Yes dear reader we are back, albeit briefly, to document our sojourn to Port Douglas in Queensland. I understand that this is not the perfect time to visit that part of the tropics, it being cyclone season. However, with only a week or so off work, combined with last minute decision making, the options were not expansive. Anyway, the weather in Port Douglas should help us prepare for the languid torpor of Sydney in January-February.
As usual, our posts will be entitled after a song or utilise lyrics to represent our experiences. We have maintained this over a number of years, and despite being maligned by our eldest child for our choice of title (he thinks we are behind the times), there have been precious few repeats over the 226 posts to date. But I digress. Today's title Jayne discovered on Youtube. You can view it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vuedGCxpxzw and I recommend that you do for the purposes of cross-cultural understanding and multiculturalism. No doubt it will provide the 'performers' total number of views a nice fillip as well. If you are able to fathom the depth of its meaning, or can translate Russian, please get in touch.
The journey begins, as one would expect, in the Qantas Club lounge at Sydney airport. Qantas has not been a good friend of late so I am hoping that today's flight will be uneventful and not lead me to the 'customer care' page of their website. It's an interestingly titled page. An oxymoron perhaps? It is for customers but there is precious little care. Or at least that has been my most recent experience.
This is the first holiday in over ten years where I have left myself in the hands of a travel agent. The last time was 2003 and although that trip went reasonably (if we ignore the British Airways strike), I have not been back to an agent because I prefer to organise our itinerary and accommodation (read - I am a control freak [thank you darling wife]). This time due to poor time management, it was easier to leave the details to someone else.
The flight was uneventful. We left and arrived on time. There was no real turbulence and the landing was good. Our luggage were amongst the first bags through, we found our transfer people ... and they hadn't heard of us. No drama - they arranged for our transfer and a little over 90 minutes later we were standing in the foyer of the Peninsula Boutique Hotel sipping iced peach tea and discussing restaurants.
The apartment is wonderful: air conditioning and ceiling fans, a view of the beach filtered through the trees, king size bed and a bath that is larger than some pools I have seen, balcony with table and chairs, eating area, lounge and kitchenette. All this within a 5 minute walk of the main shopping precinct.
Once the bags were unpacked, we headed into town to explore the shops and restaurants. In between fb messages of course which were providing us with our plan for the next week. Day 1 is not yet over but we have booked dinner tonight at 2 Fish, found a masseur, located the bottle shops and booked a full day Daintree - Cape Tribulation experience.
Walking down Macrossan Street, I wasn't sure what country we were in. It was a while before I heard an Australian accent. We did a bit of shopping and bought Jayne some summer frocks and tried to stay in the shade. I was getting peckish because I hadn't eaten since breakfast. A bakery espied in Grant Street, we redirected our path to buy a sausage roll. Now dear reader, Australia is known as the place of 'big things'. The big merino, pineapple, banana, potato, prawn, orange - the list goes forever. Port Douglas will forever be known to me as the place of the 'big sausage roll'. It was huge. About 20cm long and 5cm wide and just as high. It was mammoth, or perhaps made with mammoth. Quite tasty nonetheless. I would be lying if I said I ate the entire sausage roll; I was incapable of finishing it and Jayne gallantly came to my aid.
Post lunch holiday procedure when a walk has been involved? Do you recall, dear reader? Yes, that's correct, time for a hydrating beer, this time at the Court Hotel. This also allowed for a quick peak at the cricket. Depressing. Back into the sun and down to the marina and then back to Macrossan Street to compare prices at the three bottle shops. Now, it would be wrong of me to suggest collusion, so, let's call it coincidence that all three shops we surveyed had the two wines we wished to purchase for exactly the same price. Freight charges must be very uniform up here.
Back to apartment to enjoy an afternoon drink on the balcony prior to dinner. The breeze made the temperature feel acceptable and the humidity was no worse than Sydney has been for the last few weeks. We sat enjoying our wine watching a health enthusiast (body nazi) at the exercise spot in the park across the road. His abdomen had more ripples than the sand on an outgoing tide. He sweated, we enjoyed the setting sun and a glass of pinot gris. Mr Universe was soon joined by a female. After playing voyeur for a while, I was sure they didn't know each other and watched them compete for the most/fastest squats. Whatever. With no iPhone to swipe left he had to match her, squat for squat. Frequently she would move across the grass to the low fence and do squats facing Mr Universe. Agent provocateur. This was a pick up! Sadly for She-woman, Mr Universe was not interested and picked up his cap and sans shirt jogged his ripped abs into the distance, setting sun glinting on his sweat covered torso. Defeated, she left, a few squats later. Squats. Such a lowly sounding word, associated with defecation and poor living standards. Who would think it would come to be a pick up action? Albeit unsuccessful - smirk...
As time and tide rolled relentlessly on towards dinner we watched successive groups of people move in and out of the fitness park. Pretenders who stopped by for a few press-ups and moved on. Reminiscers, mostly drunk dads escorted away from the equipment by 20 something sons fearing for their dad's safety and the swift end to an enjoyable holiday. And kids, who like the billion lorikeets that inhabit the area swooped and rolled and tumbled over each other and the equipment in an orgy of movement, colour and squawking enjoyment.
