East Coast Expedition: Bouncing Through Byron Back To Sydney

Feb 1, 2011

I woke in my hostel bed in Brisbane, refreshed for the final leg of my trip. I decided that I would spend the day in Byron Bay before climbing on a night bus back to Sydney. This was my second time in Byron Bay. If you rewind your memories (or back track through my blogs) you will recall that Natasha and I spent a day of our Christmas vacation there. It was the hippie, Woodstock-like town located on the coast that radiated rainbows and fuzzy warm things. I had liked it there so much the first time, that I wanted to go again. I arrived around noon and stood at the bus stop weighed down by the heavy load of bags I was carrying. I was pleased that it was a gorgeous day out, but I wasn't too fond of the sweat that I was starting to perspire. There was no way I was going to enjoy a leisurely afternoon in Byron with all this crap dangling off my back and arms. I could barely haul it off the bus nonetheless carry it around town all day. Normally, I would check into a hostel and leave my stuff in a secure place there, but because I was taking a night bus home I hadn't reserved a hostel room. I needed a solution, and fast.

Suddenly, a lightening bolt of genius hit me smack dab in the head. I achingly dragged myself a few blocks away to the hostel Natasha and I had stayed in a few months prior. When we had checked out, they let us store our baggage in a secure luggage room. All we had to do was ask for the key. Logic told me that if I politely asked for the key now they would hand it over, no questions asked. How would the front desk person know that I wasn't a current hostel guest? Luckily for me, she didn't. First, I snuck into the bathroom (which fortunately didn't require a key to get into) and changed into my bathing suit. A swim was necessary on a hot day like this. Then I hid my luggage around the corner, approached the reception desk nonchalantly, and asked if I could have the key to the luggage room. And voila! Just like magic the keys were in my hand. Am I smart, or am I smart? I felt like I was some spy on a top secret mission. Mrs. James Bond in action. I stealthy slipped around the corner, grabbed my bags and tossed them in the luggage room. Then I handed the keys back to the receptionist, flashed my pearly whites and wished her a nice day. I skipped down the road all the way back to town, whistling as I went.

After strolling the streets and nifty shops, and munching on a macadamia nut white chocolate muffin and sushi (an odd but scrumptious combo, when eaten separately) I made my way down to the beach for a swim. The sun had grown hotter, and the sweat was now tumbling off my body. It was time for a cool down. Byron Bay beach was lovely. I enjoyed drifting with the waves for a while, basking in the memories of my incredible past  few months of travel. I probably could have stayed there for hours, but lo and behold some dang jellyfish began to creep up on me. Chances are they were harmless, but then again in Australia the chances are also pretty good that they are lethal.  I had no intention of getting stung and/or killed by a deadly boxer jelly fish on my last day of travels, so I battled my way through the rough ocean currents back to shore where I resumed my reflective lounging on the beach.  Once dry, I decided to walk up to the Byron Bay lighthouse. Natasha and I had attempted to do this, but somehow managed to failed back in December. Despite following the signs that said "Lighthouse this way" we ended up at the bottom of the cliff that the lighthouse was perched atop. I was determined to make it this time. I quickly realized, however, that determination is only a part of the equation. Knowing where you're going is the other half, and I did not know where I was going. How foolish of me to assume that I would miraculously reach the lighthouse by following the same signs that had lead Natasha and I astray the first time. I won't drag this on folks, I failed again. Somehow I ended up back on the beach beneath the lighthouse. It's quite embarrassing actually. How is it that I can manage to navigate my way across all of New Zealand, both the north and south islands, and down the east coast of Australia with no trouble at all yet I can't find my way up a measly path to a lighthouse? Can someone please explain this to me, because I was and still am baffled. All I can reason is that someone decided to play a lighthearted prank on us backpackers and turned the "Lighthouse this way" signs in the wrong direction. That must be it, because I refuse to believe I am that stupid or incompetent. Where's a GPS when you need it?

I spent the rest of the evening doing my least favorite activity: you guessed it, waiting. Once back from my unsuccessful hike, I transformed into Mrs. Bond again and retrieved my luggage from the hostel. Then I spent a couple of hours at the bus stop waiting for my final Greyhound bus to come pick me up and take me back to Sydney. On board, I curled up in my seat like a baby and dozed the entire length of the ten hour trip. When I opened my eyes and peered out the window I saw none other than the Sydeny Opera House standing majestically in the distance. I broke into a smile and sighed. It was good to be back.

