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Published: August 8th 2007
"Who let Skippy near the XXXX?!", Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary
Skippy woke up a little groggy, a migrane like someone had been hopping on his brain all night and a mouth drier than Ayers Rock. But she's not bad... can't remember her name... but hey; nice pouch...
You see a lot of kangaroos in this sort of pose on the roads of Australia. These ones however, are alive and well with have nothing to fear but the minature railway that trundles through their midst every ten minutes. Introducing the Natives
James Cook discovered Australia in 1982. Twenty-five years later, Occasionally Bob has reached the same shores.
When Cook arrived he brought with him Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation and Chocolate Milo. Immigration didn’t so much as bat an eyelid. It had a devastating affect on the indigenous population’s formation dancing and calcium intake.
The OB crew brought with them a collection of herbs, spices and packet sauces gleaned from restaurants and take-aways all over Asia. Again, Immigration didn’t bat an eyelid. The effect has yet to be measured, but so far it has resulted in some very tasty chips and nicely seasoned pasta.
When Cook arrived he got bored because no-one would speak to him. They found his pointy hat and telescopic eye intimidating and weird. He’d walk along the beach swinging his frilly-cuffed arms, kicking stones at seagulls and writing blasphemies in the sand. It was during these early days that he made his most influential discovery: Bundaberg Rum. He never looked back. With a bottle in his hand and
Sunset at Town of 1770
Captain James Cook may have been a top explorer type, but boy did he lack an imagination.
"What shall I call this place?"
"Well sir, you've already allocated places your name, your wifes name, your dogs name, your address..."
"I know! I won't name it! I'll just give it a number! From this moment it shall be called 1769 - my VISA's PIN number!"
"With all due respect captain, that's a wee bit shit. No-one will remember a number like that. How about you just round it up to make a nice round number... say, 1770?"
"Brilliant! I shall call it 1770."
"Good thinking, sir."
"Yes I thought so."
And that's the true story of how Captain Cook came to forget his PIN number and lose his VISA card after entering the same wrong number three times in a row. his telescope hovering between his open eye and the closed one, his ability to name things slipped - hence daft names like “Nugga Nugga”, “Wagga Wagga”, “Woolamaroo” or “Sydney”.
Our own path to that clean, crisp taste of a Bundy was thankfully guided by the Munn’s and Skillern’s of Brisbane; a clan of fine house dwellers who appear on the OB family tree somewhere under or around the heading “cousins”. They welcomed the OB crew into their big tellied, open plan homes with open arms and open wine bottles. There was genuine warmth and excitement in their welcome. Its fair to say that plenty of toe licking took place and plenty of pee was spilt in those excitable early days.
Note: the previous sentence should have been preceded with information about the household’s foot fetishist, incontinent dog. It’s a bad combination. If she’d been a Tory MP she’d have been a tabloid editors dream.
We found Brisbane to be a soft, warm and leathery kangaroo’s pouch. The sort of place that feels safe and homely. This was due mainly to the incredible hospitality of Julie, Carl, Kira, Brae, Ben, Jan, Barbara, Gary and Susan (that’s the extended family
Lions and Bulldogs, The Gabba, Brisbane
Thanks to Julie and Carl, we watched the Brisbane Lions mauled by the Somewhere South and West Bulldogs. It wasn't a particularly exciting game, but I now understand and appreciate some of the principles behind Aussie Rules Football... like a game isn't complete until there's been at least one good scrap. by the way, and although I may have made them sound like the Waltons, they are spread across four separate households). Julie and Carl’s enthusiasm, efficiency and eagerness in helping us find a car, a tent and camping gear could have been a hint, but their kindness, consideration and a string of fantastic roasts made leaving them and Brisbane extremely difficult and they got us on the road in better shape and time than we would ever have managed on our own.
On the subject of kangaroo’s - of all the amazing things we’ve seen and experienced since arriving here, I think the highlight has to be the phenomenon that is kangaroo testicles. They dangle from the kangaroo like bulbs of garlic swinging low and free from a Frenchman’s neck. Evolution has played one hell of a practical joke on Skippy. Their seriously exposed nature and the creatures insistence on hopping leads me to conclude that there must be some extremely painful snagging accidents out there in the bush. It’s a wonder that the barbed fences that run the length and breadth of the country aren’t adorned with strings of “garlic” from the poor buggers that misjudged a) how
high the fence was and/or b) just how damn low their nuts dangle.
