Dear Britain, I am sorry to complain about sweltering humidity and tropical insects as you sit in a zillion inches of snow. But I’m sweaty and speckled with itchy insect bites, so have some sympathy! You see, as you are shivering in the latest once in a generation weather event since last year, I’m astride the tropic of Capricorn, visiting the good teachers of Queensland and discovering snippets of their palm fronded world.
The trip started further north in Cairns, which is best described as a bit like the Gold Coast on Lilt. Veering into the sweaty season, the rains were plentiful but a few breaks allowed early evening walks along the Esplanade, which is a nicely designed strip of exercise along the rather gloopy Trinity Bay. It was thirsty work in the heat, and a nice cold beer was perfect to look forward to... but being rather stupid I bought a non-twisty top bottle without any bottle opener around. A serious crisis saved by the Cairns crocodile available in one of the many terrible souvenir shops here.
On Saturday opportunity arose to become a tourist, hiring a car and taking it north to the end of the road. Not before yet another ridiculous early start. You see, Queenslanders tend to be pretty, er, basic and prefer sunrise at 4:45am rather than joining the rest of the country to bask in daylight saving and beautiful light evenings. So I took an early walk in brightening skies, the piercing sun hot already and making sitting out with a beautiful brekkie a bit more uncomfortable than was ideal.
It was nice to get out of Cairns, the first stop following a climb through dripping green rainforest up to Kuranda and the nearby Barron Falls. With all the rain I expected a pounding torrent of water here, but, like the local wildlife, the falls resembled a series of slivery snakes swirling their way around the rocks and into the murky pools below.
Not that I saw any snakes, but they were always there, a potent menace in the back of my mind. All jollily reinforced by the presence of the Australian Venom Zoo in Kuranda.
From here it was back down to the coast and a ribbon of road which must be up there with the best of them, thirty kilometres of the Captain Cook Highway hugging the coastline between World Heritage mountainous rainforest and World Heritage oceans and the very outer fringes of that reef. It was even better on the way back with the sun out, but for now it was on to Mossman Gorge in Daintree National Park, where the sun did come out and the lush tropical rainforest was getting very steamy.
As nice as this place was it was almost as nice to get back into the car, with its air con and (hopefully) lack of venomous creatures. Still pointing north the car and I breezed past fields of sugar cane, hills cloaked in deep green denseness, and over murky creeks until the road stopped at quite a big creek. The Daintree River no less, with its little cable ferry that you travel on at your own risk. The risks I believe including crocodiles, sea snakes, drowning, probably a few jellyfish, being washed up and skewered by a cassowary, swallowing spiders when sleeping with your mouth open, dehydration and merciless abuse from the ferry operatives for not having marvellous facial hair like them. Thankfully I was okay on that count.
The safe crossing of the river makes you feel almost intrepid, on the final, narrowing and flood prone slice of sealed road that begins in a better condition way down south in temperate climes. It wriggles its way over mountains, slides its way around plunging rainforest gullies, bumps over cassowary crossings and skirts its way across beautiful but very potentially deadly creeks and gullies spilling into the sea. With each kilometre it seems to get better, and then you stop. You get out and get bitten endlessly by invisible bugs, you feel spider webs blowing in the wind and crossing your skin, you hear twitches in the undergrowth in between deafening clicks of millions of insects. A palm frond falls to the ground in an almighty crash. At least you hope it is a palm frond. It is at one simply breathtaking and horrific.
There is some respite at the very end of the road, the last bit of tarmac, some of which is already washed away by flooding creeks, which brings us into Cape Tribulation. Named by Captain Cook for the trials and tribulations he faced up this way navigating the reef, even in air conditioned, sealed comfort of the twenty first century, getting here, especially if you started in a beat up combi in Kings Cross, takes some going. The reward is a bunch of hippies and some backpackers, but among that a very fine beach where the rainforest meets the reef.
There is nowhere to go from here, unless you get seriously upgraded by Thrifty into a Landcruiser, other than back the way you came. There is relief along the way though thanks to a sign pointing to Daintree Ice Cream, an obvious stop for Dougie’s Daintree Day Tours, and what’s good for Dougie is good for me. The pineapple ice cream is particularly recommended, as is the surroundings.
