Stranded in Emerald

We touched down in Brisbane at around 6.30am and cleared Customs quickly so we were out on the streets and into the arms of my sister Mal and bro-in-law Roy “Diamondo” Groth. There was no time to waste as we made preparation for a combined family camping holiday with the Groths and my brother Thomas and sis-in-law Margaret. I guess we have all been so busy in our lives that it is sad to say that this is our first family holiday together. We plan to make amends for that over the next four weeks!

                                         The Caravan setting out to parts unknown - Day 1

With all the stuff we acquired in New York and Montreal, we had to seriously look at how the heck it was all going to fit in an already cosily outfitted camper trailer. One of us has organisational skills. I sat back and watched her in action. In fact after the re-pack, we had slightly more room than when we set out from Perth. We spent the first day on the road thinking, “What have we forgotten? Surely we must have forgotten something!”

Our first stop was Kingaroy – home of the peanut and the Bjelke-Petersens (that’s not tautology is it?) We bought peanuts from the aptly named “Peanut Van” and also did a tour of “Bethany” where Joh’s son John takes you to the highest point of the Bjelke-Petersen property and tells you the history of the area, the family and freely intersperses it all with anecdotes about his dad. Strong family resemblance there too. After you get back down to the homestead, you get the chance of a lifetime to have a cup of tea and a pumpkin scone with Flo who is now 91 and possessing of as many marbles as she had in the 60s. A good effort.

We did a day trip to the Bunya Mountains, which is a beautiful area full of rainforest and Bunya Pines. We walked down to Paradise Falls but motored everywhere else – it’s a pretty big place.

                                     Me, Maurs, Roy, Mal, Marg, Thomas - Bunya Mountains

Mal told us about some drapery store in a town called Munduberra that still used an old “flying-fox” system to send messages and money around the store – that last one in Australia! So off we set from Kingaroy through Murgon and Gayndah to Munduberra. We couldn’t find the Drapery so we asked the guy in the local Hardware Store. “Oh, that’s in Gayndah” he said. We weren’t going back that far to see some old coot fire a basketful of paper from the front counter to the back of the store. And whose fault was it that we missed it? Mal said, “It’s that bluddy Desi Groth’s (Roy’s brother) fault – he definitely told me Munduberra!” Or Gayndah perhaps?

On our way north we passed through Biloela. Maurs said, “I’ve heard of Biloela but I’ve never seen it spelt before...you’d think there would have to be a ‘w’ in there somewhere!” [For those not versed in Queensland pronunciation Biloela is ‘Bill-o-weel-a’]

We over-nighted at a “free” camp at the Wuruma Dam outside of Eidsvold (another classic Queensland-named town). It was recommended to Thomas by a friend of his. As we came over the hill to the camping area I was surprised at the incredible number of campers staying at free sites such as this – all packed in together getting away from it all! It was a lovely setting though with abundant bird life. From there it was on to Dingo for two nights while we visited the Blackdown Tableland National Park.

Wuruma Dam free camp - no power, no water and a 100 metre hike up a hill to the dunny - idyllic!

Dingo is a sparse little town and on the rainy weekend that we spent there, there was no room at the pub to have a meal (they were renovating the dining room that week apparently) and no store open. So we were on our own food-wise. The trains shunting vast tonnages of coal from Blackwater to the coast for export to China and India rumbled by the caravan park with such frequency that we didn’t even hear them after a while. Blackdown was not exactly a hidden treasure either – even though we travelled over obscure dirt roads in pouring rain, we got to “Gudda Gumoo” (that’s Aboriginal talk for Rainbow Waters) to still find it chock-a-block with 4WDs and people.

                                        Gudda Gumoo at Blackdown - 240 steps to the bottom.

                                                             Now THAT'S a blown tyre!

