Saturday, December 30, 2006

A Famous Australian invention??!


I found out recently that Australia, a country famous for its sport, sun, surf and sand can actually boast a useful contribution to the human race.

And no – it isn’t “stubby coolers” (foam cups to keep your bottle of beer – ‘stubby’ - cool in the heat) or eskies (Cool Boxes to the rest of the world) but something all together more humble and perhaps even more practical – the rotary clothes line.

Or so I thought.

Further investigation on the Wikipedia website, shows that the crown and pinion winding mechanism of the Hills Hoist rotary clothes line was invented by Lance Hill in 1945 but the rotary clothes line itself had been invented 55 years before in 1890 by an American.

It was popularised in Australia by Lance Hill and is a common sight in Australian and New Zealand backyards. It is considered one of Australia's most recognisable icons, and is used frequently by artists as a metaphor for for suburbia in Australia.

It is widely (and incorrectly) believed by the public to be an Australian invention.

However, other Australian and American precursors existed decades before it was produced in 1945 in the Adelaide suburb of Glenunga by Lance Hill.

And that’s it.

I hope you’re all impressed by all this research that I am pursuing for you, The Discerning Surfer…

Crikey! – That Australia Zoo is AWESOME!



For those that have been living on Mars for the past few years, Steve Irwin is the charismatic, passionate and hugely entertaining wildlife conservationist, whose “Crocodile Hunter” television series achieved him worldwide fame and not to mention a certain amount of notoriety.

The series shook the watching world as it watched on in amazement at his sometimes death-defying encounters with many of the world’s most dangerous animals, especially those with his personal favourite, the (as we now know thanks to Steve) often much misunderstood crocodile.

The passion that he had, his love of the animal kingdom and his relentless pursuit of conservation was infectious. Anyone who saw any of his TV programs, could hardly forget him, sporting his dodgy blond mullet hairstyle and his trademark uniform of khaki short-sleeved shirt and shorts as he got up close and personal with some of Planet Earth’s scariest creatures; his favourite catchphrase “Crikey!” becoming familiar to millions of households across the globe.

Sadly, a few short months ago, Steve was taken from us through the most bizarre of incidents, being pierced in the heart by a mother stingray protecting her young. A strange way for the legend to meet his maker, especially considering the dangerous situations he had previously put himself in. It was the first reported human death by stingray recorded in several decades.

His death sent shockwaves across the world and the loss was felt no greater than right here in this part of Australia, known as The Sunshine Coast, where he was born and raised and which is home to his Australia Zoo, located less than an hour north of Brisbane, along the Glass House Mountains Tourist Drive in Beerwah.

Having spoken to a few people from this region, I can only compare his death and the subsequent loss felt with the reaction back home in Northern Ireland to the passing away of the late, great George Best.

According to a friend of mine, a photographer with the local press who was asked to cover events following his death, the region has never witnessed anything like the public outpouring of grief as the tragic news broke out.

Right here in Mooloolaba where I type these words, just a few minutes away at Alexandra Headland on the day of the funeral, hundreds of surfers from the region paid a special tribute to the Crocodile Hunter, himself an avid surfer, at a special memorial service.

Forming a huge circle off the beach to remember him, floral tributes were placed in the water.

Staff from the Irwin family's Australia Zoo also took part in the commemoration held during the Juniper Surf classic being staged at Alexandra Headlands in support of cancer charity Camp Quality.

This sounds like a moving and memorable experience and is a measure of the regard that he was held within the community here.

However, in spite of the tragic loss, the man’s legacy lives on in the form of his hugely impressive Australia Zoo.

Originally opened by Steve’s parents Bob and Lyn in 1970 under the name Beerwah Reptile Park, they passed on their love and respect for wildlife onto their children, especially to their son Steve, who had helped his parents since childhood to care for crocodiles and reptiles and to maintain the growing number of animals in the zoo.

In 1991, Steve overtook management of the zoo. In 1992 the park was renamed Australia Zoo. Currently, the zoo maintains more than 1000 animals and 600 staff. Animals and staff alike all seem to be very happy to be there. It is a wonderful environment to be in and zoos all around the world could learn many things from its example.

After the initial disappointment of going to the zoo a couple of weeks ago, where I found out that I had arrived too late for the main event, the crocodile show in the ‘crocoseum’, I made a more successful return visit a week ago along with two friends.

Arriving at 10:30 in the morning, and as clichéd as it sounds, we spent six fun-packed hours exploring everything that the zoo had to offer us, our only regret as we left that evening being that we could not have spent longer at the place.

Upon reflection, I am pleased to report that the decision to postpone the visit until a day when I would actually experience the shows in the crocoseum has proven to be the right one.

The crocoseum is an impressive outdoor 5000 all-seater arena located within the zoo itself. Giving some indication as to just how large the park is in its entirety, the crocoseum takes up less than 5 percent of the place.