East Coast Expedition: Adios Airlie, Bienvenidos Brisbane (Again)

Jan 31, 2011

I woke Monday morning afraid to open my eyes, wondering if the hostel walls were still standing. I pried one eyelid open and then the other. Unless I was still dreaming, the hostel had not crumbled down. Phew. I climbed down from the top bunk and crept to the window to peer at the damage outside. I was relieved to see that the buildings outside were still standing in one piece too, although there was palm tree branches and debris thrown across the streets. Cyclone Anthony had spared Airlie, but had it killed my chance to climb on board the Tongarra again? The suspense was gnawing at me, and so I wasted no time making my way back to ABC Travel to see Andy where I expected to finally get my yes/no answer. How foolish of me to assume. Again, I was met with an ambiguous answer. "Well," Andy said. "They have to go down and check the boat for damages. It it's ok then we are planning to run the trip this afternoon. But right now the boat marina is closed, and if the owner doesn't open the marina then we won't be able to go regardless of the Tongarra's condition. Why don't you come back at noon. We should know by then." Seriously? Didn't these people know that us backpackers had travel plans to make? If this boat wasn't sailing then I wanted to get a move on back to Sydney, but I didn't want to bail just yet. After all the effort I had put into getting back to Airlie, it seemed like a waste to just walk away if there was still a chance of sailing again. Oy Vey! That's all I could say as I headed out the door, oy vey.

I had three hours to kill until noon. I decided first to get some breakfast since my stomach had started growling. I walked down the street to the grocery store only to find a hand written sign taped to the entrance that read: "Closed due to no power. Will open as soon as power comes back." Great. I had forgotten that Anthony had wiped out Airlie Beach's power. I wondered further down the street expecting the Mc Donalds or Subway to be open; those mega-chains always have generators, don't they? They answer, I soon discovered, was no. After doing two full laps up and down the main street the reality of the situation was confirmed: nobody was open for business because nobody had power. Weren't hurricanes a common occurrence around here? Why weren't these Aussies prepared? This could be a problem, I thought. I had no food, and there was no food to be bought. What was a hungry girl to do? Wait, of course.

I quickly learned that the impact of Cyclone Anthony and the power outage affected more than my ability to eat. Since I couldn't eat, I changed my game plan and decided that I would pass the three hours swimming at the lagoon. When I got to the lagoon it was lined with yellow caution tape with signs announcing it was closed until the debris in the water was cleaned. So I changed my game plan again and decided that I would buy a book from the outside book stand (which was the only thing open) and pass the three hours reading. I had spent all my cash (they only accepted cash), so I went to the ATM which was silly of me because I realized as I stood staring at the blank screen that no power meant no ATM access. Duh. It also meant that I couldn't charge my phone which was almost dead, and I couldn't go on the Internet to look up the bus and flight schedules. Oh, and I couldn't call Mick to see if he knew the status of the trip because the cell towers were down. Oy vey. I was starting to get quite anxious.

I retreated back to the hostel and plopped my butt down on a bench to wait for the miracle of power to return. Moments later, in walks none other than that random Canadian guy who accompanied us to Monkey's friend's house party back at Rainbow Beach (remember, I told you he would come back into play). The guy sits down next to me and strikes up a conversation with me, but it wasn't a "Oh hey! I remember you from Rainbow Beach. How are you?" type of conversation. No, instead it was a "Hi! We've never met before so lets get acquainted" type of conversation. I was cracking up inside but maintained a neutral face as he told me all about himself...again. "Yes, I know you're from Toronto," I wanted to say, "because we've had this conversation once before. And yes, I know you just came from Rainbow Beach because I was just there with you dummie." But I didn't. I let the man ramble. I still had a lot of time left to kill.

I almost lost my composure when Mr. Clueless Canadian (as he shall now be called) started to tell me about "this awesome party with the locals" that he went to in Rainbow Beach. "Oh yea?" I replied as fought my cheeks together to avoid bursting out laughing. He indulged me: "Yea it was at this house and there were all these people there playing bongos and guitars and singing. It was awesome. I got to know a lot of the locals really well." I squeezed my cheeks together a little harder. I was dumbfounded. Mr. Clueless Canadian didn't have the slightest clue that I was there too, sitting directly by his side as we banged on bongo drums and sang together. I didn't dare tell him either. Instead, I inquired further. "Oh yea? Which locals?" I asked. "Well," he said pausing to think. "I don't really remember their names (that didn't come as a shocker), but there was this one dude who was really built. I think they called him Monster. And he had this massive beard."  I was now squeezing my legs together to prevent myself from peeing my pants. Was this guy serious? "MONKEY!" I wanted to shout. "His name was Monkey, not Monster you bimbo. And he had massive dreads, not a beard! Clearly, you knew him very well." Was this guy really that idiotic? Apparently, yes. But it is not in my nature to call someone out on their stupidity. It is only in my nature to blab of their stupidity to the world in my blog. But since you all only know him as Mr. Clueless Canadian, I think his identity is pretty well protected.  He will not suffer an ounce of embarrassment. I wonder if he even knows his own name? I wonder if he will ever make it back to Toronto? Oh the things we will never know.

