Paranoid Android

A question my devoted reader. How does one spell hell? No, it’s not a trick question and obviously I spelled it correctly just then. The answer for anyone who has travelled will be a personal perspective. For many years I spelled hell: Heathrow. I now need only three letters: LAX. Three capital letters that strike fear and trepidation into the heart of many a seasoned traveller. Even now as I sit typing in the safety and anonymity of terminal 52I, I am still shaking slightly, although I have calmed down. A little. As with a fight between siblings, one doesn’t get all the blame. Qantas may have started it, but LAX excelled itself to finish it.

Today’s title is courtesy of Radiohead circa 1997. You are correct dear reader I’m not a huge fan, but there could be no other title, as will become apparent.

As I relayed in yesterday's post, our flight was over an hour late leaving Sydney. We had a two-hour window to make the connection in LAX. These flights were bundled by Qantas, so, one might have assumed there should be no problem. Once in the air, we were reassured that there would be no problem. The plane had taken on extra fuel to make up time and conditions were forecast for a smooth flight. At least that much was true, it was a smooth flight and Premium is so much better than Economy.

The first indication that all was not right with the universe came with the first, lengthy announcement by flight staff. Apparently it contravenes American air regulations for passengers to meet in groups or congregate anywhere on the plane. Really? An Australian owned plane, in international air space is subject to the paranoid prognostications of a government in another hemisphere? I was tempted to alert security on several occasions throughout the flight, several people were meeting in clandestine groups near the toilets! Who would have thought? I hope they weren't planning anything big.

We landed in Los Angeles 45 minutes later than originally scheduled. There was no announcement about connecting flights until a few agitated people kept asking questions. No, I was not one them. We were told not to worry, these things are calculated when a plane leaves its home country and measures would already be in place. Ahh, I accurately call bullshit.

The ‘measures in place’ amounted to having two Qantas workers supply named Express Connection passes for Immigration to anyone with a connecting flight. Armed with these "golden tickets", around 150 people charged the mobile desks at the top of the walkway. It resembled a rugby scrum. An Australian one, not an All Blacks one – arms, legs and other body parts everywhere, no structure or coordination. Orange hi-viz passes in hand we descend upon Immigration. A regular international traveller might think this curious; after all, we weren’t actually entering the country, we were transiting through to Canada. But, hey, this is America, the land of the paranoid. All bags came off the plane, even those that were being loaded back onto QF11 to fly the second leg to New York. If they did this in Asia the continent would grind to a halt.

We stood in an "express conection" queue reminiscent of the one for the New Zealand pavilion at the 1988 Expo in Brisbane. It was long and unmoving. The sort of queue where you make lifelong friends. Or grow a beard. Or become an aged pensioner. One of my new friends wished for a coffee. Bad luck, I said, you're in America, they don't understand coffee, they think that is what Starbucks sells. The line stuttered and staggered towards a small number of uninspired uniformed bureaucrats at the pace of a teetering child - in fits and starts.

Finally we reach the desk as our plane would have been leaving the tarmac Vancouver bound. "Declaration card?" the android migration officer dead-panned. "We are transiting to Canada; we were told we didn't need one." I replied. "And I'm telling you they will ask you for one downstairs." came the response. No smile. Officious. As it turns out, they didn't because we weren't setting foot outside the airport ... or so we thought.

Downstairs, one of our bags was waiting for us at the carrousel. The other was nowhere in sight. Just after we'd been assured all bags were out and as Jayne was wrangling the harassed Qantas assistant, our bag magically appeared. Happy days. Straight through the next immigration, sans declaration card  check, sans declaration card, and then up the stairs to the transit area to line up again and wait while the Qantas person found us alternate flights to Van. Westjet is out, we are flying American, leaving in 3 hours from Terminal 5. We are booked in and directed to the American Airlines counter where we queued yet again, only to be told they are unable to do international ticketing. This is a Domestic counter only. "Through that door and turn right," we are advised.

Through the door we go, down the corridor, to be stopped at the next point. "I'm sorry, you can't go through there." "But we were told to come this way." "I'm sorry. You have broken your journey, you need to go outside and walk to the next terminal, collect your tickets and go through security again." WTF. Seriously. And, yes, I get it, but none of this was our fault. We should have been in the air half way to Van by this time!

Out onto the street. LA just like I remember it: smokey, noisey with cars everywhere and we hadn't left the airport, but we were walking on US soil without completing an incoming declaration card. However, I was so stressed at this point I couldn't even revel in that fact that I'd beaten the officious immigration guy. Down the street we trundled, bags in tow to Terminal 5. Up the escalator to the check-in kiosk where we discovered we were not seated together. An unexpected surprise and the flight was full. Trying to stay positive, it was only a three hour flight and at the end we would be out of the US, in Canada and seeing Dan.

