Episode V: The Blog Strikes Back

The nature of the trilogy is one of balance. Star Wars (yes, it was a trilogy, there were only THREE Starwars films as far as I am concerned) showed us that even the greatest of films are only one Ewok away from a raised eyebrow and derisory snort of contempt. So it is with great pressure that I try to encapsulate my Australian experience so far into this series of three. The foundation of my Brisbane experience has been laid, and now that I have clicked the publish button, the next focus is, after all, solely upon this up-coming section. But it is also with quiet optimism that I begin to detail my Brisbanian adventures, after all, there are some bloody good ones to pick from!

 
The expeditions in Brisbane were hampered in the early days by lack of fundage, and feelings of imminent bankruptcy caused by gross unemployment. It was hard to warrant a foray to the Whitsundays when you had no idea where your next paycheque was coming from. Obviously, Captain Hindsight shows I had little to worry about, but it wasn’t really until September time that we started braving the ATMs and headed out into the Wilderness. It goes without saying that I can only tell you all about a few of our trips, and I’ll give the highlights, but I can assure you, there was not a single dull weekend in the Big Brother household. Trips to Tambourine Mountain, The Lost Valley (yes, the Lost Valley), Byron, Surfer’s Paradise Whale Watching and a multitude of others won’t make it into text. Instead, I’ll focus on our big four: Brisbane Riverfire, Stradbroke Island, Agnes Water and Bribie Island. The rest will have to wait for a cold, wintery British pub come January (whether you want to hear them or not!)

The first of the Big Four is, happily, going to be the only difficult one to recount. It appears I must have a sensitivity to rum, because the details of this evening have had to be reconstructed from an assortment of photos, receipts and Vietnam-esque flashbacks. This is also hampered by the fact that my supporting cast (Ben & Whisken) were struck down with the same affliction, no matter how old you get, it appears some lessons are left permanently unlearned. As a form of a brief introduction, the start to the venue of devastation (great bar name by the way) was the home of Duncan and Patricia. Duncan was an old crony of my Dad’s at Bradford University back before the invention of Ipods, CDs and Justin Bieber, and Patricia is his fiancée. Sadly, not enough stories of Uni exploits were divulged for my liking, however, we had a great time with these two in Brisbane and it was to them that we owed our superior view of Riverfire! Riverfire marks the start of the Brisbane festival every year, in past years it’s started courtesy of a fly by from an F-22 over the river, with a fuel dump and ignition (It seems the environment is old enough to take care of itself over here). But the highlight is the firework display along the river banks, and over the Story Bridge. Our view was just overlooking the bridge itself, from a balcony in Duncan and Patricia’s house. For those that haven’t seen the photos, I’d advise a trip down Facebook to take a look, as the results were stunning. The next few hours though are where the alcohol-infused senility kicks in, and it is mostly due to the Trinidadian portions of rum, with a dash of low willpower, to which we owe this! In fact, it was only when I spotted my own face in a bar’s Facebook page the next morning that any of us were aware we had left the flat for further refreshment at all. For any that don’t approve, you may do so under one condition:

1) You are innocent of committing the same sin yourself at any point within your lives

.... Just as I suspected.

Stradbroke island was, in my opinion, the finest indicator of the fantastic location of Brisbane. Dad, Whisken, Duncan, Patricia and myself decided to go for a weekend, packed the car at set off at 8am from Brisbane. By 11am, we had arrived in one of the finest Pacific islands I will ever visit in my life. So, not bad for a 3 hour commute! We managed to find a campsite, due to none other than Wendy at work, right on the sands of the beach, which suited us very well for our pitch. It was here that the only organisational “hiccup” occurred as we found we had only packed one 3 man tent for the five of us. Luckily I am well versed in camping screwups, having both camped AND screwed up camping every year for the past 6 or 7 years, so we powered through and determined to master that art of cosy! After we had set up camp, we headed to the beach for a bit of death-defying Australian sea swimming and general beach-related tomfoolery. After which we went on a walk around the North of the island along the many miles of pristine beaches and cliffs overlooking whale, manta ray and dolphin strewn waters, finishing with a bit of a seafood basket dinner at the end. Once we had managed to get back to the campsite, and the night had set in, we had a few more glasses of fine Australian box wine before tackling the sleep situation. Verdict? A much better nights sleep than you’d expect! The next day we set off on a trek around the Turtle Lake National Park and then settled for a bit more beach time in the afternoon before our final ferry back home. The entire trip, from the ferry ride over the mangroves and Pacific to Stadbroke, to watching the baby wallabies feeding on the edges of the cliffs, oozed perfection. And just like that, I fear, camping in Lyme Regis will never be as fulfilling again.