Also, on the way there I managed to blow a rear tyre – a fine effort on my part – and then I discovered that the spare was speed-limited to 80 km/h! Not happy! We then had to hobble over to Emerald to get a replacement only to find there were only 13 of these tyres on the Australian database and most of those were in Perth! There’s a generic tyre coming from Rockhampton as I write this but we’re stranded in Emerald for a couple of days whether we like it or not. Emerald has got to be one of the busiest little towns in Australia! There is traffic everywhere – and it’s not that big a town! I don’t think people actually work there – the entire population just drives around the town all day to keep the road numbers up. I want my tyre back!

                                 Maurs at the Emerald Railway Station (waitin' for the train!)

                     They're called Apostle Birds - because they usually travel in groups of about 12!

New York, New York

I thought Melbourne taxi drivers were mad but the crazy Jamaican cat who drove us from Newark Airport into New York City rewrote the book on the subject. Never content to just sit in one lane, he cursed, barged, menaced and beeped his way into the Big Apple, and then wondered why this superior form of customer service did not result in a bigger tip.

Our hotel was really good though. Just down from Madison Square Gardens and Penn Station, it was an ideal location for us. We rendezvoused with John and Bev and their daughter Julia (currently working in Canada) later that afternoon and it was so good to see them after being away from Perth for so long. We didn’t venture far from the hotel that evening as we all knew that the “wall” was coming and John and Bev would hit it hard and drop quickly so we trawled the nearby streets and settled on a Persian restaurant (Iranian restaurants are soo PI in the western world aren’t they). The food was good but what we didn’t see on the board outside the restaurant was that there was also entertainment – in the form of a belly dancer who duly commenced to wobble and gyrate as the lights dimmed and the background music arched up. It was apparent from the get-go that she had her eyes set on John and sure enough he was beckoned to join her on the dance floor and shake his booty. Shy as he is, he did manage to oblige her with a few dazzling moves of his own, prompting her to lift her act another notch by balancing a rather menacing sword on her head, her thigh and on her ample rack. It was impressive stuff.

                                                John makin' the moves in New York City

They did hit the wall, but they bounced back the next day and we set off for a walk on the High Line, a converted railway track on the west side of the city. Apparently freight trains were mowing down so many New Yorkers way back when that they elevated the train line to separate the pedestrians. Now it’s an elevated garden and walkway and a tribute to the city. And that night – Mexican at Chito’s Bar! $5 Margaritas and I think they brought some food to us too.

Next day was Memorial Day where the US honours its military servicemen (and women), be they returned, serving or otherwise and there were numerous uniformed personnel walking in the streets. There even may have been a parade somewhere. We went on a Rock Walking Tour through the East Village with a dubious character named Bobby Pinn, but he sure knew his stuff and we were soon agog as we stood on the spot where Joey Ramone slipped on an icy pavement outside of his apartment, dying of wounds sustained in the fall. More shock followed as we stood before the hallowed Fillmore East – home of some of the great albums and concerts - but which was inconspicuous to say the least. We would have walked on by without giving it a second glance. Bobby covered the East Side’s musical history from Leadbelly through Charley Parker to Madonna. It was a good long walk but NYC turned on a hot humid day and we finished in a bar nursing a cold drink.

                               Commemorative lamp-post at the site of the old Fillmore East

                                          Bobby Pinn - in profile - at the lamp-post

More music completed our time there. A Broadway piece called Once which was apparently a movie that I never saw but a great concept musical play with the actors all accomplished musicians and singers – very enjoyable. On our last night we went to a Jazz Club, Birdland (it’s pretty famous) with the act being Ravi Coltrane, son of the great John of MJQ fame. I had not judged the depth of Maurs’ disdain for modern jazz up to that night- now I know! However I loved it – the music was great.

We also took in a few traditional cultural haunts as well. The Museum of Natural History is a must-see. More fossils than the Battersea Old People’s Home. Maurs became absorbed in the mineralogy displays- spectacular gemstones and gold. We spent a half a day at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I reckon that the Yanks have plundered the planet as much as the Poms as the “acquisitions” there are simply stunning in their quality and range. The Obelisk in Central Park is another fine example – it’s a long way from Egypt now Dorothy!