Ticketing done, it was time to go through security. Boots off, belt off, jacket off, I may as well have gone through naked. Into the body scanner and out the other side. Um, sir, you have objects showing around your wrists and on your back. I held up my arms showing my watch and bracelet. "My back," I questioned? "Yes sir," he said as he put his hand on my back to pat me down. "You're sweating." "Oh, yeah, it's warm outside," I smiled.

Our flight was leaving from an adjacent regional terminal which required a shuttle transfer. Happily this removed us from several screaming children. The shuttle had three passengers and it was air conditioned. "Things are starting to turn our way," I thought, somewhat prematurely as it transpired.

Into the shed, sorry, I mean terminal, while Jayne began to reflect on all the "positive experience at LAX" signs we saw. Aiming for a gold class experience at LAX. Have an awesome day. Signs do not create an experience and words are cheap. The experience at LAX: hell. And it wasn't done with me yet.

We had an hour to kill before boarding and we were both getting very tired. It was nearly 24 hours since we had got out of bed. People began arriving for the flight. The plane arrived. People began queueing. They checked boarding passes, passports, made announcements about stand-by passengers. Then they made more announcements, of which we were lucky to understand not much more than a few words. The attendant on the microphone spoke very quickly and the PA system blurred her voice. She kept talking, everyone kept looking, more people lined up. Then, sans microphone, "Sit down please, we are waiting for another flight attendant." Boarding time came and went. Another announcement followed to explain why the attendant was missing in action - she had been deposited from her previous flight at Terminal B in the main LAX and therefore was having to navigate her way over to where we were - if her journey was anything like our "express" experience, we might have to bunker down overnight. The crowd lining up began to dwindle until it ceased to exist. Then 30 minutes after our scheduled take-off, down towards the gate walks, Elise, our new attendant ... to crowd applause. 

The door opened. It was time. Finally LAX was giving me up. Oh the joy. The rapture. The excitement. Actually, none of that. I was dead on my feet and dared not sit down in case I fell asleep. On to the plane. I had a corner seat. By that, I mean I was in the last row next to the window. Jayne was in the first povo row after Business Class. The last time I was this tired on a plane was an horrendous flight from Barcelona to Rome. Well, I was told it was an horrendous trip. I fell asleep on the runway and woke up as we were coming in to land.

Sleep came but did not stay and I awoke every time my head fell forward onto my chest. Jayne was sharing a similar experience, 15 rows to the front of me. In my more lucid moments and when the smoke was thin I stared out the window at a foreign landscape. Bare granite mountain tops, lakes, rivers and trails cutting across the vista. Patches of snow that had defied the sunlight and green forests. The smoke, from forest fires burning, was pretty much everywhere at the moment. It was so heavy in some areas, it permeated the plane's atmosphere.

Landing in Vancouver provides a good perspective of its size. Urban sprawl with pockets of high rise, but neither on the scale of Sydney. It is a working port and some areas are industrialised while others have given way to leisure. 

Heaven and hell are a juxtaposition and so is LAX and YVR. The visitor experience in Van is the antithesis of Los Angeles. They really are there to help. "Having trouble with the passport kiosk? Here, let me explain how to do it." Answer three questions and suddenly, you are out into the freedom of Canada. The difference was palpable and most welcome. We are doing the same trip in reverse, but I swear, it will be the last time I travel to or through LAX.

Jayne's first interaction with a Canadian in the wild, well, in the airport, ended up in apologies all round. "Sorrey".

And then. And then? And then Dan arrived, in the flesh, not on a computer screen. You'll have to wait till the next post to read about that. I don't want any LAX negativity to rub off on our reunion. Aside from a brief trip home for Cait's wedding in April of last year, we haven't seen him for almost 2 years.

And, finally, I'm sorry this is so delayed, but there was a lot to write about LAX. I will try to write daily from now on, but as usual, no promises. Time with Da is eating what would be blog time.

au demain (as they say on east coast)

Sorry seems to be the hardest word

We are back together dear reader and once again I am voyaging into the unknown. Are you able to discern from the title of this post where I might be headed? There are many song references using the word sorry, I don't think I will exhaust them all. This is an Elton John classic from 1976. I was still in high school. So young. I digress. Yes, the sorry word should be enough to indicate that Jayne and I are travelling to Canada to celebrate the boy wonder's 30th birthday. Where does the time go?