Dinner was exceptional (thanks for the recommendation Craig). We couldn't recommend 2 Fish enough. We shared entrees, Malaysian prawns and calamari. Both served with a beautiful Asian salad and a sauce that didn't detract from the food. Light, fresh and tasty. For mains we had coral trout and Moreton bay bugs. Again, you couldn't ask for anything better. The service was great and the wine list contained the staples plus some interesting international numbers. So little time ...
Dessert you ask? Well yes, but, no, not at the restaurant. We wandered down the street to the gelati place. $10 well spent we walked home for a night cap on the balcony.
Until tomorrow ...
The journey begins, as one would expect, in the Qantas Club lounge at Sydney airport. Qantas has not been a good friend of late so I am hoping that today's flight will be uneventful and not lead me to the 'customer care' page of their website. It's an interestingly titled page. An oxymoron perhaps? It is for customers but there is precious little care. Or at least that has been my most recent experience.
This is the first holiday in over ten years where I have left myself in the hands of a travel agent. The last time was 2003 and although that trip went reasonably (if we ignore the British Airways strike), I have not been back to an agent because I prefer to organise our itinerary and accommodation (read - I am a control freak [thank you darling wife]). This time due to poor time management, it was easier to leave the details to someone else.
The flight was uneventful. We left and arrived on time. There was no real turbulence and the landing was good. Our luggage were amongst the first bags through, we found our transfer people ... and they hadn't heard of us. No drama - they arranged for our transfer and a little over 90 minutes later we were standing in the foyer of the Peninsula Boutique Hotel sipping iced peach tea and discussing restaurants.
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| Who is that lurking in the shadows? |
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| Bedroom and bathroom |
Once the bags were unpacked, we headed into town to explore the shops and restaurants. In between fb messages of course which were providing us with our plan for the next week. Day 1 is not yet over but we have booked dinner tonight at 2 Fish, found a masseur, located the bottle shops and booked a full day Daintree - Cape Tribulation experience.
Walking down Macrossan Street, I wasn't sure what country we were in. It was a while before I heard an Australian accent. We did a bit of shopping and bought Jayne some summer frocks and tried to stay in the shade. I was getting peckish because I hadn't eaten since breakfast. A bakery espied in Grant Street, we redirected our path to buy a sausage roll. Now dear reader, Australia is known as the place of 'big things'. The big merino, pineapple, banana, potato, prawn, orange - the list goes forever. Port Douglas will forever be known to me as the place of the 'big sausage roll'. It was huge. About 20cm long and 5cm wide and just as high. It was mammoth, or perhaps made with mammoth. Quite tasty nonetheless. I would be lying if I said I ate the entire sausage roll; I was incapable of finishing it and Jayne gallantly came to my aid.
Back to apartment to enjoy an afternoon drink on the balcony prior to dinner. The breeze made the temperature feel acceptable and the humidity was no worse than Sydney has been for the last few weeks. We sat enjoying our wine watching a health enthusiast (body nazi) at the exercise spot in the park across the road. His abdomen had more ripples than the sand on an outgoing tide. He sweated, we enjoyed the setting sun and a glass of pinot gris. Mr Universe was soon joined by a female. After playing voyeur for a while, I was sure they didn't know each other and watched them compete for the most/fastest squats. Whatever. With no iPhone to swipe left he had to match her, squat for squat. Frequently she would move across the grass to the low fence and do squats facing Mr Universe. Agent provocateur. This was a pick up! Sadly for She-woman, Mr Universe was not interested and picked up his cap and sans shirt jogged his ripped abs into the distance, setting sun glinting on his sweat covered torso. Defeated, she left, a few squats later. Squats. Such a lowly sounding word, associated with defecation and poor living standards. Who would think it would come to be a pick up action? Albeit unsuccessful - smirk...
As time and tide rolled relentlessly on towards dinner we watched successive groups of people move in and out of the fitness park. Pretenders who stopped by for a few press-ups and moved on. Reminiscers, mostly drunk dads escorted away from the equipment by 20 something sons fearing for their dad's safety and the swift end to an enjoyable holiday. And kids, who like the billion lorikeets that inhabit the area swooped and rolled and tumbled over each other and the equipment in an orgy of movement, colour and squawking enjoyment.
Dinner was exceptional (thanks for the recommendation Craig). We couldn't recommend 2 Fish enough. We shared entrees, Malaysian prawns and calamari. Both served with a beautiful Asian salad and a sauce that didn't detract from the food. Light, fresh and tasty. For mains we had coral trout and Moreton bay bugs. Again, you couldn't ask for anything better. The service was great and the wine list contained the staples plus some interesting international numbers. So little time ...
Dessert you ask? Well yes, but, no, not at the restaurant. We wandered down the street to the gelati place. $10 well spent we walked home for a night cap on the balcony.
Until tomorrow ...
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