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Published: December 21st 2006
Fraser Island; Well Almost
Brisbane actually, The Treasury Building in the heart of the tower blocks.Sunday 17th - Tuesday 19th December.
Airlie Beach to Hervey Bay. What a journey.
The Sunlander was for once on time and as I boarded at 8.10pm I immediately went to my allocated seat and was not too impressed with my surroundings. I was seated directly behind/adjacent to a tribe of ginnies or Aborigine's to you, not known for their cleanliness at the best of times, three women aged between 30 and 60 and about 8 kids, the youngest of which who was sat across the aisle from me and was busy suckling hard on his mothers chest. At the front of the carriage a guy with more than a passing resemblence to Catweazle and quite obviously worse for wear on something or other was busy being a general nuisance. Three times he was moved from what he thought was his seat by boarding passengers, one a nice honeymooning English couple who'd been on the shuttle bus with me, before the large female gaurd arrived on the scene. After a brief discussion I could just about hear her over the squawking kids announce "right sir, you're down there next to that gentleman". I closed my eyes for a couple
Fraser island; Well Almost
Andy, the ex smack head alcoholic screwball. of seconds as it dawned on me that that gentleman was me and he threw his army style kit bag over his shoulder and advanced, introduced himself as Andy and nearly cut off my circulation with a shake of my hand.
For the next ten minutes he stood in the aisle alongside me trying to convince me that I'd be better off in the window seat but I was having none of it and he eventually reneged and moved inside me all the while talking in absolute riddles.
I had a quick decision to make, either ignore him and risk causing upset or act friendly and be subject to a night of bullshit and jibberish. My initial stance was somewhere in between.
About an hour into the journey he started pleading with me to join him in the club carriage for a drink. I told him I was skint and that I didn't want to drink on such a long journey but he was insistent, he'd buy and so eventually for some peace we adjourned to the bar. Expecting a beer he came back from the bar with a JD and coke which we both consumed very
Fraser island; Well Almost
The elderly couple who reminded me that there are normal folk in Ausralia. quickly. Thankfully he wasn't in a position to buy another so when we'd finished he returned to the seats and I told him I'd follow him along in a minute. It was a good hour before a gaurd came in and told me that the carriage was closing and that I'd HAVE to go back to my seat. I felt like gripping him by the lapels and saying "but have you seen what's next to me" but resisted and returned.
Our first stop, the small town of Mckay at about 11:30pm was an opportunity for a leg stretch and as soon as the wheels had stopped turning I was off. I must have been stood by the entrance to the station with a small cluster of passengers for a good five minutes when I turned and saw Andy. He was running down the platform, zig zagging from side to side causing startled passengers to step out of his erratic path and when he spotted me and all of a sudden his route gained some direction. He headed straight for me.
He was tightly clutching a bunch of Hibiscus leaves (God only knows where he got them) and tears
Fraser Island; Well Almost
They neglected to tell me at check in you had to get your cutlery and plates off them. This was all I could find for my soup. were streaming down his face. Sobbing he explained that he was losing his mind, that he'd been on the train since Friday afternoon and couldn't take anymore and that he couldn't find the Southern Cross in the stars and that wasn't good ! What the!?!
Two minutes later I found myself stood arms outstretched as directed to mask the distraction of the street lights getting a seemingly knowledgable explanation of the solar system from a complete screwball. Whatever next. All of a sudden he started singing, totally tuneless and almost incoherent but the words I did recognise seemed strangely familiar and all of a sudden it clicked. He was singing the words of Dio and early Black Sabbath. From that moment on we became buddies.
Once back on the train the lights were out and most people were sleeping. Andy still wanted to talk and on more than one occasion I had to hold my finger to my mouth to tell him to speak quieter. And then I had a brainwave. I reached into my bag and pulled out my ipod secretly changing the headphones to my reserve set, scanned for some early Sabbath and offered him one
Fraser Island; Well Almost
These guys rustled up a full banquet in next to time and let me try. half. Despite the fact, due to his stale, unwashed smell that this actually brought us physically closer (despite tearing the wire) it worked and he drifted into a trance like state broken only by the occasional air guitar solo, shake of the head or crashing of an imaginary cymbal. We still chatted, albeit quietly, and I discovered that he was a one time heroin addict who'd quit ten years ago but who was now sadly a full blown alcoholic or as he put it "an alcoholic dependant".