I've never really been a fan of shopping at airports, the exception being duty free alcohol. However, Jayne's birthday is next week and I've been looking for a suitable red handbag for a while. Last week breezing through Sydney Domestic I espied a range of bags at Oroton and that is where we headed after negotiating security. Birthday present sorted. Two beautiful red bags, a tote bag and a crossbody bag.

As is my want, this first post is coming to you from the Qantas Lounge at Sydney International. We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves because our flight has just been delayed by an hour. That puts at risk our connection in LA and that is the last place in the world I want to be stranded. Anyway, as tradition dictates it's time for pre-flight bubbles. Yes, it is before 8am and I don't care. Cheers.

Flying to Thailand for work earlier in the year the flight was delayed by 4 hours. I had a connection to make to Laos. When we arrived there was someone waiting to escort me to the gate and we ran through the airport to make the connection. I arrived in Vientiane sans luggage. My previous experience with LAX indicates there will be no such customer service. And because it's paranoid America our bags aren't being checked through. Oh yay! I hear you say, security check! More time swallowed by security. I am not confident of making the connection.

An old adage in public speaking suggested you should always begin with a joke. So, let's try to bring that into blogging shall we? Here goes: One day Canada will rule the whole world ... then you'll all be sorry! 

I'm sorry? You didn't get it. Never mind, but in the next three weeks we shall truly find out if the Canadians are as polite as stereotypes suggest or if it is myth. We might count the number of 'sorries' we hear in a given period. Very scientific. I could even graph them to cater to the numerate side of your brain. 

To the itinerary. Sadly we fly Sydney to LA. LA airport is my least favourite place on the planet. Happily we are flying Qantas in Premium Economy. Jayne wouldn't let me "waste money" on Business Class. Sad face. We have a connecting flight from LA to Vancouver, or Van, as the locals refer to it. We have a few nights in Van and Jayne celebrates her birthday there. Sorry folks, no numbers, there are some things a gentleman never reveals. Nothing to see here. Move on please. Then it's out to Vancouver Island to explore Van's playground. Whales, bears, wineries, gardens all the usual things you look for in a holiday. I'm not sure about the food, but I'll return to that in later posts.

From the island it's back to the mainland and up to Whistler where Dan has been living for almost 2 years. It will be good to see what the attraction is. Everyone tells me Canada is beautiful, well Australia is beautiful too and it's not a 14 hour plane flight just to see your son. #justsaying. We'll be in Whistler for Dan's 30th, staying at the Lodge where he used to work. We might pop in for a spa at his new workplace as well.

Then it is into the wilds of BC in search of Dudley Do-Right of the Mounties. "Don't worry Nell, my horse will save you" (google it kids, actually I'll do it for you: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q83Jqd2h0Yg). A few days in Kelowna and then on to Banff to explore the Rockies. We end up in Edmonton via Calgary. We won't be able to do everything but Dan is adamant that he is staying in Canada, so I guess we'll have to alternate our European sojourns with visits to Canada.

So stay tuned my dear reader. I will, as always, attempt to post a new blog every day. Spending time with Dan is sure to provide a few laughs so take care not to spit your cornflakes across the table when you get to the funny bits.

Until tomorrow. Or whatever they say in Canada.

Adore (Port Douglas)

I suppose you are wondering why I am publishing the last entry form Port Douglas 7 months after the event. Well, I did dutifully complete the post as requested - which was pretty much restaurant reviews. However during the upload the cyber world lost its balance and half the post was eaten by ether gremlins. Having a serious case of the shits I walked away to see if my humour would improve over the following days. It didn't. And so now, I present to you my unfinished final post from Port Douglas. All the great composers had unfinished masterpieces, I am merely confirming my place amongst them. Enjoy.



Yes, dear reader, I have gone missing in action over the last few days. I hope my lack of presence hasn't caused you alarm, but in reality life in Port Douglas is an eat, drink, relax, sleep, repeat mode. In essence there is not much to say. That said, as they say, this will be the final holiday blog for a while and I intend to cover the last few days as well as the restaurants we visited, at your request, in a little more detail. Therefore, this will be a long, meandering post, so get yourself a glass of wine and settle in.

Today's title, in an effort to stay relevant to the millennials, is by Amy Shark and was the runner up in last year's Hottest 100 on Triple J. Not that I would wish the blog become a political forum, but, I fully support the move of the Hottest 100 away from January 26 and still wonder if this country is ever going to adult enough to recognise it's hurtful past and embrace all who live here.

The lifestyle up is meant to be relaxed, particularly when the temperature reaches the low thirties by breakfast and the humidity is above 60%. It's important to move slowly, conserve energy and stay in the shade. That's pretty much what we did after New Year's, sit by the pool and read or sit in the air conditioned apartment and read or sit on the balcony (once the breeze was strong enough and the sun on the other side of the building) and drink champagne - you weren't expecting that were you? Or sit in the front bar and read, while enjoying light snacks and a few beers. Just to break things up we would occasionally walk into town to do some shopping and have a beer at the Court Tavern - it had the best breeze.

