Travel Biography - Week 88.

Arrival at Byron Bay.

I finally arrived at Byron Bay, my first of the three stops in New South Wales. The stub of a peninsula jutting out into the Pacific Ocean is Cape Byron, named after James Cook's fellow sailor, John Byron, the grandfather of the more famous poet, Lord George Byron. The Cape not only boasts a lighthouse, but it's the most easterly point of the Australian continent, and it was here that my journey to Sydney changed from a southeasterly direction to a southwesterly direction as it rounds the curve of the continent's east coast.

Cape Byron has a beach leading to it from both sides, as anyone standing on a headland would expect to see, but here, the two beaches are ninety degrees from each other. The shore west of the Cape and facing north has a very sophisticated name of Main Beach. Directly south of Cape Byron is Tallow Beach, which faces east. Inland, the Cape is forested, and a short trail leads away from the lighthouse into the forest. On one of these hikes, I came across a female spider almost the size of an extended human hand, resting on the web it had spun among the bushes.

Main Beach, Byron Bay. Ahead is Cape Byron.

The Esplanade, Byron Bay.

Cape Byron Lighthouse.

From Main Beach, a group of wetsuit-clad surfers were enjoying themselves, and I believe they may be members of a local surfer's club. A coastal walk brought me from the hostel to Main Beach, and then onward to the Cape, from where I had a panoramic clifftop view of Tallow Beach. On the north side of the peninsula, a small headland separates Wategos Beach from Main Beach and a second headland encloses Little Wategos Beach before the coast takes a dramatic turn south at Cape Byron to begin the long curve of Tallow Beach. It was at these beaches, at the foot of the Cape cliffs, where I saw pineapple trees thriving.

From a point on the clifftop and near the lighthouse, I watched a paraglider hover over Tallow Beach as he allowed the cool breeze to carry him southward, away from us. With the surfers at Main Beach and a paraglider flying over Tallow Beach, I have gotten the impression that Byron Bay was home to a sporting community.

At the Hostel.

The hostel I was staying in was YHA-affiliated Jeff's Hostel in town. The town itself was just like Hervey Bay, with a grid layout of low buildings, each of them no more than two storeys high. The hostel was in a residential estate. It was here, while I was checking in after a journey from Brisbane, that I was offered a choice of dollar or duty. As expected, I chose to pay an extra dollar per night, just as everyone else did. To my knowledge, I saw no one carry out a duty either in this hostel or in any other Australian hostel. Actually, I was surprised to be asked when overwhelming evidence over some time shows a clear disdain towards mandatory chores which almost put the YHA out of business on a worldwide scale. We as adult backpackers were a far cry from urban schoolchildren growing up in deprived families, to whom these hostels were originally intended.

Once a week, the owners at Byron Bay laid on an evening buffet for a small fee, releasing us from the burden of buying and cooking meals. This particular evening, I was there, and I paid for my share, as most of the clientele did.

After filling my dinner plate with goodies, I sat next to a younger female, and soon we began chatting. We shared our travel experiences as we spoke to each other joyfully. There was a row of three chairs at one side of the dining room, and she sat at the one in the middle. From the buffet, a plain-looking man, not much younger than me, and with a generous waistline, emerged and took his place at the vacant seat on the other side of the young woman.

His apparent lack of good looks was compensated by his persuasive speech and his gift of the gab. While we were talking, he thrust his way into our conversation in such a manner that the female didn't take offence at his rudeness. He then began to dominate the conversation until I couldn't get a word in. His intention was to squeeze me out altogether, and she was charmed by his smooth tongue and forgot that I was sitting next to her and started our chat in the first place.

Feeling resigned, I rose up to go outside, fully aware of the chap's dislike for me and his chat-up lines motivated by jealousy rather than having natural affection for her. I could see that all he wanted was to prove himself against me. Yet, I still felt defeated. Defeated in sport, and now feeling small on a social side too. Outside, I made my way to the esplanade, a pleasant tree-lined grassy strip bordering the sandy beach. I looked up into the night sky at the zillions of starry bodies making up the Milky Way as it streaked from horizon to horizon across the heavens. The Southern Cross, having moved slightly towards the northwest since I landed at Cairns Airport, still held prominence among the constellations. Indeed, I hope the two I left behind at the hostel are enjoying a blossoming friendship!

A romantic scene at the Bay.

Tallow Beach from the Cape. Note the Paraglider.

A trail leads through the Cape forest.

On the trail, a spider almost as big as my hand.