Back over the dangerous Daintree, civilisation becomes more pronounced and thrusts itself upon you in Port Douglas. Port Douglas is the slightly moneyed up in a trashy way American in a flowery top brother to old Cairnso. There is no other clearer way to describe it. What this does mean is some luxury, though for me a cold shower followed by a cold beer followed by a warm seafood basket was sumptuous enough.
The beach at Port Douglas is all coconuts and palm trees as I discovered the next morning, though I have to say I was expecting something a bit finer and whiter. So it turns out Hyams Beach in Jervis Bay really must have the whitest sand in the world then. Never doubt Norris McWhirter. Still, regardless of colour or granularity, it was blissful to wash the sand off in the palm lined pool of my reasonably bling hotel before checking out.
Back on the road to Cairns the weather, just like the cricket on the radio, was getting better all the time. This made it hard to resist stopping numerous times on that stretch of World Heritage road, taking in spectacular views and much improved golden sands. The beaches just to the north of Cairns are rather lovely, though I’d find it galling to have that on your doorstop and be unable to go in there for six months of the year for fear of being lacerated to death by the stingers. If the sharks and stingrays don’t get you first!
The beach stops were alluring, so much so that I was cutting it just a little fine for my flight out of there. Not much time to see Cairns airport that’s for sure. The check out girls were nice though, I think they must place the glam ones up this way, all part of the totally tropical taste. I wasn’t quite done with those tropics however, my next stop just north of that dotted line in Rockhampton... a different proposition to the Far North, but still with deadly bugs lurking invisibly in every hidden corner.
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What can I tell you about Rocky? It’s the beef capital of Australia. Set on the broad murky banks of the Fitzroy River, the second (second no less!) biggest river system in Australia. It’s somewhere around the tropic of Capricorn but about 50kms inland from the coast. And it is pretty dead on a Sunday evening when you are searching for something to eat.
In fact, wandering the streets on Sunday I decided it was Australia’s answer to New Orleans, only without the buzz and plethora of dining options...just the swaggering humidity propensity to flooding and undertone of murder.
Things in Rocky perked up somewhat with the advent of a new week and things being open. One of those was the Cambridge Hotel with its tasteless interior but bargain all you can eat buffet! Why do I see the words ‘all you can eat’ and immediately think the gauntlet has been thrown down. Of course, it did include several slabs of beef, being the beef capital and all.
Anyway I survived that and being a hardworking type beavering away at strange hours (usually very early thanks to the non-daylight saving QLD philosophy) I managed to give myself some free time midweek to potter about the area. Rockhampton does have some very fine botanic gardens, especially if you like all the creepy jungle creepers and palmy palms. And there is some nice bushland up on the Berserkers, clearly named by the locals for the locals (it’s actually pronounced Bursika as I was happy to learn...)
And Rocky’s really not that far from the coast, the town of Yeppoon being the biggest centre and appropriate spot for lunch beside the beach. In my head I had fine white sands pictured, shaped in no small part by the presence of Great Keppel Island nearby. This is one of those barrier reef islands which actually isn’t on the barrier reef but still tells you it is,
and seduces you with those fine white sands and I believe a Contiki resort for wanton drunkenness and sexual promiscuity. Sadly I had missed the ferry! And the sands on the mainland weren’t white, more brown and gritty, no doubt thanks to the rain and the wide brown waters of the second largest river system spilling into the ocean.
I did learn that Great Keppel Island (which isn’t the only island out there) was formed from volcanic activity and remnants of this are dotted along the mainland coastal strip from Yeppoon to Emu Park further south. What this provides is a series of quite spectacular headlands, mostly national park which offer not only great views but diversity of bushland, rainforest gullies, grassland and rocky, er, rocks. The view from one volcanic plug to another reminded me of Rio... in miniature of course and without any beautiful people flaunting themselves, though there were at least some slums nearby.
So there you go Rocky... touches of New Orleans, Rio just round the corner, the beefiest river in the whole of Queensland and gateway to the tropics. It calls for a cold XXXX to toast it, so a cold XXXX I had, in a pub with maybe four people present. My time in the tropics drawing to a close, just sweaty clothes, insect bites and hairy memories to take with me. And, importantly, no crocodile bites or encounters with box jellyfish.
