It began in Brisbane, where our accommodation was so-so – it supplied a bed, a roof over the head and, as a throw-in, a TV. The city was probably the most interesting place we’d been to that point, but for all the wrong reasons. The first trip we were supposed to take was to a lookout point on Mount Coot-tha. We knew a bus service ran to the top, so we figured once our plane landed and we got checked in at the hostel, we could head to see a great view of the city.
We found the right bus just as it was pulling up, but we probably would have been better off just buying a postcard with a bird’s eye view of the city. The buses apparently stopped running to the very top of the mountain, opting instead to drop us a little ways up the hill. The bus driver – or as Sara later described her, “our transvestite bus driver” – pointed us in the right direction, letting us know that she “hoped we had our walking shoes on!!” She said it with one of those tones that you just KNOW you’re getting into something bad.
We hadn’t really eaten, hadn’t had a whole lot to drink. We had to climb this large hill through the grass – the fact that there aren’t even sidewalks just another thing laughing in our faces. Sara was about ready to die. I had cotton mouth, something which probably didn’t help my hitch-hiking attempts – a fatigued pair of mountain climbers, one passed out on the side of the road, the other foaming at the mouth, hopeful thumb sticking out.
When we got to the top, the view was just great, though maybe not worth the climb on foot. Regardless, there was a café (where we grabbed some water), a bathroom (or, pardon me, “toilets” in Aussie speak) and some benches for rest. Oh yeah, can’t forget about the wild turkey that got up on a table and started eating someone’s attended plate of cake. Refreshed and more willing to go down a hill than up, we made our way back to the hostel in hopes that the next day would be a bit easier.
It was at this point that I remembered my words once spoken, “Once you start betting on your hopes, that’s when you’re in trouble.” Thankfully I didn’t put any money down because the house would have taken all I own. Our next trip held a plan that would drop us at the Noosa Beach, a popular spot for swimmers and various other activities – like ours, horseback riding on the beach. It was something completely different from all the other stuff we’ve been doing, so we just had to figure out how to get to the beach.
We re-read our booking form and it told us we were supposed to call ahead and be sure everything was still on. I ran to a payphone to take care of that business, but found an undesirable answer on the other end. But first, a digression on payphones in Australia.
They’re basically awful. You pay a flat rate to start the call and then you have to keep pumping coins in until you’re finished with the call. If you don’t, the call doesn’t end, either. The call just disconnects and gives you a certain amount of time to put in more money. If you put some more in, the call is reconnected and the person on the other end can then talk to you again. It’s one of the dumbest things ever.
So once I was finally connected for good, the woman on the other end of the line lets me know that the horseback riding expeditions are all on hold for the time being because an equine influenza has quarantined all the horses until it passes. Our trip is canceled, but at least we can receive a refund and we didn’t travel all the way out there to find out.
Instead of doing that, we spent the day at the Gold Coast – specifically, at Surfer’s Paradise. This was a side of Australia we hadn’t really seen before – lots of big buildings and resorts, a long beach with lots of people, tons of stores and shops. In other words, our change of plans turned out to be a pretty good deal. Of course, there’s always a catch. This time, it was the sunshine – pretty much non-existent, settled behind a cloud for all but the first half hour we were on the beach. But walking on the beach and through all the shops was still a good way to spend a day that would have otherwise been spent sitting around in the hostel room.
The next day brought another order of mayhem, with a bit of negativity on the side. We were booked to go on a sailing expedition that included a trip to Moreton Island, where we would sandboard, feed dolphins and all sorts of other crazy stuff. We had our plan of attack, ready to arrive a half hour early for the day-long adventure. We got up early enough, caught the right train, hit our marks from the start.
Then the unplanned track work. When we checked the journey planner the night before for our scheduled departure time and route, it said nothing about track work. We had to disembark the train at an earlier stop, hop on a bus for a 20-minute trip to another train station farther down the line and then finish off the route. Since the station was a little ways from the harbor, we had to run from the station to the pier (which we didn’t even know exactly where it was). Since Sara had flip-flops on, that meant I had to run to the pier.
Asking random town residents as I passed, I found the pier, ran to the end and talked to the security guard who let me know, “That’s the boat you need, right there,” pointing to a sailboat about 10 minutes out of the harbor. The best laid plans of mice and men go awry. We’re still not sure if we can get any money back from the sailing company. We were mad that we didn’t get to do all of that fun stuff, sure, but there comes a time when you realize that you just want SOMETHING out of it. That part of the story is “To Be Continued.”