Carl told me that one of the loudest noises in the bush at night is the growling call of a male koala. But to be honest, it’s the high-pitched scream of the unfortunate male kangaroo that gets me curling up in my sleeping bag.
And don’t even get me started on Koala’s. They look pretty cute and fluffy, right? Docile? Dopey? Pah! I’m telling you, it’s all a façade. These are the toughest bad boys in the hood. They’re so tough, that when they see the raging flames of a bush fire licking their way up the tree towards them, they dig their claws in deep and see who can last the longest:
“C’mon flames! Is that all you got?! Burn me baby, burn me!! Hey, Brucey? You still alive?”
“’Course I am! Just a few minor scalds, that’s all; it’s nothing.”
“But mate - ya furs gone, ya skins black n’ crisp and I can smell ya flesh cooking from here!”
“Oh, geez mate, I’m sorry. Am I beginning to smell? That’s just bloody embarrassing!”
“No worries mate - nothin’ some Savlon and
Elephant, Brisbane Gallery of Modern Art
The Southside of the Brisbane River is a bit of a culture vultures dream. Theatres and Art Galleries are in abundance. Very posh.
I liked this elephant. He looks sad. Discuss. a squirt of Lynx won’t sort.”
I saw an article on the news the other day about a bloke who’d been driving along in his bull-barred Toyota monster truck when one of the cute little tree huggers shot out in front of him. Whether he was more stunned by the bump as the wheels of his tank rolled over our fluffy friend or whether it was just sheer astonishment that a koala could “shoot” anywhere, the bloke didn’t say. Either way, the shock saw the bloke stop and get out.
Sure enough, behind his truck with “Bridgestone” pressed into his flat black nose and his leg flattened behind his ear was one of the ootsie-cutsie little chaps sucking his last breathes into crushed lungs.
The driver thought fast and decided that he could save the little fella and earn brownie points at home if he took it to the National Koala Hospital.
But as he bent to peel the jug eared marsupial off the tarmac, with speed associated more with a Cobra than a Koala, the little blighter leapt up and sank it’s teeth deep into the good Samaritans crotch!
“Take me to hospital will ya?, D’you think I’m
Chandelier, Brisbane Gallery of Modern Art
Chandelier envy is a recognised condition. Let me shed some light on this glassy subject: my chandelier's bigger than yours. some sorta whingeing Sheila? Think I can’t take the pain do you! I’ll show you pain, you mongrel!”
The bloke scrambled to his car clutching his bleeding bits and used his mobile to summon an ambulance. By the time they got him to Accident & Emergency he needed a series of tetanus injections and more stitches than John Wayne Bobbit.
And the koala? Having had its revenge, it got up, dusted itself down, cracked a dislocated shoulder back into place and marched back into the bush like nothing had happened.
The roads along the Australian highways are lined with signs warning drivers of Koala populated areas. But its not for the koalas sake they do it, its for the drivers. Apparently, koalas will challenge each other to jump from trees in front of increasingly larger vehicles. The bigger the impact and the more serious the injuries, the greater the kudos. In the Koalas world you’re nobody unless you’re permanently marked with “Holden”, “Toyota” or the ultimate “Australian Railways”.
Enough… here’s the road trip story so far:
Dear Diary…
Day 1 - Brisbane to Glass House Mountains - 93km James Cook had a few towns named
This One's For You Ben, Brisbane Gallery of Modern Art
Its called "Portrait of Richard Neville" and its by Gary Shead. If anyone has a copy of it, I know a certain gentleman who'd love this as a stocking filler this Christmas. after him. I’ve got a park.
“Crockatt Park” in Redcliff, north of Brisbane. It has excellent toilets. Don’t take my word for it. Google “Crockatt Park Brisbane” - I think you’ll find that its toilets are some of Redcliff Counties finest. They also do a mean salami sandwich at the store across the road and the Barbeque area has only a modicum of graffiti. It’s a real classy place.
Our first night under the stars. My back hurts. Its cold. Why did we leave Brisbane again?
