The last five days have rolled by, each one a pearler as far as the weather is concerned.
We spent Monday cleaning the caravan out, perhaps not as thoroughly as
when we did it back in Ballarat, but still from top to bottom. As usual Chris
took the lead role and I was once again reminded by his professional approach
to the task that his trade background is a far better training ground for
cleaners than pen pushing is. I am also reminded why he has always been so
scathing of the inadequacies of every housekeeper we have ever employed; few
could match his own standard.
All Chris’ zeal and vigour however proved disastrous as he dismantled
the gas stove to shine until gleaming; the one electric element announced its
displeasure at the action with a bang. After emptying the cupboard which houses
the fuse box, he laboriously checked each one to no avail. In fact it seemed he
had blown the entire caravan power source to smithereens and the solution was
beyond the understanding of such mere mortals as us. So off to the office to
ask for a contact number for an electrician sympathetic to the needs of such as
us. On the way back, he noticed that the power box pole was on a rather strange
lean. I assured him it had been like that when I plugged in last Thursday
afternoon and also explained that I had played around finding an outlet that
functioned successfully. So Chris just moved the plug to another outlet, et
voila! Electricity. So much drama with such a simple fix.
We had decided we wanted to change the fluorescent bulbs in a couple of
the ceiling lights so headed across to Wynnum to an Ideal Electrical outlet. They had nothing in stock, nor did any
other stores close by, however directed us back to Tingalpa to the Jayco
dealer, Brisbane Camperland. Contrary
to what we had been told by the chap at Ideal
Electrical, there are LED bulbs available that will fit into the rather
strange caravan fittings, with a little adjustment. Chris was cautious in
response and had the salesman take him through to the workshop to see one being
installed. Buoyed by this demonstration, we headed to Super Cheap Auto and purchased a crimping tool so he could then
become a fully equipped sparky.
And so when we finally tore ourselves away from the television on
Tuesday morning, catching up on the overnight Olympic medal haul, Chris pulled
one of the ceiling lights apart, removed the superfluous mechanism and
installed the new bulb. Success! Now confident with his ability, he attacked
the one electric element on the gas cooker which has been dodgy for some time.
This turned out to be more of a mission than initially thought, although the
actual repair was simply a matter of reinstating a nut that had shaken loose on
the Australian roads. Without tiny childish fingers and a limited repertoire of
tools, it took some perseverance, duly rewarded.
After lunch we set out for a drive to the Port of Brisbane, at the mouth
of the Brisbane River. This area was formerly known as Fisherman Islands but
has been hugely refashioned on reclaimed land. It is currently the third
busiest port in Australia and the nation’s fastest growing container port.
Once upon a time all shipping was undertaken up river at South Bank.
However as recently as 1976 it was decided to develop the area at the mouth of
the river. A five kilometre causeway, two road bridges and a rail bridge to
link the islands to the mainland. The port has subsequently grown over the
intervening years and still is today with a further 230 hectare area known as
the Future Port Expansion area gradually being filled over the next fifteen to
twenty years with materials obtained from maintenance and capital dredging
projects. And all the time with modern concerns around conservation and the
fact that this whole surrounding marine area is a protected park, the Port of
Brisbane is managing to successfully balance progress with minimising its
ecological footprint.
We were too late to take the Tuesday tour around the port however
enjoyed the Information Centre with the short videos and interpretative panels
on offer. We also popped up to the seventh floor of the Port headquarters where
one can stand out on the café balcony and look out over the port, the Moreton
Bay Marine Park and back to the city.
From here we drove the relatively short distance down the coast to Wynnum,
parked at Pandannus Beach and walked for several kilometres along the Wynnum
Waterfront walk as far as Manly; a delightful walk in the sunshine enjoying the
gentle lapping of the waves on the beach and views of the many islands out to
sea. Most of the coastline from here up to the river entrance is lined with
mangroves, however these give way to launching and swimming beaches once the
built up area replaces the wilderness. We returned to Wynnum up over the hill
from Manley, enjoying the walk through the residential area, the houses mainly
of classic Queensland style and cane palms the principal garden border. The
afternoon was getting on so we found the local supermarket, stocked up and
returned to camp.
Sitting out under the awning with our late afternoon coffee, we watched
the gardener rake up all the pine cones that have been lying about the camp,
resembling a flock of hedgehogs grazing on the lawn. Some of the "hedgehogs" make
quite a racket when they fall from their nests in the trees above the caravan.
We dined on roast kangaroo accompanied by roast potatoes, both sweet and
plain, roast capsicums and onions, and boiled carrots and broccoli; all
delicious and appropriate for the cool temperatures of the Queensland evening.