However, as a traveller, I knew that a stone that is constantly rolling will never gather any moss, and so, I knew of the impossibility of permanence with holiday romances. As demonstrated at Hervey Bay after meeting Christine at Lake McKenzie, which ended on the same day, and any friendship between this lady I left behind at the hostel, and me, wouldn't have lasted. After all, she could have journeyed on the very next morning. This was something I had already experienced two years earlier when I met this young Jewess at HI-AYH San Diego. We became friends as we journeyed together to Santa Monica. By the next morning, she had gone.

Cycling Down Under.

During my three-day stay at Byron Bay, I hired a bicycle from the hostel. The mount had a permanent plate fixed under the saddle with the logo, J'S HOSTEL. Like this, the world knew who owned the bike.

This was the first time I cycled in Australia. This fact alone gave me an extra thrill as I rode on the left side of the road like we do in Britain, but unlike in continental Europe, Israel, or North America, where I had to cycle on the right side of the road. The main road I was on cuts through forested land. In total, I have cycled around 28 km or 17 miles, give or take, and I rode from Byron Bay to Seven-Mile-Beach, a strip of sand separated from Tallow Beach by a series of stubby headlands known as Broken Heads Nature Reserve.

I made my way to the beach, wheeling the bicycle. When I got there, I saw how deserted the beach was. The sea itself was stirred with white horses lapping at the sandy strip. The sea was far from inviting to a swimmer, but it might have suited a surfer dressed in a wetsuit. Indeed, my intention was to cycle further south until I arrived at the next resort, the village of Lennox Head, built on a bulge of land at the southern end of Seven-Mile-Beach.

Seven-Mile-Beach was a far cry from the beaches of Port Douglas or Arlie Beach. The whole environment was absolutely deserted, with no one else around. But that was not all. From the south, a spreading sheet of thunderclouds was slowly drawing in, darkening the horizon and looking in every way that the apocalypse was ready to begin. I knew that I was done for! If I had a fast racing car, I might have beaten the weather by arriving in Byron Bay in quick time. But on a bicycle?

Yet, I remained rooted on the beach. I simply wanted to absorb the experience of being there. It was a little more than a daily trip to the shops! I knew that I was in for a soaking and I couldn't escape from it. But in my small knapsack, I had my passport and airline tickets. Since I arrived in Singapore and then Australia, I always carried these documents on me, as I hadn't come across any luggage lockers in any of the hostels I stayed at. I was still on the beach when the rain started.

This was no light drizzle, characteristic of the English weather. Rather, this was a heavy downpour. I wheeled my bike back to the road and began the return cycle ride northwards towards the hostel.

I was drenched from head to foot by the time I arrived at the hostel. I managed to hand the bike intact to reception. Then I was for the hot shower and a complete change of clothing. But worse was to come. I opened the knapsack and took out the book of airline tickets. The most important documents of the pack were soaked through and through! Would I be marooned in Australia, unable to board my next flight to Los Angeles? Quite a point, that! Then again, remaining in Australia doesn't seem such a bad idea after all. Despite the NSW weather, I have loved every minute of it.

I examined the book of airline tickets. The print wasn't smudged. When the book arrived at my apartment, it contained four vouchers. The first was for the London-Singapore flight. The second was for the Singapore-Cairns flight. Those two vouchers were gone, leaving the remaining two left, the first for Sydney-Los Angeles, and the second for Los Angeles-London. Therefore, I laid the book open beside my bed. The air was able to reach both vouchers without them sticking together. However, although the cover of the passport was also wet, it was also waterproof, and all the pages within escaped the worst. The book of Traveller's Cheques also escaped the worst.

I hired the hostel bicycle for the day.

Seven-Mile-Beach. Looking north at Broken Heads.

Seven-Mile-Beach. Looking South.

Sunset over Byron Bay

When I compared Byron Bay with all the other stops I made so far, It's my opinion that the environment surrounding Byron Bay was the most dramatic coastline on mainland Australia I have so far seen, beating any of the Queensland coastal regions, although the latter take the extra credit for their connection with the Great Barrier Reef. Byron Bay holds the credit of being the most easterly point in the whole of the Australian continent. Therefore, by arriving in Byron Bay, I have broken two distance records: that of being so far the furthest location from home in the UK, and territorially the most easterly point furthest from the Greenwich Mean Line dividing the east from the west hemispheres. And this record will stay for life.

Back at the hostel, I felt that I had achieved something as I prepared supper. Personally, I prefer buying and cooking my own meals to being served food cooked by someone else for a higher payment. The sense of independence, a healthier budget, and sometimes, the start of new friendships.

