useless things, paired with great beaches and a campground for $20. The place we stayed (Beaches of Byron) has a paved path down to what amounts to a private beach called Tallow, miles long with almost no one on it. You get to wander past meadows and lagoons on the way down (or at least the owner called them lagoons, the signs said waste water treatment pools, but lagoons is nicer and they were scenic). One of the pools also noted that it was set aside for aboriginal use. (“Here, you guys take the alcoholism and the syphillis and the waste water, go ahead! No need for thanks!”)

From Byron we turned inland, into the Hinterland of NSW. Our darling friend Ben hails from the mighty metropolis of Coonamble, beating heart of said Hinterland, and happens to be here visiting from London at the moment with his girlfriend Fiona. We're meant to be meeting up with him in the opal-mining town of Lightning Ridge. We took ourselves through Celtic Country (they paint the telephone poles with tartan here, just like in Scotland!) and stayed in a roadside rest area not at all up to Queensland's standards, saw the first ring of Standing Stones erected in more than 3000 years to honour Australia's Celtic pioneers (random...deeply random), and drove through the mountains of the Gibraltar Range. These are actually quite Scottish, in that they're hilly and gorse-y and rainy and quite dramatic...and peppered with palm trees. Sooo...maybe not. Sadly, a brush turkey met its end flying straight into Charlotte and bending the mirror in the effort. RIP, deeply stupid brush turkey.

Sadly, we have had a mishap. Charlotte suddenly decided to stop shifting gears yesterday at lunchtime, and we limped into Moree. Home to 8000 people and a very nice garage, where Charlotte is resting up on a lift, having her gearbox taken apart. She should be done today, and we will hopefully be on our way in a bit...stayed in a hotel last night, so that should have been a bonus. It wasn't. The Victoria Hotel is, in fact, I believe, a rooming house and/or brothel, with cockroaches the size of Manhattan and holes in the towels. But is has wide verandas wrapping around it, and cost $35, and there's just no way David was going to be able to say no to both of those. On the plus, it is across the street from Moree's saving grace. The town is home to loads of hot artesian springs, and there's a complex where one can spend the afternoon lounging in steaming pools of mineral water for $6. Awesome.

And so I found myself surrounded by a pack of 70-year old Slavic women and some Aussie 8-year olds, in a rainstorm, soaking in a steaming hot spring decorated like some sort of 1920s lido. It could be worse.