To break up the monotony and to satisfy my lust to sight a cassowary, we caught the local shuttle to the Port Douglas Wildlife Habitat. If you were born before 1970 and are not sure what that is, think zoo with less confronting cages. Entry was $35 per adult. Entry. If you wanted to cuddle a koala, or have lunch with the lorikeets, aka coloured squawking birds shitting in you hair and lunch, then you could pay up to an extra $100. Value. The zoo, sorry, Wildlife Habitat, is looking a little sad, like a few other pockets of Port Douglas that originally surfed the Christopher Skase Mirage wave of the '80s. Google it kids, it's a great story of excess. See also, Alan Bond. Ah, the 1980s, nothing exceeds like excess.

Anyway, we saw a cassowary. One lonely, sad cassowary with a bad right leg. Quite spectacular looking bird and the closest thing to a dinosaur. You can see velociraptor in every move and those talons. To quote Adelaide, wow. I am really keen to see one in the wild. Next time. The rest of the habitat contained the usual suspects, wallabies, kangaroo, some smelly koalas, pelicans and an assortment of water birds including two black storks. They also had some finches and local doves and parrots and curlews. It while away half a day but wasn't really worth the money.

In the meantime I had walked the ANZAC track again and paused to watch a number of turtles feeding on the sea grass. I was hoping for dugongs, but no deal, again, better luck next time. We need to return outside of croc mating season when the beach is often closed because of croc sightings, as well as out of stinger season when the water is much safer.

Given the heat and humidity we never ventured far from from home without returning poolside to cool down - and wash the sweat from your body. It is interesting to watch the territorial nature of humans who are as every bit as protective of what they see as their patch as a crocodile or cassowary might be. A couple turned up this week, I think they may have been Russian, and inhabited the only two low-back comfortable chairs in the pool area. I have no idea what time they got up, but they were safely ensconced in their thrones by the time we made breakfast. They would be there when we returned from town, they would be there when we went to dinner. You had to admire their tenacity. For three days we did not see any one else sit in those chairs. However, they did occupy them.

There was another couple who fancied the lounges. They would arrive at breakfast and lay out a towel and deposit a book or a newspaper and then come and go as they pleased, effectively precluding anyone else form accessing the lounges. Amazingly selfish.

And to the restaurants, in no particular order:
2 Fish
Located in a new building towards the beach end of Macrossan Street (and very close to our hotel). As such the decor is nothing to get excited about, it's just table indoors and out - although the difference is minimal, at lunch however, you could find yourself in the sun.

The food is exquisite. Fresh, light, tasty a bringing together of local produce with an Asian influence. Coral trout is everywhere up here and is a wonderful eating fish, Jayne had that as a main. I had Bugs with an asian curry. We shared two entrees, Malaysian style prawns and calamari, both served with a crisp, tasty Asian salad.

We will be back.

The Surf Club
I was really looking forward to the Surf Club in a homely, bogan kind of way, and also because it was down the end of our street. As such, it could become the go to place when we needed a feed. It was open air, although covered by a canopy with views to the Coral Ocean. In less crowded, child-free moments, you may be able to hear the water lapping on the sand.

Also, I am quite fond of the Noosa surf club where we have whiled away many an afternoon enjoying good food and wine. If you are expecting the same here you will be disappointed.

We booked a table for dinner, arrived on time and were nodded in the direction of our table by a pre-pubescent server with plates pilled up both arms. Stay classy Port Douglas. Seated we then needed to work out the system unaided. There were two mid-length queues in two separate areas, one to order food, the other sustenance. Sorry, drinks. The menu was unremarkable and the drinks list even moreso. There was one person taking dinner orders and one serving drinks. Given the drinks server also operated the entire bar, service there was somewhat slow. Realistically, it wasn't that crowded, the early dinner rush had departed.

The ubiquitous coral trout and chips was overcooked and tasteless. The wine, ugh, I haven't tasted a sav blanc that grassy and acerbic since the early '80s. It was my fault, I only wanted the one glass and asked for what was the most popular. My reasoning was it would be freshly opened.

Give it a miss, unless there is nowhere else to go. Or you are not fussy.

Hi-Tide

Life styles of the rich and famous (Port Douglas)

Yes, dear reader this post will cover both New Year's Eve and New Year's Day. Why, you ask? Well, nothing much happened aside from relaxing, eating and drinking. And today's title? Thankyou to Good Charlotte circa 2002. Well, somewhere in advertising they suggested that the rich and famous all end up at Port Douglas, so you may never know who you will see around here. My problem is I wouldn't recognise them. And if I did, hey, I'm Australian, so I won't acknowledge them anyway.

