Turning my attention that way, I wasn’t totally surprised to spot a cassowary picking its way across the driveway. They are, after all, one of the area’s distinctive forms of wildlife.
What did surprise me was the emergence, first, of a dun-coloured chick, which probably wasn’t as remarkable as the total lack of concern on both parts when the gentleman who’d been cleaning the pool made his way back to the house. I’d noted him heading that way a big earlier, which was one of the reasons I wasn’t sure whether it was breakfast time yet.
A cassowary in the vicinity, of course, would be of great interest to the photographic fraternity, and I’d been careful to deliver a low volume advisory that someone needed to come out on the verandah pretty quickly, and having the camera handy would be advantageous.
Both of us had been ultra careful not to spook either of them, and I was just recalling advice about what to do if you’re ever confronted by a cassowary in the rainforest when, lo and behold, here comes pool cleaning bloke and his presence is greeted with apparent and almost total indifference.
Still, I gave it a good couple of minutes between the time the feathered denizens of the rain fires disappeared into the undergrowth and a rather careful move across the space on the way to breakfast.
We’d settled into the breakfast rations when the other couple staying on the premises lobbed at the table. I’d have been inclined to favour Scandinavian or similarly Nordic if asked for a national identity, which would have been reasonably close to the money in one case.
He was Swiss, probably German Swiss rather than French or Italian, but I’d never have picked her as Brazilian. Swedish with a good suntan, quite possibly, but not Brazilian.
The wry sense of humour got me as well. Apparently she’s not allowed to drive the hire car, and expressed a degree of disdain for the sexist assumptions of Australian hire car companies.
Or maybe it was his fault, and he’d selfishly asserted a chauvinistic position when it came to long distances on the highway. They were bound for Airlie Beach later that day, and from there had around a fortnight to get themselves down to Sydney.
Discussions about sights along the way had our host producing a self-prepared pamphlet about things to check out in the area, including the Bikini Tree and the Big Gumboot in Tully, and I’d remarked on the fact that they’d be seeing plenty of nothing on their way between Mission Beach and Airlie and again between Sarina and Rockhampton.