On Wednesday we took the bus into the city and spent several hours in
the State Library. The first were spent in the Family History room battling
with a micro-fiche reader still chasing great great great grandfather Thomas
Ingram and his elusive first wife and child if they did indeed exist. My search
was in vain but not yet to be abandoned; Chris managed to entertain himself
with the newspaper while the superb staff in the library fell over backwards to
assist me.
From here we retreated to other floors to visit a couple of exhibitions,
both relating to Brisbane and the natural phenomenon of flood. The first
documented the floods of the 19th and 20th centuries with
a collection of sketches, paintings, letters, photos and all manner of records.
It should never have been a surprise to see the Brisbane River rise to such
horrendous levels because the city is after all, built on a massive flood
plain. The floods of 1841, the three in 1893 and another in 1974 were far
higher than that in 2011, however as the years have progressed, the population
has grown and the city expanded so the damage has been no less.
The second exhibition will start its journey around the libraries of
Queensland in the next couple of weeks, although in an abbreviated form. Films,
photos, newsreels and a map of the river viewed with an iPad and appropriate
app do not travel that well to outposts.
Neither exhibition kept our attention past lunch time, so after we had
dined out on a bench in the bright warm sunshine while watching the city in
action across the river, we returned to the museum viewed last year to see if
there was anything new to catch our attention.
There was an interesting exhibition titled Dressed by the Best: Fashion, Glamour and Gwen Gillam celebrating a
Brisbane woman who designed and manufactured fashion for the rich and mobile
through the 1950s and beyond. Examples of her work hang on mannequins, some
quite elegant, some reminiscent of clothes my mother sewed for me through the
late 1960s and ‘70s and some that looked from this end of time, quite frankly
drab.
We wandered through other exhibits we had visited last year which now
having travelled through many parts of Queensland and seen so much more than we
had eighteen months ago, were so much more meaningful.
The next day we were back on the bus again, into the city and on the 227
bus which takes a more direct route into the city from Tingalpa, crossing north
over the Storey Bridge. There we disembarked and walked to Fortitude Valley, or
more particularly, Chinatown. It was only just after 10 am so we should not
have been surprised that the Chinatown mall was almost deserted.
We made our
way to Brunswick Street Mall, a block away, hoping to find a bit more action.
We had read descriptions of this mall and the area; stylish and busy being a
couple of them. While busier than Chinatown, it was still relatively quiet. We
shouted ourselves coffee at Maccas and sat at a counter facing the mall
watching the passers-by, most who did nothing to lift our impressions of the
area. We were soon joined by a woman older than us, who made herself at home
beside us. She was grabbing a favourite breakfast bonus and coffee before
proceeding on to her hairdresser. When she heard that we were on-the-road, she
confessed that her husband would have loved to follow in our footsteps however
she could never bring herself to it. Toilets were the problem, she said. We
assured her that modern caravans such as ours were fully equipped with full
bathrooms, toilets included, however I got the feeling that it was now too late
for them. She was still an active lady in the community, working as a chaplain
in a remand prison one day a week. Needless to say our conversation was lengthy
and interesting and I would hazard a guess and suggest that she was more than a
little late for her hair appointment.
Consulting the map, we decided to head up through the suburb as far as
the Exhibition Grounds where the EKKA, aka the Royal Queensland Show, had just kicked
off. EKKA is so typical of the way Australians manage to abbreviate so much of
their vocabulary. Probably in today’s climate, abbreviations should not seem too
unusual; we have become accustomed to OMG (Oh my God!), LOL (laugh out loud), C
U L8R (see you later) and so on and so on. EKKA is somehow derived from the
word “exhibition”, if you had not worked it out.
The show lasts ten days and is a big agriculture and pastoral show (in
New Zealand we have A&P Shows) with all the side shows, fireworks, wild
riding and cake making competitions that
one would normally expect. The amount of television advertising for the show has
been incredible; there should be no excuse for ignorance.
The crowds were converging on the entrance and the roads were closed off
to all but taxis and service vehicles. We walked against the tide and returned
to Brunswick Street, walking down past the rail station, past some rather dodgy
looking people, the sex shops, the strip joints, the peep shows, the
secretarial schools, and headed across to the lovely Chinatown Mall which was
now buzzing with lunchtime crowds. We wandered about looking for a Chinese
Restaurant or kiosk that offered a smorgasbord style menu but found none. Nor
did we find any back in the Brunswick Mall that appealed which was a shame
because we had set off from camp with the intention of dining Chinese style in
Chinatown.
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| Architecture in Chinatown |
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| St John's Cathedral |
After due examination, we glanced quickly at St Martin’s House next door, which served as a private hospital until 1971. It was built as a memorial to those killed in World War I, run by Anglican nuns and served Brisbane for fifty years, providing a high standard of care to private patients for a fee and returned servicemen and women for free.
