Day 14: New Year's Eve in Brisbane

The day has finally arrived. People across the globe have waited a whole year for it. We all do - once we're old enough not to view our birthday as the most important day in the year. It's New Year's eve, and we are in Brisbane.

I have only been to Brisbane once before: two years ago for a day visit. My memories are a little vague, but I remember feeling good about the city then. Will it be the same today, with the knowledge that this might be the city we decide to live in?

We arrived on the train from Gold Coast just before lunch, just in time to catch the busy flow of after-Christmas shoppers in Queen Street. Once again I am struck by the thrill of walking in the busy city centre. Somewhere I can hear a saxophone playing amidst all the other sounds. A few times the aroma of coffee and pastries reach my nostrils. You can sense it in the air: people are excited.

One of the best parts about Brisbane is its many parks close to the city centre. A few minutes' walk and one ferry-crossing away, you find yourself on the South bank with it's beautiful promenade - winding its way past huge swimming pools to a stretch of restaurants offering world-class cuisine. This is also where thousands of people will gather later to celebrate the New Year...

With twilight, people start arriving. Families with picnic baskets. There will be an early display of fireworks especially for them. People keep pouring in. Women in tiny tiny dresses, and long gowns rush towards the many pre-booked venues - all with stilettos that are bound to be kicked off as the party progresses. Amazingly enough, I don't spot a single tattoo. It seems that people wear their tattoos to the beaches and theme parks, and when gathering in masses on the riverbank, but NOT to restaurants with foreign names. Something worth remembering.

Tic-toc..... tic-toc.... 5..... 4..... 3..... 2..... 1..... Fireworks explode in the Brisbane river in a colourful display that lasts 10 minutes. Green laser-worms dance on the buildings across the river. Cellphone towers are flooded with messages: Happy New Year!!

South bank walkway on a quiet day

Brisbane Fireworks

Day 11: Strawberry Farm

Today started with quite a bit of excitement in the family: we were going to the Strawberry Farm to..... well, pick strawberries. A few weeks earlier, when visiting Cape Town, my husband and I visited a strawberry farm there: Polkadraai. My mind painted a similar picture: rows and rows of strawberry bushes, golliwog-faced scarecrows scattered all over, and of course: buckets of sweet, blood-red strawberries....

You can very well imagine our surprise and disappointment when The Strawberry Farm had no strawberry fields! Yes, there is a little shop and café with everything even remotely related to strawberries, but no fields of them. And there hasn't been for the past five years. Instead, there is a little camp and paddock with two sheep, a few goats, a calf and a few geese. For a couple of dollars you can buy pellets, carrots, or a bottle of milk.

Now my farmer's daughter's instinct is to give the carrots to the goats, the pellets to the sheep, and the milk to the calf. Clearly the animals and kids didn't share the same instincts. The goats and sheep got milk. The calf got pellets. Everyone wanted carrots and then no-one wanted the last one. And it didn't seem to matter. It also didn't seem to matter any more that there weren't any strawberries to pick. 

Sometimes it would be good if we as adults can go back to that youthful enthusiasm to embrace whatever adventure comes your way: if you expect to pick strawberries and get to feed sheep: be happy and enjoy it!

Feeding sheep at Strawberry Farm

Scarecrow at Polkadraai

Day 10: Meeting Bruce

Today we had the priviledge of meeting Bruce. Bruce must be the primal Bruce - the one after which all subsequent Bruces were named and the person everyone has in mind when they think of Bruce. 

Bruce is wild. Or rather, he looks like someone who could tame a wild beast and survive in the Outback at least 7 times longer than a James. He is at least 6ft 2" tall, with red curly hair, a slight beard, and the face of one who has weathered many blazing hot Australian summers. He also happened to be our guide on a 4x4 trip around the northern part of Moreton island. 

The trip itself was quite an enlightening experience. Particularly since my expectations were of an island trip in one of the most developed countries in the world. Somehow, I managed to overlook the fact that this country also has one of the largest uncultivated, unconquered and hugely unpopulated spaces!! 

The whole continent cultivation only balances on the very edges with large cities and civilisation. (Although it is markedly heavier on the Eastern side.)

The 4-hour long trip along sand roads, through two small townships and hours of driving through seemingly undisturbed island reminded me of that. Australia is a place of contrast. First-world civilisation vs Outback. 

Sydney Opera House vs outlaw Ned Kelly. 

You are mostly allowed to drive on the beach, provided you stay within the speed limits (which are always well-indicated, and enforced by the beach Police!)

You can loose you driver's license for driving over the alcohol-limit, but if you live on an island, no-one raises an eyebrow if you open a can of beer when driving. Except of course tourists, craning their necks to verify they ARE in fact seeing a friendly local driving past with a BEER in hand!

My conclusion then on Moreton Island: if you expect lofty hotel foyers, rows of beach chairs, colourful umbrellas, waiters bringing exotic cocktails at the raise of a finger, and delectable cuisine you might be sorely disappointed. However,  if you bring a 4x4, snorkeling/scuba gear, a boat of some sort, a hat, and plenty sunscreen lotion.... it is an ideal destination. And of course, if you like historic lighthouses!

The lighthouse on the northern point of Moreton Island

Day 9: Sundivers, Beachwalkers and Tatoomies

For a few days after Christmas, the family booked to come to Moreton Island - the fourth largest sand island in the world at about 35km in length.

