I wake early. There’s a road outside and the traffic is intermittent but loud. And I hear Vicky walking around, getting ready for work. The house stands off the ground on pillars (in traditional “Queenslander” style) and has solid timber floors, so footsteps reverberate loudly. But it’s ok. My jetlag-defeating plan includes waking up at normal local time from day 1, so this is a good start. I’m surprised how loud some Australian cars are though, and how fast some people want to drive them up a fairly empty road. I lie there just listening to the sounds of early Hawthorne, and bird calls unlike anything in the UK.
When eventually I get up and open the blind, I’m met with a face full of palm leaves just outside the window, and a grey sky. And rain! A familiar friend, but unexpected here. It turns out they’ve had quite a bit of rain recently, and it’s a Godsend. Drought restrictions are in place and most of the reservoirs are less than 20% full. With Spring starting in one week, and a baking Queensland Summer to look forward to, this doesn’t bode well. No matter – I’m from the North of England, so a bit of Queensland rain isn’t going to bother me. I get dressed, chat to Paddy for a while, he prints me a map of central Brisbane, and I set off to find the ferry and start exploring.
Coming out of Paddy's drive, I turn left and set off down Hawthorne Road. It's a long straight road with houses set back from the pavement on either side. On my right, half way down, is a park with playing fields. Then there's a small local cinema. Every so often a small shop or garage breaks the pattern of houses, but this is definitely quiet, residential suburbia. It's wet too. It's grey and drizzling and the cars splash their way along.
There's no break in the housing but, by the time I reach the roundabout at the bottom, Hawthorne is behind me and I'm in its neighbouring suburb, Bulimba. I turn left into Oxford Street, Bulimba's beating heart with a bustling café culture in the evenings. Not that it’s in evidence this damp morning and, in the gloom, I’m paying only passing attention to my surroundings. I’m focused on reaching the ferry stop. I follow Oxford Street to the far end and finally, twenty rainy minutes after I left the house, I board the ferry.
It’s a big, surprisingly fast catamaran (a City Cat) that powers smoothly up the river. There are several of them. Occasionally they’ll arrive at the ferry stops together (heading in opposite directions – not like the fabled London buses arriving 3 at a time in the same direction). One Cat will tie up, let passengers on & off, while the other bobs patiently mid-river. When the first moves away, the second takes its place, and they continue about their business. At other times, the Cats will pass each other in opposite directions, and various passengers (tourists, not locals like myself) will start cooing as their Cat lunges and dives over the other’s wake. I look out of steamed-up windows and watch as residential suburbia slowly becomes commercial city centre.
Arriving at South Bank (see funky little map), I walk up the ramp and onto a large boulevard along the river’s edge. I see a café and am soon sitting, drinking a “flat white” while observing the gloomy-looking CBD across the river. I check my map, decide where to go, and head out into the warm drizzle. Walking along the boulevard I reach Victoria Bridge (named after Vicky, I believe), and cross the river.
I’ve finally reached the centre of Brisbane, but my main thought is “What the hell is the deal with these lights & crossings?”. The little red man stays on for ages, even when it seems that none of the traffic lights are green. But you daren’t step out to cross, because the traffic lights just go straight from red to green. There’s a slow blipping sound from some invisible speaker, evoking thoughts of the heart monitor that you’ll be plugged into, if you dare to cross at the wrong time and are inevitably run over. Eventually, the red man yields to a green man and the blips get louder and much faster. Strangely (perhaps deliberately?), these blips still mirror your heart rate, as they urge you to charge across the road to the safety of the opposite pavement. It controls pedestrians by uncertainty and confusion, keeping you frustratedly on the pavement even when all the traffic is stationary too. The system sucks and I decide (correctly, it turns out) that it will continue to annoy me.
I spend the day walking around. I explore the covered & pedestrianised Queen Street, and I track down some other uncovered streets that have mountain bike shops. I learn that:
- mountain biking is surprisingly small and embryonic around Brisbane
- Australia has recently overtaken the US as the country with the highest percentage of obese people. I’m genuinely astonished by this one, but it turns out it’s a big concern and becoming a political issue.
By the end of the day, I’ve walked a long way from the centre, it’s dark, it’s rush hour, and it’s absolutely pissing down. I’m completely soaked. Paddy rings wondering where the hell I am (I’ve been away from the house for 9 hours, just walking around) but I confirm that I’m on the way home. He picks me up dripping wet from the ferry stop at Hawthorne (thanks Paddy), I get back to a warm shower (keeping it short because of the water restrictions), I change into dry clothes and have a lentil-based supper which was delicious. It turns out Paddy & Vicky can cook pretty well.
Watching tv, I realise that the dye has run from my shoes, and my toenails are jet black, as though I got too close to a fat morris dancer. Bedtime on night 2 is much like night 1.