Following our big day tour of the Daintree and surrounds we thought we might have a chilled day close to home. Sunday is market day in Port Douglas so after a leisurely breakfast by the pool we applied sunscreen (yuk) and hats and sweated our way toward the far end of Macrossan Street where the market stalls inhabited the park. It was all one way traffic and, at one point, the path was blocked by people making a decision about whether they would enter a shop. As we stepped around the women, the man with them apologised. "Was that John Hewson?" Jayne asked. And yes it was.

The markets were remarkable by being unremarkable. Although they did have a slight FNQ flavour, I'm sure markets around Byron Bay would be similar. There were henna artists creating pseudo tattoos (for the sensible), tarot card readings, palm readings all the usual shysters. There were also massage therapists using crystals, hot stones and the like, and one stall offering Thai massage. It was quite open so I'm not sure how they ended the massage; perhaps not in the traditional Thai way. Not happy Jan.

There were the usual stalls all selling the same style of jewellery. The more noticeable one here was red coral, but sharks' teeth and crocodile teeth were also prominent. There were clothes, coffee, carved timber, an indigenous set up with boomerangs and the usual tourist draw cards. Not a lot of fresh produce except for it being squeezed into cups of juice or frozen, refreshing on a hot, humid day.

Being enticed to purchase nothing more than a cup of freshly squeezed OJ we turned back toward the main street and home, where once again we saw John Hewson.

The front of the hotel. The bar area.

Back to the hotel and the beach side bar to sit in the shade and enjoy lunch with a beer or two while I blogged, Jayne read and the day drifted toward fireworks. Yes, they have them up here too, one session at 8:30p.m. and another at midnight. I think fireworks might define us as Australian.

Post lunch and after a nana-nap (hey, it's tiring being on holiday), we went for a walk along the beach and watched a stupid tourist testing the theory about box jelly fish and crocodiles. Sadly for the gene pool, he lived, but perhaps only because his six year old daughter was becoming increasingly frantic with her cries for her father to come out, the further into the water he went. Watching the Osprey catching fish was far more interesting and there were several games of beach cricket being played.

The Low Isles

By now it was time to dress for dinner. We ate at our hotel because we hadn't got around to booking anywhere else. This was fine because the food here is great, the wine inexpensive and the view to the Coral Sea (with breeze) in interrupted only by park and trees. The meal was lovely: a massive antipasto plate for entree, followed by perfectly cooked rib-eye fillet. I didn't need dessert, but i had it anyway and then thought I was going to explode like Mr Creosote of Monty Python fame (google that one kids).

The 8:30p.m. fireworks were going off as we went to bed and I heard the midnight fireworks as well as the illegal ones later in the night. Happy new year dear reader, I hope you have a wonderful 2018.

The new year dawned as has every other day since we arrived in Port Douglas. The early morning cloud burnt off quickly and the forecast storms have been pushed back another day. After the regular breakfast by the pool and new year chats with family on FB Messenger, we ventured into town to secure dinner for this evening. There was no guarantee as to what would be open or closed on New Year's Day.

We walked down to ANZAC Park where the markets were yesterday and which was also a prime position to watch last night's fireworks. Against all advice, in the water, up to his armpits was a man fishing. Clearly he was a local. Really? Have I been conned all this time about the dangers of being in the water up here at this time of year?

After pointlessly waiting for the fisherman to attacked by crocodiles or box jelly fish, we walked across the park to book for dinner at On the Inlet, the next on our recommended list of restaurants. Except they were not open. No note on the door, just closed. We then set out for our next choice, Salsa, except, stupidly, I believed my geographically challenged wife and turned in a direction away from the restaurant. So, Watergate, the next choice was located using Google. Dinner booking assured, we returned to the Court Hotel for refreshments and to phone my brother and wish him a happy new year.

It was pleasant at the Court, except for the Gen X people next to us who found it impossible to speak at normal volume. I kid you not, I could not hear what Jayne was saying when they were in full flight. At this point my beer was gone and it was time to replenish supplies so we moved to a different part of the beer garden where we could speak to each other without shouting. A cheese platter and a bottle of French rose was now the plan. Executed well.

Back to the hotel for some pool time and a nap before a beach walk and dinner.

Dinner tonight was at Watergate. Curiously I didn't see Nixon or Woodward and Bernstein. However, every other American in the country was there. Not that there is anything wrong wth that. I guess they would be drawn to a place named Watergate.

