The Brisbane of my life

So I've finally acclimatised. Well my face and my feet are burnt. That's what acclimatisation means yeah? After the highs and lows of Surfer's, it was time to settle down to the real business of travel. So I moved in with JB and man of the house, Paulus for more than a week. Brisbane was the place, leisurely was the pace. The yoof from my previous chapter were unanimous in their dismissals of Brizzie as dull and well, duller. Young people! Or maybe its's cos I'm old. They do in fact have a very nice collection of trees here. More of which anon.

I arrived into the city to a rousing fanfare. Everyone else had left the bus and the driver had to tell me to get off. Nicely like. Well it didn't look like a bus station is all I'll say. Not that I should have been on a bus in the first place. I left Surfers on a transit coach to the train station in Nerang. You'd think the driver of said bus would have known that the trains were off for engineering works all day and he drove to and from the station all day. Although to be fair, he too was a nice lad. So I let it go. Once arrived, arrangements were made to meet with Paul (whom I hadn't met at this point and who is Jeanette's Mr). We then played a game of cat and mouse as I waddled around the block with rucksack in tow while Paul patiently gave me directions which I completely ignored.

Eventually we met and made our way out to chez muscat and got a great ozzie welcome from JB, madra and darma.  We soon tucked into a barbie down under style. Or at least, there was enough food to feed a small army. Slightly too much for the Irish army in that case.



Anon: Trees. To the left is my arty picture of a palm tree. It's weird the way it just grew out of the sky like that. I mean I know this is the Antipodes and the water goes round the sink the wrong way but this is faintly ridiculous.

This here is a Banyan tree. I've seen Banyan trees before. I like Banyan trees. I also like Bananas. Bananas however do not come from the Banyan tree. Although if you cross them, you'd get a Banyana tree. I like the sound of that. Banyana Tree. My tree is quite impressive. But this here link - The Great Banyan - has earned its title. That is one great tree. Imagine though, if you will, the Great Banyana Tree. That I would traverse continents to see.




Finally there is this. This is the African Sausage Tree. Or just the Sausage Tree. From Africa. It's amazing. I mean, come on. Wow. Now if that baby was to be crossed with my banyana tree... this could just be the start of some amazing things. Although I can't think of a good name for that one. 5 Cambodian Riel for the best suggestion. Please send postcard with your answer to James c/o Australia



Had a pretty chilled out Monday and then Jeannette booked myself and herself tix for the Melbourne Cup. Not in Melbourne naturally. Then I wouldn't have been in Brisbane. It was a Burlesque affair. Given I'm not a classy dresser at the best of times and especially not whilst travelling light, I think i scrubbed up ok. Thanks largely to Paul's wardrobe admittedly, accessorised by Target. The couturier equivalent of Lidl.

So this is me and JB all done up... it started relatively well. I dressed up all dandy like. Not dandelion. That would be just weird. Quite quickly I made the acquaintance of some of the quiet local girls. I always stand like that when I haven't yet chosen. I took too long and they hooked up with the one-legged bearded lady instead. Later i got to feed some of the local birds. They're very friendly but a little bit too chirpy for my liking. This is me and JB later. Not as sober. Or possibly I was startled by a rabbit in some headlights. It got worse after that. There's no need to see those photos. (Thanks to JB for use of the pictures. I mostly took photos of my finger in various light settings).

After a day spent recovering and doing domestic chores. I did the full river tour of the Brisbane river. I don't know why I felt the need to say river twice there but it's done now. My iPhone gave up at this point so you'll just have to take my word for it that it's a nice city and a nice river. If you're ever in the New Farm area, you should check out Cafe Bouquiniste. They have nice coffee and cake is all. By the way, a bouquiniste is a second-hand bookseller typically seen along the banks of the Seine.


On Friday, myself and JB headed off for new adventure to the Metricon Stadium outside Surfers Paradise. Ireland to play the Ozzies in International Rules. Ireland had already won the first match. Very, very easily. By a big score. Much more. Loooooosers. For that reason, only 17 Australian supporters showed up. The rest of the crowd were drunk. They were the Irish ones. We won again. Very, very easily. Hee hee hee. To be fair to the Australian team though, they were worse than the Irish team. Loooosers. There were some good fights. Which is always nice. Below you can see the score. Well part of it. We won. Take my word for it.

Next, I thought I'd throw in a gratuitous shot for the ladies. If you look closely, just above my skinny white daddy-long legs, and slightly down from my red neck, you can see that the freckles on my arms have taken on a slightly darker hue. Swiiiiit swooooooo. Hello nurse.

We had a couple of really nice days in Broadbeach including a turkish meal ably supported by the bellydance lady. Here's the belly dance lady. She wanted to remain anonymous so we photoshopped a veil in. She did good bellydance.










Back to Brisbane after that. And two days later it was all over. Bye bye Brisbane. You were good to me. Thanks to JB, to Paul and to the dogs. Here's a picture of the dogs. Madra on the left, Darma on the right. Madra's the clever one (he's the boy); Darma not so smart (she's a girl). And by that, I'm not making any broad statements. Next to Melbourne to catch up with some other peeps. Laters.