The trip started further north in Cairns, which is best described as a bit like the Gold Coast on Lilt. Veering into the sweaty season, the rains were plentiful but a few breaks allowed early evening walks along the Esplanade, which is a nicely designed strip of exercise along the rather gloopy Trinity Bay. It was thirsty work in the heat, and a nice cold beer was perfect to look forward to... but being rather stupid I bought a non-twisty top bottle without any bottle opener around. A serious crisis saved by the Cairns crocodile available in one of the many terrible souvenir shops here.
On Saturday opportunity arose to become a tourist, hiring a car and taking it north to the end of the road. Not before yet another ridiculous early start. You see, Queenslanders tend to be pretty, er, basic and prefer sunrise at 4:45am rather than joining the rest of the country to bask in daylight saving and beautiful light evenings. So I took an early walk in brightening skies, the piercing sun hot already and making sitting out with a beautiful brekkie a bit more uncomfortable than was ideal.
It was nice to get out of Cairns, the first stop following a climb through dripping green rainforest up to Kuranda and the nearby Barron Falls. With all the rain I expected a pounding torrent of water here, but, like the local wildlife, the falls resembled a series of slivery snakes swirling their way around the rocks and into the murky pools below.
Not that I saw any snakes, but they were always there, a potent menace in the back of my mind. All jollily reinforced by the presence of the Australian Venom Zoo in Kuranda.
From here it was back down to the coast and a ribbon of road which must be up there with the best of them, thirty kilometres of the Captain Cook Highway hugging the coastline between World Heritage mountainous rainforest and World Heritage oceans and the very outer fringes of that reef. It was even better on the way back with the sun out, but for now it was on to Mossman Gorge in Daintree National Park, where the sun did come out and the lush tropical rainforest was getting very steamy.
As nice as this place was it was almost as nice to get back into the car, with its air con and (hopefully) lack of venomous creatures. Still pointing north the car and I breezed past fields of sugar cane, hills cloaked in deep green denseness, and over murky creeks until the road stopped at quite a big creek. The Daintree River no less, with its little cable ferry that you travel on at your own risk. The risks I believe including crocodiles, sea snakes, drowning, probably a few jellyfish, being washed up and skewered by a cassowary, swallowing spiders when sleeping with your mouth open, dehydration and merciless abuse from the ferry operatives for not having marvellous facial hair like them. Thankfully I was okay on that count.
The safe crossing of the river makes you feel almost intrepid, on the final, narrowing and flood prone slice of sealed road that begins in a better condition way down south in temperate climes. It wriggles its way over mountains, slides its way around plunging rainforest gullies, bumps over cassowary crossings and skirts its way across beautiful but very potentially deadly creeks and gullies spilling into the sea. With each kilometre it seems to get better, and then you stop. You get out and get bitten endlessly by invisible bugs, you feel spider webs blowing in the wind and crossing your skin, you hear twitches in the undergrowth in between deafening clicks of millions of insects. A palm frond falls to the ground in an almighty crash. At least you hope it is a palm frond. It is at one simply breathtaking and horrific.
There is some respite at the very end of the road, the last bit of tarmac, some of which is already washed away by flooding creeks, which brings us into Cape Tribulation. Named by Captain Cook for the trials and tribulations he faced up this way navigating the reef, even in air conditioned, sealed comfort of the twenty first century, getting here, especially if you started in a beat up combi in Kings Cross, takes some going. The reward is a bunch of hippies and some backpackers, but among that a very fine beach where the rainforest meets the reef.
There is nowhere to go from here, unless you get seriously upgraded by Thrifty into a Landcruiser, other than back the way you came. There is relief along the way though thanks to a sign pointing to Daintree Ice Cream, an obvious stop for Dougie’s Daintree Day Tours, and what’s good for Dougie is good for me. The pineapple ice cream is particularly recommended, as is the surroundings.