Agnes Waters marks a very important landmark in the Big Four of Brisbane, as it was not only Whisken’s 24^th birthday (keeping me and Ben feeling young since 09/09/87), but was also the only one of the four that Ben was present for, and not working away in the gym-mines, from start to finish. Agnes Waters is 500km away from Brisbane, so we took a Friday off and decided to get the drive done in one go, both ways. When we eventually arrived at midnight or so, there was the small matter of trying to track down the key to get into our temporary home for the weekend. The house itself belonged to a friend of Dads as a holiday home, and so calling was out of the question. It never occurred to our cynical, wary English brains that you could leave the house unlocked 365 days of the year, without thought of vandalism or theft, but that is exactly what our Australian friend did. If I recall correctly, it’s difficult enough keeping bus stops protected in England, let alone the deadlocked, doubled locked, chained over front doors of your house. Our weekend consisted of some beach lazing, steak eating, birthday celebrating and a bit more (surprised yet?) beer drinking. The nearby town of 1770 is where Captain James Cook landed in the area for the first time in a year which escapes my mind for the moment. It is also one of the only places, due to a strange shaped peninsula, where you can watch the sun rise and set over the Pacific, which we took advantage of on a few occasions with a bit more seafood eating and beer drinking. The finest moment though, was probably hauling ourselves down to the beach at 9 in the evening and setting up a fire alongside the sea. As there are no cities for hundreds of miles in either direction, zero light pollution leads to some rather spectacular nightskies and we didn’t get attacked by any saltwater crocodiles even once! I guess some people are just born to be lucky!

The last section of the Big Four equates, not only to the most luxurious weekend of my life, but the most luxurious weekend of any backpacking experience. Bribie island is another small island about an hour away from Brisbane and also the home of Alan and Connie, two friends of my Dads from his stint in Reading. They decided, in their infinite wisdom, that Reading is terrible and that they would much rather move to Bribie Island, buy a three story mansion and buy a boat. For the record, I’d like to say I fully support this decision, and will be attempting to follow their footsteps once I’ve figured out how to fix the lottery. The house itself is down a cul-de-sac road and backed out onto a tributary of the canal system which weaves through the residential area and out into the ocean. Boat classification is an area far outside my arc of expertise, but I’d call it fits about 8 people, is of the “speed boat” build and is the finest method of breakfast commuting I’ve ever experienced, but more about that in a moment. For the evening, we headed towards a seafood restaurant of which Alan and Connie are regular frequenters. The meal, or banquet as it shall hence forth be known, consisted of scallops, mussels, oysters, langoustines, prawns, barramundi, crayfish, crab, calamari, steak, cheesecake, a cheeseboard and a mountain of other, rather unbackpackery, sorts of cuisine, alongside the compulsory red wine, white wine, port, whiskey and beers. Needless to say, I don’t expect to be eating that well for a few years to come, so I tried to indulge myself to the best of my ability, a feat of which I feel I did justice! It was however, the next morning that will form the main highlight of my memories of Bribie Island. We were woken at 7am to be told we were headed out on the boat and then to breakfast. To separate activities which I thought were harmlessly wonderful each in their own right. It wasn’t until we’d set off for a while that I realised they were more intrinsically linked than I’d initially thought. It will probably be the first and last time that I dock the boat on the beach, anchor it down and saunter (for there is no other way to walk in such a circumstance) into the restaurant for breakfast. It goes without saying it was the finest tasting French toast I’ve ever eaten, and I owe it all to the fact that I knew how I was going to be departing breakfast once I’d finished.