Day 2 - Glass House Mountains - Boreen Point (Lake Cootharaba) 238km Visited Mary Cairncross Park - the oldest remaining patch of Rainforest in Australia (though I think several others claim this as well). Really nice place for a walk - saw wallaby with a little fella (that’s a Rolf-ism) stuffed in its pouch. Are wallaby nuts as dangly as their larger kangaroo cousins are? I was going to ask the girl at the Parks information centre but she didn’t look like the sort of person who’d know much about nuts. I’m not saying she was a nun or anything… I’m not commenting on her “life experience”; I’m just suggesting that
Hoorah for boats!, Brisbane
This boat is a cat. I know: I was confused too. Turns out one thing that is called something can be called something else too. Its a boat AND a cat. Dawg. her skills as a botanist seemed limited given that she struggled to tell me how big the park was. “Is it 55 or 100 acres?”, she said, umming and erring. Why are you asking me - you work here, thought I. The difference between 55 and 100 acres is alarmingly large - here’s a trundle wheel, there’s the boundary - off you go - get measuring.
Night two in the tent. Beautiful place, but Jesus the ground is hard. And it was bloody freezing too.
Day 3 - Boreen Point (Lake Cootharaba) to Hervey Bay - 461km At last! A flat place to pitch the tent! Barbeque stands for cooking on and neighbours who don’t start inflating mattresses with their nuclear powered noise pump at stupid times of the night.
Caught sunset on Hervey Bay (you know I loves me sunsets!).
Can’t get used to Australian closing times. All the supermarkets shut just when you need them (late night openings are yet to be invented here) and criminally, you can’t buy booze from any of the following: supermarkets, petrol stations, Oxfam or local teenagers. Never have I been to a country where it’s so difficult to get
Balls to Kitchen Utensils, Brisbane
This ball is not only giant, but it can dry loads of cutlery all at once as its made from those cutlery draining things. Its a washer-uppers nightmare. Scrub them spoons, ya varmant, there be more space on me giant cutlery drainer! some alcohol - how do the Aborigines do it? Julie - our evening tipple isn’t the same without you - but when we’ve managed to find it, we’ve had a bottle (I mean glass…) or two in your honour.
Day 4 - Hervey Bay to Town of 1770 - 739km Stuck on the smallest pitch in the known universe between two members of the Australian National Front.
“You got the same trouble with Coons we got, don’t you?”, was his opener for ten on learning I was from the UK.
From the other side: “All them Paki’s and Africans.”
Fortunately, the great thing about red-neck Caravaner’s (and let me tell you - they are difficult to escape) is that it’s easy to change the conversation by distracting them with comments like: “That’s a really nice caravan”. Q them reciting the full spec of their Australian built home on wheels.
To be fair, one of the blokes was really nice to us - giving us light and sausages; the elements by which all life exists. Just a shame that his political views hadn’t moved on since the first settlers arrived and began massacring the natives.
Day 5 - New Meets Old, Brisbane
The new central library is an amazing new building that takes a healthy chunk of the Brisbane skyline. Next to it sits what is now a casino. Town of 1770 - 753km
Another day spent being a bleeding hearted liberal. Today’s subject - Everyone is entitled to an education: discuss…
Day 6 - Town of 1770 - 757km Amazing day spent at Lady Musgrave Island in the Great Barrier Reef. Saw Humpback whales, dolphins, turtles, stingrays… the list goes on. Snorkelled until my bladder could take it no more and I had to return to the boat for a pee. Shades of the incontinent dog as the more I snorkelled, the more excited I got and the more I needed the loo. It wasn’t my wet suit though, so I decided that however warm and relieving it would be to relax, explaining it to the crew could be awkward.
Vikki managed to remain in control of her bodily functions despite the huge amount of salad provided in our free lunch. By that I mean that she was excited by the prospect of stuffing herself with lettuce, I wasn’t in any way suggesting that salads have a laxative effect on my wife.
Day 7 - Town of 1770 to Rockhampton - 995km You get two free drinks with every tour of the Bundaberg
Ying & Yang, Brisbane
The traditional Queenslander architecture next to the facade of a new nightclub. Rum Distillery. Unfortunately, Vikki was driving and she claims not to like rum anyway… needless to say, I took her share for the team. It gave the sing-songs in the car going up the Bruce Highway from Bundaberg to Rocky that extra boost of karaoke enthusiasm. Just for a moment I actually was singing like George Michael. (The only difference between me and George being that I have a Park named after me that includes famously respectable toilets, while George has infamous toilets named after him in a respectable park).
Camped at a site that had warning signs suggesting that crocodiles could feasibly crawl from the river and maul us during the night. No Crocs, but plenty of rain. Woke up and the tent was floating. It’s a damn good tent though - from storms on the West Highland Way to the bursting banks of the Fitzroy river - Coleman Epsilon’s do not leak. (Send me a box of Mars Bars and I’ll endorse your product too.)
