Friday, 20 December 2013
There's absolutely no doubt about the undisputed nadir of a trip from Cairns to Japan and back.
It comes around three o'clock in the morning.
It's usually not all that long after you've managed to nod off, but the cabin crew start doing their thing before a scheduled 5:10 arrival in Cairns.
Part of the problem comes because the scheduled arrival time doesn't coincide too closely with the time the tyres hit the tarmac.
It'd be okay if they were late, or consistently late, anyway.
If five-ten managed to creep towards six, they mightn't need to start rousing people around three o'clock.
Last time, in Business Class, it was worse.
They'd plied us with dinner and wine, which meant it was that much later when you started the attempt to nod off.
Then, since you might like something for breakfast, they tapped us on the shoulder around three.
In cattle class this time around, when you're not looking for anything they more or less left us alone. You could put the travel blindfold back over the eyes and attempt to drift off.
I think I managed to do that, but if I did, it wasn't a very long doze and wasn't deep enough to qualify as a power nap.
And when you're awake, looking out into the predawn gloom on the seaward side of the aircraft, there isn't a whole lot to see until you're well into the descent. That's when the street lights of Cairns' northern beaches appear beneath you.
We were on the ground at 4:30.
Even with disembarking and formalities associated with entering the country, we found ourselves in front of the International terminal giving the Airport Parking shuttle bus a buzz well before six.
They weren't quite as quick out of the blocks as they could have been, but it was still well before seven when we hit the road, scratching our heads and trying to figure out what to do next.
We knew what we weren't going to be doing.
There was no way we were going to attempt the six-hour road trip back to Bowen.
Tried that last time, thank you very much, and it could have been a total disaster.
We managed to pull over for a break a couple of times. But there's not much chance of a decent rest on the front seat of a Corolla when people who arrived in the rest area before you have snaffled the shady spots.
On that basis, we'd figured we'd take a break somewhere handy like Mission Beach. We could stay overnight, and do the final leg in the morning, after a decent chance to rest and refresh.
So we'd booked ourselves into Licuala Lodge at Mission Beach and advised them we were likely to be early. We'd been told to call when we arrived in the vicinity.
We'd decided eight or nine in the morning was just a little too soon to do that.
Which explains the repeated use of the phrase it was still in the preceding narrative.
There wasn't a great deal of traffic about, but we were still inclined to head out through Portsmith rather than Mulgrave Road.
That decision produced some results as far as time killing was concerned when we passed Rusty's Markets. Since it was Friday morning, they were open and since Madam has a penchant for fruit we stopped.
I'd have preferred to stop somewhere I could sit, but you can't have everything, and we managed to kill around half an hour.
We'd also identified a likely spot to stop in the form of a rest area on the banks of the Mulgrave River just south of Gordonvale. It wasn't that long after seven-thirty when we arrived there, and not much before nine when we decided to hit the road again.
Put a tick beside shade, but a cross beside a comfortable place to rest in the front seat of a Corolla.
That meant there was still a good three hour time span before we could reasonably expect Licuala Lodge to be available. As we hit the highway, we ran into another little issue.
The skyline of the range Yarrabah nestles behind had a veil of grey drawn over it, and the veil was headed our way.
As we left the rest area, we planned to turn off at Babinda for another break.
It's a right-hand turn that would involve issues with oncoming traffic. Madam didn't fancy it in the conditions that prevailed as we passed through Fishery Falls and Deeral.
It started to lift around Bellenden Ker, so there were no visibility issues, and we negotiated the right-hand turn and pulled up in the middle of the street outside the Babinda Bakery.
If I had my druthers, we'd have been breakfasting at the bakery in Mourilyan, where the pies are excellent. However, I've got to say the Babinda versions are almost as good.
We still have to get to the bakery in Wangan, which, according to Mad Mick, produces the best pies in the North. They'd want to be very good to beat the ones we had in Babinda, which were possibly as much as a short half-head behind Mourilyan.
I'd had Babinda on my list of places worth a visit since I started work on Hughesy's North Queensland.
A website had revealed the town gained a government sugar mill in 1915 and benefited from the reformist Ryan Labor government's price control and state enterprise policies. Babinda became a government town: residential and business sites were occupied under government lease, the freehold hotel was closed. The State Hotel replaced it, a manifestation of short-lived policy to monopolise and eventually end liquor supply in the state. The hotel, the only government enterprise established during this period of Labor government to turn a profit, is listed on the Queensland heritage register and boasts one of the longest bars in Queensland.
On that basis, you'd have to reckon the place was worth a look, and after breakfast, we took a lap around the main street, past the State Hotel.
When we'd finished the loop, we figured we might as well head out to The Boulders. The swimming spot at the foot of the Bellenden Ker Range has a reputation as a trap for unsuspecting swimmers, but we wouldn't be going in.
A cat nap while the drizzle mizzled after we'd taken a walk around the area killed a bit more time.
But we were back on the highway around ten-thirty, looking to stop in Innisfail after Madam discovered an issue with the footwear that had spent the last fortnight tucked away in the car.
Innisfail's shoe shops failed to deliver what was desired, but the process of looking killed more time. We were pulling into the car park at the shopping centre at Wongaling Beach around a quarter to twelve, figuring there might be something suitable there.
And, in any case, we could probably handle some lunch.
Cafe RicKenJacs looked after that department quite adequately, and by the time we finished a leisurely lunch, it was time to ring and check if the accommodation was ready for us.
As it turned out, it was. By two, we were checked in and comfortably pushing up Zs.
Just, in fact, what the doctor ordered, though I might have been slightly happier if the doctor had thrown in airconditioning as well.
I was back on deck about three hours later, considerably refreshed and inclined to start thinking about dinner.
Not that dinner was something I needed, you understand.
On the other hand, I figured if I didn't get something down the gullet, I'd be waking up somewhere around three in the morning suffering from food withdrawal.
There was a good wrap on the nearby Spicy Thai Hut, and we were there shortly after six-thirty, but the place was booked out.
We settled for takeaways and rolled around to the Mission Beach Resort bottle shop. A bottle of Semillon Sauvignon Blanc looked like a good match for Thai, while a boutique beer would go with a spell in front of the TV screen in the guest lounge at Licuala Lodge.
As long as no one objected to Hughesy watching the first round of the Big Bash.
The wine and food did their thing very well. The cricket kept me awake until eight-thirty. The beer meant I wasn't feeling any pain when I toddled off for a serious spell of shut-eye action.