For an hour and a half, the huge crowd in the crocoseum were entertained and informed by three shows: “Snakes Live”, “Birds Live” and “Crocs Live.” Each show provided us with very up close and personal encounters with many of these wonderful species.

The experience, however, was not an entirely voyeuristic one, with much of the show’s emphasis placed upon explaining to the onlooker how these animals should be treated and the dangers that their species experience thanks, in most cases, to the threat of humankind. The guides were also very quick to point out the dangers that these animals pose for us, which, in the case of snakes and crocodiles is actually a lot less than you would perhaps think.

I have to say that the shows were a thoroughly enjoyable experience and were of a highly interactive nature - the guy that was doing the PA was constantly walking about with his microphone asking questions to members of the assembled audience.

Through him, we discovered that there were people from all over the world sharing in the experience, with many of the spectators hailing from Europe, the USA and South America. There was even a family who heralded from Tasmania, although being the brunt of many an Australian joke; they might have regretted announcing this.

During the day, we got up close and personal with some very exotic animals but let’s face it, just by fencing an area off in Australia, you would end up with more exotic animals than we would ever hope to see back home.

The day was spent looking at wombats, koalas, possums, a wonderful relative of the emu known as a cassowary, Tasmanian devils, iguanas, skinks, otters, walking amongst tropical birds in a giant aviary, feeding and petting kangaroos, feeding elephants and watching 1 percent of the world’s population of Sumatran tigers at rest and play. Sadly, this amounts to just three of these most beautiful creatures; such is their threat of extinction.

As we watched them in the Tiger Temple, which incidentally is styled on the Angkor Wat Temple in Cambodia, two of their handlers were sitting in the temple with them.

Just as I was thinking that it was quite a cushy job – to be sitting in the afternoon sun, not doing much – one of the handlers explained to us that the team of tigers’ handlers had been spending time with them 24/7 since their birth three years previously in an effort to build up the confidence of the animals – a hugely impressive display of dedication to their vocation.

Such was our enthusiasm and interest in the place; we were still walking around almost half an hour after the zoo closed. As we eventually dragged ourselves away from the zoo, one of the multitudes of staff, a man in his late forties dressed in the famous khaki uniform, asked us if we had enjoyed our visit.

Having said that we had enjoyed it immensely, I then commented on how great it must be to work in such a fantastic environment. His response?

“I waken up every morning and thank my lucky stars that I work here.”

That says it all really…

For more info, check out: http://www.australiazoo.com.au

Friday, December 15, 2006

Two buck a chuck night at Fridays

It’s a Tuesday night, so it must be Two Buck a Chuck night at Fridays.

Obviously.

At least this was what I found out yesterday - it being a Tuesday and all.

The day started off adventurously enough for me, having recovered from the 05:00 wake up by going back to bed for a couple of hours – no, not a jog – and then heading down to the world famous Steve Irwin’s Australia Zoo around midday.

Having paid the whopping entrance fee of 46 dollars, I was then happily informed by the young girl who sold me the ticket that I had already missed the main shows, including the crocodiles in the ‘crocoseum’, a purpose-built 5000 seater stadium, which in fact was the main reason for going in the first place.

Deciding that for 46 dollars, I should at least be seeing the crocodile show, I asked for a voucher, so that I could come back another day, this time making sure I arrived a bit earlier.

A little disappointed with this predicament, I consoled myself with an hour spent at Cheesecake Beach, which got it’s name because of a creamy-coloured block of holiday apartments in a shape resembling a slice of cheese cake, before getting ready for a little bit of a session on the booze, with a few of the locals.

Sitting on the balcony, sucking on some cool Pure Blondes and more than a few vodkas, we then decided to go to Fridays for the afore mentioned “Two Buck a Chuck” night, which in the Queen’s English, meant that all drinks cost 2 dollars.

Because this fantastic offer was only running up to eleven o’clock, we jumped into a couple of taxis and arrived at Fridays around ten thirty, dismayed to discover a long slow-moving queue of people anxiously waiting to indulge in some Two Buck Chucks.

The reason for the slow moving queue was that each person that enters the place has to undergo a strict ID check before gaining entry. Australian ID cards are scanned by a burly doorman in a device attached to a laptop and on top of this, a photo is taken of you by a webcam.

Not being Australian and therefore not in possession of an Australian ID card, I was subjected to neither of these but by the time we’d passed security, it was almost the end of the promotion, so a couple of us made a quick bee-line for the bar. Only to discover two things:

  • The promotion was in the nightclub upstairs, after paying an entrance fee of seven dollars.

  • One of the guys didn’t have his ID card, so was not allowed into the place.

For a country with a reputation for big drinking, they certainly make it difficult for you to enjoy yourself.

