Goldfish racing with pole-dancers

---

Cairns isn't a place worth visiting in its own right (unless you're an alcoholic - the bar scene was the best I'd seen in Australia so far, with a friendly vibe and great music), but it's a base for forays into the surrounding countryside (in particular the Atherton Tablelands and the Daintree) as well as just about any adventure/adrenaline/extreme sport you care to mention bar half-pipe snowboarding. Its proximity to the Great Barrier Reef means it's the starting point for many diving/snorkelling trips. Its 2 largest tourist populations appeared to be Germans (a fact which they all seemed to complain about) and Japanese (meaning a decent selection of Japanese restaurants at last), with Brits not far behind.

Cairns was also suffering from a plague of noise pollution when I was there, with all my dorms being blighted by either Olympic-standard snorers or proximity to noisy common areas. Though this might sound like I'm a whinging old so and so, I didn't have these problems on the west coast to anywhere near the same extent I've had them since coming further east, and I don't know why.

I did have one interesting dorm-mate though, a Welsh guy who'd spent the last year setting up a music school in Papua New Guinea. He had apparently been the only white person in the area, becoming something of a local celebrity in the process, and claimed he was having trouble adjusting to Western civilization again. I was amused to hear that, on his first night in Australia, he'd attempted to reacquaint himself with it by visiting a strip club, 3 pubs, and 2 night clubs. He also claimed to have only washed in a river for the last few months, a fact my nose could probably have guessed at.

For me, Cairns was where my Atherton Tablelands expedition and PADI scuba course (both previously blogged) originated from - otherwise, it was simply a drinking venue.

My 2nd last night in Cairns sticks out in my mind, with it being Henri's (from my scuba course) last night before flying back to Adelaide, and with one goal of the evening being to stay up until 4AM so he could catch his airport shuttle at that time. No-one else from our group could be tempted out, so it was just Henri, a girl from his dorm (who I shall call Patricia), and myself.

Our first port of call was at the Woolshed, a contender for the title of Cairns' equivalent of The Vic in Darwin, which was holding its weekly World Goldfish Racing Chamionships. This premier piscine sporting event attracts a discerning crowd bored with the tedium of mainstream gambling activities such as horse-racing.

The format is simple - a straight knock-out contest between 8 goldfish, 7 with previous racing form (and hence a number in the world rankings) and 1 of unknown provenance. Woolshed punters have the opportunity to bid for each fish in an auction, taking careful account of its nationality and form. The owner of the tournament-winning fish would pocket a pass for free bus travel around the South Island of New Zealand.

The mechanics of the race were also straightforward. 2 adjacent transparent water-filled containers constituted the race tracks with a chequered flag over the end of each one. The race was initiated by an independent observer emptying each fish into the starting end of each track. Using a straw, the fish owners could attempt to "encourage" their fish by blowing a stream of bubbles at its bum with the intention of expediting its progress to the finish line.

2 Dutch girls we were sitting with were especially interested in the competition as 1 of them was heading to New Zealand shortly. They had little resistance in obtaining Sushi, the Japanese entry, for a bargain $22 - with a world ranking of 2 as well. Patricia and I decided to go halves on a bid for the mystery fish with unknown ancestry and no previous form. We ended up parting with $21 each after a heated bidding war - the 2nd highest price of the night after the $51 commanded by Nemo, the Australian entry. Patricia was our "blower", and breezed through the first round - unfortunately in the semis we came up against Sushi, who produced an inspired burst to knock us out. Sushi then took the final, sending the Dutch girls to ecstasy (not literally).

It was nearly 11PM by this point, and Henri said we needed to head soon to PJ O'Brien's, the Irish bar over the road. I asked why, and he replied "Because it's the pole-dancing competition", to which Patricia added "Which I'm going to win". I wasn't sure I had heard that correctly, but I had.

Sure enough, Patricia turned out to be a professional pole-dancer, a fact clearly apparent the first time she jumped agilely onto the pole, flicked her hair, flashed a smile, and slid all the way down. She waltzed through the competition without being seriously threatened, taking home $100 or so in bar credit. There was also a competition for guys, which of course Henri couldn't resist entering - unfortunately I think he crushed the crown jewels in a manoeuvre early in his routine, rendering the rest of his performance pained. Elimination was all too predictable.

After Patricia had pocketed her winnings we returned to the Woolshed where we still had some unused drinks vouchers. Even in a normal venue, Patricia made athletic use of the furnishings so it was quite disconcerting to one second be talking to her face, and the next her crotch as she vaulted up into the rafters.

At about 3AM, Henri and I started a meandering walk to his hostel, arriving just in time for him to retrieve his luggage from his dorm and catch his shuttle to the airport. It's a good job that entry to an aeroplane doesn't require passing a breathalyser test.

I was sorry to leave Cairns as it had been extremely entertaining, but the long journey south beckoned with a mere 2 months to get down to Melbourne. So, reluctantly, I packed up my rucksack and prepared to see what the east coast could offer me.

---