His army bag contained just a pillow and a few cans of JD and coke which surprisingly and generously he offered me and by 4am, as the batteries of the ipod faded, I suggested we got some sleep. Five minutes later I felt as though I was in the turbine's of a jumbo jet. His snoring had to be heard to be believed and at this point I set off in search of sanctuary.
By 7am the majority of the train was alive and I had still not slept. I went to the food car for a coffee and was joined by Andy. Sober he was a completely different guy.
Fraser Island; Well Almost
Whilst I watched I burnt my maiden schnitzel cos there was no oven, just a pan. A young girl of about ten asked me if I was from Ireland or Wales. I said "neither" and she said "Scotland then". When I said I was from Liverpool she simply replied "I don't like people from Liverpool", upped and left. Charming.
It was becoming increasingly apparent to me that the majority of train users in Australia are either travellers (the vast minority) or weirdo's, that all the sane people fly and it took a lovely elderly couple on the way to see their daughter for Christmas to remind me that there are normal, decent folk in this country.
I left Andy and The Sunlander at 10am in Maryborough West and had one and three quarter hours to wait for the shuttle. I chatted to the English honeymooners whose seat Andy had tried to take and they sympathised with me fully. "No" I insisted "he was alright really". To pass the time I changed and went for a run, my first for three days, and in half an hour I saw one house. This place is just so vast.
The shuttle to Hervey Bay took 35 minutes and dropped me at a shopping centre with no
24 Hours in Brisbane.
John aka Harry Worth. Despite all his ailments he still remained upbeat. sign of a Bay. I chose the nicest looking van of those waiting to ferry traveller's to their accommodation and soon found myself at Beaches, which although nowhere near as central as the German girl driver had told me, was clean and comfortable. I did my first washing for over a week, my rucksack was beginning to attract flies, and went for a stroll.
As time for getting to Melbourne was getting short I had to pass on the visit to Fraser Island. Most tours of this National Heritage island were of two or three days duration and the day trip at 95 Aus Dollars just didn't seem worth it. I was stuck in Australia's equivalent of Bognor Regis, an wxtremely quiet seaside town where the most popular pastime seemed to be crown green bowls. I decided to make Monday a day of rest to recover from the journey and head off south on Tuesday and I settled down to watch England's valiant day four attempt to regain some pride. If only close of play had come fifteen minutes earlier.
That evening I sat alone outside the hostel bar writing and musing and was joined by, amongst others
24 Hours in Brisbane.
The Victoria Bridge, Treasury Building in the background. a couple of scousers, two Austrian girls, a Canadian, a Kraut and four Aussie fishermen just in from sea who had just had as near a death experience as they'd ever had at the hands of a huge storm.
Monday was, apart from being the day we sadly but inevitably handed back the little Urn to the Aussies a further opportunity to recover from the train ride of two nights ago and to prepare for the slog of the next three days. I called to make a reservation and the scale of the travelling still to be done before reaching Melbourne became apparent. Tuesday; 2 hours bus, 4 hours train and overnight stop in Brisbane, Wednesday; 4 hours train, 2 hours bus and overnight stop in Byron Bay, Thursday; 2 hours bus, 12 hours night train to Sydney then a 20 minute break to change trains before the final 12 hour haul to Melbourne arriving Friday night.
As nightfall came I ran along the deserted sands of Hervey bay beach thought to myself things aren't so bad after all. In my attempts to maintain a modicum of fitness I have to force myself to endure the hell of
24 Hours in Brisbane.
Not a patch on the London Eye. running which, unless it has a purpose such as keeping a ball in play or catching a bus I find absolutely ghastly. In the southern hemisphere heat this feeling has multiplied tenfold. Up until now all my runs have been in in City centre parks or esplanades dodging pedestrians, cars, cyclists and other runners but the thick bank of trees seperating the beach from the highway meant that this was just me and nature and in a strange sadistic way I actually enjoyed it. Running seemed to take less effort.
