brisbane

I felt as though I had been asleep for a long time, yet it certainly didn’t feel like morning, but as my eyes suspiciously opened I could see cracks of light from the edges of my window shutter.  Then there it was; I pushed up the window to suddenly see Australia 30,000ft below me.  We were currently skimming across the far northern tip of the continent and were approximately 3 hours away from our destination.  .  The last hour I spent religiously staring out of window.... I didn’t want to miss a thing; a single mountain, or one tiny portion of the unrelenting coast line I could see bordering the Pacific Ocean.  We flew steadily down the eastern coast, and I was able to spot Frazer Island, and then the Glass House Mountains near Beerwah before the pilot began to descend into Brisbane.  It was such a beautiful morning, so perfect for my arrival that I was finally overwhelmed by emotion, perhaps only then deciding to let out a scratch of grief for  friends and family I’d left behind.  Yet when my eyes welled up uncontrollably, it was due to pure joy.  I had made it, and it felt fucking fantastic; despite the tears I’d left behind.  I was incredibly proud of myself in that moment....not for surviving the journey but for finally sorting my act out and actually doing what so many people talk about but never do.  I knew that regardless of what happened in the following months, I could say that I had tried.  I had longed to travel for a decade, and when all those potential pathetic excuses filtered away one-by-one over the years I actually packed up my life, and then my backpack, and set off with a one-way ticket to the other side of the world.  My main specification being undefined.....anything could happen, I would see where the wind swept me and take any opportunities that fell at my feet.

Now the Brisbane river curled its way through the city below, and before I had a chance to collect my thoughts we were taxing down the runway of Brisbane International Airport.  The first thing I remember doing was turning on my cell phone, almostly instantly being greeted by  a “welcome to Australia” text alert, fuelling my excitement even further.... hell, I was here, and my bloody phone worked • a miracle!!  I boshed out a text message to my little sister indicating my safe arrival; at that very moment I knew she would be celebrating for the last time at her house back in my native Burnham-on-Crouch, surrounded by all my drunken dancing friends.  Instantly she text me back, a message full of love and excitement - explaining how the whole house had just had a group cheer and drink on my behalf.  Again for an instant I felt a giant wave of nausea, I could imagine them all, happy for me and smiling......yet it made me sad.  What the hell was I doing? On my own thousands of miles from home, without a single ally, but as I looked out the window again as we approached the gate into the airport all my nerves evaporated.  I was doing exactly what I was meant to be doing..... I was exactly where I was supposed to be, and fucked if I was going to waste another moment feeling sorry for myself.  My only worry was the impending doom of waiting nervously to see if my backpack had followed me south from Taiwan!  Luckily after half an hour I was reunited with the 17kilos of baggage I had packed for my year, never have I ever felt so unashamedly joyful to see a piece of luggage..... it was like Christmas had come early, in a back-braking blue bundle of crap. 

Job one now completed and successful I  simply had to make it through immigration alive, and find my way to the ticket office to catch the train into the city centre, and then subsequently to my hotel, both of which were relatively painless, arriving at Roma Street station an hour later.   On that particular Saturday morning, as I’m sure is most often the case, Brisbane was bustling with life; cars sped past along the streets, people adorned the side-walks.. some obvious tourists, like me with their backpacks slung over their backs, whilst others strolled threw the grids of skyscrapers with the calm only a local could muster.  I knew the direction I had to walk in to find Albert Street, so I set off, soaking up the atmosphere as I went with the sun glaring down on me.  And this glorious sunshine was supposed to be their winter, what the hell happens in summer?!! As I hit Queen Street the city streets began to take on a new vibe, a further spice was added into my surroundings in way of numerous cafes, restaurants and bars, all packed with customers enjoying the sunshine, chatting away to their companions, mostly youngsters all with a distinct style, subtly different to those back in the UK.  Skirts, tiny shorts, sandals, sun hats and shades were clearly the main component in every ones wardrobe.  Colour was everywhere, in shop windows and the clothes displayed, in the architecture and even in the faces of those who wondered the streets beside me.  This hint of diversity was probably what made me instantly warm to the city, it felt like an enormous playground for the young and gorgeous, cosmopolitan and fresh, but without any unwelcoming atmosphere I would normally expect in such a funky destination.  I found it quite hard to keep walking, wanting to explore every nook and cranny that I passed, and even had to turn down the offer of a cup of coffee with a friendly Australian man from Sydney whom I randomly began chatting to whilst walking the crowds of Queen Street Mall.  I simply had to get this bloody thing off my back; it had taken me over an hour to locate my hotel, and by now my body was beginning to ache, perhaps partially due to impending jet-lag, but i was sure that once the weight was literally lifted from my shoulders I would find a hidden store of energy inside me to carry on the exploring I was so eager to continue. 