Down but not defeated, we headed off to a nearby bar for a drink, discussed a plan of action, and decided that we would go to where we had started the night and have a few more beers.

To be honest, I was not too keen to leave in the first place, my voice does not travel to well over the music and I have a bit of a difficulty understanding the Aussies, when they’re chatting amongst themselves in crowded bars.

There was just one problem however; we had a distinct lack of booze back at the apartment, so we needed to find somewhere, where we could get a carry out. Not as easy as one might think.

Jumping into a maxi-taxi, we asked the taxi driver to take us to anywhere that he thought we could get a carry out.

“Maroochydore Surf Club is the only place, but it closes at midnight”

The time was 23:47.

“Do you think you can get us there? Don’t spare the horses”

“OK – I’ll give it a go. Buckle up in the back, folks”

And that was how one of the craziest taxi rides I have ever encountered began.

Rolling around in the back of this taxi, our driver, or Evil Kenevil as I liked to refer to him, sped through Mooloolaba, Alexandra Headland to our destination, Marrochydore Surf Club. It’s quite a scenic drive but to be honest, I didn’t spend too much of the journey, taking it in, too much of my senses being involved in trying to keep me on my seat without falling on the floor of the cab.

We rallied along the esplanade and it was with a triumphant screech of the brakes, that Evil Kinevil stopped outside the Surf Club.

“4 minutes to spare” he announced triumphantly.

A couple of the guys bounced out and got the supplies in, the rest of us remaining in the taxi, extracting our finger nails from the upholstery. On the way out of the surf club, one of the guys noticed a bag, containing a few beers and a bottle of white. Not sure of the reason as to why they were sitting on the footpath, no questions where asked as they were added to our 2 bottles of vodka.

The party was on, dude!

Am I cut out for this lifestyle?

It is just after 5am as I type these words on my laptop on the terrace overlooking the esplanade at Alexander Headland. Today is going to be another scorcher; about an hour ago the sun rose on the horizon to my right as I look out to sea and the heat off it is already pretty intense.

Based on past revelations it may come as a bit of a surprise to you to hear that I am not up at this time of the morning on the tail end of another huge session, in fact last night I was in bed just after 9pm, hence the early rise. The sound of the waves crashing onto the beach 100m from where I sit and the sun shining through the window providing an early wake-up call that even I don’t mind.

But why the sudden urge to write? Well, apart from the fantastic setting, which is enough to give even the most illiterate of people an urge to wax lyrical, I have been sitting here with an early morning cigarette, watching the world pass me by.

And what a world it is.

The whole esplanade is a hive of activity. It seems that half the town is not only up and awake but also exercising as if their very life depends on it. Which come to think of it, it probably does. There are cyclists, joggers (one of them pushing their kid in a pram), people walking their dogs and power-walkers.

Ah yes - the power walkers.

Dozens and dozens of power-walkers have passed me by since I took my seat here, bleary-eyed and sporting some fantastic bed hair. Me, not the power walkers. Oh no – the power walkers are the very model of fitness, frantically going from A to B with a fierce and determined manner.

As I light another cigarette, I cannot help but feel guilty at all this action before my very eyes. It’s 05:23 for Christ’s sake – way too early for all these people to have so much energy.

Moreover, this is before I even begin to talk about the swimmers, the body-boarders and the surfers.

Ah yes – the surfers.

I have just taken a head count and there are 32 of them out in the bay at the moment, with more joining by the minute. A sexy woman with a fantastic figure has just now pulled up in a 4x4 and brought her surfboard to join the party.

The guys are pretty awesome looking as well. Tanned and athletic, I am certainly feeling a little inferior in my slightly flabby Irish body. One guy of about 50 has pulled up in a battered truck and in other circumstances that would be of some consolation but even he is tanned, rugged and pretty well sculpted.

OK – that is it – I am away for a jog.

First one last cigarette, it is best not to rush these things…

Settling in Nicely

One week after arriving Down Under and things are going swimmingly well.

Swimming being the operative word, considering the amount of time that I’ve been spending at the beach.

The weather isn’t perhaps as gorgeous as I had expected – we’ve had rain on at least 3 days and a thunder storm on another occasion but the climate is very manageable for a pasty wee Irish fella like me. Most days have been mid to high 20’s and today touched 30. They are expecting a hot summer. Bring it on, I say.

Day two I got a wee bit burnt – it’s very easy to do, what with the cool breeze coming off the sea, you don’t even notice it happening – I can’t even have been out in it for more than an hour. However, opting to stay out of the sun for the next couple of days, I’ve managed to get it under control and the tan is coming on great. Oh yes, the beach bum look is coming on nicely. I’ve shaved the goatee beard off though.

Over the past few days, I have been to Sunshine Beach, Mooloolaba Beach, Maroochydore Beach and Noosa Headlands. Sunshine Beach in particular was quite spectacular – the waves crashing down within feet of the beach. Some real washing machine surf. Apparently.