But back to the more urgent matter: the power, the sailing trip, and my sanity. Around 11:00 a.m. I received my first saving grace: the Vodaphone cellphone service was back. I immediately texted Mick to see if he knew the status of the marina and today's sailing trip. After what felt like hours, he messaged me back and informed me that the trip had been canceled. Finally! A definite answer. It wasn't the one I wanted to read, but at least it was a final verdict. After my agonizing morning in Airlie with no power and absolutely nothing to do, there was no way I was going to stick around the desolate place longer than I had too. And there was definitely no way I was going to stick around for the next cyclone to strike in a few days. Anthony was a category two, this next one was suppose to be a category five. I could only imagine that being like ten Cyclone Anthony's on steroids; I had no desire to stick around and find out. So I put my efforts into finding the quickest, easiest way out of town. Fortunately, I found another travel company that was open and running on generators. I booked the next bus to the airport, from where I would catch a plane back to Brisbane. The shuttle bus wasn't until 3:00 p.m. however, which meant I had another three hours to kill. I wanted to cry. God was giving me a mandatory lesson in patience and waiting. I had also learned a few important lessons about how to best prepare for a hurricane: 1) Stock up on food 2) Stock up on cash (not plastic cards, but the flimsy paper stuff), and 3) Stock up on books and/or reading materials. Crossword or sudoku puzzles would suffice too.

Eventually, the power returned to Airlie and I was able to get myself a Subway wrap, check my email and charge my phone. And eventually, 3 o'clock rolled around and I was able to get on the bus and go to the airport. Eventually, after much fumbling and enduring many technical and payment difficulties I was able to purchase my flight back to Brisbane that evening. And after taking off at 7:00 p.m. I eventually made it to my hostel in Brisbane around 10:00 p.m. where I literally went to the bathroom and then passed out. I was disappointed that mother nature had ruined my near perfect plan to get back on the Tongarra, but I was extremely grateful that I had been able to sail the Whitsunday Islands at all. For many travelers, this was there one and only opportunity to embark on the sailing trip and now they had no choice but to carry on without ever witnessing the grander and beauty of the islands. I had been fortunate enough seen this splendor for which I felt blessed. Thus, I couldn't hold a grudge against mother nature. She was still cool in my book. Now I had my sights set on Sydney. I was ready to be back in familiar territory and to see all my friends again before I returned home. This east coast expedition had been a fabulous and surreal adventure, but my second home was calling. It was time to go home.

East Coast Expedition: Cyclone Anthony At Airlie

Jan 30, 2011

This morning I woke depressed that my E-team had left me, but optimistic that the weather would cooperate and I would get the green light to sail aboard the Tongarra again. After a morning run along the bicentennial walkway and a dip in the lagoon, I paid Andy a visit at ABC Travel. When I walked in he smiled, and then gave me a look that said, "You aren't going to like the words that are about to come out of my mouth." I gulped. "What's the word?" I asked less optimistic. Andy signaled for me to come around the desk and look at his computer screen, which showed the hour by hour path of the storm predicted to hit land today. The cyclone's name was Anthony, and there was no doubt that this category 2 cyclone was going to strike Airlie Beach. And a category 5 cyclone was suppose to strike on Thursday, four days from now. "All the boats are shut up right now," Andy said. "In the morning they will go out and look at the damage. If the boats are okay then they are planning on going out as scheduled tomorrow." So there was still a chance, but based on the red swirls and twirls I saw on the computer screen the odds didn't seem too good. All I could do was wait...some more. The anticipation was killing me. I just wanted a yes/no answer already! The answer I had to settle for was: maybe yes, maybe no.