The next day, I made arrangements on the Book-A-Bed-Ahead scheme for a reservation at YHA Coffs Harbour, my next stop on the NSW coastline. However, before progressing any further, I carefully examined my airline ticket vouchers. I breathed a massive sigh of relief. After leaving the book open next to my bed overnight, by morning the vouchers had dried out, and the print wasn't smudged but perfectly readable. Neither was the paper crinkled. It was safe. I was safe. Too bad, my excuse to remain permanently in Australia has evaporated - literally! 

As I travel further south, I see less of a tropical environment as I merge into a warm temperate climate. I saw no mangroves in or around Byron Bay. But once I arrive at Coffs Harbour, I will be in for a surprise.

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Next Week: A tear rolls down my cheek after settling at Coffs Harbour.

Travel Biography - Week 87

 A Review So Far -

Since the day I arrived in Singapore, there were several offshore islands worth visiting as I made the journey south to Brisbane. Even if the State of Singapore is an island just off the Malaysian Peninsula, I had to cross a strait to reach Sentosa. First at Singapore, then along the Queensland coast of Australia, these were the islands I visited:

Singapore > Sentosa Island.

Port Douglas > Low Isles Coral Cay (or Key in America.)

Cairns > Green Island Coral Cay.

Townsville > Magnetic Island (Continental.)

Arlie Beach > Whitsunday Islands (Continental.)

Hervey Bay > K'gari or Fraser Island (Sandbank.)

Only at Magnetic Island, I remain dry. While visiting the other islands, I had time to swim or snorkel. But having arrived at Brisbane, this was not only a "dry" stop, but this, and the venues still to come would be both dry and confined to the mainland. The change of weather after crossing into New South Wales would also play a role in keeping me out of the water.

Brisbane Botanical Gardens.

However, the weather remained warm and dry throughout my stay in Brisbane, as it has throughout the entire journey along the Queensland coast. The city centre is lodged within one of the bends of the River Brisbane, and while I was preparing to write this week's blog, I did some memory reviving on the Internet. Like in Singapore, Brisbane's skyline went through some changes within the last 26 years since I have been there. Hence, all photos posted here were taken in 1997 when the skyline was quite different to what it is today with its spanking new skyscrapers. However, these changes include the loss of the Mangrove Boardwalk on the southern tip of the Botanic Gardens, the highlight (to me) of visiting Brisbane.

Following the flooding of the river after breaking its banks in January 2011, preceded by heavy rain, the boardwalk became too expensive to maintain, thus, Council funding became unavailable in the months to follow, and in 2013, the structure was demolished. This goes to show how fortunate I was to have taken the narrow window of opportunity to admire the mangroves as they lined the northern bank of the river.

Winter Coolness at the Mangrove Boardwalk.

Black Mangrove taken from the boardwalk.

Pneumatophora is seen from the boardwalk.

Mangrove trees at high tide.

This has got me thinking. Apparently, before the city was built, any Aborigines living in that area were most likely protected from extensive flooding by having mangrove trees lining both banks of the river, perhaps stretching to the coast, and then extending out from the coastline itself. If that were true, then such mangrove forests would most likely have formed a barrier to keep flooding at bay. Furthermore, the environment would have been ideal for wildlife to flourish, including a nursery provided for the protection of young fish and other marine animals from predators.

The boardwalk winded its way just above the riverbank, and I saw that this species of mangrove was different from the trees I saw close up at Arlie Beach. This species is known as the Black Mangrove, and it thrives in shallower water than the Red Mangrove, characteristic of those at Arlie Beach and further north along the coast. One distinct feature that makes the Black Mangrove tree different from the two other species (Red and White) is the carpet of upturned roots surrounding the tree. They are fully exposed to the air when the tide is out. During high tide, these roots are submerged or partially submerged, depending on the extent of the water level.

These upright root stems are known as pneumatophores, and they keep the tree alive by "breathing" when the tide is out. As a forest, the pneumatophores form a spiky carpet covering the beach, interspersed with tree trunks. This was one useful piece of information I learned while I strolled along the boardwalk in 1997 and not just from the Internet.

Of all the venues in Brisbane, the mangrove boardwalk was one attraction I visited more than once. It was an attempt to capture on camera the forest during high tide. With this, I had only limited success, but as for the air temperature, I began to feel the first chill of the southern winter, as my second visit to the Gardens necessitated a woolly top.

The mangrove boardwalk wasn't the only section of the Gardens I visited. The area had footpaths that passed through both trees planted intentionally and a copse of the original forest that covered the area before the city was ever built. The park featured a pond with water lilies covering the surface, and out-of-season flowerbeds surrounded by well-manicured lawns.

The South Bank Parklands.