Noosa is quite a la-de-da resort and was probably the busiest beach I have been to so far but there was still plenty of room to chill out. That’s the thing about this place, gorgeous beach follows gorgeous beach and most of them are so sparsely populated, you could be forgiven for thinking that it is your own private beach; having said that, we’re not quite at the summer season yet (schools finish at the end of the week), so I expect things to get busier in the very near future.

A few days ago, I went to Underwater World, a huge sprawling place with lots of attractions, including stingrays, sharks, many exotic species of fish and er more sharks. There are also several shows daily including seals and otters. The otters in particular were a lot of fun - very, very cute. I passed on the chance to kiss a seal, even though it was probably the best offer I’ve had in a while, thinking it inappropriate of me to fight my way ahead of the dozen or so kids that eagerly volunteered for the privilege in front of me.

I’ve also been enjoying such amazing concepts as late night shopping and Sunday shopping, something that Belgium really, REALLY needs to sort out. I’ve celebrated this fact by buying a couple of class retro T-shirts – a faded grey AC/DC one and a cool Rocky one. Bright yellow, thinking it time to brighten up the wardrobe.

Everything is more expensive than I thought it would be, although when you convert back into Euros or British Pounds, things aren’t too bad.

Drinking out can be quite expensive. Drinks at home before going out are definitely the way to go. To give you an idea, most bottles of beer are around AUD 6.00, with a pint of Guinness around AUD 7.00. A round of three tequilas, three shorts plus mixers, came in at a cool 37 dollars which seems pretty expensive but of course, if you are coming from the land of the British Pound, these quantities equate to something like 2.40, 2.80 and 14.80. Not too much at all. If you’re earning British pounds, that is.

I bought a bottle of red from an off-licence (or ‘bottle-o’ as they’re known around here) the other night for the princely sum of AUD 5.50 and it tastes great, so now that I’ve found a cheap weapon of choice, I’m all set for carry outs at home. My Belgian girlfriend, Stella Artois, is sold in most bars, as is Becks but to be honest, the Aussie beers are very nice as well.

Over the past few days I have indulged in Victoria Bitter, Tooheys, Tooheys Extra Dry, Tooheys New and a lovely beer called James Boags which is actually brewed in Tasmania. This blog entry is brought to you with a few bottles of cold premium lager called simply “Pure Blonde.” A refreshing, crisp beer, it is apparently low in carbohydrates.

Nice to see that the healthy life style is kicking in then.

I’ve tried a couple of Guinness as well, and I suppose they’re as good as to be expected. I know that Guinness say there is no truth to the rumour that Guinness tastes differently when consumed anywhere else other than Ireland. They can say that all they like. It does.

To further paint the picture for you: I am now typing these words sat on a balcony overlooking the beach at Alexandra Headland. The bay sweeps off to my left and the day has been another scorcher. Great beach weather, so that’s what I did.

In the bay, just a few hundred metres off the coast, there is a small island, a big rock basically, which I swear to God looks just like a whale, complete with the spout of water on it’s back, which is actually a large tree. I really should get a camera to share these views.

The surf is good today and several guys are out there riding the waves, however I’m not feeling quite so adventurous thanks to the excesses of the past weekend.

Saturday and Sunday have been spent in Brisbane, my first taste of Oz city nightlife and I have to say that I quite enjoyed the experience.

Seen from the wonderful vantage point of Mount Coot-Tha which overlooks the city, the city is bigger than I thought it would be and looks resplendent with plenty of greenery, several impressive skyscrapers and the sunlight twinkles off the Brisbane River which divides the city in two.

To the north of the river, the Suncorp stadium, home to the rugby league team, the Brisbane Broncos, is clearly visible as is the Brisbane cricket ground, scene of England’s recent embarrassing defeat in the first test in this year’s Ashes series, to the south of the river.

Rather randomly, I had arranged to meet a Dutch neighbour of mine from when I lived in Antwerp, who happened to be in Brisbane for business. It truly is a small planet. I met up with him in a place known as The Valley. Apparently the town has two distinct areas for a night out – the Valley and the City. From what I can gather, the Valley has been the more alternative neighbourhood to go out in, although the bars we ended up in were quite trendy.

At 02:30 in the morning, the bars undergo what’s known as a “lock-in.” Not to be confused with the Irish equivalent, this basically means that the bars will not let anyone else in after this time, until they close at 05:00. If you leave the bar after lock-in has started, you’ll not get in anywhere else. Even if you go outside for a cigarette, you will not be allowed re-entry. Thankfully, we found a bar that catered for the smokers, placing us in a Perspex cage in the terrace at the back of the bar - a sort of gold-fish bowl where the water was replaced with smoke and the fish with humans who where a bit green around the gills.

