Sydney to Childers: Beaches everywhere, and then there were Tomatoes

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We left our little home in Abercrombie Street, with Bastard Bob full to the brim with an unimaginable amount of collective junk. There was just about enough room for Julie in the back, me in the driver’s seat, and Franny navigating in the passenger seat, along with bags and bags of shoes, clothes, camping equipment, food, and anything else deemed necessary for our adventure. We almost managed to get out of Sydney without getting lost, and after getting a bit waylaid in the suburbs somehow, we were soon heading towards the great unknown and leaving the Big Smoke behind.



The decision had been made to only travel small distances so we could see as much as possible, and also because driving in Australia is a bit boring. Our first stop was in Newcastle for lunch. No Metro Centre or Geordies in sight, the Aussie sister town was quiet to the point of being a bit scary. It looked like all the residents had gone on holiday, and we were half expecting to see tumbleweed rolling down the street while we sat outside in the café. No time (and really not much inclination) to see more of the sleepy seaside town, we headed for Port Macquarie where we would be spending the night. We had hoped to arrive before nightfall as we had not tried to put our tents up yet, and having them included free with the car, they could have been hole-ridden with fungus growing inside them. Unfortunately, the drive took longer than anticipated, and when we got to the campsite it was already pitch black. It turned out the tents were so simple, you only really had to shake them and they went up - no Brownie Guide knowledge needed there then. We settled down to dinner, which had to be for our first night’s camping - corned beef. I am not entirely sure if you are supposed to mix it with baked beans and crunched up crisps, but it did the job. I think Julie, with her French formal chef’s training, was fairly horrified by this concoction, but we assured her that not all Brits ate this badly.



The plan had originally been to only stay one night in Port Macquarie, however, there was an Iron man competition being held in the town which meant that most of the roads were closed. We decided to take advantage of the opportunity to explore, but found that most of the town was closed as well. We did find a Target, a supermarket and a bottle shop that were open, so we stocked up and headed back to the camp. The campsite was called Sundowners and was placed conveniently next to the beach. We took this as a sign and spent the rest of the day there. We did not even feeling slightly guilty as the fitness freaks ran, cycled and swam past us on their quest for the title of Iron Man (or Lady it seemed). Later on that night, we entered into the great Aussie tradition of the ‘barbie’, where we grilled steaks, drank copious amounts of red wine and got to know the loud Irish contingent who was also staying at the campsite.



Feeling a touch worse for wear the next day, we drove to Coff’s Harbor and pitched our tents with the ease of seasoned professionals. It turned out that the town’s big attraction was, in fact, a Big Banana. Hardly able to contain our excitement, we went to see the large wooden plantain in all its glory. Apparently Australia has a bit of a thing for Big Things, as we saw from the country’s map. We can only hope we can get round to seeing all of them during our travels (I have to say, the Big Shrimp we saw while driving through Ballina was equally, if not more exciting, than the Big Banana). With the town’s main attraction suitably admired, we ran out of things to do and went to the beach again.



After running some errands in town the following morning, we took a nature walk recommended in the guide book. Well, we tried to find the Botanical Gardens but we could not get there, so nature walk it was. We strolled along by the riverside and marvelled at the clusters of huge hairy spiders, roaming around in the wild. Well, when I say marvelled, perhaps I mean, squealed like girls and ran in the opposite direction (where is a Dad with a Tupperware when you need him??). We worked on our tans as we strolled through the mangroves and took some photos, and then headed back to Bob to start the next part of journey to Byron Bay.



After a short amount of travelling in this country you realise a few things. Firstly, Aussie place names are bloody strange. Either they decide to blatantly steal names from other places (see Epping, Aberdeen, Gloucester and so many more), or they have very interesting names of their own, such as Toowoomba or Tumbulgum, or even Wagga Wagga. Another thing is that place names get shortened all the time, like Byron Bay is just Byron, Coff’s Harbor is Coff’s, Surfer’s Paradise is Surfer’s, Bundaberg is Bundy, and so on. It is just laziness if you ask me.



Well, being our usual organised selves, we arrived in Byron not knowing that it was coming up to Easter Weekend and also that there was a huge music festival called Blues and Roots which was playing there. We eventually managed to find a campsite with spaces, set up and headed into town. Byron is a very chilled out place, and it was the closest Franny and I have felt to being in Thailand since we left there. Surfers and Crusties walked about barefoot, and there were incense shops and surf shops everywhere for the tourists to spend the dollar. After whinging about needing a guitar for travelling, Franny found one she liked and we took it - and lots of goon - home with us. Goon is incredibly cheap wine-type stuff. You get it in a 4 litre box, which has the alcoholic content of real wine, for about 3 pounds. It is also very dangerous, as it gets you really quite drunk and makes you more inclined to speak to neighboring Canadian boys and play silly drinking games with them. We also discovered that a hangover when camping is a mean and nasty thing, as when it gets to 9am the tent gets too stuffy to breathe and when you go outside there is no shade to speak of. I spent most of the morning trying to wedge myself under Bob while rehydrating and eating baked beans out of a saucepan with a fish slice, because I thought I may possibly die if I moved to try and find proper eating equipment.