The city YHA hostel on Roma Street was a short walk away from the start of Victoria Bridge, one of several that cross the River Brisbane. Immediately to the left of the bridge was the start of the South Bank Parklands. Rather than acres of lawn, like that of London's Hyde Park, the area had facilities that might have struck a chord in me with Disneyland but without Disney's verve. One facility I was most impressed with was the Rainforest Walk, a boardwalk passing through tropical vegetation complete with a creek flowing over a small waterfall. True enough, the rainforest was artificial, that is, a small wooded area planted by man rather than the natural rainforests of Magnetic Island, Whitsunday Island and K'gari. There was also a boating lake, an artificial sandy beach sloping into an attractive lagoon, a butterfly house, and a piazza - a performing arts centre. A traffic-free central avenue passed through the park, giving access to all the facilities. There was no fun fair in my day but the view across the river gave a clear vista of the city skyline.

Brisbane skyline from Southbank Parklands, 1997.

Main Avenue, Southbank Parklands.

Tropical Boardwalk, Southbank Parklands

I spent the day at the Parklands in quietness and contemplation. Like at the Botanical Gardens, the Parklands provided a respite from the busy city traffic and urban life. Yet, I never foresaw the development that was yet to take place in the city centre. By looking at photos taken recently and posted on the Internet, if I were to visit Brisbane today, 26 years after my initial visit, I would hardly recognise much.

I loved being at the Parklands at night. One evening, after dark, I was strolling along and I arrived at the lagoon. During the day, the pond was busy with families swimming. At night, the surface of the water was still and undisturbed, allowing me to take photos of nighttime reflections.

Back at the hostel, everything continued as normal. Being a YHA-affiliated hostel, there were no wild parties like the one held at Hervey Bay. Everything was more sedate as I went about the kitchen to prepare dinner. One evening, I watched a group of backpackers in the TV room constantly flicking channels. They were searching for a possible non-commercial channel, like our BBC, they could watch without the programme constantly interrupted by frequent commercial breaks. Among the group were two Chinese students who had also prepared and eaten their meals about the same time I did.

We became casual acquaintances but neither of us made any effort to pursue any friendship. Rather, we allowed each to mind our own business and carried on. Little did anyone know that later in our journeys, long after Brisbane, we would meet again and our perception of friendship would grow stronger.

The two Chinese students left Brisbane a day or so before I did. As for me, other than the Southbank Parklands which involves crossing the river to get there, most of my time was confined to the city. Queen Street with the Myers department store was an attraction in itself. Even the Botanical Gardens with their mangrove boardwalk were confined within the city centre. But after four days, I knew that it was time to move on.

Tropics at the Parklands.

Lagoon at Parklands.

Night Reflections, Parklands.

At the YHA Brisbane, I used the Book-a-Bed-Ahead scheme for the first time, and I chose Byron Bay as my next stop. For me, the Book-a-Bed-Ahead scheme was a brilliant idea, eliminating the need to bed-hunt after arriving at a new destination, although I always perceived bed-hunting as part of the adventure, adding that extra thrill in independent travel. But this new idea, unique to YHA-affiliated hostels, does restrict versatility. A classic example of this was when I was on a journey from Arlie Beach to Brisbane. During that journey, I asked the bus driver if I could switch my destination from Brisbane to Hervey Bay to visit K'gari. That was easy, knowing that I'd be free to find a bed after arrival. Not so easy if a bed in Brisbane is already booked. Swings and roundabouts...

On to Byron Bay, NSW.

The Greyhound Bus took roughly three hours to make the 164 km or 102 miles daytime journey from Brisbane to Byron Bay. Having left Brisbane in the early evening, it was already nightfall by the time we arrived at Surfer's Paradise on the Gold Coast. We were still in Queensland, but the weather had changed rather dramatically. It was raining heavily. However, as we approached Surfer's Paradise, the town looked anything but a paradise. Tall buildings lining the coastline gave the impression of an Australian version of Manhatten. All that, along with the torrential rainfall, made me feel glad that I didn't choose to alight here, let alone book a bed. The very name of the city tells of such a contrast to sunny Port Douglas and its role as a gateway to the Great Barrier Reef. Furthermore, Surfers Paradise bus station was not a service stop, but one to drop off and collect passengers. In all, the bus remained in the bay for about thirty minutes before eventually pulling out to continue its journey south.

At long last, the bus pulled into Byron Bay bus station for a service stop, but it was here I alighted to find the YHA-affiliated hostel, which wasn't far. Fortunately, it had stopped raining, and I made it to the hostel fully dry. The Book-a-Bed-Ahead scheme seems to be working well. As soon as I spoke my name, I was assigned a bed with no further ado.