Back over the dangerous Daintree, civilisation becomes more pronounced and thrusts itself upon you in Port Douglas. Port Douglas is the slightly moneyed up in a trashy way American in a flowery top brother to old Cairnso. There is no other clearer way to describe it. What this does mean is some luxury, though for me a cold shower followed by a cold beer followed by a warm seafood basket was sumptuous enough.The beach at Port Douglas is all coconuts and palm trees as I discovered the next morning, though I have to say I was expecting something a bit finer and whiter. So it turns out Hyams Beach in Jervis Bay really must have the whitest sand in the world then. Never doubt Norris McWhirter. Still, regardless of colour or granularity, it was blissful to wash the sand off in the palm lined pool of my reasonably bling hotel before checking out.
Back on the road to Cairns the weather, just like the cricket on the radio, was getting better all the time. This made it hard to resist stopping numerous times on that stretch of World Heritage road, taking in spectacular views and much improved golden sands. The beaches just to the north of Cairns are rather lovely, though I’d find it galling to have that on your doorstop and be unable to go in there for six months of the year for fear of being lacerated to death by the stingers. If the sharks and stingrays don’t get you first!
The beach stops were alluring, so much so that I was cutting it just a little fine for my flight out of there. Not much time to see Cairns airport that’s for sure. The check out girls were nice though, I think they must place the glam ones up this way, all part of the totally tropical taste. I wasn’t quite done with those tropics however, my next stop just north of that dotted line in Rockhampton... a different proposition to the Far North, but still with deadly bugs lurking invisibly in every hidden corner.
-------------------------------------
What can I tell you about Rocky? It’s the beef capital of Australia. Set on the broad murky banks of the Fitzroy River, the second (second no less!) biggest river system in Australia. It’s somewhere around the tropic of Capricorn but about 50kms inland from the coast. And it is pretty dead on a Sunday evening when you are searching for something to eat.
In fact, wandering the streets on Sunday I decided it was Australia’s answer to New Orleans, only without the buzz and plethora of dining options...just the swaggering humidity propensity to flooding and undertone of murder.Things in Rocky perked up somewhat with the advent of a new week and things being open. One of those was the Cambridge Hotel with its tasteless interior but bargain all you can eat buffet! Why do I see the words ‘all you can eat’ and immediately think the gauntlet has been thrown down. Of course, it did include several slabs of beef, being the beef capital and all.
Anyway I survived that and being a hardworking type beavering away at strange hours (usually very early thanks to the non-daylight saving QLD philosophy) I managed to give myself some free time midweek to potter about the area. Rockhampton does have some very fine botanic gardens, especially if you like all the creepy jungle creepers and palmy palms. And there is some nice bushland up on the Berserkers, clearly named by the locals for the locals (it’s actually pronounced Bursika as I was happy to learn...)
And Rocky’s really not that far from the coast, the town of Yeppoon being the biggest centre and appropriate spot for lunch beside the beach. In my head I had fine white sands pictured, shaped in no small part by the presence of Great Keppel Island nearby. This is one of those barrier reef islands which actually isn’t on the barrier reef but still tells you it is,
and seduces you with those fine white sands and I believe a Contiki resort for wanton drunkenness and sexual promiscuity. Sadly I had missed the ferry! And the sands on the mainland weren’t white, more brown and gritty, no doubt thanks to the rain and the wide brown waters of the second largest river system spilling into the ocean.I did learn that Great Keppel Island (which isn’t the only island out there) was formed from volcanic activity and remnants of this are dotted along the mainland coastal strip from Yeppoon to Emu Park further south. What this provides is a series of quite spectacular headlands, mostly national park which offer not only great views but diversity of bushland, rainforest gullies, grassland and rocky, er, rocks. The view from one volcanic plug to another reminded me of Rio... in miniature of course and without any beautiful people flaunting themselves, though there were at least some slums nearby.
So there you go Rocky... touches of New Orleans, Rio just round the corner, the beefiest river in the whole of Queensland and gateway to the tropics. It calls for a cold XXXX to toast it, so a cold XXXX I had, in a pub with maybe four people present. My time in the tropics drawing to a close, just sweaty clothes, insect bites and hairy memories to take with me. And, importantly, no crocodile bites or encounters with box jellyfish.
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