Day 8 - Rockhampton to Moana Caravan Park (between Sarina and Mackay) - 1313km This is like one of those Caravan Parks you see in movies that sits on the wrong
side of the tracks. The kind of place where your wife is your sister and your cousin. It’s called a “Tourist Park” but the only tourists here are the ones buried beneath the water tank in the back yard.
However, it was still lashing with rain and we decided that putting the tent up in the rain would not be fun, so we splashed out on a cheap cabin. In my mind the word “cabin” conjures up Alpine mountains and heavy log fires in a cosy wooden building adorned with stuffed animals. Take all of that away and imagine a portaloo with bedroom extension and you’re nearer the mark.
To be fair, it was great for the price. It had a TV, fridge, shower, cooker, microwave… But it also had that “loosely” cleaned feel about it: the kind of feel that meant you didn’t go beneath the bed sheets and using the pillow was a no-no.
Day 9 - Mackay - 1373km Mackay is like Rockhampton but with better shops and a few more people.
Spent the night in a hostel. The tent was still damp from the nights of rain it endured and the rain was still
Don't Be Deceived, Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary
Shortly after this photo was taken, this single bear massacred 14 tourists and castrated one kangaroo with the Uzi sub-machine gun he had concealed under his fluffy little limbs. coming. Whatever happened to “Queensland: The Sunshine State”?
We had differing opinions of “The Gecko’s Rest” hostel. I thought it was a bit of a hole, full of half baked permanently resident Aussies. It reminded me a bit of “The Hump” hostel in Kunming which was basically just full of cliquey permanent Western residents who spent their time huddled with the staff showing off their Chinese girlfriends. I concede, it was well appointed, clean and had decent facilities… it just… I didn’t like it. Oh, and the room smelled of cheese… not nice cheese… bad stuff.
Day 10 - Mackay to Broken River - 1475km Broken River is the end of the road in the Eungella National Park. Since it was still pouring with rain, we decided that beaches and tropical islands, as nice as they may be, were no fun in the rain. So where better to go in rainfall than a rainforest.
We arrived early and having looked at some pretty grubby accommodation decided that we were due something to cheer us up so splurged hideously on a really nice cabin in an eco-resort next to Broken River. It was fantastic. The place was clean, well
Bird Magnet, Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary
Note my casual hand in pocket stance like this sort of thing happens to me everyday. My grin belies the true agony I was suffering as each of the little buggers sank their talons into my wrists and arm. I looked like I'd attacked myself with a razor. Fortunately I got my revenge by sneezing on them and introducing my own specialist form of bird flu. equipped and the surrounding countryside was amazing. We donned our wet weather gear and did a few short walks through the forest, flicking off the odd leech as we went (nothing on a Taman Negara scale here) and spent a few hours watching platypus in the river.
Platypus are another of weird animal. Its like God had a bag of spare parts left over and just stuck them together anyway he could. A ducks bill, a fat flat tail, webbed feet, a poisonous thorn on its rear legs, a furry coat…
Day 11 - Broken River to Hydeaway Bay - 1744km Airlie Beach was going to be our stop after Broken River, but having stopped there for lunch we decided it definitely wasn’t our sort of place. Plus the only reason to be there is to drink buckets with Britney and Paris or use it as a launch pad to the world renowned Whitsunday Islands. Well, world renowned or not, they aren't worth the drenching we'll get in this weather and, to be honest, a boat full of pissed backpackers is not my idea of relaxation. The solidtude
and undisturbed natural beauty of Hydeaway Bay is more our
style. Despite the fact its still raining we have found a peaceful place devoid of Nazi's, air matresses and crocodiles. The beach is stunning with views out to the Whitsunday's and best of all - its virtually deserted. Plus I have seen some male wallaby's for myself and I can report that swing-ball tennis gonads were not an issue. Interesting. My study of bollocks from the animal kingdom continues...
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Eggs on Legs
Al, Shaz & Beth
Cooking
A lovely update. I like it that you brought things to Aus to 'Cook' with. It tickled me. I wouldn't try same tactic in NZ. They had everyones rucksacs unpacked on our flight and millions of stuff got confiscated. They even tok our hiking boots off us and took them away to be hosed down. You know how much walking we did (aproximately hee haw). Made no sense to us - but then they are upside down all the time arent they. Keep on trucking, and dont lock your keys in any cars. Sxxx