The Oaks Hotel was an enormous building, right in the heart of the southern part of the CBD, less than 5 minutes to Queen Street in one direction, and the Brisbane Botanical Gardens in the other.  I was unable to actually check into my apartment at that point, but they were happy to accept my bag from me, storing it for the following 3 hours until I could access my room.  I remember being almost giddy with excitement as I walked back out onto Albert street, I had Brisbane to play with for the next 9 hours, then I would make my way back to the international airport to meet my old friend Kat, a friend who had bravely left our rural Essex town 3 years ago, and had been living it up in Queenstown ever since.  After hearing about my plans for a whirl-wind tour of the east coast, she had booked up a flight and was joining me for the fortnight, after which we would both fly out heading to New Zealand.  Mostly, that sunny afternoon was spent walking, just walking, and then walking some more.  Across the foot bridge over the Brisbane River towards the Southbank, all around the Botanical Gardens , leaving another scoop of Queen Street till the end, grabbing some food and sitting upon a bench enjoying watching the world walk past, then jumping up again to join them in their procession. Before I knew it, I was checking into the nicest hotel ive ever had the pleasure to reside.  My crib for two nights consisted of a 23^rd floor one bedroom apartment, complete with an enormous balcony overlooking the city and far-off mountains, a bed

big enough for a small family and the most stylish of giant plasma TV screens.  It felt ridiculous walking in their with a back-pack, looking like a tramp, my hair unwashed, my clothes dirty and probably smelling like something that gone off its sell by date.  With this in mind I jumped in the shower, struggled to make myself look like a human, and settled down for my last lonesome hour with a cold can of Diet Coke, singing like a crazed idiot to songs so bad it was embarrassing. 

Kat arrived bang on time, allowing me to be ready and waiting at arrivals.  Girls can be such emotionally fickle creatures, I’m hardly a frequent “watery head”, but I swear airports arrival lounges do something to me, and I’m always filled with the fear whilst waiting for that certain person, that I’m going to make a hideous display of girliness in front of hundreds, blubbing like a fool.  Kat, managed to control herself quite well, though squealing excitedly when I ran across to meet her.  After a few moments of catch up (which was of course accompanied by another well awaited cigarette), we set off on my third airport metro trip of the day, back towards the city.  Our first night we spent chatting over meatballs and Carlton Draught, until the Jet lag suddenly began to pulverise me like a sledge hammer; it was time for some shut eye!

The next day was when the fun really began; we had decided on a easy going itinery including exploring the South Bank and shopping at Queen street mall, but first and foremost on the agenda  was taking full advantage of the hotel amenities.  The swimming pool and spa pool was on the 4^th floor of the building,

 so it was literally like swimming amongst skyscrapers, a fabulous experience, especially whilst soaking it all up within hot rapids of bubble s and underneath the winter sun.  This winter sun amused me immensely, which was still pretty much as hot, if not hotter than most English summers days.  No in fact, upon thought I’d have to say English summers rarely get that hot.  I had only been gone for 3 days but already I was ready to jack in Essex forever to lap up these blue skies.  It was the bluest sky I’ve ever seen; even from behind my beloved white aviators I could see its glorious intensity.  Drying off as we walked we next headed across the foot bridge across to the South Bank which we were lucky enough to coincide with a large street market, the funky ones that sell you kind of stuff you don’t know exists till your standing in front of it.  Of course these stalls are accompanied by food stalls also selling outrageously tasty food.  We where pretty much fucked in terms of watching the purse strings, having hand bags one side, and munch on the other, though as per usual my head ruled my wallet and I held back, sadly the same cannot be said for Kat.  She did kindly splurge on me a little bit too though in her defence and bought me an unusual magnetic purple bracelet, as an early birthday present.  I love the thing, and it remained to be the only material item I brought away with me from Australia.  That and about 4 kilos worth of transport receipts, ticket stubs and post cards that I collected along the way. 

The south bank is also home to the lagoon, a genius creation, bringing the beach to the lives of the city dwellers, and vast amounts of tourists too.  The sand is pure white, and tropical in every sense, the lagoon itself turquoise blue and set amongst beautifully landscaped palm trees. Though in the background, you can still see the skyscrapers and in a few places the Brisbane River itself, making it quite a surreal panoramic sight.   We lazed around the lagoon until our pastey British skin could no longer withstand the afternoon sun and retreated to a riverside cafe for a well received chilled drink and an enormous portion of potato wedges, drenched with sour cream; I would soon learn that this topping was as normal down under as Heinz tomato sauce is back home in the UK, and would be my first of many sour cream treats to come!

In preparation for our onward travel early the next morning, we opted to spend that evening casually dining in an Italian restaurant, saving up our energy for the craziness that would unfold at the Gold Coast over the next few days.  Needless to say, we still had a lovely night, wondering the city streets, admiring the Story Bridge lit up magically in the night sky and enjoying the atmosphere of a lively destination, which after living in rural Essex for 23 years was a novelty in itself.

I fell asleep that night, feeling like a queen in the biggest bed id ever slept in, my mixed emotions of excitement and fulfilment sending me to dream land in mere minutes, my last thought.......  How wonderful it would be to see the Pacific Ocean tomorrow.