The afternoon was spent recovering at the beach, and the following day we packed up camp again. Julie had said she would like to see the lighthouse at the top of the bay, so we fought our way through the festival traffic and found ourselves on an almost cloud-level oasis with spectacular views over Byron, and in particular, Tallow Beach, where we decided to spend the day. In contrast to the previous day on the main beach, with hoards of tourists, Tallow was deserted apart from the surfers out in the waves. Our dinner was cooked in the car park/rest area - while being harassed by ravenous turkeys - and then we were on our way to the next stop.



Nimbin - described by the guidebook as the bush Amsterdam - was definitely an interesting place with some interesting people. It was dark by the time we arrived, so we had an exploratory drink in the local, where we met an old Scot named Charlie with a long orange beard and a ‘Legalise Cannabis’ t-shirt, along with some other guys who seemed to flock to our table like they had not seen a woman since 1982. One drink was enough, so we left the pub and carried on the party back at the tents. In the drizzle of the following morning we went to have breakfast in town. It was only 9am, but the dealers were out on the streets, ready to sell their wares to all the stoner backpackers who flock there. In the harsh light of day, we thought it best not to eat at any of the cafés. Not that we have particularly high standards, but we had seen enough stoner kitchens back home to know not to eat anything that comes out of them. We had also seen quite enough of Nimbin, so on we drove to Brisbane, where we planned to spend Easter weekend.



We were all looking forward to spending the night in a real bed, so we decided to splash out on a night in a hostel. This turned out to be easier said than done, but eventually after trying most of the city’s hostels, we finally found one with space. We were happy we had found a bed for the night. What we were not happy about was the fact that we had to share with five of the smelliest guys in Brisbane, who had been staying there so long, things had started to grow in the room. The hostel was also not in the most salubrious part of the city. After taking a wander round the area we saw numerous junkies, hobos and also two guys getting arrested. On top of this, due to it being Good Friday and we were in Australia, everything was closed. Museums, restaurants, shops, bars, cafés, bottle shops, everything was shut except trusty McDonalds. Then it started to rain. We decided we did not like Brisbane and made plans to leave the next day.



The money we had saved in Sydney was rapidly running out so we had hoped to find a fruit picking job. Unfortunately, the job agencies were also closed, so we drove to Surfer’s Paradise to bum about for a few days. We stayed about 20km out of Surfer’s, in a campsite in Palm Beach, and spent the night drinking Passion Pop and playing a drinking game invented by Franny called Circle of Death. The next day we explored Surfer’s, which we discovered to be a bit like Benidorm. It was all high rises, beaches and drunken tourists. So after some discussion, it was decided to join them since we could not beat them, and we bought cut-price tickets to that night’s pub crawl. The night was spent watching tourists embarrass themselves while playing drinking games, and consequently with us drinking far too much, dancing like idiots, eating kebabs and trying not to fall asleep on the bus home.



Easter Monday was fairly quiet. On the Tuesday we secured a job through government run Harvestline, and headed north to Childers. We were soon to discover that there really is not much to Childers apart from fruit picking, but it was to be our home for the next five weeks. We spent the first week picking lemons, where we risked life and limb climbing dodgy ladders, trying to avoid bees, spiders and snakes, and getting ripped to shreds on massive thorns. We managed to get transferred to tomato picking, which was mildly better: no thorns, but backbreaking work nonetheless, working in the blazing sun, starting at dawn and getting paid an absolute pittance. It was not all bad though, and we met a lot of other travelers in the campsite, with whom we managed to pass the time with beer, barbeques and drunken dance competitions in the wee hours. We were more than happy to leave the campsite, however, as the landlady was completely unhinged and she regularly threw people out in the middle of the night for no more reason than what seemed to be her own amusement.

Thankfully leaving Childers and fruit picking behind, we are now heading on to Hervey Bay and Fraser Island for a little holiday. We are going to meet up with quite a few of the people we met at the campsite and head over to Fraser for some 4WD fun in the sun.

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Photos

What an action shot!
Julie and Franny on the nature walk in Coffs

Another drunken night in the Childers campsite
Well, you have to do something to take your mind off fruit picking!