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Next Week: The heavens opened after hiring a bicycle.

Travel Biography - Week 86.

A Review of Hervey Bay, Queensland.

All photos here are my own, taken in 1997.

Hervey Bay, a town where all buildings were, at most, two storeys high, and surrounded by flat, featureless countryside, I placed low on the list of special interest, in contrast to Port Douglas, Cairns, and Arlie Beach. However, since the resort serves as a gateway to the sandbank island of K'gari, the former Fraser Island, by 1997, it became a major attraction for backpackers and tourists. 

Queen Street, Brisbane.

Night view of Brisbane from the Parklands.

On the same day that I arrived at Hervey Bay, it was a public holiday. I was unaware of that until I discovered that I had used up almost all my money received from the encashment of the latest traveller's cheque. Fortunately for the moment, after discovering that all the banks in town were shut, I resorted to the emergency-only credit card. I was disappointed. This meant that when I arrived home several weeks later, I was met with a credit statement among the pile of unopened mail on the floor. And that was one issue I was determined to avoid when I planned the whole trip.

I found out the reason for the holiday. It was the Queen's official birthday. This came as a shock, as far as I was aware, in Britain, which is the seat of her throne, there never was a public holiday marking her birth. Furthermore, it wasn't even her actual birthday. That was April 21st. Here in Australia, we were well into June. It goes to show how keen Australians were in clinging to the Empire's colonial past, whilst in England, undergraduates in particular are attempting to shake off Britain's imperialism as a source of shame. Indeed, international Travel can be so illuminating, especially between cultures.

And so, my final night at the hostel arrived. That evening, I made my way to the bar and ordered a drink, a half-litre of ale. A full litre of ale was also served, and this seemed to be popular with these twenty-somethings who began to congregate at the bar with background music. Perhaps I had made a wise decision when I chose a day tour on K'gari instead of the 3-day 4WD in a group of six, all so much younger than I was. The lone hike I took through the rainforest for over an hour, maybe as long as ninety minutes, had made the trip a challenging yet worthwhile experience. By contrast, I didn't feel that much at home in this party atmosphere, yet, I remained in the bar to socialise. 

As the evening progressed, the music was turned up, and alcohol-induced backpackers started to dance more wildly. I was thinking: What a contrast this unaffiliated hostel was to the YHA-affiliated. The latter had a games room and a TV room, but generally, quietness was the rule of thumb, as there may be those who wanted a quiet read or even to study.

In the spacious bar, there were several sturdy picnic tables, each with a built-in bench on each side. These are generally heavy outdoor furniture, instead, their sturdiness meant that each one served as a raised dance floor or a stage where the dancers showed off their performance. As mostly young men piled onto the tables to the beat of the music, it looked as if an accident was waiting to happen, and I was hoping that no one would fall off and suffer a fracture. I was relieved when, later in the night, a staff member turned off the music and sent us all to our dorms. The sudden metamorphosis from loud party noise to library silence within less than a minute was remarkable.

On to Brisbane.

The next day, I set off for the next leg of the journey south. This was to be a much shorter journey than the previous leg, covering a distance of nearly 300 km or 185 miles. It took about five hours, including the service break, to arrive at Queensland's capital and final stop before crossing into New South Wales.

After arrival, I was advised at the station information desk of a YHA hostel on Roma Street. After finding the hostel, I was allocated a bed in one of its spacious dorms. Also, from this point, I began to take advantage of the newly thought-up Book-a-Bed-Ahead scheme, unique to YHA-affiliated hostels. Having a bed reserved for the next hostel before leaving the present one seems a good idea, and saves the hassle of bed-hunting after arriving at a chosen location, something I've been doing since the day I took off from London for Singapore.

After settling at the hostel and restocking, I made my way along Roma Street until I arrived at the combined Roma Street Railway and Bus Stations. From there, I walked into town and arrived at Anzac Square which has the Eternal Flame War Memorial.

A Floor at Myers Dept Store.

Dragon Roller Coaster at Tops, Brisbane.

It was around tea time when I arrived at the Square. And for the first time since Singapore, or for the first time ever in Australia, I saw some men in their thirties loitering around the square, each wearing a business suit and tie. I was affected by the cultural difference between the Brisbane financial centre and the laid-back culture of Cairns and Port Douglas that was all to do with the Great Barrier Reef. Furthermore, it wasn't cold, as this was the subtropics, and although it was "winter", the temperature must have been in the region of 25 degrees Celsius or over. The effect these businessmen had on me might have led to a nightmarish dream I had in the coming night. I never forgot it.