Weak One

Soooo, the trip over was a freakin doddle (use Glasgow accent for emphasis). What was all the fuss about? Free booze, edible food, over 60 movies on offer, screaming kids, never a dull moment. I didn't sleep of course but then some things you just take for granted. Singapore Airport weren't half bad but I think somebody may have slightly oversold it's glamour. Admittedly I was fairly hangin but still. No free showers or swimming pools. Not even a complimentary glass of bubbly. I bought an aero to make up for it. Unforgetabubble. I booked a hostel whilst in Singapore. There's no sense leaving things til the very last minute I've always said. Left Singapore. Arrived in Brisbane. Left Brisbane. Nothing personal you understand but I had things to do.

To SURFERS PARADISE. I could see that there was a lot of sea. And sand. And surf even. So they definitely got the surfer's bit right. I wasn't 100% sure about the suffix though so I double checked the definition. It's 'a place of extreme beauty, delight, or happiness'. I don't know, make up you're own mind...



I will admit that after staying in the Surfers Paradise Backpackers Resort for the next four nights, my initial impression did alter slightly. I'll say this for SP, they run it well. There were lifeguards every 100 metres or so, all with their souped up 4WDs and other technical lifeguardy type stuff. And the beach goes on forever. And by forever, I mean forever. Or 70k to be more exact. Then there's a flying-fox colony. When I eventually found them, it turns out that a flying fox is a bat. I was starting to notice a pattern here, Paradise, Foxes. They like to play with words. Cheat with words is another way of looking at it. Anyways, those foxes, they sure can poop good. Smart too. Although they generally hang upside down, come lavatorial time they hang from their thumbs and let loose. It made some really pretty patterns. And so many colours. They leave us humings in the ha'penny place.

I subsequently heard a story about Surfers. I was told that all the clubs in town are run by four pikeys. They push all their drugs through them apparently. I knew there were loads of Irish travelling these parts but I didn't realise there were Travellers this far south. Running the shop. No tarmac required. Turns out it was BIKEYS. That makes a lot more sense.

Henceforth I will stay only in backpackers. Not Youth Hostels. Backpackers allow slightly crusty, older gentlemen to stay by right. Youth Hostels - those places are just full to the brim with the youths and their strange ways - drinking, snoring, not sleeping, snoring louder. It would appear from the bulk of that list that I am no longer a youth.

And so the day of the wedding drew nearer. I was so nervous. I didn't know whether I could go through with it. In the end I decided there was nothing else I could do. Yellow flip-flops it was. I thought they went well with my grey slacks, grey shirt and grey tie. Before I got to the ceremony, I ventured through the town one last time. And lo and behold, there was a pro beach volleyball competition taking place at 8.30 in the AM. Being a curious touristy type, I thought it best to observe. Purely for scientific purposes. How did the offshore breeze affect the ball's trajectory? Does the density of the sand affect the player's jumping ability? All that sort of stuff. Here, you can judge for yourself.



Temporarily losing track of time and then getting on the wrong bus (I know, can you believe it?!?), I arrived at the Sheraton Mirage at 10.07am. Loads of time. The ceremony wasn't due to commence til 10.15. The backpackers unfortunately had no iron so I brought my costume rolled up in the back of my pack. Classy til the end. I approached the concierge and demanded the use of an iron post-haste. He asked if I was staying in one of their rooms. Oh how we laughed. He apologised but that they only had irons in the rooms. For guests. Of the rooms. I stared blankly. Then I cried a little bit. I've seen the movies, I know how it works. Eventually concierge guy asked me for my shirt, disappeared for five minutes, returned with a freshly pressed garment and apologised that it was the best he could do. I OWE YOU CONCIERGE GUY.

The ceremony was very nice. Mike asked Lillian. Lillian asked Mike. They all said yes. Even the women with the very orange make-up. I assume she was from Delmonte. Here's the happy couple....



Lillian looked fantastic. As did the bridesmaids. And the usher. And the flower girls. Mike was there too. Afterwards we adjourned for four hours before Mike very kindly collected me and drove me to Brisbane. He brought his wife along too. That evening we sat down to a sumptuous 12 course feast including jellyfish (surprisingly similar to stringy jelly), lobsters and orange slices. All washed down with copious amounts of free booze. My very favourite flavour. Just to note, our digestion was ably assisted throughout this whole process by a medley of vietnamese karaoke numbers performed by several members of Lillian's extended family. They may very well have sang them to perfection. It's hard to say. In case you were interested, my table sang en mass. We sang She Bangs by Ricky Martin. Some people asked for their money back and left.

Oh and I almost forgot the ceremonial cutting of the cake. They appear to be trying to cut it with a purple balloon sword. At least I hope that's what it is. This is a family show...



And so ended the first week of my epic adventure. A pretty tame affair it's true. But it's early yet.

Book: I was mostly reading The Girl with the Glass Feet' by Ali Shaw. I heartily recommend it. In fact I give it 4 heartilys out of 5.
Music: Highlight from my collection - The Chairs with their EP Laugh, It's a Fright.