Magic bus

Sunday, 02/09/2012 - 79 A.D. 

[Fathers’ Day in Australia.]

There wasn’t an actual bus terminal building in Cairns, rather a few covered benches in the open air. Nor did there seem to be a designated point where the bus would stop, everyone just assumed it would pull up somewhere along the road. At least when we got there, it didn’t look like a lot of people would be getting our bus…

…but this is Greyhound we’re talking about! Always expect the unexpected! We passed the time by attempting one of the crosswords in the puzzle book (gruesome (7) – anyone???) and Tim lay down on the benches to try and capture the flying foxes screeching up ahead, before settling down for the first of the night’s guerrilla shuteye sessions.

The bus arrived well before its scheduled departure and, as is customary, everybody rushed the driver as he tried to alight from his vehicle. “First I have to check my paperwork,” he bellowed, “then I’m going to have my breakfast so don’t even think about approaching me until I’ve done all that!” So far, so normal for Geyhound employees! Actually, he turned out to be a pretty bonza chap, regularly cracking the funnies and not letting the stress of dealing with a clump of questioning backpackers get to him. 

As we started the laborious process of getting on board, the driver announced that, because there were 45 people travelling, tonight’s seats had been allocated. They aren’t normally, but it’s typical that our first Aussie bus ride would be so in demand. Driver noticed that we were brothers, but then told us that we’d been split up anyway. Tim was in 2A, which was right down at the front, whereas I was in 13A…right at the back, and right next to the bloody toilet! The worst seat to have on a Greyhound bus! A German guy called Nico sat down next to me and started to chat – in fact, I noticed that everyone who sat down next to a stranger struck up a conversation with them. That type of thing happened in America, but not quite to this extent. However, before Nico got going, I’d sold him on the idea of trading places with Tim. Only thing was that, unbeknownst to me, Tim was actually quite settled in his window seat at the front of the bus, but when Nico arrived with news of the proposition I’d given him, Tim didn’t have the heart to send him all the way back down the bus. And so he came to join me adjacent to the lavatory. Still, at least this way he could fall asleep and not have to worry about drooling down his face in front of some pretty lady!

I was rather knackered after a day spent trudging all over Cairns so sleep came quite easily, despite the driver tearing round corners like he was doing the Paris-Dakar rally. Every now and then I’d wake up and catch faint a glimpse of the outback lit up only by the lights of our vehicle. Journey’s end was Townsville…why Townsville? We’re not sure…we had a reason, but it’s been forgotten! It’s strange making a journey like this to a place that I’d never even heard of a few days ago. Despite its anonymity, Townsville has about 150,000 people living in the area and it’s quite a big place by Queensland standards. Not that they have a bus station either, instead we were dropped off at the local ferry terminal which does day trips to the nearby Magnetic Island (ah yes, that was our reason for coming here!)

The ferry terminal was closed when we arrived at 05:30 and it looked like we’d have to continue the guerrilla shuteye on the rough wooden benches outside. Enter guy-who-opens-terminal with a large hose in his hand, saying everyone needs to take their luggage inside or they are going to get sprayed along with the rest of the street. At least this gave us a place to sit and snooze for the next couple of hours, though I kept waking up as the ferries started departing every half hour and the amount of people coming to board them grew larger and louder. By 07:30 I could take no more and I left the terminal to go and locate our hostel, the Townsville Civic Guesthouse. Fortunately they were open early doors and said we could check-in immediately, though our room might not be ready for us. All of the rooms are named after animals and we’d been given the twin with the following title:

Well, I suppose it could have been "drongo"!

An aside - when kipping at the ferry terminal I must have squeezed my day bag too hard and crushed my sunglasses slightly so that the frame bent a little and one of the lenses popped out...doncha just hate it when that happens? I got it back in eventually, and gave the frame some clumsy adjustment using my multi-tool, but I fear they may be little wonky forever. But such is life.

The hosts (presumably a married couple) of the Civic Guesthouse are extremely welcoming people and make you feel very much at home. They are the type who really care what people think and respond to criticism from guests posting in online forums. Our room has a fridge, which is not simply a luxury, rather a necessity as we are in the tropics and if the food ain't in the fridge then the cockroaches will come to devour it. It's the same reason that rooms, like ours, that do not receive direct sunlight do not have curtains hanging in them - bugs are keen on curtains...aren't they? In fact, this hostel is very clean from top to bottom (winner of the Hostelbookers.com award for cleanliness in 2012) and it is a million miles away from good old Reef Backpackers in Cairns. Plus it's got a dead big chess board in the games room.

Returning briefly to Reef, Tim has a theory about where my bites came from. Whereas I'd originally thought I'd been bitten by something at the end of the New Zealand trip, Tim noticed how often there were tiny ants crawling around our bedroom (I saw a load of them feasting on a blob of marmite in the kitchen). Whenever we lay down for a quick snooze on the bed he had his sleep sheet down, I did not. Given that I was wearing shorts and all of these bites are on my legs, those little ant bastards may be to blame. And anyone who's been visiting jamesbitewatch.blogspot.com will tell you that they're still ginormous and maroon in colour, but thankfully not on the increase.

This hostel seems less party-focused than the last, but it is a Sunday and everyone's probably still coming down from the previous night. As before, the place is littered with youngsters in their late teens / early 20s - I've seen one person definitely older than me, but that's it. I really don't mind feeling a little old and slightly out of place  (this was never my scene in my early 20s!), but in a weird way it feels like I'm supposed to mind. Anyway, enough crummy introspection! What is amusing is that we are spotting typical characters in each new place, e.g. there's always a would-be alpha male who goes around merrily whistling (Johnny Cash's Ring of fire in this case) and there's always a loud Irish girl talking in the kitchen. 

After having our lunch in the communal kitchen (coz we're not allowed to eat in our room), we set out on a pleasant Sunday walk around the part of Townsville that is closest to the sea...

...and then we returned for tea and to once again use the communal kitchen, along with the French, Irish and English. It's nice to travel to the other side of the globe to hang out with French, Irish and English!