I dreamt that I was in Brisbane, and realised that I had to take an urgent flight to London, but to stay in London just for a few hours to complete some business at Victoria Street before boarding the plane back to Brisbane to resume the holiday. However, in the dream, I found out that once in the UK, I couldn't fly back to Brisbane, so, I was stuck in my home country, therefore cutting the holiday drastically short.

I woke up, gasping for breath, in the hostel dorm in Brisbane. When I realised it was all a dream, I felt a rush of relief. But what was odd about the dream was that I had exactly the same dream three years earlier in 1994, while I was a volunteer in Israel. Furthermore, in both dreams, I saw the same London location, Victoria Street, the through road from Victoria Station to Parliament Square.

About Brisbane.

Brisbane, being the capital of Queensland, is the State's largest city with its own Queensland Parliament. It's the home of various chief banks and a financial centre. Geographically, it sits on the River Brisbane, and the city centre is several miles inland from the coast. The river itself takes a series of bends within the city limits, and these bends could resemble the letter M intersecting with the letter W. The city centre itself, where I stayed and where I became familiar, is in the form of a triangle wedged either within the upper "v" of the M or the left "v" of the W, depending on your visual perception. The main shopping precinct is Queen Street, and it was here where I spent some time, including visiting the Myers department store. It had several floors, but the upper floor was named Tops, and unlike all the other floors in the store, Tops housed an indoor roller coaster, a small Ferris Wheel, and some pool tables.

I thought that the top floor fun fair and gaming room was a brilliant idea, suited for a family out on a weekly shopping trip. The wife and mother do the shopping whilst the husband and father are engaged with his teenage son playing a game of snooker or pool, whilst the younger child rides the roller coaster. Indeed, Tops takes the family's boredom away from the weekly shopping spree! Why didn't we in Britain think of something like that?

There were two parks that I became familiar with. One of them, within the city centre, was the Botanical Gardens. Unfortunately, all the flower beds were out of season, thus, all I saw were bare patches of soil surrounded by manicured lawns. However, the gardens back onto the River Brisbane, and here, Mangroves grew and flourished at the river edge. In 1997, there was a boardwalk lining the embankment, and from it, I watched the river water lap at the exposed mangrove roots which, among them, had a high population of small crabs. I would spend hours leaning on the boardwalk railings and watching those crustaceans crawl sidewards as each made its way to where it wanted to go.

The other venue where I spent time was the South Bank Parklands, which was accessible across the river and a walk along Victoria Bridge. One unusual feature of the Parklands was the presence of an artificial beach fronting a bathing lagoon, not unlike the modern one at Cairns. However, I never got around to swimming in the lagoon, despite looking very attractive in warm weather. The journey from Brisbane to Sydney was what I call "the dry route" where I only got wet in the hostel shower. However, once in Sydney, I did try out the shambolic rooftop sauna suite, where I even had to turn on the sauna heater and wait until the cabin was warm enough to bathe in.

The Boy Within Revived.

Included in this week's blog post is a photo I took of the indoor roller coaster at Tops. For a long time, I stood on the veranda and watched the dragon-headed coaster giving rides to families. While I was watching, I was also pondering - how prattish would I look if I, a man in his forties, were to ride on such a contraption? Yet, why should I keep my desire bottled up just so someone doesn't see me in such a predicament and laugh?

Botanical Gardens, Brisbane.

At the Mangrove Boardwalk, Botanical Gardens.

Eventually, after much turning in my mind, I headed towards the coaster station and paid for a ride. When the coaster stopped, I climbed on board and settled down. Who cares what other people may think? I was a visitor in Brisbane and nobody would know me, surely.

The coaster completed two laps of the circuit with the extra thrill of flying through the station without stopping. I was surprised at how "gutsy" the ride was, and as I alighted afterwards, I felt that going for the ride was the right decision. I turned and looked towards the games room. Two young men were busy at one of the pool tables, playing their game seriously, and compared to them, I indeed felt childish.

This "Boy in the Man" psychology is nothing new. Even at Arlie Beach, during a spare afternoon, I came across a swing park, and I spent some time on one of the swings, arching high as I felt exuberant! Perhaps I'm no different from those featured in stories I have read about. A man rolls down a steep hill at night in a shopping trolley, a police officer slides down a children's helter-skelter when he thought no one was looking, a father takes his son's model aeroplane and flies it at night at the beach - and loses it forever. And so the plethora of true stories goes on.

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Next Week: More About Brisbane.

Travel Biography - Week 85.

Preparing for the journey to where? Make up your mind!