Cyclone Anthony

That evening I met up with Patrick and some Irish gals who were on the Fraser Island trip with us. We met at the hostel bar Beaches for dinner and to watch the Australian Open men's final which was happening in real time in Melbourne. When we sat down there was heavy rain outside, a sure sign that Anthony was approaching. Gradually, the wind and rain picked up more and more. That's when we lost power. Goodbye tennis. Goodbye lights. Hello darkness. The bar was packed with patrons, and not a single soul retreated. Where else would we go? What else was there to do? The answer was nothing, nothing but to continue drinking our drinks, eating our food, and carrying on chatting. And that's precisely what we did. Before I knew it, the powerful wind was madly blowing the dense rain horizontally. The palm trees were bent in half, gripping the ground tightly with their roots to avoid being ripped out of the earth. It was intense. Suddenly it occurred to me that I was in the middle of a hurricane. Anthony had arrived, and he was fierce and frightening. Someone needs to sign that cyclone up for anger management classes. But the travelers surrounding me loved it. The wilder Anthony got, the louder they cheered. Hurricanes, apparently, were an occurrence worthy of a celebration. And celebrate they did.

Minutes later, the bar announced that it was closing (it was only 8:00 pm). We were instructed to leave immediately and retreat to the safety of our hostel rooms. As everyone felt their way blindly out of the bar, the staff frantically tried to secure the bar, boarding up its windows and doors. Patrick and the Irish girls were staying at a hostel down the road. They invited me to join them there for more Cyclone Anthony festivities, but I declined. Beaches Bar was attached to the hostel I was staying at, and I figured it was wisest to stay put rather than chance venturing out into the wrath of Anthony. So I made my way back to my room. My floor hallway was overrun with loud, jovial backpackers. It seemed that the bar patrons had regrouped in my hallway now making it the bar. I wasn't interested in frolicking in the dark with strangers whose faces I couldn't even see, so I hurried into my room where I hoped I would find some solace. No such luck. Instead, I opened the door to find one of my Irish roommates hysterically crying while her travel companions tried to console her. She was deathly afraid of Anthony. "I want to go home," she wailed. "I wish I was home." Nothing and no one could comfort her, and so her friends abandoned her to join the hallway jamboree. Thus I was the lucky soul who got to endure her melt down as she sat on her bunk clutching her teddy bear and rocking back and forth sobbing. I'm not even sure if she knew I was there, but I thought it best to let her be. With time her sobbing ceased, until I lay in my bunk in total silence and darkness. It wasn't even 9:00 yes, but  I snuggled under my covers. "When in dark," I decided, "go to sleep." While Anthony waged war outside, I slept peacefully inside.

East Coast Expedition: Brisbane Back to Airlie Beach

Jan 29, 2011

I wasted no time getting my behind back to Airlie Beach. I took at 10:00 am flight from Brisbane to Hamilton Island (one of the Whitsunday Islands) where I caught a ferry back to the mainland. When I arrived I had a message on my phone from Mick, the skipper of Tongarra. He said he had spoken to Andy and that it would be fine if I came out on the boat as a volunteer (whoopie!). The only issue was that there were two cyclones (hurricanes in our lingo) making their way towards Airlie Beach, and he wasn't sure yet if they would be sailing.  We just had to sit tight and wait and see what move mother nature made. She can be rather unpredictable, so there was a chance she would strike with fury or simple pass us by untouched. Only time would tell.

In the meantime, I reunited with my children from Fraser Island. I joined Kit, Joe, Nicola and Olivia at the lagoon where we lounged by the water and rested in the grassy field. They were so cute. They told me that they cheered on the bus when I told them I was coming to Airlie. It felt oh-so good to be together once more. We spent the first part of our evening at Magnums, an outdoor hostel bar, where we played the most amusing guessing game. Each person at the table wrote down a name of a person or character (famous or real, human or non-human, living or dead) on a piece of paper and then passed it to the person to their right who stuck the the name on their forehead for everyone else to see. Then we each had to guess the name on our forehead by asking yes/no questions. I know it doesn't sound all that exciting, but trust me it was ridiculously fun way to pass the time. Of course, the company added to the fun factor, but I'm certain it would still be fun playing with complete strangers. The name on my forehead was "Jesus." I was the second one to guess correctly, but it took what felt like an eternity to get it. I was stumped for a good while. I had narrowed it down to a dead historical figure which leaves, well, a lot of options. When in doubt, guess Jesus. It worked for me. The other forehead names were: James Bond (I came up with that one), Bilbo Baggins, Frosty the Snowman, Paddington Bear, and Lord Voldamort.