                     Maurs and I in front of Malcolm Fraser statue at Museum of Natural History 

                     No Egyptian slaves were harmed in the making of this Obelisk (much!)

                                                     Some fancy guitars at the MMoA

And I simply could not go to NYC without a look at Central Park, Strawberry Fields and the Dakota building. John Lennon’s presence is still so strong in that area and there are lots of people who make the pilgrimage as we did to pay tribute. You got to give New York ten out of ten. We only scratched the surface of the place- there is so much more to see. And New Yorkers get such a bad wrap - but they are pretty good people by and large.

Our exit was ordinary enough. A cab to the airport – a drink in the British Airways Lounge and off into the sunset to LA and on to Brisbane – except for one extraordinary coincidence. The (male) flight attendant on the LA to Brisbane leg asked whether I had studied at the University of Queensland. When I said yes he told me he had recognised me – we were in the same Chemistry class – and he had checked the passenger list and thought he remembered my name. I racked my poor failing memory cells and came up with a vision of a nerdy guy who used to sling a large wooden slide-rule (remember those!) on his belt like a sword. Anyway, it was his second last trip before retirement – and it was good to see a chemist gainfully employed.

Back to the Returd Highway...

Montreal and the Conference

We flew Porter Airlines from Halifax to Montreal. Very impressive little airline –the aircraft only had two propellers but they’re a lot of fun. Highlight was watching two young guys working their way through five beers each on a one hour forty minute flight – and then proceeded to turn around and chat up two young ladies in the seat behind. I’m sure they appeared irresistible to these girls.

                               Maurs and Patty with "The Gossips" - street art Montreal style

Montreal was warm and we walked and walked all over the old town in the morning and because it was going to be even hotter the next day, we walked up through Mont Royal in the afternoon. I came back nursing two blisters – a penalty for inappropriate footwear – but a small price to pay. It’s staggering to walk among houses that were built before Cook discovered Australia, although after listening to our tour guide who showed us around Vieux Montreal every building burned down at some stage and got rebuilt. You might have heard about the student riots in Montreal? Well you’ll have to fill us in when we get back because we saw no sign of them in spite of walking all over the city for a whole weekend.

                                      Gus and Patty outside the Basilica in Vieux Montreal

One thing we did notice was the number of young guys begging on the street (panhandlers as Jim calls them), just sitting on the sidewalk rattling paper cups. We overheard one panhandler telling a passer-by that if he thought he had a bad day it wasn’t as bad a day as the one that he had. Very loudly, he was outraged that “some (expletive) person spat in my (expletive) face, man!” I thought, it’s almost enough to make you want to give up begging! Another guy placed his cup right in the centre of the sidewalk and Maurs nearly kicked a field goal with it (she only just missed it). Maybe you have to put extra coins in the cup if you do kick it – I’m not sure what the penalties are in this town.

We reunited with our friend Jim and drove up to this conference at Mont Gabriel – a ski resort (now snowless) about 60 km outside of Montreal. It was good to catch up with colleagues that we had met over the years and we spent a number of nights crammed into Jim’s room drinking scotch and acquainting the younger students with the perils of extratropical transition. The conference was rather isolated but Jim and Maurs and I skipped class (we’re old enough to do this now) and visited a couple of the local towns for shopping (mostly scotch and beer) and meals. A highlight was Mont Tremblant which is a quaint little town whose income resolves around skiing and a casino. Must be fabulous in winter-time.

Gus and Jim explore Mont Tremblant

                                    Beer's here! Let the conference begin! (Jim, Pat and Liz)

The hotel may be isolated but it does have its own groundhog and Maurs has photographic evidence of course. I’ve got to check our bag to ensure she doesn’t smuggle one back.