In all, I spent four nights at Arlie Beach. The Oceania Resort was probably the best backpacker's hostel I stayed at in Australia. I had the dorm, equivalent to a private hotel room, throughout my stay there. At some time during the fifth day after arriving, I began the next leg of the journey south to Brisbane. At least, that was my original intention until I picked up some gossip about Hervey Bay and its ferry service to what was then Fraser Island, the world's largest sandbank. Still, at present, its name has returned to the original K'gari.

During one of the on-route service stops, I approached the driver, aware that I was about to annoy him, to ask for my rucksack to be switched from the Brisbane compartment of the hold to the Hervey Bay compartment. Indeed, the driver grumbled, but at least I wasn't on the receiving end of a torrent of verbal abuse, as I half-expected in laid-back Australia, as my request was seasoned with apologies. Seen as a nuisance by the driver, but nothing dramatic, my gear was switched to the appropriate luggage compartment of the bus whilst my destination was changed.

At Hervey Bay.

Dawn Sunrise at Hervey Bay Beach.

Approaching K'gari from the Ferry.

An unexpected Problem.

I arrived at Hervey Bay the next day, after 860 km, or 534 miles, one of the longest journeys in Australia. Hervey Bay was in the southern area of Queensland, and I had already gone past the southerly tip of the Great Barrier Reef. Furthermore, early after daybreak, the bus stopped at Rockhampton, the city where, nearby, the Tropic of Capricorn divided the Tropics from the Southern Hemisphere proper. Hervey Bay is the gateway to Fraser Island, or K'gari, with its famous feature, Lake McKenzie, the purest lake in the world and one of several scenes for the BBC series, Walking With Dinosaurs, a 1999 six-part nature documentary.

After alighting from the bus, I walked along the esplanade of a low-build town, with no skyscrapers, and with each building no higher than two storeys. Think of a typical settlement of the Old West, and Hervey Bay could have been seen as the Australian equivalent. Furthermore, the surrounding landscape was rather flat and uninteresting, and this would be one place I would have passed by had it not been for the world's largest sandbank. I came across one privately-owned unaffiliated backpacker's hostel and I managed to secure a bed in one of the dorms for the next three nights.

However, when it came to payment, I saw that I was at a sticky point - I had no more cash! Instead, I was stuck with a wad of US$ Traveller's Cheques I was unable to cash, as I normally did with ease, as all the banks were closed. If that particular day was a National Holiday, I couldn't figure out the reason for it. Fortunately, in 1997, I held an emergency Barclaycard credit card which was acceptable at the hostel reception. With that, I settled in, anxious and disappointed knowing that, after arriving home, I would be met with a credit statement. However, a couple of doors away from the hostel there was a hotel that cashed Traveller's Cheques. With hope of relief, I entered the hotel and asked about cheque cashing, showing my passport as proof of identity.

The male Aussie receptionist spoke with a rather gruff voice. 

Are you staying at this hotel? - as if expecting a negative answer, as this was the first time he ever saw me.

Er, no, sorry. I answered with some embarrassment.

Then I won't cash your cheques! We only do that for hotel residents. You're on your own, mate.

I then asked, What's special about today?

The fellow looked at me as if I was addled-headed. It's the Queen's Birthday!

I walked out of the hotel with a feeling of disgust. If I were a patriotic Englishman, as with this Aussie, chances were that I would have bowed a curtsy towards the ocean and apologise for forgetting to honour an individual who by pure luck had a very privileged birth. By heck! No wonder my father was a Republican, and I felt that I was heading the same way. Why must I get into debt halfway around the planet just because someone I had never met had a lucky entry into this world as a Royal? This was not only I found annoying, but I felt flustered, knowing that after rudely fobbing me off, this same receptionist would have trembled at his knees in blind admiration had Her Majesty passed by at a distance. My former determination to keep the entire holiday debt-free was thwarted over a birthday.

I spent the rest of the day exploring the town. It was originally a non-touristy settlement but has made some efforts to accommodate tourists, mainly to set foot on Fraser Island. I was careful with the spending, as I had only the credit card to live on until the next day.

The start of the Wangoobla Creek Trail.

Wangoogla Creek. Our trail follows it.

The trail continues along the forested creek.

As I found out, K'gari doesn't encourage lone hikers or visitors, and in 1997, as it is at present, visitors generally arrived in groups. Any one group hired a 4WD and allowed two nights of camping. The majority of backpackers used this method of travel across the island, as this was the closest to independent travel it gets. Therefore, on the first evening of arrival, we had our names called out after we all assembled at the hostel bar, including my name. We were each assigned to a group of six of us, with one of us in our group driving the 4WD. Private cars weren't allowed on the island.