Sunday afternoon, and a little the worse for wear; I headed to a bar in the Brisbane suburb of Paddington, called the Paddington Tavern. It has to be one of the largest pubs I’ve ever been in.

There were a couple of guys performing with guitars singing a few songs and I enjoyed their choice of music, basically taken from my own CD collection, apart from the random Aussie songs that are thrown in for good measure, many of which seem to be very good, but I’ve got no idea who sings them.

After a wee Sunday Afternoon Session, I made my way back up to the Sunshine Coast, stopping off in a rather bizarre place, called Ettomogah Pub. It’s a huge, sprawling bar, made out of wood, overlooking the motorway, which rather amusingly is called The Bruce Highway (just who is this fella Bruce??).

Apparently it is designed to look like the bar of a popular Australian cartoon strip. It is like a large hunting lodge, and is complete with lots of quirky features, such as stuffed animals a huge wooden crocodile and a large tree that grows up through the middle.

It also seems to be quite a rough place, the girl behind the bar happily informing me that they weren’t serving beer in glasses, so I ended up with a popular tipple around these parts – a can of Australian dark rum known as Bundaberg mixed with coke. Not really my favourite drink I have to say but when in a True Blue place like the Ettomogah, it seemed the polite thing to do.

Standing on the terrace in the early evening sun, watching the cars speed by, the strangeness of the situation was not lost on me. A bar with its own exit from a highway is a concept which I don’t think would make it off the ground back in Ireland somehow. Come to think of it, we haven’t even managed the concept of service stations, so I’m sure it will be a while before we see bars.

In the evening I watched an Australian movie called Wolf Creek, which I would recommend, as long as you’re not of too nervous a disposition, based on the true story of English back packers who went missing in the outback.

Speaking of movies, I watched a movie called “Kenny” the other night. It’s a funny wee film, made as a documentary and follows Kenny, a port-a-loo technician. A lot of the jokes are rather predictably based around human waste but some of the expressions that the guy comes out with are hilarious. “I wouldn’t go in there mate, there’s a smell in there that would outlast religion” is one of the gems. If possible, I urge you to rent it out. It’s quite a lovely wee movie.

And that’s about it for this instalment. Tomorrow, I am hoping to get to Steve Irwin’s Australia Zoo. Crikey!

Thursday, December 07, 2006

The trip from Hell hath endeth and I have found myself in Heaven


I arrived into Brisbane International Airport on what was officially the chilliest November day on record, with temperatures only managing to reach a “chilly” 21°C. The sky was overcast and it started to rain as I made my way to my base for the next while, The Sunshine Coast.

Initial impressions of Australia are that it is similar to the USA. The cars, the highways, the multitude of shops and fast food joints, all remind me of my few months spent on the East Coast of the US, although I don’t expect to encounter too many snow storms during my stay.

Upon my arrival in the wonderfully named town of Mooloolaba, I settled into my base for the next few days - a holiday apartment (or ‘unit’ as it is known down these parts). It’s a splendid wee place, just a stone’s throw away from the sea and as I sleep at night, I can hear the waves crashing against the beach.

Although I hadn’t had much sleep in the previous 48 hours, I was keen to get “in amongst” – as they say round these parts. The town is gorgeous, with generous views of the fantastic, sandy beaches offered as you walk along the esplanade.

As the town is a holiday resort, there are many shops, bars and restaurants along the sea front.

First things first, I had to do a bit of shopping, needing to kit myself with a pair of “boardies” (surfing shorts) and a casual pair of shorts for when I’m not at the beach. Both are made by the company Billabong. I’m sure I still stick out like a sore thumb but at least I feel a wee bit more comfortable.

That evening, I crashed and burned, falling asleep around 20:00 but the following days have been spent at the beach, shopping, watching the Ashes in the same time zone and sampling the Oz night life.

The night life is, erm interesting. There is an Irish pub (of course) rather strangely located within a shopping centre. It boasts a live band performing every night (not the same one) but I have yet to drink in the place, the queue on Saturday to get in proving too much.

Smoking is not permitted inside in any pub, so I would have to leave the pub, walk out of the shopping centre and then have a smoke. Bizarre.

It is one of only 2 late licenses in the place, closing at 03:00. It seems quite a young crowd and a very, very drunk crowd. The bouncers can be a bit of a pain in the arse as well. It’s a lot different from drinking in Belgium, that’s for sure.

The main place to drink it seems is a place called The Wharf Tavern and I have been there on both Friday and Saturday night. It’s a large, sprawling place with live music played both nights in the bar downstairs and a “nite club” upstairs. Outside there is a huge terrace for the smokers, and beside that there are three pool tables with a few televisions showing various sports, dominated mainly by the Ashes cricket series, something that I am enjoying very much.

To say the Aussies are taking the Ashes seriously would be a hell of an understatement.