As I say, don’t let the colossal length of this update fool you. These four highlights form a tiny percentage of the list I chose from to write about in this blog. But it is these ones that form the most profound influence of the memories of my time in Brisbane. But it is with the end of this blog that I draw a line underneath that stage of the travels and move onto my path down the East Coast. I’m currently sat in Airlie Beach, verging on the Whitsundays, writing this. And so I still have a small blog or two to write before I catch up to where I am, it is the nature of this occupation that I always have something to report and write about. I don’t know how the trilogy will fare; you never do until the final film has been released after all! But, this midway blog has brought back alot of good memories, so for me, at least, it has been a success. One word of warning concerning the final triology blog though... Never forget it was in fact the final Star Wars film in which we were introduced to Ewoks...

R

Episode IV: A New Blog

And out of the exile of the real world I return! It’s with a rather eager hand that I take up the blog once again, and what better time to start writing than during my first 11 hour Greyhound bus trip down the East coast of Australia? To be frank, with the sheer quantity of memories I’ve accumulated over the past 4 months of Brisbanian existence, it’s probably for the best I have such a prolonged period of time to try and articulate these memories and convert them into black and white for you fine people. I’ve been pondering on how to structure these first few updates and have decided on a course of action. I was reluctant to provide regular updates during my stagnant 9-5 lifestyle, as reporting which specific type of sandwich fillings I was eating during the week didn’t seem to provide the most valuable use of time for any readers out there. Instead, I’ll give you a brief recount over my time in Brisbane, a review of the job which kept me paid and occupied, with a separate update detailing the many exploits in between blissful Fridays and all too notorious Mondays. In addition to this, I aim to stretch the memory banks to splitting and will recount my reunion with Sam Keegan and Bob Smith and our progression down Australia to Sydney and, lastly, will give you a brief account of the first week of my backpacking in Cairns. So, plenty to write, plenty to read, it’s just a good job I’ve got nowhere else to go for the next 11 hours or so I suppose!

I will start my pointing out, that despite my ungrateful bouts of complaint towards my “real world” phase of travelling, the past 4 months have been bliss. The subject is still so fresh and recent, that I do get rather nostalgic towards my time in Brisbane, and am rather aware it’s a period in my life that I’ll remember fondly for many years to come yet. The majority of the fond memories are owed to my Dad and, tinges of epitaph-writing aside, I’m fully aware none of it would have been possible without hi s constant supplies of generosity, motivation and hospitality, not just towards me, but to a host of comrades, travellers and general hangers-on. For that, I can easily speak for everyone when I say that we’ll remain eternally grateful, and all we can hope is that he enjoyed it half as much as we did. Our abode is rather hard to put into writing without sounding as if I am exaggerating the luxury of standards which we acclimatised to. My Dad’s house was a three story, 5 bedroom house, overlooking the CBD of Brisbane from atop the nearby overlooking hills surrounding the city. It’s a curious feeling to know that, aged 24, I will never have again be in possession of such a view for the rest of my life. Pictures have been placed on Facebook at random intervals, but as with all of the best bits of my travels, they cannot do it the justice it requires. Needless to say, even to the very last day in our home, I never tired of the view and failed at any point to get used to its presence and found myself racing back from work solely to see “one more sunset” behind the cityscape. The house came with a swimming pool, two balconies and an en-suite for each bedroom, and I even got used to having an entire floor dedicated to me, probably shouldn’t be getting used to that in a hurry I suppose.

