Storyline: Home to home westward
(Diana – we have a few more posts coming from New Zealand, however we’ve been in Australia for 20 days now, of which I completely missed about a week with the flu, and Alex has this post ready to go)
I’ve been voluntold to write this post. And there’s a good reason. Of our five days in the city, Diana spent three and a half in bed with a fever. (Diana: Well, I don’t think this is a good reason). Her perspective on the city is therefore somewhat limited. As I write this, she is gathering her energy for 15 minutes of activity (packing) before collapsing back into bed for another hour or so before retuning to another short shift of packing. Oh, one major thing to note: Diana is not usually susceptible to any kind of bug. So it’s been a concern for both of us and a major frustration for Diana.
Back to our irregularly scheduled post…
Our early flight from Christchurch had us disembarking at around 8:30am. (Diana: As we stepped out of the plane we were greeted not by one, but two cheerful customs officers with “Welcome to tropical Brisbane. It may rain now but it will be sunny again…” ). It was warm! And it had been raining, but the forecast was for the showers to end later in the morning. We picked up a SIM card for $25, found our way to the train station and stood under cover on the platform while another shower greeted us.
With check-in times normally being around 2pm, we were looking at a long day dragging our bags around. Fortunately, our Airbnb host was willing to let us drop off our bags early…but there was just one problem. The previous guests wanted to leave late. This resulted in us meeting a delightful pair of Dutch girls who were still packing when we arrived. And it is a very small apartment, but we managed to find a corner for our bags and went exploring.
Our apartment seemed to be in what at home would be called an Aparthotel. Units are individually owned and may be made available as hotel rooms should the owners choose. Our host has chosen to go it alone through Airbnb. The building is almost directly across from the old windmill that overlooks the central business district (CBD). We could be in the thick of things downtown in less than ten minutes, but the return was up a steep hill.
We wandered around getting our bearings and at first didn’t see much to recommend the city. Not that there was anything negative, but we started to wonder why our friends Brad and Slavka had told us it was their favourite city stop when they had recently visited the country. It’s good to not judge too quickly, however.
After we formally took over the room, we did a little research, intending to find a nice seafood restaurant to compare with the great experience we’d had in NZ. We decided to try George’s Paragon Seafood on Eagle Street, and were delighted with our choice: not only for the meal we had, but for the location, looking out over Eagle Street Pier, across the Brisbane River to Story Bridge, which as darkness fell, was nicely lit and a magnet for photographs. We started to get a better feeling about this city.
While waiting for the restaurant’s 5:30pm opening time, we strolled along the pedestrian, bike and scooter-friendly paths, past a number of interesting restaurants, cafés and pubs. We also watched the three types of ferry provided by the city: the largest is the City Cat, that runs around the S-shaped curves of the river, the City Ferry that shuttles people from one side of the river to the other, and the free City Hopper that covers part of the same journey as the City Cat. Lots of opportunity to get from place to place on the water.
Our dinner was delicious, and we took advantage of the 5:30pm-6:30pm half-price main course offer. Service was exceptional, and as we were leaving, the manager checked with us to ensure that things were satisfactory, then chatted with us for a few minutes. It’s a big restaurant, but made to feel quite homey.
After that lovely evening, things started to go downhill for Diana. She made it, with effort, through another walk to Eagle Street Pier, Lunch at Massimo – George’s sister restaurant, and a walk back to the apartment through the botanical gardens, where the most colourful display at this time of year was the hibiscus garden.
But she missed most of the remainder of our stay due to a flu-like fever that sapped all her energy. Alex, meanwhile, managed to explore other parts of the city for a couple of hours each day while Diana sat in bed to write when she wasn’t asleep.
First up was to observe the ANZAC Day parade. ANZAC is the acronym for Australia and New Zealand Army Corps. On April 25 each year, both these countries pause to remember the sacrifice of the troops (and their families) who on that date in 1915 formed part of the allied forces’ attempt to secure the Turkish Gallipoli Peninsula on the way to the main target Constantinople (Istanbul). In heavy fighting, over 8,700 Australians and 2,700 New Zealanders were killed and many more severely injured in the unsuccessful campaign. But it was a coming of age moment in both these countries’ history.
The memorial day now encompasses remembrance of “who served and died in all wars, conflicts, and peacekeeping operations” and “the contribution and suffering of all those who have served”. Now, Australia and New Zealand are not exactly known to be warlike, but just like Canada, they are willing to fight to protect those who can’t protect themselves. So I was curious about the observation of this day that is so important to two nations’ histories.
The parade itself was as expected: groups of current and former soldiers, nurses and families: some now so old and frail that they were driven in vintage military vehicles. Others were proudly marching, although with obvious effort, heads held high. And marching bands – both military and from local schools.
But what struck me was the onlookers’ participation. As each group of marchers passed, there were waves of applause: not the wild applause of adoration, but gentle applause of respect and thanks. It was a very moving experience for me.
I stayed to watch about 30 minutes of the parade, then moved on in my explorations of the city. Many roads were blocked or diverted for the day’s activities and I ended up being funneled across the Victoria bridge to the South Bank where I landed at the Queensland Performing Arts Centre and the Clem Jones Promenade stretching downstream towards the Maritime Museum.
It was a delightful stroll, passing the colourful B R I S B A N E sign facing the river – younger folk climbing over the three metre-high letters – and the skyline on the North Bank.
Then there were so many different sections for outdoor enjoyment: kids’ playgrounds,
several wading and swimming pools,
a shallow man-made stream with a bed of smooth river stones,
a Buddhist peace temple,
a rainforest walk, and more. Just inland there were cafés, bars and restaurants. One could spend a whole day just in this small part of town. But I headed back to our lodgings, over the pedestrian Goodwill Bridge and through the botanical gardens. Now I understood our friends’ feelings about the city.
During the visit I was also able to tromp through Fortitude Valley and Chinatown, parts of which were a little seedy and others delightful. And along with the inevitable graffiti, there were some nice examples of street art.
Crossed Story Bridge on foot, giving me great views of Eagle Street Pier and area from above,
and walked from the bridge upstream around the exercise trail and boardwalk…
…to the Maritime Museum, which completed my exploration of the “U” of the river across from the CBD.
My recollection of central Brisbane (other than Diana’s missing it) will be that it is a great city for the outdoors. I’d be happy to go back there (even though I’m really not a city person) and spend more time exploring the activities that the city has to offer.
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