As an interesting side story to this years’ series, there has been a little bit of controversy in the build up.

A local brewing company, Tooheys, ran an advert campaign which depicts a ‘typical’ English cricket supporter. Fat, white and wearing shorts, socks and sandals, he is offered a cold Tooheys and is frightened about the prospect of indulging in beer that is actually served cold.

The punch line of the ad makes a reference to “Whinging Poms”

Apparently some leftfield organisation that calls themselves “British Against Racism Australia” have been up in arms about the ad campaign, saying that “Poms” is a racist term and that there is no need in today’s modern Australian society for this kind of terminology.

All 14 (!) members of them have their knickers in a twist (or should that be knotted hanky?) and want the ad to be removed. Hilarious indeed and only further living up to the Whinging Pom label.

There is an English bar in town called The Pig ‘n’ Whistle but I keep referring to it as The Pig ‘n’ Chicken, a reference to a bar/restaurant that used to be outside my home town. The name has stuck and as far as I’m concerned that shall be its name.

Not expecting to bump into many people from back home (this area is more of a holiday resort for the Australians rather than foreigners), I have met people from Wales, England, and a fella from Rostrevor called Kieran. Apparently there are a few of his mates in town as well, having decided to leave Northern Ireland eight weeks ago. The bloody Irish are everywhere.

Most people I have met are very nice, the locals seem genuinely interested in the Northern Ireland situation and most of them can speak quite knowledgably on the topic, which is particularly amazing considering how far away we are.

The guys, as expected, can be a wee bit macho but there is no denying their passion for sport, something that I am relishing, although it’s not too easy to find people that know much about football. Football of the English variety that is. Discussions are interesting, lively and enjoyable – provided you know a wee bit of rugby (both codes) and cricket.

The Irish and English bars will show the English Premier games if they’re open at the time, so I’ll be able to see lunchtime and afternoon kick offs but Champions League games are a no no. I can’t find anywhere that will be showing tonight’s Galatasary v Liverpool match. Hardly surprising, considering that the game will be kicking off at Wednesday, 06:45 Mooloolaba time.

I haven’t stretched my wings too far in the past few days, opting instead to hang around here. Which is fine by me – it’s all new to me and the place is gorgeous.

This week however, I’ll be going to look at the nearby Underwater World, Steve Irwin’s Australia Zoo, checking out Noosa a bit further up the coast, and then heading off to Brisbane, which is about an hour away, for the weekend.

The plan after that, if possible, is to embark on a two-week round trip up to Cairns and The Great Barrier Reef and then come back here for Christmas.

I’ll have to get myself a camera soon. The scenery is fantastic and I’d love to share some of the views with you all. Not to mention my blossoming suntan!

Monday, December 04, 2006

The Trip from Hell Continueth


So here I am, on the back end of a trip that would give the movie Planes, Trains and Automobiles a run for its money. I could certainly have done with the entertainment of John Candy and Steve Martin to pass the time as I made my journey Down Under.

Instead, I had to make do with meeting random people such as those in the smokers’ area of the O’Neill’s Plastic Paddy Pub, airside at Terminal 3.

I have to say that I met a few interesting people to pass the time with. There was Efan, the rugby-mad Welshman who, along with some other big Welsh rugby dudes were off to Dubai for the World Sevens tournament for a few days of “Mayhem in the sun” (his words).

We were then joined by Steven, a young English fella whose parents were from the “shithole that is Rathcoole” (his words) a few short miles from the centre of the universe that is my home town, Ballyclare, Northern Ireland.

So, a Welshman, an Englishman and an Irishman were sitting in a bar in Heathrow. Obviously there must be a joke in it somewhere and indeed Celtic brotherhood ensured there were many – mainly at the expense of the Englishman and his underperforming national rugby team.

Eventually, after several encounters with my Belgian girlfriend, Stella Artois, it was time to head off for my flight.

Boarding the plane, I began searching for my home for the next 16 hours, seat 64B in Economy Class and was disappointed to see that it was of course the middle seat of 3 but pleasantly surprised to see that it was at an emergency exit which ensured that I had plenty of legroom.

Perhaps my efforts of laying on the ICO at check-in hadn’t failed as dismally as I had thought.

Ah yes – the famous ‘blag’ for the upgrade to Business Class that I mentioned in the previous blog.

Ahem.

Approaching check-in a few hours previously my attempts at the ICO went as follows:

“I suppose it’s a bit cheeky to ask, but is there any chance of an upgrade for the flight?” I asked hopefully.

“Yes of course there is” came the enthusiastic response from the pretty, young girl at check-in.

“Oh yes?”

“Yes of course – if you pay for it.”

“Ahem – I suppose it was a wee bit cheeky of me”

“Well – it’s only, like the millionth time I’ve been asked that question.”

“Yes I suppose so.” I sheepishly responded.

Nice to see I hadn’t lost it.