Brisbane itself is a city unlike any I can think to compare to in England. The city is built with a concentrated hub in the centre which forms the CBD. However, this CBD is tiny in comparison to the entirety of the city itself. Brisbane spreads itself over many miles along the river (which for the sake of my lack of knowledge/intelligence, shall be known as the Brisbane river...) which is serviced by a fleet of catamaran ferries for navigating yourself around the city in the most stylish and aesthetically pleasing way possible. The city, as with all cities in Australia, is a mere baby in comparison to our English towns and cities back home. Brisbane, as it appears to us today, is approximately only really 50 years or so old. This means that, despite the envious glances from the Australians towards my countries rich tapestry of history and heritage, the city itself is clean, attractive and modern. The trips along the river are punctuated with jettied mansions, botanical gardens, parks and a brief peak of skyscrapers and stylish restaurants within the CBD itself. The finest architectural highlight of Brisbane, which shall be reappearing in my next update, is the Story Bridge and I can easily say I’ve never had such a conflicting sense of opinion towards any building in my life. From an intimate vantage point, you can scrutinise the bridge to be no more than a rather adventurous use of a child’s Mechano set. However, from our balconies viewpoint looking towards the city, the shape of the illuminated bridge once the sun has set is the perfect addition to an already impressed skyline. If you ever find yourself in the area, tell me what you conclude about the bridge yourself, however, I fancy I’ll never really make my mind up about that bridge...

Concerning our immediately local area, we are very much considered to be in the outskirts of the city. We lived in the Bulimba region, and one of the coolest places to find yourself in it was too. The main area, if not the only area, of Bulimba was the high street, a living, breathing document to the Australian’s phenomenally laid back approach to a working life. The high street, like so many others, consists of a range of high-end restaurants, a couple of bars, a green and a collection of the most bizarre shops you’ll ever find (custom made babies furniture shops are a rarity I find, arguably for good reason too...). At any point, of any day, of any time of the month the high street was packed. I never walked past an empty restaurant and gave up trying to explain how these people earn their money a long time ago. In the end I became intimately accustomed to this high street as it was at one end (at the top of a stonking hill) where we lived, with our ferry terminal into the city located at the other end. It was a rather unforgiving heart that I think back to the fact I used to dread that walk along the high street back home, and I shall be reminding myself of this during every moment I find myself walking through the streets of Yateley back home..

The only part of my Brisbanian existence which needs a mention was my working life. To begin with, although it seems a long time ago now, I was struggling to find work and it was getting desperately worrying as to whether I’d be able to continue or if I’d have to head home. In the end, I owe my gratitude to a particular job agency who managed to fulfil my job request (A job that is worthwhile and a job which helps people) and find me a position at the Multiple Sclerosis Society of Queensland. The MS society is a charitable body which raises money for research into the disease, as well as treating and caring for MS patients all over Australia. The job was far better than I could ever have expected and has seriously raised some interesting implications for me when I return to England. A special mention must go to Wendy, who adopted me as the poorly equipped human being that I am. Not only was her knowledge of Australia limitless, but also her advice was invaluable and her guidance will most likely be missed for the remainder of the trip. On top of that, she also stole me sandwiches whenever the opportunity arose, which in my eyes is one of the highest gestures you can bestow upon another person!

Of course, as with most of my updates, the majority of the experience will have to go untold, you chaps don’t have hours to read, and even an 11 hour bus journey won’t suffice for me to report all aspects of Brisbane! Bits which deserve an honourable mention include Fortitude Valley, Brisbane’s bar district and winner of the Richard Harrison Most Epic Name of the Year Award. In particular, Mana Bar stands out as being the only gaming themed bar I have ever bumped into. There’s nothing like scratching your geek itch with a game of Mario Kart in a bar, whilst drinking back a Mana Potion cocktail surrounded by people dressed up as Final Fantasy characters. Further honourable mentions go to the unbelievably high standard of female that exists in Brisbane, there really is nothing quite like living within amongst a race of supermodels, and I recommend it to anyone who has yet to try it (although, be warned, self-confidence WILL take a massive dive when you realise the men are on par with the women, and there is little room for a short, hairy hobbit-like figure in the supermodel’s life plans). Last honourable mention goes to XXXX (known as 4X), the single worst instance of a beer to befall mankind. If you ever catch yourself criticising Becks, Stella or Carling, seek out a can/tinny of this beer, it will give all of your least favourite beers a new lease of life; that I can guarantee.

Now that the canvas of Brisbane has been created, I’ll go about adding in the detail of my adventures in/around and outside of it in the next update. But for now, I think that may give you a little bit to work through and I am going to try and sleep... Sitting vertically... On a bus... With Sim’s knee in my face... Perhaps a bit of Championship Manager first!

R