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A park on the waterfront in Belgian Gardens suburb:   Houses built up the slope of Castle Hill to catch the harbour view to Magnetic Island:  |
Airlie Beach to Townsville
We woke much refreshed and enjoyed an early breakfast outdoors watching
exhibitionist brush turkeys strutting around the vans and tents, showing off
their bright red necks and yellow wattles, vivid against their black plumage
as they kept a hopeful eye open for tidbits that might come their way. I
gazed thoughtfully at two brightly painted station wagons covered with
rather dubious advertising parked near-by. Clearly these ‘business’
vehicles were in use by their drivers, now emerging sleepily from nearby
tents.
But we had no wish to delay, despite the local attractions. We had no time
to spare to see Airlie Beach though we would have liked to. Maybe we’ll be
back someday. I took the wheel for the first shift and drove to Bowen. The
local vegetation had changed. Now the eucalypts were somewhat sparse and
low-growing. Bruce commented that this was typical of the area. The
countryside was now very flat with mountain ranges to the west. Mango
plantations were in evidence. Stopping for ice creams at Bowen, Bruce then
took the wheel. We were now in his home territory and he was clearly alert
and even excited. As we drove through a place called Home Hill, he told me
his long-time school friend, Margaret Bevege, had come from there. It is
sugar cane country and we caught sight of a long cane train crossing the
road far ahead of us. We were to see many of these in the next few days.
We saw cane being packed mechanically into trucks before stopping once again
at a MacDonalds restaurant at Ayr for drinks and a snack.
I was feeling very awake and aware now. It had been a lovely morning and
Townsville was not far away. I took the wheel and we drove through the city, past the Lavarack Barracks army base (where Bruce was posted in 1970 prior to going to Vietnam) and James Cook university, and
then to our caravan park on the other side of town.
Townsville is growing rapidly and even Bruce, who knows it from
the past, had to watch carefully to ensure we took the right route. At last
we found our destination, again set among all sort of palm trees, but much
flatter than Airlie Beach. Once we knew where we would settle, we turned
around to check out the city as it was still only early afternoon.
Bruce took the wheel as he knew what he wanted to show me. We drove slowly
around the beautiful and expansive Rowes Bay, noting the large and
expensive-looking homes facing the water and looking across to Magnetic
Island. The houses eventually stopped as we entered what is known as
Pallarenda Point conservation park. There was nowhere for tourist to find
food here, so we drove back through the reserve, past the houses on one side
and paragliders over the water on the other to a beautifully kept public
space, the ‘Soroptimists Park’ overlooking the Bay. Leaving the van, we
hurried off to a nearby fish and chips café I’d noticed on the way out and
were soon sitting in the shade of a park shelter enjoying freshly cooked and
sweetly delicious fish, delighting in the simple pleasures of this lovely
place. After lunch, we strolled around as I wanted to take a close look at
the tropical plants and flowers everywhere. A closer look revealed how these
were dry and struggling in the drought conditions of winter. The gardener in
me was saddened. . .
Turning around to gaze at Townsville behind us, we noticed that the steep
hillside just beyond the beachside streets was being rapidly built out with
huge homes perched on allsorts on cunningly designed cantilevers. They would
have fabulous views on the Bay, though they would also be very exposed to
wind, rain and sun.
Reluctantly, we drove back to the caravan park. We saw the Garbutt air force
base as we drove along.
Back at the park, I took the opportunity to stroll around. By now, I was
intensely interested in the different kinds of holiday transport and
besides, I needed a walk. I was astonished to realise that many of the
‘holiday-makers’ were in fact long-term stayers. They had rigged up
permanent weather protection over their vans and buses, and pots full of
much-loved greenery grew luxuriously around their ‘homes.’ Even grass had
sprung up around their wheels, a sure sign that they’d been there for a
while. Now I was beginning to feel embarrassed for, in the late afternoon,
many owners were sitting outside under their van awnings, sipping a beer or
talking to friends and perhaps did not want strangers ogling them. I
hurried on. A man on a small jeep-type vehicle, clearly a member of the park
staff, offered me a lift. Perhaps he thought I was a grey nomad who was lost
in the back streets of caravan city? I smiled my thanks but waved him on.
Back at our van, there was still time to get out my knitting, my constant
companion for any long trips, and tidy up some of the loose ends while it
was still light. But before long, we’d been through the evening routine and
were thankfully in bed, preparing for our exciting day of arrival in Bruce’s
home town, Cairns.