Prior to its closure there was apparently considerable controversy. The
people of Brisbane did not wish to lose the hospital but the nuns had come to
the end of their tether and the facilities and equipment were well past their
use by date. The nuns eventually walked out, off to their next calling, to
teach children elsewhere, and so that was that. This building is also quite
lovely and today serves as administrative offices for the cathedral.
By the time we reached the centre of the city, every office worker was
either sitting about in the park areas or the restaurants, or filling the food
halls. We joined the latter and did, in the end, enjoy a dish of delicious
Chinese coconut chicken, fresh vegetables and rice. Not quite how we had
imagined our lunch but still worth every cent.
Feeling quite full, it was time for further exercise so we set off to
visit the Commissariat Store in William Street, built by convicts in 1829 and
as such is the oldest building intact in Brisbane. Today the structure is the
home of the Royal Historical Society of Queensland, houses an excellent model
display of the original settlement of Moreton Bay and serves as an excellent
museum of Brisbane.
Here we learned that although Joseph Banks on Cook’s voyage in 1770
noticed the muddiness of the waters suggesting a large river might enter the
sea somewhere near, it was not until 1823 that the explorer Oxley bothered to
check the lay of the land. He rushed back to Sydney to report that Moreton Bay
would be just the place to move the recidivist convicts, to a place where they
could be punished well away from free settlors, in the same way that Port
Macquarie was chosen. In 1824 the first
batch of convicts arrived and they kept on coming right through to 1839. The third
Commandant of the penal colony, Captain Patrick Logan, took over in 1826 and
during his four year reign until his mysterious murderous end in 1830, was
credited with the building of the settlement and establishing a successful
outpost, the foundations of Brisbane. He has also gone down in the annuls of
history as an exacting and ruthless commandant, but then I suppose he was just
doing his job, and if all prisons were run in that way today, there would not
be too many prisoners.
We learned so much more but this can all be found on the internet or by
calling in yourself at the Commissariat Store Museum. We left as a bus load of
oldies arrived, crowding this rather intimate and excellent storehouse.
This morning was spent in a relaxed fashion reading the newspaper and
taking the opportunity to start reading Middlemarch,
which already after just over fifty pages is shaping up to be all as promised.
Part way through the course of the morning, our attention was diverted
to removal activity on the driveway close by. The park is currently under
redevelopment, like so many around the country, being converted to a retirement
village. The cabins in the front section of the park are being relocated to the
rear of the park where most of the permanent tenants live. Brand new homes
selling from about $250,000 will take their place and in a year or so, there is
unlikely to be space for the likes of us. The cabin was gingerly edged between
a decapitated palm tree and the sign board structure minus the sign board, inch
by inch and on up into the area beyond the office and workshops. The operations
manager engaged with us in lengthy conversation explaining that the owners are
about to buy their sixth caravan park, and all will follow this planned transformation.
This very personable chap is likely to have his hands full for a while, and we
did get the impression that he had a financial interest in the matter apart
from any salary he may be on.
After lunch we set off for a drive, further down Brisbane’s east coast,
starting with Wellington Point, the narrow spit of land extending north on the
eastern side of Waterloo Bay. We sat in the vehicle for some time watching the
wind surfers and Kite sufers skating across the top of the white horses in the
brisk breeze. Across the bay in the distance we could see the shores at Manley
and Wynnum where we had been earlier in the week.
From here we drove on south across flat scrubby land to Cleveland,
descending from the low hills of Ormiston overlooking the residential canals of
Raby Bay. We drove to the end of Cleveland Point and looked out across toward
North Stradbroke Island. Returning along this second spit, Chris spotted a
Sunmaid yacht for sale and could not resist stopping to have a look. I have
mentioned before how competent Chris is at window shopping, and so he has no
qualms about examining any wares (or yachts) for sale with no intention of
actually buying. The owner of the boat however thought he was on to something
and showed Chris all over the boat, bow to stern, and down in the bowels of the
boat, sure there was a sale to be made. Chris finally dragged himself away with
glowing reports of the boat and the asking price.
We continued south to Victoria Point and out to the reserve at the end,
examined the ferry terminal for Coochiemudlo Island or Coochie as it is
affectionately known by the locals. We agreed that these eastern coast suburbs
were just lovely and appealed to us even more than those on the Sunshine Coast
and certainly those on the Gold Coast. These are for real people.
It was a fairly straight run back across the lowlands of south east
Brisbane to camp.
On the television news tonight, we learned that the wind so welcome to
those in Waterloo Bay today, has been very problematic for those further inland.
The first of the grass fires have begun and the season is predicted to be a
busy one for the fire-fighters. We will have to be careful where we camp as the
year progresses.
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