                         Could be the next cane toad plague for Aus! The hotel Woodchuck

NYC Part1 and Halifax

Gotta say I was not looking forward to going through Tom Bradley Terminal in LA but we were pleasantly surprised by the efficiency and lack of hassle this time around. Onwards to JFK New York and a taxi ride into the Wall Street area. Driver was originally from the Punjab who had been in NYC for 22 years but we still had trouble understanding him at times. Our hotel was good and a welcome sight after the trip. We found a pub on Wall Street for dinner and we didn’t need rocking to get to sleep.

Next day we got out early and walked to nearby Battery Park – the first photo Maurs took in the Big Apple? Statue of Liberty? Skyscrapers? Any NYC icons? No. A squirrel in the park. We walked the south end up to Greenwich Village and back down Broadway on a really pleasant day with lots of the locals grabbing some rays after a few days of rain previously (so we were told).

                                                        One NYC squirrel over easy

Sunday meant a car ride to Newark Airport in New Jersey to catch a flight to Halifax Canada to meet our friends Jim and Andra. NJ is highly industrial – the airport also fairly efficient - and the trip to Nova Scotia very pleasant. One small incident occurred upon meeting Jim at the airport. It was Mother’s Day and there was a lady there handing out little chocolate treats (and not just to mothers – Jim and I got one too!) We were so excited that when we got to the car I noticed one item of baggage –our cabin bag - was not with us. “I must have left it in the airport while we were taking chocolate onboard. If this was Australia it would now be on the tarmac with a robot tank blowing it up”, I said. “This is Nova Scotia” said Jim and sure enough our bag was happily sitting out in the middle of nowhere waiting for us.

                                              Jim, Andra and Maurs at Peggys Cove, NS

Halifax is a beautiful little town. Jim and Andra drove us out to Peggy’s Cove which is an iconic piece of Nova Scotia, made all the more famous by our friend Barry Hanstrum years before when he chose to show his fluency in the French language, resulting in a large eruption of laughter from Jim’s French buddies. On the way home we picked up several HUGE local lobsters (still alive but tethered) and a mess of mussels. I started calling them “Lefty” and “One-armed Pete” and Andra said “Don’t name them! We’re going to throw them in a pot of boiling water in an hour!” She was right. It was sad saying goodbye to Lefty. (They were spectacularly good by the way).

                                                             Sorry about this Lefty

After dinner (or supper as they have in Canada) we went down to a local pub called the Lower Deck and drank some beer and watched a cover band called Signal Hill who were excellent. Someone flashed us and asked if he could use the photo on their website. Consequently we found ourselves on their website, looking like stunned halibut. One might assume it was alcohol but it was jet lag making us look like that, honestly. It was a big day.

Jim had some time off and took us to see the sights including Lunenburg and Mahone Bay and a tour of Nova Scotian vineyards. Interesting cold country wines were had.

                                                              Lunenburg scene

We had a great time with the Abrahams but it all turned sour when they discovered we had been to Tim Hortons for coffee and they made us leave. Tim Hortons is something of a national institution – stores on every corner and hugely popular, but the coffee is ordinary and distained in Abraham-land. We had to go once though.

Next stop – Montreal!

Brisbane and Mooloolaba

The only trouble with semi-retirement is that occasionally you actually have to do some work and unfortunately it has come down to this. My first week in Brisbane was spent in and out of various Weather Bureau buildings desperately seeking old cyclone data that no one really knew where it was or if it still existed. I found the archive on Day 2 and then I set Maurs loose on it. Now that she knows what she’s looking for she’s absolutely relentless and she hung on like a truffle hound under an oak tree in finding some obscure gems in the data that I would have surely by-passed. Since then I have been slaving away up at my brother Thomas’ apartment in Mooloolaba (north of Brisbane on the Sunshine when it’s not raining Coast) trying to process the data and write the report. It really hits on play-time. Gee I’ll be glad when I’m retired!