I have wondered why there was a feeling of discouragement about lone hiking in K'gari, or Fraser Island. It was afterwards that I learned of the presence of dingos, wild dogs that inhabit the island. Generally, they were timid of human presence, but they were, and are, capable of attacking a human. In the past, visitors used to feed them treats, hence the dingo would, at times, go after a human in expectation of a treat, and was liable to become aggressive if no treat was forthcoming.

Nevertheless, I felt uncomfortable about being one of a group of six, and not even in charge of the vehicle (I never had a driving licence.) Looking around at the crowd, just about everybody was half my age and behaved accordingly. Besides that, as a loner and aware that I might not fit in, I approached the caller and asked for my name to be removed from the assigned group. Instead, a day tour was on offer, and I felt better off being part of one. Later that evening, I booked a place on the tour.

A Lone Hike at K'gari?

The next morning, we were driven to the harbour and boarded a ferry. Whilst on the ferry, I had mixed feelings. I disliked escorted tours and I was wondering whether I had made a mistake by withdrawing my name from the group of six, or had I done the right thing by joining a tour group instead. It would have been wise had I known about the BBC Travel Presenter Simon Reeve. On TV, he appears as a lone backpacker who has travelled around the world several times and has reached many inaccessible locations most of us would never think about visiting. But I tend to forget that he has a camera crew, a director, and a local guide to escort him around. Not quite the same with me.

Instead, I allowed the decision to play on my mind instead of admiring the mangroves flourishing on the first stretch of the island's coastline. I was wondering how everything would have turned out had I accompanied the other five fellows on the 4WD. I was too naive to think that, indeed, while someone else was driving the vehicle, I would have been on an escorted tour, the only difference was I might have had a say on where to go and what to see.

We landed on the island and we were led to a car park where a coach was waiting for us. However, I saw a trailhead nearby, and I actually asked our guide whether I could hike the trail if we could meet again elsewhere. I was expecting something like, Don't be silly, we must stick together as a group. But, to my surprise, he allowed me to set off on my own to do some solo hiking.

Obviously, he knew the island of K'gari far better than I did, and therefore he knew exactly where to find me. I might not have been the first to make a request of this kind. 

And so, I set off down the trail cutting through heavy tropical forest, very much like at Whitsunday Island. However, the trail began to parallel a creek as the path followed it. This was Wangoobla Creek, one of several freshwater streams that cross the sandbank. Other vegetation includes ferns, some have been growing and flourishing here, right next to the stream, for hundreds of years.

How long I have been hiking, I didn't time myself, nor did I measure the distance I covered. I must have been hiking for an hour, perhaps more, yet the creek flows peacefully through the thick forest without a hint of a break. I was also wondering whether the trail was leading where I really wanted to be, at Lake McKenzie, the most pure freshwater body in the world.

I saw my guide approach, as if he had either followed me, or he knew exactly where I was. Most likely the latter, as during that time, he must have led the rest of the group elsewhere. He then insisted on joining him to the coach which was nearby, off the trail. Okay, I did protest a little, as I wanted to go further, but I didn't argue. I boarded the coach and I actually stood in front and I chatted joyfully with the driver, who didn't seem to mind me standing there. Thus the laid-back attitude of this fascinating country.

After our talk, I made my way to the only vacant seat on the bus, which was next to a young lady named Christine, from Scandinavia. We chatted, and something of a friendship developed between us. As for Lake McKenzie, we were actually on our way there, and gradually I came to the realisation why the driver insisted on rejoining the group. It was quite a long drive to get to the lake, and there was no chance of me arriving on my own on time, even if I was on the right route.

Further through the forest, I hiked.

Lake McKenzie, Fraser Island, or K'gari.

Christine and I swam here (photo taken by her).

We arrived at the lake, the rich blue of the water's depth contrasting with the gold sand of pure silica forming its beach. Around 70 metres away from the lake, there was a bench overlooking the water. Although the guide gave us all an option to swim in the lake, only Christine and I made our way to the beach and entered the water. Everybody else remained sitting on the bench.

Christine, like most backpackers, was approximately half my age, and a stronger swimmer than I was, and she made her way to the middle of the lake. However, I wasn't too far behind, and I managed to enjoy the last open-water swim in Australia, as the route from Hervey Bay to Sydney was to be the "dry route." Afterwards, Christine and I wandered off along the lake's beach as we talked about our lives at home and what we had seen. Eventually, the guide called us back, as it was time to leave K'gari for the mainland.

At Hervey Bay, Christine and I parted with the hope that we would have good memories of each other as we moved on. The next day was my last day at Hervey Bay before the short journey to Brisbane.

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Next Week: I arrive in Brisbane.