We decided instead to go to the Sunshine Coast, with popular beaches located on the opposite side of the city. We stopped at the beach closest to the city (to save on train fares), which dropped us at Bribie Island – albeit after a length of time waiting around for a bus to take us from the train station to the island. We arrived at Bribie around noon and the Sunshine Coast beach lived up to the name – lots of sunshine and, again, a beautiful beach area. For the second time in as many days, tragedy was averted by a decision to finish the day at a beach.
After our time in Brisbane, we got on the Tilt Train towards Rockhampton. This was a high-speed train that traveled up the coast and stopped at a few different places along the way. The ride lasted seven-and-a-half hours, so if it wasn’t for the nice sunset and some other great scenery, the ride would have seemed like a year.
Probably the funniest part about riding the train was the fact that it was Sara, me and about 9,000 old people. Not middle-aged – old. And every time the train stopped somewhere, almost every one of them stood up to stretch out their old legs. They also have the loudest conversations about ridiculous topics. One guy directly behind us talked for almost the entire trip to a woman (also elderly) whom he had just met when he walked onto the train.
Another funny part came when one of the old women posed a question to no one in particular, “How much mileage is left?” Sara immediately turned to me and asked, “Shouldn’t they be asking how much ‘kilometerage’ is left?” This is just another example of how the U.S. rocks, even in unintentional ways. People around the world make fun of the Standard System of Measurement, yet the terms are easier to use and, as we would find out later on this big trip, that system is used for “Heritage Listed” landmarks around the world, not the otherwise widely-used Metric System.
Once our train stopped in Rockhampton, we were welcomed by a small train station that wasn’t close enough to our hostel to walk. With no shuttle services and buses that weren’t headed to the city center, we were left with the option of calling a taxi (usually more expensive than the other two options). When we finally arrived at our place, it was located above a bar that was really hopping for a Sunday night. The room wasn’t great, but hey, we weren’t going to be there for long, so whatev.
The only thing in Rockhampton (pretty literal here) is the portion of the Great Barrier Reef. We didn’t schedule too many days to be here, but one was just enough to soak in some rays and snorkel to see the coral. Off we went to Great Keppel Island for what turned out to be a great day. The temperatures were the warmest we’d seen in Australia and the sky went from overcast in the morning to basically cloudless the rest of the day.
The water, however, was still pretty chilly at first, so we decided to lie out on the beach until sometime after lunch. To find a spot that had coral, we had to climb over a wooded hill infested with mosquitoes (or “mozzies” as the Aussies call them), getting bitten all the way. We got into the water (still cold, but manageable) and snorkeled out to find big patches of coral. I was really excited to see it, yet a little disappointed because the living coral we got to see was mostly dark colored, not the vibrant reds, blues and yellows you might find on a nature show. But it was a part of the Great Barrier Reef, so how could we complain??
When we had had enough of swimming and sunbathing (or “sun baking” in Aussie-speak), we headed back to the main beach to turn in our snorkeling gear and wait for the ferry back to Rockhampton. En route to the snorkel rental stand, we saw a Dad playing catch with his son on the beach. Jokingly I said to Sara that “they must be Americans if they’re playing baseball.” When we passed by them, the father yelled in our direction, saying, “Ohio Bobcats?!?!” We’ve been spotted as Americans before, but we didn’t think the green “OHIO” on my t-shirt was distinctly “Ohio University.”
The man and his family are originally from Westerville, Ohio, a suburb of Columbus. He and his wife attended Marietta College and roamed Court Street in Athens on more than one occasion during their college days. We visit one of the most remote places in world, yet find someone from right in our own backyard – still pretty ridiculous when I think about it well after it happened.
We finally made it back to the city and decided to go out for a steak dinner. Both Sara and I don’t have a lot of money to throw around, but Rockhampton is known as “The Beef Capital of Australia” and I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I didn’t get a taste. To ease the pain of the bill, we split a steak dinner and it WAS pretty darn good – though there can be something said for a Randy Hunt steak on the grill (which I’ll be expecting as one of my first meals when I get back home in November).
We wanted to have a good finish to the dinner, too, so we went with the apple pie a la mode. It turned out to be pretty crummy for eight bucks – and no, I don’t mean it had a lot of crust. The Australians need to leave the apple pie to the U.S.
An early start to the next morning (5 a.m. to the airport, again by taxi) was necessary to get on our way to Auckland, New Zealand, almost a week into our big trip. This post is already long enough and I’m already backed-up enough that I’ll end it here. Coming soon (hopefully) will be the remainder of the trip, including why I’m never watching the Browns again, our first attempt at canyoning and a life-size version of chess.
That’s all for now. Love you all in the states. Stay tuned for adventures in New Zealand, before we head back to Australia, hitting up Melbourne for Grand Final weekend (just before heading back to class, yuck).
From the other side of the globe, I’m Kevin Hunt.
If you want to see me soon, ask for more patience because the return is about six weeks away.