               (Family snap - Mal and Roy; Marg and Tom; Me - Maurs behind the camera)

While in Brisbane we stayed at our favourite Kirribilly Apartments on the river and made full use of the ferry service to get around. We even got ourselves a Senior’s Go Card for cheap travel. That was a bonus but I must admit that I was a bit disconsolate when the travel inspectors got on one afternoon to check for fare evaders. A guy in front had a student concession ticket and the inspector asked him for ID to prove he was a student. I got my ID out - handed him my ticket – he took one look at me and just walked away. Would it have killed him to just politely ask to see my proof of age? Thanks a lot!

And I can't resist providing a snap of Cocky Foley. The old bird is just shy of 57 by our reckoning and doesn't look a day over 20! (I was never good at guessing the ages of birds). He has terrorised our family as much as we terrorised him in our younger days. He now lives with Mal and Roy. Maurs loves him and wants to bring him back to Perth. As long as he flies there (unassisted) I'm happy. He talks a little and has a screech that drowns out jumbo jets. He can call "Gary" at 120 decibels. He is in good shape though. Must be all the sunflower seeds he nibbles on, but I'm convinced he still has the taste for Gary's fingers...

                                        " Cocky wants a fingernail, Cocky wants a fingernail.."

Staying at Pete and Dianne’s when we first hit town coincided with their daughter Carley’s wedding plans which included a high tea on the Sunday afternoon. With twenty or so demanding females to cater for I was press-ganged into a waitering job and Petar and I spent the afternoon frocked up asking “Mo’ Tea?”- “Another Scone?” – and assuring “Of course the cream isn’t fattening!” But we managed to get a few cakes into us plus a beer so it wasn’t all bad, and the food was fabulous, and we always have fun because we are both such idiots.

                                           "Mo' Tea?" Petar and I waiting, waiting, waiting.

Moreover this last weekend was the wedding and it was coincidentally on the north coast and we were proud to be able to attend. The ceremony and reception was at Spirit House in Yandina. Lovely ceremony in a beautiful rainforest setting complete with teeming rain (for which I got the blame and the kudos when it ceased briefly for the ceremony – neither of which I deserved). The food was unbelievably good and a splendid time was ‘ad by all.

                     (Blake, bro; Adrian, groom; Carley, bride; Dianne and Petar, parents o' the bride)

The only downer has been keys. Thomas and Margaret left last Friday to go back to Brisbane and habitually took both sets of their apartment keys, so when it was our turn to leave we were a set down (as they say in tennis). Fortunately a neighbour keeps a spare set so we eventually grabbed those so we could lock the place up when we left. I said to Maurs “Let’s put these in a safe place, namely the deep recesses of her handbag. The next day Thomas asked if we could do him a favour and return a rental car for him. He had left the car-keys in the apartment. I took Pete with me. We talked and talked as we drove back to Mooloolaba from Coolum Beach. Halfway there it hit me. Keys are in the deep recesses of Maureen’s handbag. Back we go, through the teeming rain to get the plurry keys. Then back we go again to Mooloolaba. Book me in to the old folk’s home. Now I realise what the ticket inspector on the ferry was looking at.

I’m getting back to work...

On the Road with Donna

Donna had a window where she could do the road trip with us and much to my surprise she took it. Our daughter is well-known to be exclusively a “five star” traveller so roughing it with Maurs and me in the camper suggested a stretch in her comfort zone parameters. We made for Jerilderie the first night – lovely little town – makes you wonder why Ned Kelly was so intent on shooting the place up.

Jerilderie coughed up a freezing cold night. Did I mention that our daughter is also a well-known frog who feels the cold like few other warm-blooded mammals? She wore every scrap of clothing she had, wrapped herself up on top of her air mattress and shivered through the night. A pathetic sight greeted us in the morning – just a pair of eyes in a sea of clothes and blankets. The next night in Dubbo was a little milder and with the aid of Maurs’ thermals she made it through the night.