But at least I had the legroom that seat 64B offered, which was a small compensation for my clumsy efforts.

The only thing left was to hope that I would not be joined by anyone else either side of me – or at least only one person, so that I could spread myself out and about a bit.

Of course this was not to be as I was firstly joined by a 6ft 5 man in his late 50’s, wearing a tracksuit, sandals and socks and sporting one of the largest noses I have ever seen on a human being. He sat down to my right, immediately squeezing me over to the left in my seat.

Secondly, a rather tough-looking character in his mid-30’s sporting a crew cut and tattoos sat to my left. Not as big as the other guy but displaying an attitude that said I wouldn’t exactly be cuddling up next to him for the duration of the flight.

I looked around the rest of the cabin in search of somewhere else that I would be able to build a nest. The flight was close to capacity. I was in trouble here, so there was no other option but to befriend my travelling companions. A few pleasantries where exchanged and it turned out that both of my new friends were heading off to Bangkok for some R&R.

Ah yes – Bangkok. Unknown to me the flight to Taipei would first be stopping off in Bangkok, introducing a rather unexpected and certainly unwanted addition to my travel itinerary.

As the rest of the passengers boarded, the conversation continued and it soon transpired that the two of them were off to do pretty much the same thing once they reached their destination.

Drink, fuck and drink some more.

“Those fuckin’ Thai girls are fuckin’ gorgeous,” Big Nose growled beside me. I swear to God, he was practically salivating at the prospect.

“Too fuckin’ right mate, they’re lovely. They’d do anything for you”.

“I’ve got a girlfriend over there, she’s fuckin’ tidy, she is. But I’m not interested any more. A man of my age, with girlfriend troubles! I go over there for 4-6 weeks this time every year. It’s what I live for.”

He stopped his monologue as his thoughts drifted off to a place where I really didn’t want to even start thinking about.

But the chat continued with the guys swapping detail after nauseatingly intimate detail of their Bangkok experiences until the first meal was served by the charming and helpful Taiwanese stewardesses. I felt uncomfortable as I became aware of my companions eyeing them up salaciously.

I quickly went for my IPod and went into my own wee world as I sampled the delights of my first in-flight meal on Eva Airways, which was surprisingly tasty.

During the flight, I watched every movie they could throw at me, read some, listened to music and drank several glasses of wine. As expected, sleep did not welcome me and as I struggled uncomfortably in my seat I noticed that the plane was full of several other similar dodgy-looking characters, all of which I assumed, rightly or wrongly, would be getting off the plane at Bangkok.

Thankfully both my companions found sleep rather easier to come by than myself. Obviously they were more used to the long haul experience than I was.

Descending into Bangkok, I looked out at the wonderful scenery and wondered what delights Thailand had to offer. I know it is a beautiful country with spectacular scenery that most of us could only dream about (unless you’ve been to Northern Ireland of course) but I found myself dismayed at the idea of these ambassadors for England who would soon be working their way - and their moves – through Bangkok’s bustling streets.

I was certainly happy to leave them to it.

As all passengers had to leave the plane, irrespective of final destination, I disembarked the plane with my hand luggage and walked into the pristine, airy airport that is Bangkok International airport and went off in search of the nearest smoking room.

Having eventually found it, I walked in and sparked up but I needn’t have bothered. It was disgusting. I took two drags on my cigarette and almost vomited. The air was thick with smoke providing an atmosphere that suggested I had no need for me to light one in the first place.

I left the room almost as soon as I had entered and then embarked on a 20 minute walk through the transit lounge, to international departures and back to the gate where our plane was waiting - the exact same plane that we had recently disembarked.

With a half-hour delay thrown in for good measure, it was a frustrating inconvenience that I could really have done without. I just wanted to get going again. However, with the added delay things were getting a bit stressful for me, as I only had a one hour connection at Taipei before the flight to Brisbane. If I missed that flight, I would have to spend 24 hours in Taipei airport, waiting on the next flight to Brisbane. Obviously something that I wanted to avoid at all costs.

Sitting in the same seat, I feared the worst as to whom I would be sharing the next flight with. Things looked bad when Big Nose had been replaced by an Asian guy who was almost as wide as he was tall.

Thankfully, no other passenger showed up, so I was able to scoot across to the window seat but my relief at this was soon replaced by an increasing worry about the connecting flight to Brisbane as the plane sat for a further half hour before take off.

I asked a stewardess would I still be ok.

“The flight to Brisbane leaves at 22:00, yes?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Yes – it should be no problem; the plane to Brisbane will wait for you.”

“Should be no problem” was not exactly the answer that I was looking for, but there was little else that I could do, so I settled into my seat and turned on my IPod.

I am pleased to report that about an hour and a half of the three hour flight was gratefully spent by me in some sort of sleep. It was the fist sleep I had managed in about 24 hours and was long overdue.