Lil spit is all you need to stick the paper to your head. Hah

Next we went to KC's where we dined on $10 dinners before heading over to the Phoenix Bar for a night of dancing. We danced liked maniacs to the Aussie techno beats, shaking our groove thangs and tapping our happy feet. Poor Kit, with his blonde hair and blue eyes, was quite popular among some of the other male patrons (if you know what I mean). Each time he got hit on, we would look at me and pipe, "Save me mommy!" It was hilarious. I would shuffle my feet in his direction, throw him my imaginary fish line at him, and reel him away from the prowling bystanders. Momma bear always protects her cubs. That evening I was on chaperon duty, interjecting whenever things got a tad uncomfortable. Of course, it was all in good fun. And fun we had.

Dinner at KC's with Patrick

Me, The E-team and some other English lads in Airlie Beach 

Then that dreaded time came to say goodbye to my children-- again. I barely survived the first time. Round two was no easier. Kit, bless his soul, told me that he was going to be homesick back in Melbourne because he would be missing his mummy (me, not his real mom although I'm sure he misses her too). Doesn't that just melt your heart? Mine was dripping on the floor. This was definitely the last time I was going to see my darling E-team in Australia. They were catching an early flight from Airlie Beach back to Melbourne where they worked at a high school as gym teacher assistants. A trip to Melbourne wasn't feasible for me, I was running out of time and money. We made promises to come visit each other in the near futures. Until then, we made a pack to stalk each other on facebook. What would I do without that piece of social media genius? Thank you Mark Zuckerberg, you are keeping my family together.

East Coast Expedition: At The End of The Rainbow; Onward To Noosa

Jan 28, 2011

I woke this morning groggy and tired. I wasn't visited in the night by an angel; rather, I was visited by the ghost of the Greyhound bus driver, clad in a worn blue uniform with socks up to his knees, who said that a Greyhound bus would be arriving at 9:30 a.m. that morning to pick me up and take me forward on my journey. So I reluctantly got up. After packing up my belongings, I went and found my beloved Dream Team children to say goodbye. I was dreading this parting. The nine of us had such an amazing time together on Fraser Island, I didn't want the fun to end. I had developed a special bond with those youngsters, especially with the E-team, and was super sad to part with them. This is when the the song "It's So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday" (A Boyz II Men classic) begins to play. "And I'll take with me the memories, to be my sunshine after the rain. It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday." Man, this blog needs a soundtrack. There's always a song that perfectly conveys the emotions and moods of the moments I'm telling. TV and movies use music for this effect; why shouldn't my blog too?

The ghost of the Greyhound bus driver spoke the truth; the big red bus appeared at 9:30 sharp to take me away. "By Speersy!" the Dream Team shouted, waving farewell. I climbed on the bus with sad puppy eyes and a frown, staring out the window longingly at my travel family the way a 5-year-old stares at him mother teary-eyed as the school bus carries him off to his first day of kindergarten. I cried myself to sleep on that Greyhound bus. Ok, now I'm being over dramatic and a tad exaggerative. But my heart was crying inside, and I did sleep the entire bus ride to Noosa, which I had decided would be my next stop on this whirlwind trip. On the way we stopped for a break at a rest stop which just happened to be the famed location of Rooey II, the Big Kangaroo. This big thing was bigger and better than any big thing I had seen thus far, mainly because Miss Rooey II moved. Oh yes, she batted her eyes, twirled her head and wiggled her ears like the diva kangaroo that she was. And it frightened the daylight out of me because I wasn't expecting the giant, plastic kangaroo before me to move. I thought I was hallucinating at first because Rooey II would move and then freeze for a long period of time before moving again. But other bus passengers confirmed that she was indeed moving, making me sane and Rooey II the coolest big thing I had ever seen.

Miss Rooey II

Oh, real quick: there's one thing I forgot to mention about Fraser Island that I actually hated- the march flies (also know as horse flies). There were a gazillion march flies on Fraser Island. They were huge compared to your standard fly, about the size of a quarter, and they loved to feed on our human blood. When we weren't warding off dingos, we were swatting, catching and killing the march flies that parked themselves all over our bodies. There was never a moment when a march fly was not perched on me during the day. The only time I was freed of their terrible annoyance and painful bites was at night or when I was swimming. Those big suckers brought a whole new meaning to the song "Shoo fly, don't bother me." I became an exceptional march fly assassin. Kit and I had a competition going to see who could take down more. Need I say I won? I am not proud of this victory, but it was the only way of maintaining my sanity. Why can't dingos prey on march flies? Then I wouldn't have to grapple with the moral issues of killing flies.