                              Rock on Global Warming! (Donna freezing in Jerilderie NSW

We drove past the famous Western Plains Zoo on our way in to Dubbo but all I could see was a bunch of cattle in a field. Some zoo. I mean would it kill them to place an elephant in the distance as an incentive to see more? After we settled in we went for a walk and bought a local paper. The Dubbo Daily Liberal is a mighty fine little paper that seems to do a lot of street reporting of local opinion. We were particularly impressed with Keira who was 16, unemployed, likes eating chicken and watching Jersey Shore on TV. The future of Australia is assured. There was also an article about how four of the white Rhinos at the Zoo had died of a mystery disease. It occurred to me that they could get a bunch of those cows and strap their heads sideways so that it would appear to have a horn in the front – might be very effective at dawn and dusk at least.

I’m still adjusting to Caravan Park living. Guys ablution blocks are something else (apparently it’s not near as traumatic in the female blocks – it’s just guys and their...habits). I’ll blog an entry one day on the subject. I’m still compiling evidence.

We’re driving to Glen Innes today. The girls have thrown me in the back seat to write the blog while they take turns in driving. Please excuse the shaky typing. It’s really not easy to do this in a moving vehicle.

We made Glen Innes – had a meal at the local steakhouse that couldn’t be beat and spent our last night on the road for a while. The next day was rainy as we made our way through the mountains and down the Cunningham Highway to Bris. A nice friendly truckie on the Motorway nearly caused me to miss the critical turn-off to Pete’s place but somehow we made the leftie and got to Pete’s at one minute to two in the afternoon. I had phoned him from Glen Innes saying we’d be there at two. “Sorry I’m early” I said. “Don’t let it happen again” he said. Brisbane is warm and humid. It’s nice to be home again.

Leaving Melbourne

We are once again cruisin’ the Returd Highway after a month “off it” in Melbourne . Next big stop is Brisbane and it will be a quick trip north as I have to do some work in Bris. This semi-retirement sucks a bit at times – like when you have to work!

                                                    Catching up with Skaf at the Cafe Sana

We managed to catch up with quite a few people in Melbourne and spent some quality time with Donna and Craig and Renee and Justin (and Dexter the dog).  It was a bit disconcerting being greeted by a garden gnome called Ben Sherman at the front door of Craig and Donna’s place but once we negotiated the boundaries(he stayed on the doorstep – I edged around him on the way out) we were fine. We did try to oust him when we cleaned out their garage but Ben dragged his sorry ceramic arse back to the doorstep before the garbage truck arrived.

                                                              Ben Sherman - almost toast!

We would have seen more friends and done more in Melbourne if it wasn’t for Maurs’ back problem. She’s fine now and the upside was that we were able to fund some Osteopath’s kids through a year of private schools and a European holiday in the process.

We stayed at Justin and Ren’s house over Easter and just as well we did. Easter Monday night we all turned in early as some of us had to go to work the next day. At about 3.30 am Maurs woke to hear her phone ringing, then she heard Ren mumbling something about a phone. “It’s ok,” said Maurs “it’s my phone!” “I know” said Ren, “I’m calling you!” From the next bedroom?!

It took a while for the fuzz to clear but it turns out when Justin closed the bedroom door upon retiring it locked and when he tried to open it for a call of nature it refused to open.It was good and locked and no amount of tickling from either side would open it. So the Foley Demolition Team set to in the early hours of Tuesday morning to get that door open at all costs. After all there were somewhat anxious people waiting on the other side. We tried to be nice; we tried to be subtle; but in the end it was hammers and screwdrivers to remove the stubborn lock cylinder. We can’t imagine what the neighbours thought of the loud hammering sounds at that hour but still, we prevailed and they were released from their prison. Conversation then centred around what they would have done had we not been in the house – and then as to whether they should be left alone at all! However Brisbane was calling and we set off on the Wednesday with a special guest in tow! Who is it? Stay tuned...

                                                           Should we leave these people  alone?