The restaurant is totally cool. It is a mixture of indoor and outdoor, bar and restaurant. The smell of citronella, which I assume is burning in each of the torches, pervades the air . The citronella and the indoor ceiling fans keep the mozzies at bay and also cool the place down - well the fans do, the torches add to the ambience.

This place has an eclectic menu and is seriously worth visiting. You can choose from meals with crocodile, cuttlefish and prawns for entree through to kangaroo, duck and fish for mains. Believe me, it is a lot more interesting than I have stated here. And tasty. Oh, yum.

And that is probably enough for today. I'm exhausted just eating and drinking my way through the day. Until tomorrow.

Like wow (Port Douglas, Queensland)

Thanks to one of my favourite Australian bands the Hoodoo Gurus for today's post title. Why you ask dear reader? Patience, in time all will be revealed and my apology for late. Yesterday was a big day at the end I needed a drink to recover. Wow.

The weather continues to be perfect. Sometimes there is a little cloud in the morning but it always clears to blue skies and the humidity hovers somewhere around the 60% mark. It was an early start today because we had to be on a bus at 8:20am with 8 other intrepid souls for a day of exploring FNQ (Far North Queensland) with Tony's Tropical Tours.

There was another couple from our Hotel, also from Sydney and a couple from Melbourne who were staying at the Sheraton Mirage and the final members of our party were a mother and her two adult sons from Adelaide. Now, if we followed stereotypes, which group would be the focal point for jokes? No prize if your answer was Adelaide. Wow.

We've done the reef several times from several different places, twice from Port Douglas, so we thought a tour of the land might be the place to begin our sight seeing. This tour is popular because it is a full day itinerary and caters only to small groups. In hindsight, Jayne wasn't particularly impressed because there wasn't anything on tour we could not have done or organised ourselves, however, the point was we didn't have to do anything. Also, we do not have a car up here, so that would have been the first hurdle.

Our guide, Steve, is a very affable and knowledgeable person, although his stories of 'Captain Cook' and his exploits have devolved more from the Cook legend and a whitewash of history rather than reality. I guess he is catering to his audience because Lieutenant Cook wasn't nearly as successful as he was painted. For a more interesting perspective of the history of Australia, might I suggest you invest in Girt, An Unauthorised History of Australia, by David Hunt.

Cute caterpillar

The first stop was Mossman Gorge. We had a guided walk around the track and saw some interesting plants, bugs, lizards and a sizeable red bellied black snake. The river looked beautiful but apparently a swim in it could be fatal. Crocodiles. It didn't seem to deter some people and there were plenty of fish in the water as well. Standing on land we were assailed by swarms of March flies (I know, it's December right). The game became, kill a March fly and throw them to the fish. Great game, if you are fish and not being bitten by the flies.

Fish

Boyd's lizard

Random vista

The next stop was morning tea, although I wasn't entirely convinced I'd walked far enough to enjoy the homemade muffins and choc chip biscuits, but I reasoned with myself that the day was still young. The muffins and biscuits were beautiful and the Daintree tea was a nice accompaniment. 

A cruise on the Daintree River searching for crocodiles was next. Our captain Ray was every inch the stereotype of a laconic north Queenslander. He told stories in a typically understated Australian way, like the time a crocodile jumped into the boat and the French tourists on board wouldn't even hold his dog so he could throw the croc back into the river. The stories were interesting and were interspersed with commentary about the local flora and fauna. Alas, the search for the big crocs was to prove fruitless and the best we could find was a 10 month old hatchling. It wasn't even big enough to make a decent belt, let alone a hand bag.

Somewhat disappointed and a little wet (we copped the spray in the front of the boat), we were dropped at the 'cable ferry' crossing. Back in the day we would have referred to it as a 'punt'. In the air conditioned comfort of the bus we made our way to Alexandra Lookout. The views speak for themselves.

It was time for another walk through a section of the rainforest. The difference this time is that it was private property. Apparently that corrupt, gerrymandering genius Joh Bjelke Peterson made a valiant attempt to sell the entire rainforest. This decision was overturned by UNESCO and the government was ordered to buy back all the land - but not everyone sold. Hence we ended up on private property on another wander through the scrub with Steve providing interesting details about various plants and animals. It was at this point that we began to realise news must be slow to reach Adelaide as every tidbit of information was greeted with a "wow" and the really interesting stuff brought the group to a standstill as details were recorded on her phone for later review. Wow.

Rain forest

We survived another walk through the forest where upon Adelaide remarked, "wow" and were driven to lunch. It was a BBQ with steak, fish, salad, fruit and damper. Very nice. One guess as to which of our tribe had dietary requirements? And people wonder why other Australians laugh at people from Adelaide. Wow.

