...in a rueful manner
Townsville is almost exactly as exotic as it sounds. But who needs an alarm clock when your dorm is directly adjacent to a demolition site? They keep that particular nugget quiet on the fucking brochure, I assure you. Australian weather being what it is, the gang starts the big crane at 6.30am. But hell, why not? I can kill a day in Townsville, surely... please god. Are you there, god? Talk to me, god?
Picture the scene: I'm trying to find the path to climb Castle Hill. Rock boots, chalk and water safely stashed in my day-bag. It's already pushing 30 degrees at half-past ten, and I wander around the suburbs for a happy half-hour before seeing someone to ask the way. He sucks at his teeth in a rueful manner, and I know exactly what is coming next. I've done it myself to hapless tourists in London. The man grins. "Castle Hill, eh? No, no, no. I wouldn't do that without a car, mate, I really wouldn't." No, of course you wouldn't. Silly me. I mean, why would you have a 300m hill bang in the middle of your town with a clearly visible lookout post and no-doubt a plethora of stunning panoramic views of the Sunshine Coast but make it accessible only by a winding 4 mile road? He has a twisted smile. I'm not staying in Townsville much longer. Tomorrow I'm catching the ferry to Magnetic Island where I've booked into a hostel for the weekend. There should be some accessible climbing on the beaches there - I've seen the pictures. It sounds a real haven from the East coast backpacker rendering line... "After you get used to the smell of rendering fat, you'll wonder how you ever lived without it!"
My hostel is cheap and cheerful, full of surly blonde German girls who are difficult to talk to. I stayed in last night - a good change from 'Drink or die' Cairns. Pasta bolognese is rapidly becoming a staple diet. Over here, Woolworths is like Tescos, except the meat racks are one-third packed with diced hearts of various descriptions: stir-fry beef heart. Casserole lamb heart. Cubed pig heart. The troubling thing is that it looks identical in texture to the regular stuff - but costs half as much. I have a grim fascination with these hearts. I keep prodding them through the plastic and getting odd stares from other customers. Fear, fear.
Picture the scene: I'm trying to find the path to climb Castle Hill. Rock boots, chalk and water safely stashed in my day-bag. It's already pushing 30 degrees at half-past ten, and I wander around the suburbs for a happy half-hour before seeing someone to ask the way. He sucks at his teeth in a rueful manner, and I know exactly what is coming next. I've done it myself to hapless tourists in London. The man grins. "Castle Hill, eh? No, no, no. I wouldn't do that without a car, mate, I really wouldn't." No, of course you wouldn't. Silly me. I mean, why would you have a 300m hill bang in the middle of your town with a clearly visible lookout post and no-doubt a plethora of stunning panoramic views of the Sunshine Coast but make it accessible only by a winding 4 mile road? He has a twisted smile. I'm not staying in Townsville much longer. Tomorrow I'm catching the ferry to Magnetic Island where I've booked into a hostel for the weekend. There should be some accessible climbing on the beaches there - I've seen the pictures. It sounds a real haven from the East coast backpacker rendering line... "After you get used to the smell of rendering fat, you'll wonder how you ever lived without it!"
My hostel is cheap and cheerful, full of surly blonde German girls who are difficult to talk to. I stayed in last night - a good change from 'Drink or die' Cairns. Pasta bolognese is rapidly becoming a staple diet. Over here, Woolworths is like Tescos, except the meat racks are one-third packed with diced hearts of various descriptions: stir-fry beef heart. Casserole lamb heart. Cubed pig heart. The troubling thing is that it looks identical in texture to the regular stuff - but costs half as much. I have a grim fascination with these hearts. I keep prodding them through the plastic and getting odd stares from other customers. Fear, fear.
posted by real sly shady at
6:21 PM
3 Comments:
Finally some anonymous posting allowed. Well, since I signed with my name, is not that anonymous.
German girls, uh? Pictures please. We need proof :)
seem to have found out to do it - read Anna's blog from your link. She's in W.A just now - down in Margaret River - great little place. keep going and stay safe!
Ma
seem to have found out to do it - read Anna's blog from your link. She's in W.A just now - down in Margaret River - great little place. keep going and stay safe!
Ma
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