Queen's Holiday

There is already a well-written detailed summary of the very same holiday in the blogosphere (cough, cough, Strawberry Fields), but here's my own two sense. Since last year, Trinh and I discovered tropical north Queensland in the form of Port Douglas, we decided to move a little south, in the vicinity of Brisbane. First stop, the iconicly granola Byron Bay.

Arriving in Byron was a bit of deja vu from Greyhounding it with Huw about a year and half earlier. Less Cheeky Monkeys and more Arts Factory this time. The weather was pretty much the same as in Sydney, but we put summer into our heads and so while the sun was shining, it was summertime. We rented bikes and surfboards, went to movies on cowprint pillows and saw some wicked sand sculptures. Trinh, not used to hippiedom in Australia, kept asking, 'who ARE theese people??' The Arts Factory was freezing, but we managed to get decent sleep in our concrete cube.















The start of many shuttle buses took us from Byron to Gold Coast, which seems like a gross version of Florida. And if you know my take on Florida.... We mainly headed up to this tourist trap (which was completely void of tourists) for the sole reason anyone comes to America: giant water parks and roller coasters. Thank you, Ricky Bobby. Since I haven't been to neither a water or amusement park in a good nine years or so, figured this would be the perfect time to see what's new. Ok, well, in Australia, not much. But some new rides for me, incluing a few that make you feel like you're in a kitchen appliance. The octopus was pretty sweet, where you can race against the other three people that are in the park.













From Gold Coast, we hit up the good ole Greyhound for some happy public transportation fun. Six hours later, and two subpar movies that kept me entertained, we landed in Rainbow Beach, pickup point for our Fraser Island tour the following few days. Rainbow is a nice little town, which I'm sure is run by our girl Debbie, a hotel/B&B owner who knows every Tom, Dick and Harry in town. She's always on the go, and always accompanied by her trusty furball of a dog, Suzie. Along with sandblows, an amazing sunset and multi-colored sandy beaches, Rainbow gave us our own kitchens and bathrooms. Amazing what four days of hostels can make you appreciate.













The experience on Fraser was fun, entertaining, bizarre, annoying, funny, tasteless, awkward, uncomfortable, fascinating, a bit scary, tasty and quite bumpy. And that was just in the tour bus. We've decided that 40 people is a wee bit big for our tastes, but that didn't stop us from enjoying Lake Mackenzie and Lake Wobby, two of the more scenic lakes you'll be freezing in. Tony and Wazza were engergetic and informed tour guides, but don't break Tony's rules: he reminds me of a roadie for AC/DC and his gruff demeanor really comes out when Frenchies do dumb things like not understand his rules. We got a 6am sunrise and hung out with dingoes, which are really mild mannered mangy dogs, or at least the docile ones we came across.



























After a stay in Rainbow again with Debbie and Suzie, our magical mystery tour brought us to Noosa. It was fitting to bookend the trip with Byron and Noosa. Whereas the flavor of Byron is incense, surfing, organic eggs and hippie buses, Noosa is more weddings, bottles of wine, white pants and well-behaved youngsters. Noosa even had the nicest Internet cafe I'm sure to come across. We ate expensive, kayaked without tipping over, saw another great sunset and even laid claim to our own private island. In short, we classed it up. While the Gold Coast was rife with nothingness and closed stores, Noosa was bustling until 10pm (laaate by Aussie standards). Fraser was teeming with tourists, but Noosa seems to be mostly an Aussie getaway.














One would think the discoveries of Queensland may be concluded, but there's more to be seen in wonderful tropical North Queensland. Next stop? After visting our pad in Rainbow, my vote is the Whitsundays. Stay tuned.

Wines, Wines, Everywhere There's Wines

After more than a year and a half of hearing about this magical place called Hunter Valley, where the wine is plentiful and the women...ok, well, it's just wine. I've been told by locals and tourists alike that Hunter Valley is a great place to enjoy the countryside of New South Wales while enjoying a glass of chardonnay (sp?). Although I'm a big fan of wine, this doesn't seem like my carafe of pinot grigios. But since we have some fellow Yanks in town for the summer, others new to Oz and one leaving, this seemed like an appropriate time to jump in the car for wine country.

A sunny Sunday afternoon seemed like the appropriate time and place for the road trip. We made sober Greg drive, although someone driving after a few drinks might be easier than asking an American to jump in a car on the opposite side, driving on the other side of the road. Let me just state that Greg did a fantastic job weaving through the roads of NW New South Wales, carrying four increasingly alcohol-fueled individuals.


















The process of wine tasting and wine appreication has always seemed strange to me. I didn't really 'get' Sideways and don't know why on earth someone would drink a perfectly good drink, then spit it out. I was the guy at each vinyard that would ask the remedial questions, like some third grader on a field trip:

So are you into wine like other people are into music? Like, it's an art or something?

What was the best year or time for wine? Like, the 60s were vintage for music, 50s were great for baseball.

Hey Gary, you know it's the 40th anniversary of the moon landing this week? Where were you on July 20, 1969?

All responded with something like, 'that's a great question,' but they probably just meant to say, 'ugh, another American moron who just wants to get drunk.' I'm not sure I learned alot about the process of wine making or could even decipher the difference between Tower Estate white and Pigg's Peak shiraz. When it comes own to it, it's wine and some tastes better than others. Good on these kids for making an efort, but it's like pizza in NY: it's all going to taste good to me, so serve it up.















Each of the vineyards we hit up had their own unique personality, and in some ways, that made the wine taste better. The first joint was pretty empty and had a surly lady forcing each glass on us like a drill sargeant doling out pushups. She's lucky that was our first taste of the day and we were just thirsty for anything (and Jaime had to go to the bathroom, so this place was most convenient).















As an aside, I thought the samples they offered would be a bit bigger in each glass. What, we don't get a full glass each time? Oh, the naive wine tatser. Second stop was Tower, which had a good vibe, good servers and a house that looked like we were in Arizona. Check, check and check. After a fanstastic kobe Bryant burger and bottle of red, we went to some monstrosity of a building that looked more like a rest stop equivalent of wine country that a small little vinyard. Wine was fine, but the gelato next door was finer.


Our last stop of the afternoon was Pigg's Peake. This will be most memorable not only for its name (and how can't you love that?), but the owners, Gary and Steve. These guys ruled, and served us past closing time. To Greg's amusement, Steve was wearing a echnicolor dream coat and fixed an old wine barrel outside, while three of us took cues from Gary and drank/ate like the boozehounds we were. We swore each of the guys took a liking to Jaime, probably because she bought about five bottles and promised to come back before she left Australia for good.
















After bidding Gary and Steve adeiu in the Sunday darkness, we cracked open a bottle of white and passed around the car like hippies at Woodsock. What didn I learn from the Hunter Sunday? Australian wines can hold their own with any in the world, Trinh likes desert wine (and so does her mom), Laura is a frequent visitor to Napa, and that seems about right, Jaime is a complete wino, but knows her stuff and Greg digs ginger beer and is a quick learner behind the wheel.

No matter that the purchased bottles were rolling around the trunk on the way home, it seems like a fitting part of the Hunter experience.