After lunch it was time for a swim in the river that runs through the Noah Valley Rainforest. To get to the pool you needed to negotiate about 40 metres of bush track. There is a metal ladder to encourage safe access to the water. It was a shock to the system at first, but didn't take long to adjust. The water was crystal clear and there were plenty of fish. A refreshing detour amidst the humidity. Jayne decided that changing and getting dry in time for the next leg of the journey was too much effort. She got to mind the thongs.

Back in the bus, Adelaide was lamenting not being able to get changed. Steve assured her that she could change at Cape Tribulation. We arrived at the Cape, Adelaide was directed to the change rooms, the rest of us were shown the beach and the track to the lookout. Here we met the peppermint stick insect made famous by David Attenborough. It is an iridescent green colour and has the ability to spit a peppermint scented poison about a metre at predators. Apparently the poison can blind you. Steve, being the brave tour guide he was, gave a couple of copulating insects a rub. Nothing. Maybe the rub became a part of the motion. He tried again and was duly squirted on the finger with a sticky white substance. Nope. I have nothing to say. Nothing to see here people. Read on. It was just another friendly Australian animal trying to kill or maim. Safely bypassing the orgy of stick insects we walked to the look out and snapped a few photos and then headed for the beach.

On the beach, Sydney, Adelaide and Melbourne ended up together at one point with the sons of Adelaide, but no Adelaide. The groups broke up and drifted down the beach. We stopped to watch a sea eagle and a sea turtle, inhabiting different parts of the world of course and then began a slow walk to other end of Cape Tribulation beach. We didn't make it far before relay calls from Steve via Melbourne called us to a halt, we then called the other Sydney-siders back, and the brothers Adelaide were also reigned in. It then dawned on our intrepid guide that we were missing one of our number. And so the search began. Back to bus for the travellers, Steve ran to the look out and back to bus. No Adelaide. At this point, one of the Melburnians reminded Steve that, at the commencement of the day, he had said it was "OK to lose one person". Onto the bus, onto the main road, no Adelaide. Back to the car park. Steve was getting increasingly concerned that she may have taken a track up the mountain by mistake. You would have to be pretty stupid to do that, I thought. Um, wow.

Perhaps, I suggested, she may have walked down to the far end of the beach. The sons set out for the beach and Steve made for the track up the mountain. Thankfully he had not progressed very far when the sons found mother returning from a walk on the beach. Wow. We were fortunate.

Calm restored and back in the air conditioning, Steve drove us to the Daintree ice-cream place and regaled us with mythological stories of "Captain Cook". Wow, came the comment from the back of the bus. Following the details of how Cook died on a Hawaiian beach, Adelaide immediately asked, "So, how did he die?" The story was retold. Wow. Just wow. The ice cream was interesting. You can only buy a serve of all flavours on offer on the day. No choice. Today we had a scoop of passionfruit, coconut, wattle seed and soursop. I still don't know what soursop is but it didn't kill me. I wasn't there to hear what Adelaide thought of the ice cream, but I'll bet it was, "wow". That was her reaction when she discovered that was the only place on the world you could buy that ice cream. 

The return drive was reasonably quiet and uneventful. We hadn't see a croc of any note and a cassowary sighting proved equally elusive as we wound down the mountain side. The Melburnians were returned safely to the Sheraton and, despite the odds, we deposited all three Adelaidians at their hotel. Wow. It could have been a wipeout. Given the lady's name was Grace all I can say is: amazing (come on, think about it). Wow.

It was after 5:30pm when we arrived at the hotel, a long day in more ways than one. Time for a beer by the pool and an opportunity to relax without inane questions. Wow.

Ain't no sunshine (Port Douglas, Queensland)

It's all the way back to 1971 and Bill Withers for today's title. Google it kids, it's a classic.

There is, patient reader, only one draw back to having a room opening on to the beach on the east coast of Australia. Dawn. It happens at the most ungodly hour and the sunshine in the tropics has an intensity to rival that of the outback. So despite me closing the blinds the sun was determined to shine through any tiny gap it cold and flood the room with blinding light. And it was only just 6am - that's 5am if you're from Sydney. Well, that's how Jayne saw the day begin. I was sad to keep the sun out and happy that it found a way in. All of this puts lie to the song, "Ain't no sunshine when she's gone" because in my world there will be an abundance of sunshine until she returns and we revert to the darkness.

The Peninsula Boutique Hotel (http://www.peninsulahotel.com.au) aside from having super-friendly, super-helpful staff, also offers a full buffet breakfast as a part of the tariff. Nice. Breakfast is served by the pool. Very pleasant. The only negative so far is the internet. It is woefully slow. We are not talking Lord Howe Island speeds but we are getting down there. As a result there probably won't be a lot of pictures attached to the posts for this trip.