Location of Tangalooma Resort on Moreton Island

The most likely way to arrive is by the Tangalooma ferry, which, if you're lucky, is a 45 min trip on a big double-deck cat, or if you're not that lucky, a 60 min trip on the much smaller 'Express'. We were not that lucky. I almost kissed the ground as we docked, but the idea of sand between my teeth fortunately brought me to my senses in time.

The island seems to be a popular destination - for humans, birds, dolphins and even whales in the cooler months.
To the casual observer, the most common species on the island is the bare-footed beachwalker. It is certainly true that there are plenty of them here, but if you observe carefully, you would notice at least half of them are in fact red-nosed sundivers. Of these, a good number have already transformed onto red-necked and red-shouldered sundivers. It is best to avoid these and not try feeding or touching them, even though they appear quite tame. They are in fact a very irritable species, and best left in the shade until they loose their distinct red colouring.

The careful observer will also spot a good number of lesser-striped and even greater-striped tatoomies. 'Striped' as a descriptor for this species is in fact very liberally used, as the range of different patterns proudly worn by these is truly mind-boggling. These can range from tiny patterns on females, looking remarkably like flowers, to intricate woven and banded designs mostly seen on the front and hind legs. It is not entirely certain why they sport these designs, as no obvious function has been observed. Some speculate it may be a sign of rank and superiority amongst the males. Another popular theory is that it may play a role in courting. Urban legend even has it that members of this species are in fact the descendents of the now extinct convictus that once freely roamed in Australia. One of the mysteries that will remain...

Below a picture of what may at first glance appear to be bare-footed beachwalkers, but are in fact lesser-striped tatoomies. They are generally quite camera-shy, so sadly I couldn't get a close-up!

Striped... on the beach next to the wrecks

Day 7: Two days of Christmas

Christmas Eve in Australia. Houses lit up by millions of lights. (Believe it or not: There really is a house somewhere behind the lights below!) Gammon and turkey and sumptious deserts. Kids struggling to contain themselves for all the excitement of the past weeks culminating this evening and Christmas day.

My thoughts go to my family, and other people who are strangers in a new country. Some less fortunate than me and being alone in a time everyone else is spending with family. And I wonder for how many people the lights and the glitz are only there to coat one day in a thin layer of happiness that will disappear as quick as Boxing Day specials.

Me? Pensive, but grateful.

Winner of the annual Gold Coast Lights competition - since 1999

Day 6: Bad tidings

Today started off like any other day - cup of coffee, breakfast, chatting about the day ahead. It was very much another holi-like-day, just without any admin for a change.
However, that feeling quickly changed early tonight when I had word from my family back 'home'. All is not well.

The last year has been an extremely difficult year for my family in so many ways - not least of these me and my husband's decision to move to Australia. The bad tidings today signal yet more difficult times to come.

It is not really a gift anyone would want for Christmas.

Maybe this will be one of the hardest things: when someone needs you back in South Africa, and you simply can't be there.

Here then a picture for my brother. It is one I took a number of years ago when we went to Rietvlei Dam for some early-morning fishing and photography.

Wild flowers at Rietvlei Dam, South Africa

Day 5: Finding Cocoa

I came to two conclusions today - both independent from our new location. First: The superiority of cats.

The last few days have been reasonably filled with admin-related outings, visits to and from family, exploratory outings to shopping centres (you HAVE to get to know your surroundings!), and generally being surrounded by people. After all, we ARE staying with family! So when the opportunity arrived today to stay alone at home for the morning, I graspes it with both hands.

'Alone' in this case is a concept used fairly liberally, as the house is also inhabited by one times parrot, and two times cat. Ragdoll cat to be specific. Ragdoll-stay-in-the-house cat, to be even more specific. It is a Very Special type of cat, and their specialness are vey much appreciated in this household.

You can then understand my apprehension when I got up from behind my laptop about an hour after the other human inhabitants have left, to find the front door wide open. In South Africa this situation would be deemed irresponsible due to who might enter the house. Here, the concern is largely around who might EXIT.
Close door. Locate Cat One. Humphrey. Located. Sleeping on bed. Check. Locate Cat Two. Cocoa. I repeat: locate Cat Two. Locate Cat Two. Cat Two, show yourself!

The parrot somehow got the gist of the situation and started repeating Come here. Come here. Hello Cocoa. Hello Cocoa. Come here. Come here. at the best f times cats are not known to listen to birds. Let alone colorful birds in cages that manage to always be juuuuuust out of reach.

Forty-two minutes passed as I looked for Cocoa. Under, behind, inside, on top of everything. Nowhere. How am I going to explain losing the cat? Evenif I didn't leave the door open, it was still on my watch that the terrible thing happenned. Not the best of ways to set the tone with the family-in-law-you're-visiting-with. The stay might just get a bit shorter.

Agony. Stupid cat.

Finally I decided to share the misery and send an SMS - or should I say SOS - to husband. Then, just as I rounded the same corner for the umpteenth time, I look straight into Cocoa's eyes. Silly human. You really don't know where I was, do you? And I'm not going to tell you either...

Which brought me to my second conclusion: I really am more of a dog-person!

Cocoa - Cat Superior