Ticket to Townsville

There was a famous person waiting to board my flight to Townsville last Friday.

“Who?” You might reasonably ask..

I have no idea. Even if this person weren’t famous, I would have spent every spare moment stealing glances at his amazing physique: shoulders wide enough to land a jet, arms that could launch rockets, and skin so dark you could see through time. I only gathered that he was famous because every other bloke in the waiting area was also staring at him. Or maybe we all just had similar taste in men. But when the entire starting line-up of the Brisbane Broncos exited through the gate and came up to shake his hand, I reckoned that he must be a big shot rugby player and not a junior member of parliament. However, by then, I was more distracted by the notion that the plane I was about to board had just been vacated by 32 testosterone laden athletes who had probably left the cabin smelling like a gym locker AND drunk all the beer.

I’m no particular fan of Sir Richard Branson (is being rich the only criteria for knighthood these days? Don’t you have to save a damsel in distress, slay a dragon, or take down a windmill with a toothbrush or something?), but I do like the cheeky attitude of Virgin Airlines – nay, of all the subsidiaries of the Virgin empire. If the cocky drawl of the recorded operators servicing their mobile phone, credit cards, or flight reservations desk isn’t enough to win my heart, the décor of their airplanes certainly is:



I especially like how in Australia, they don't tell you to 'fasten your seatbelt' they tell you to make sure it is 'done up'...

My poor quizzical readers, by now you must be asking “But wait, didn’t you just go to Townsville the weekend before last?”

Yes. I did.

However, the astute reader will recall that Kevin was in Townsville during my last post. He is currently servicing a major zinc-mining operation that grosses over 600 million dollars per year and is owned by one (Korean) man. Being wealthy and impatient, this client wants Kevin’s undivided attention for several weeks at a time. Kevin had the imagination and forethought to agree to extended travel time with the proviso that the client pay for my airfare to come up for the weekend. I like to imagine that the client liked to imagine that he was flying in entertainment for the benefit of his contracted guest. AND, I was perfectly happy to vacate the apartment for several days in the firm belief that my unwanted house guest would get bored without me and fly out the window in search of other entertainment.

I so want to regale you with all of the wonderful details of this most recent trip – of stories about our glorious hike through the rainforest near Paluma, of swimming beneath a roaring waterfall at Little Crystal Creek, of our visit to The Frosty Mango, of the way the sunlight danced on the receding tide at Balgal Beach, of the taste of Jack Fruit, Dragon Fruit, and some other fruit whose name I cannot remember, of the unusual number of children with birth defects at Hungry Jack’s and the Supa IGA, of the noise that seagulls make when they are fighting over soggy chips, of the smell that wafts out of bar room doors at 8 pm before they are packed out with young livers and how that is different to the smell that wafts out of bar room doors at 8 am when they are packed out with old livers, of the urgent flight of the swallows above the Ross River as the setting sun back lights Castle Crag, of the price of socks, and of the flavour of red spot prawns, of the sound of prop-job cargo planes vanishing into dark puffy cloud banks across a grey bay, of children laughing in public fountains along The Strand, of smiling puppies and sea eagles that watch you back with equal fascination, of heat, and humidity, and drought, and rain, and worry, and hope, and fear, and resolution, and doubt, and wearing a bikini at forty…

But, it is late. I am tired. And my Korean noodles are getting cold on the stove.

(Note to self: write a blog entry about the inadequacies of Top Ramen compared to the glories of instant Korean noodles.)