Without wishing to jinx myself, all the talk of bad weather has been off the mark. It was in the low 30s yesterday and the rain came overnight. On waking this morning, everything was dry again and today is looking like a copy of yesterday.

The view north from the half-way point.

In an effort to walk off breakfast and try to balance the calorie intake with exercise, we decided we would walk the new ANZAC track. It winds itself up and around the headland and deposits you at ANZAC Park which is at the other end of Macrossan Street from where we are staying. The track is still undergoing construction but is close to completion. The surface is good, there are enough seats to stop and rest in the humid conditions, although it could do with some more signage. There were a couple of paths that joined ours but there was nothing to note where they might lead or if we should deviate from our path to the alternate one. We paused a little too long at the half-way point and Jayne was almost carried away by a squadron of mosquitoes. Expert tip: wear insect repellant and sunscreen.

Random plant. Cool though, eh?

As we climbed the gentle incline towards the top of the headland, I mistakenly asked Jayne did she need any assistance. My concern was dismissed with an attempt at bravado. "I climbed the blue track." she puffed and didn't quite draw breath again before she corrected herself. "The red track. I climbed the red track." she panted. Should you have forgotten that epic journey dear reader it can be found here: http://bradnjaynesblog.blogspot.com/2017/07/we-may-never-pass-this-way-again-cinque.html.

The end of the walk

One can't underestimate the heat or the humidity at this stage of the day. It may have been before 10am but it was 31° and 65% humidity. Before we left, I had applied sunscreen, which I detest, and mixed with sweat, it had almost dissolved my face. Sweat wasn't trickling, as the polite circles say. It was running down my back and behind my ears. Sensible people had removed their shirts, but me, no way, I'm too proud to bare my body to the world. So instead I suffered the indignity of a T-shirt glued to my body.


 Once back in the main shopping precinct, we looked for a cafe to rehydrate and have a coffee. The first few were crowded so we ended up at Cafe Ecco which turned out to be a good choice. The coffee was OK but the freshly squeezed juices were wonderfully refreshing. If you are into new age experimentation, they also had ginger and celery and other weird combinations. Recharged, we meandered back to the apartment to watch the cricket for a while before heading the QT Hotel for the smorgasbord lunch. This requires a walk down the 4 Mile Beach which should have been renamed the 6.4 Kilometre beach once Australia went metric, but it doesn't have quite the same ring to it.

A fame tree, aflame against the blue sky

We sought advice on the best method to get to the QT, thinking we would just walk along the beach and take the path inland. The best advice was that this would not be a good thing because the pathway we needed to find to exit the beach wasn't obvious. So we opted for the less scenic wander through the side streets. The '20 minute walk' probably extended to 40 and it was hot and humid but not unpleasant thanks to the breeze. We arrived at the hotel and located the bar and ordered a couple of beers, purely to rehydrate. Our enquiry about the buffet lunch we had arrived for was met with blank looks. Dinner? the bar staff questioned. I settled down with my beer and checked fb. Oops. The recommendation was for dinner.

The QT was an interesting establishment. In no particular order, it contained groups of humans that I endeavour to avoid: unsupervised small children, overweight men clad only in board shorts and overly tattooed people of either gender (and sometimes they were also overweight men) - this is Australia and Port Douglas is also a haven for the Brits, so that locks up the world of tatts. Tasteful. Um, not really. It was an interesting sideline not to be repeated.

The view north to Port Douglas

Rehydrated we headed for the walkway to the beach and found it easily. It wasn't a path I would walk comfortably after dark, but in the mid afternoon it was fine. We walked north back to Port Douglas discussing lunch - the Surf Club was on our way home. It was a little crowded because it was nearing 2pm now. There was only one decision to make. Book for dinner, head home for another hydrating beer and then to the apartment for champagne and cricket. A perfect plan. Except for Melbourne's weather. The cricket was rained out. Undeterred, we enjoyed a beer on the terrace overlooking the beach before repairing upstairs to drink our champagne and then we retired to the balcony. I know, I know, dear reader, it's a tough life.

The Surf Club dinner was a disappointment for a number of reasons. We were regulars at the Noosa Surf Club when in Noosa and expected the same standard. I don't want to be totally down on them, but, really, everything was average. After discussion we believe it's a place to go for a casual lunch. Dinner? Not so much.

Tomorrow, we have a full on day trip, so there may not be a blog awaiting you at breakfast dear reader. In which case, until the next time ...

Port Douglas song

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.

Who is that lurking in the shadows?

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.

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.

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 ...