It took a good minute for the old chap to get up and make way for me to take my seat on the Brisbane train. With two walking sticks, a false left hip and equally false right knee I gave him all the time he needed and for the next hour or so all I got out of him was the occasional chuckle as he sat engrossed in the on board movie. I was more than happy with this situation and took in the passing countryside with the accompaniment of my ipod. Things changed dramatically as soon as the credits rolled. It must have been obvious to him that
24 Hours in Brisbane
For Whom The Bell Tolls. At a Pergoda in the heart of town. the things connected to my ears were there for a purpose and that at best I could barely hear him but he persisted regardless. After five minutes or so it dawned on me that he wasn't going to let up so I conceded and switched it off.
John was a 58 year old single guy with more than a look of Harry Worth about him with, apart from the previously mentioned ailments a chronic case of Diabetes who was on his way to Brisbane for tests following a recent heart attack. He told me when he was younger he'd had a number of responsible positions in society, from what I could gather being in a tarmac gang being the most prestigious and he also said he had a few kids dotted around the country although he had no contact with any of them. I thought to myself that no matter how lonely I'd felt at any stage in the last month at least I have friends and family to go home to, this guy has it for good. Despit this he remained upbeat and jolly and even shared his bag of mini Snickers, "for a boost when I need
24 Hours in Brisbane.
One for Azzer. These critters are everywhere. it", with me and taught me something I didn't know, that pineapples grow in the ground. I shook his hand as he struggled to get off the train and wished him well.
Fortunately there was a hostel within 100 yards of the Brisbane's Roma Street station and having dossed my bags I went off to explore.
Brisbane seems like a really nice City, essentially modern with small pockets of history within such as the lovely treasury Building. The esplanade running along the south side of the river reminded me of London's South Bank although the Brisbane Eye didn't quite compare. I passed a small art house/B movie cinema and noticed a flyer for 'Metal; A Headbangers Journey', enquired and vowed to return later at 8.30pm.
My run took me along the river and I returned to my dorm at 6.30. An American guy was sleeping (he was still sleeping at 11pm and at 5,45am the following day; maybe he was dead) and the three other occupiers, all Japanese girls who'd checked in at the same time as me were absent. I showered and having dried myself realised I'd left my undies and shorts on my bunk. Not
24 Hours in Brisbane
Under Victoria Bridge. wanting to appear to overfamiliar to the yank just in case he'd woken and having erroneously just taken a hand towel in to dry myself I thought that I'd clutch that and my running shorts to my groin and make a quick dash to my bunk and return to the haven of the bathhroom. I opened the door and was greeted with the type of scream that you'd normally associate with someone who'd just discovered a horribly mutilated corpse. One of the Japanese girls had quietly returned to the room whilst I showered and was sat scrunched up on the bed, as though suffering severe stomach cramps with her hands pushed hard into her eyes repeating the word "solly" over and over again. I was desperately trying to shut her up whilst at the same time maintain my dignity and praying that the yank didn't wake and suspect me of trying to carry out some obsene and lurid act on the innocent oriental.
I told her to keep her hands over her eyes though I don't think she understood me and holding my towel in one hand and my forefinger of the other to my mouth I dashed across
the room and back in an instant and shut the door behind me. Then I realised that in my haste I'd only grabbed my jockeys, not my shorts. When I went back in her hands were still over her eyes so I quickly threw my shorts on and said "okay". As she took them away I found myself saying "solly" back. I quickly dressed and left thankfully noticing the man from Arizona hadn't flinched.
I went downstairs with thoughts of budgets and economy in my head and ordered the ridiculously cheap steak. For five and a half Austaralian Dollars (about 2.50) it was a bargain and I considered calling Australian Trading Standards when, having written down accompaniments and how it was to be cooked the girl informed me that I had to buy a beer or wine from the bar to go with it. The bar just so happened to be the most expensive I've come across in a month.
The movie, a documentary by an American rock fan was entertaining enough though full of factual errors that only a metal mastermind like myself would spot (what a saddo), the bottle of 3 dollar Chardonnay that I smuggled
24 Hours in Brisbane
Darth Vader's sabre behind me is actually The Victoria Bridge again. in tasty enough and I was in bed for 11pm to prepare for the early start.
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waymo
non-member comment
Andy sounds like a candidate for metal pig! Speaking of which the parcel lasted 20 mins this year.