My last entry explained Foley and I would be spending a week in ye olde town of Yamba, and that we did. Most of our time was spent mastering the art of frisbee on the main beach. We now consider ourselves semi-professional.
Every night we bought in the ingredients and we Foley cooked them up into something edible and - unlike had I been the chef - tasty. At the weekend Grant, an Aussie friend of Foley’s cousins came to stay in the other spare room at the flat - he was in the area for a wedding - and we met up at The Pacific Hotel, the pub across the road, for a few Tooheys and to check out the (decent) live music. It was here that Foley beat me at pool, a feat achieved thanks to a succession of flukey shots John Virgo would have been proud of.
On Saturday night we were in there and I noticed an oldish guy look over and smile and raise his glass at me a couple of times, then later on he wandered over to the table and reached out to shake my hand. Politely I reciprocated and the grey-haired Aussie sat down for a chat. It wasn’t until half an hour - and many topics of conversation - later that he peered at me a little closer and said “You are Shane’s boy, aren’t you?” He said he must’ve had one Four-X too many to have spoken to a pom for so long thinking it was his best mate’s son.
Yamba was good fun and a much needed diversion. I saved a heap of cash although I did buy two new t-shirts (I can’t be blamed - the shops over here sell the best stuff) and could have done with a few less beers on Saturday. You can’t put a price on a good night out mind…
We were supposed to have to catch two buses to get up to Brisbane but luckily Grant was driving back up on Monday so we blagged a lift, stopping briefly at blessed Byron Bay again en route. I did fall in love with that place. Imagine a town bathed in sunshine throughout the year situated on a long stretch of beautiful beach with the coolest little surf shops, a constant flow of youthful travellers, but not too busy, an ocean beside you where you’ll regularly encounter dolphins and giant turtles and migrating Humpback whales, a place with no high-rises or fast food restaurants (the local authorities refused their applications) and the locals are all good looking and tanned. People visit Byron on their travels and never leave - I know, I met a couple of them.
Anyway, after that brief but pleasant stop we cruised further north up the Pacific Highway, crossing the state border from New South Wales into Queensland, and ending up in its capital, Brisbane. It’s the largest city in Queensland, originally intended as a site to ship away the worst of the felons from Sydney and the southeast back in the 1820s. It’s now a place of booming real estate and employment galore, with the highest internal migration figures in the country. To me it’s just a nice city.
We drove to the airport last night to pick up a friend of Foley’s (also Steve, though nicknamed Stuz which I think makes things less confusing) who’s joining us on our adventures up to Cairns. We’re staying at Foley’s cousins house, in a place called 8 Mile (!) just outside the city, we think until Friday. People are so hospitable over here, it’s great.
We’ve got a Greyhound bus ticket which gets us from Byron to Cairns, a distance of about 1,600km, or from London to Barcelona, allowing any number of stop-offs along the way for however long we choose. It’s valid for two months and cost us $260 (£110) each. Our first stop, this weekend, will be the Sunshine Coast town of Noosa, of which we’ve heard positive reviews.