Fortunately, there were no march flies or dingos in Noosa, which is known worldwide for its spectacular beaches (so they claim). I had heard that Noosa was a lovely place, but that it was ritzy and glitzy compared to other coastal surf towns. Word in the airplane magazine was that it is a favorite spot of many Australian and international celebrities. So I decided to check it out for myself. The verdict? Noosa was nice indeed. It was a tidy, well-kept and put together town that was situated along a beautiful stretch of beach. It had a Cape Cod meets Miami feel, with lots of shops, cafes and restaurants lining the architecturally appealing streets. I liked it. I liked it a lot.

Noosa

Shortly after I arrived in Noosa, my dear sandal broke. I watched in horror as the strap that held my foot in place snapped right off.  I had been dreading this moment. That strap had been hanging on be a mere thread for weeks now. These sturdy sandals had carried me across New Zealand and Australia on my numerous adventures without so much as a wine, whimper or complaint. Understandably, they were tired and worn. And now, they were finished. They also happened to be the only sandals I had. Thus I spent my afternoon strolling the streets of Noosa looking for a cheap and comfy replacement. I'm sure I looked awkward to onlookers with my lopsided gait as I dragged my right foot along trying to keep the broken sandal on with clenched toes. Eventually I found footwear that met my requirements: an ugly pair of white flip flops that said "Frangipani" in bold black lettering all over them. At the time I didn't even know what frangipani was, and I hoped as I handed the cashier my crumpled dollars that it wasn't some cult or offensive slang word that was going to get me beat up for wearing. I learned later that a frangipani is a flower. I don't know which is a worse fashion offense: wearing flip flops with the name of a flower or curse words written all over them. But this wasn't about having fabulous looking feet, it was about functionality and these frangipani flip flops did just the trick.

Frangipanis

After two hours I had pretty much seen all of Noosa that I cared too. My mind kept drifting back to the offer Mick had made to sail the Whitsunday Islands as a volunteer on the Tongarra. Maybe it wasn't too late to accept this offer, I wondered. I found a pay phone and gave Andy, the travel guy who was on the original trip with me, a call. He worked for the company that schedules and coordinates Tongarra's trips, so I figured he could help this sister out. Plus, he was the only person whose contact information I had. To my delight, Andy answered the phone and was elated to learn I was the voice on the other end. I asked him if he thought I could volunteer on the Tongarra if I returned to Airlie Beach. He didn't see why not. He said that he would talk to Mick about it and that I should give him a call once I was in Airlie. I hung up the phone and clapped my hands happily. Operation "Get back on the Tongarra" was in motion! Maybe I could have my cake and eat it too. Maybe I hadn't blown my one opportunity to sail the Whitsundays again for free. Of course, I realized that I hadn't received a definite YES from Andy. There was the chance that Mick and his superiors would say "Sorry Charlie, that ship sailed without you. Better luck next time." But I was bored with Noosa, my back was practically broken from lugging around my heavy bags, and there was no where else between here and Sydney that I was dying to see. So I figured, why not? Plus, the E-team and Patrick were currently on their way to Airlie Beach, making this a win-win situation. Even if I couldn't volunteer on Tongarra, I would get to see my beloved kids again. In my eyes, that was a best case scenario itself.

So I hopped on a bus to Brisbane, one of Australia's major cities. From there I would figure out the best means to get back up to Airlie Beach. I wasn't sure what to expect in Brisbane because it had recently endured the worst flooding disaster to date in Australia. People at home tell me it was international news, so you may recall hearing about it. By this time the flood waters had drained back into the Brisbane river, but there was still excessive water damage to buildings and properties. However, the city was up and running again from what I had been told by other travelers. It was late when I arrived to the city. Had I not known there had been a disastrous flood just weeks prior I wouldn't have even known. It looked unscathed. I hiked up a few blocks and checked into the first hostel I could find. I was tired, having not re-cooperated fully from the prior night's festivities on Rainbow Beach, and hungry. I ordered a $7.00 apple and pork burger from the hostel bar and crossed my fingers that it would be edible. Ladies and gentlemen, it was one of the tastiest things I ate in Australia. So tasty that I felt compelled to tell you about it because a) I love food and b) I love cheap, good food. It's a shame I can't remember the hostel name. Evidently, the hostel was forgettable but it's food made a lasting impression.