As we made our descent, the lights of Taipei made it look a vast and interesting city, although I have to say that up until now, I knew of nothing of note about the place but I was reliably informed by the in-flight entertainment that the city is the proud host of the world’s tallest building, with the world’s fastest elevator inside.

I looked out of the window during our descent hoping for a glimpse of this building but amongst the neon-lit horizon of the city it was nowhere to be seen. I guess it must have been visible on the other side of the plane.

By the time I had disembarked, I was left with 15 minutes to catch my flight, meaning that I had little option but to engage in a brisk charge through the terminal, fight my through the queues at security and being one of the last passengers to board, a sweaty and flustered frazzle. Unknown to me there had been 14 of us on the Taipei flight that were in the same position, and the flight was waiting for us to board. So no panic needed.

I settled into my seat beside a girl I had recognized from the previous flight who had arrived just in front of me. I recognized her because she had also made a bolt off the plane as quickly as I had.

We exchanged introductions and settled into our 9 hour flight, both glad that we had made it onto the plane.

Having watched all the movies in the previous flights, I was dismayed to see that the movies on this flight were exactly the same. Scrolling through the personal entertainment system, I saw there were a few Asian movies to choose from as well, so I found myself passing 4 hours watching a Japanese movie about street dancing and a South Korean movie about a woman who trapped a rich playboy by getting pregnant and then marrying him. Apparently it was a comedy.

Aware that the cabin was in total darkness and that Pam, the girl beside me was trying to sleep, I decided against turning on my reading light and instead ended up listening to my IPod for the rest of the flight, dozing off sporadically but for the most part just blearily looking into the middle distance contemplating what I was about to embark on.

An hour before our expected arrival, the cabin lights were switched back on and breakfast was served, after which we prepared ourselves for arrival into Brisbane International Airport, touching down about 10 minutes behind schedule.

After a quite intensive questioning by customs and then a thorough search of my backpack by a rather apologetic customs official, I was through customs and into the arrivals lounge of Brisbane International Airport.

My Great Adventure had begun.

The Trip from Hell Beginneth



OK Folks,

This is the start of my epic journey – a journey that will take me waaaaaayyyy out of my comfort zone and to the Other Side of the World.

Over the next days, weeks, months, it is my intention to use this as a log of My Great Adventure. I’m not saying it’s going to be funny, meaningful, poignant or even mildly interesting but obviously I hope it will be all of the above. At least some of the time.

I’ve said the goodbyes to my life in Belgium.

For now.

I’ve said my goodbyes to my friends and family back home.

For now.

It was an emotional time for me. Those of you that know me also know the value I place on my family and friends. Without these people, I would not find myself in this position – on a sabbatical from the day job and waiting for my flight to Brisbane.

Ah yes, the waiting.

The first leg of the journey – a 13:10 flight from the newly renamed George Best Belfast City Airport had proved a breeze. Apart from the tearful goodbye to mother, of course.

A friend of the family pulled a few strings and got me bumped up to business class for the flight to Heathrow, bumped me right through the queue at security and then got me access to the business lounge which ensured a quick free drink and priority boarding.

Nice.

But all that seems a distant memory already.

Having landed in Heathrow at 14:25, I now have the prospect of killing time until the next leg – a 10hr 50 min flight to Taipei departing at 21:30 – can begin. I’ve never been the best at killing time on my own, so this is my safety blanket, a pleasant distraction – typing these words in a typical faceless airport restaurant.

With alcohol, laptop, IPod and cigarettes, I shall make it through this trip. Although there won’t be too much of the latter on the planes and even now – smoking is prohibited everywhere in Terminal 3 apart from “Designated Areas.”

That would be stood outside in the cold November air then; where we huddle like shifty burglars “casing a joint”, furtively checking each other out and the people that walk past, like the social lepers we are.

I started smoking a year and a half ago, at the ripe old age of 33. I think perhaps it’s time to nail it on the head.

After I go through my duty free purchases, that is.

Ah yes – Duty Free.

I’ve heard about this place and have read signs directing me to it and I’m pretty sure that it really does exist but with a 20 kilo backpack to check in and a flight that doesn’t leave for another 5 hours, I am resigned to dragging it around with me until those lovely people at Eva Airways will take it off me.

Whenever that will be.

Ticket desk doesn’t open until 18:00 and there are no signs of them checking in for my flight, so it looks like I’ll be here for a while.

I’m going to try and blag an upgrade to Business Class – sure you never know. One can only ask. As a wise woman used to say to me “You’ve already got a no – you can only get a yes.”

Or something like that.

Anyway, wish me luck.

So now, as I drain the contents of my Becks and the “Low battery” warning comes on, I shall bid you all farewell.

Until we ‘meet’ again.

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE WONDERFUL PEOPLE OF BELGIUM

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