The van had been ‘affectionately’ named Basil after the plant of the same name that lived in the van with us for a few months and also after Basil Fawlty, on account of the tendency for the thing to break down at the smallest sign of pressure. Breaking down was in fact the van’s speciality, and we had spent many times the original cost of the rust bucket on repairs over the last few months. Knowing this, we had tried to limit the driving to a couple of hours a day in order to give him a bit of a break, but now we had a long distance to travel and not much time to do it in. The first day was fine, stopping at a caravan park overnight a few hundred kilometres from Brisbane overnight, but the fun began half way through the afternoon when Basil decided it was too bloody hot in Queensland, and that he’d had enough. So with many breaks and a decidedly sluggish pace, we made our way to the closest town of Gladstone to let him have a nice long break. But even with this rest and a fresh radiator of coolant, we hadn’t even made it to the edge of town before he started protesting again, and we accepted that we were spending the night there.
Luckily for us, the nearby yacht club had excellent food in massive portions, so after having our dinner and taking away the leftovers (which lasted us each another 2 meals) we retired to the still smouldering van for an early night. On the way back we noticed a warning sign close to where we had parked. We had seen plenty before – warning about spiders or snakes – but this one told the tale of a terrible blight on the local community: vicious kamikaze magpies. Even the Aussie birds are out to get us!
The next day we continued driving through fields of ripe sugar cane and yellow grass, watching the landscape slowly change from the green of New South Wales to the dusty tones of much drier Queensland. Mountains sprung up, blue and hazy in the distance, and then seemed to approach as we continued on, turning greener as we neared and disappearing into the distance as we passed into new countryside. More signs warning of the proximity of the elusive koalas appeared at the sides of the road, and plenty for the cattle which dotted the fields that we were driving through and occasionally spilled onto the road. But rather than wildlife, it was the bloody van which dominated our attention again that day. Guzzling water, belching steam, and grumbling all the while. We made it a little under 400km before we had to stop to give it a 4 litre drink, and then plodded onwards again, ever wary of the temperamental temperature dial.
Finally, after consuming what must have been close to twenty litres of water, we pulled into Townsville, an industrial town nestled below a huge red rock escarpment. Now my only hope is that we can find an honest mechanic!
Sunday, August 24, 2008
A Weekend in Brisbane
Our last morning in Byron Bay started slowly on account of the beers consumed the night before, but by midday we were on the road to Brisbane where we were meeting our friends Mike and Bex. We had originally met them in the Blue Mountains before Christmas, and seen them a few times since, but just a couple of weeks after we moved to Sydney they moved away to Brisbane (though they assured us there was no connection) and we were keen to have a weekend of drunkenness with some familiar faces.
Being on the road, or even when settling in a town for just a short while, most friends that you make are for one night only! Stories exchanged in the pub or round a fire at night are always entertaining – you always remember and retell your most exciting tales – but the start of the night tends to follows a tedious pattern of introductions and exchanging background stories and that level of familiarity that defines the relationship between good friends is rarely reached. So when you hit it off with fellow travelers, spend some time together and stay in touch, it’s always worth the effort to ensure your paths cross again.
So it was with no lack of excitement that we made the uneventful journey 150km north to Brisbane and the state of Queensland to visit our friends that we hadn’t seen for nearly six months. They had been living in a beautiful ‘Queenslander’ house; a roomy wooden structure on stilts with various levels and open spaces to encourage a cooling flow of air. But it was straight out to the garden we went to discuss our latest adventures and plans for the upcoming weeks. The weather was noticeably better than it had been in Sydney – staying warmer further into the evening and without a cloud in the sky all day.
That evening we went into the city to see a band that had been recommended to Mike – and to our surprise it was a band we knew! I had spent a while discussing slide-guitar with the main guitarist/singer in Byron Bay before his solo gig, but then missed most of his set that evening. So now was my chance to catch him again and this time with his band The Lapdogz. He didn’t disappoint and neither did the opening act, Mark Easton Limousine, who played two equally impressive blues sets.
It was a little late when we finally stumbled out of the pub and into a cab that the more inebriated of us were very surprising to find waiting outside. And so it was with a slightly fuzzy head that we found ourselves walking to the market early the following morning. We’d missed most of the markets on the way up, so I was keen to dive headlong into the throng when we arrived. One of my favourite things about markets is the abundance of food stalls – and so I strolled through the crowds with a skewer of pork balls in one hand, a cup of freshly squeezed sugar cane juice in my other hand, and a lady finger banana in my pocket waiting for one of my hands to become free. The fruit and veg were amazingly fresh and cheap, but it was the temptation of the fried foods that mostly won out. As we left the market we saw a corner of a main street that looked like an allotment – and that was more-or-less what it was. An organic community garden where everything from broccoli to paw paw was being grown; with no fences or gate, and no vandalism either! It’s a shame when a thought like that occurs, but when it did I felt it illustrated the difference between Australians and Brits perfectly – and markedly increased my resolve to stay amongst these people.
With a couple of brief stops on the way home for cakes, smoothies, and sausage rolls, we made it back shortly after midday. I was stuffed and ready for a kip; but managed to hold out until around midnight and spent the rest of the day strolling through parks and sitting in the garden with jugs of freshly made sangria and great friends.
Tags: Australia, driving, Townsville, Travel