"Once you're here, you don't leave"

So said Lee from the UK when he checked us into our beachfront campsite at Mooloolaba (pronounced Moo-LOO-laba) this afternoon. He'd been here 9 years. And we could see why.

After a three hour potter down the ever-continuing Bruce Highway (me reading Jemima 3 Mogs and 8 Paddingtons), plus a little cafe lunch stop, we had arrived in what is known to be a family beach resort on the wonderfully named Sunshine Coast. We are noticeably progressing south - the landscape has stayed fairly similar over the last few days: dryer, yellowy-brown earth, with lots of slender, elegant eucalyptus and not much grass anymore; but the climate has definitely changed: no longer humid at all, and noticeably less hot (high 20s rather than mid 30s). And in Mooloolaba, it was definitely, gloriously sunshine-y.

Kevin had chosen the campsite because of its location; and after we'd parked up, we tested it out: through the campsite gate, down the steps and... straight onto the beach. A huge beach, with enough other people to mean Jemima might find someone to play with, but still acres of space; and a lifeguard station with a supervised swimming area (no jellyfish!); plus a playground; and behind that, a brilliant Esplanade with lovely cafes and shops - a bit more chi chi than Hervey Bay, and just very, very appealing. This was exactly what we'd been looking for. We hurried back, suncreamed up, and hit the beach.

The sand was light yellow, fine, and squeaked when you walked on it; the water was warm with small waves (big enough to be exciting, but not threatening). Jemima and Kevin played her current favourite sand-drawing game while I lay on a towel finishing my book. Kevin even went in for a swim. Proper beach time. Then we went back to the motorhome, sandy but happy, to get ready to explore the town and find dinner.

Just along from the campsite, the Esplanade started. We wandered among the evening joggers past benches made of surfboards; beach showers shaped like ship funnels; busy public BBQ areas (people having parties with balloons and beer); and shaded gazebos looking out to sea - the public architecture was amazing, Australians do outdoor living so well. (And beach clothing - I'm finding it very difficult walking past all the lovely shops, but I have no room in my suitcase...)

At the end of the strip we found Spice Bar, a Japanese restaurant with good reviews, so wandered in. And it was great. Lovely service (from a Parisian! Jemima voluntarily practiced her few words of French); a good-looking room; and wonderful food: scallops then duck for Kevin, beef tataki then fish for me, rich, sweet, sticky and delicious; and Jemima was kept very busy and very quiet demolishing some fantastic chicken wings in panko breadcrumbs. Up there with our best meals so far. Then a stop for a gelato on the way home along the Esplanade. Well done Mooloolaba (and Kevin for finding it) - campsite, beach, Esplanade, restaurants, all great. We may stay a while.

Jemima with a drawing of herself:

 

Fun on the beach:

 

 

 

Evening views from the Esplanade:

 

 

A slightly blurry photo of Jemima tucking into her chicken wings:

 

Hervey Bay to Mooloolaba:

 

The perfect pit stop

Recovery day. First, a constructive morning where I did lots of washing and some yoga while Kevin and Jemima alternated between the swimming pool and the bouncy pillow. Then lunch - the special of the day (a very tasty chicken red curry) at a little Thai cafe down the road. Followed by an amble down the Esplanade to a seafront cafe for tea, coffee and ice cream. Hervey Bay is mainly famous for its whale watching, but we were out of season; but it still had a very nice, empty, long sandy beach; and a sort of friendly low-key seaside-y feel, with some great beach tat shops along the seafront road.

Then Kevin went back to the motorhome for a rest, and Jemima and I had a great afternoon wandering together. We did stickers in the cafe, then wrote some postcards; went to the Post Office for stamps; the bottle shop for wine and beer (they're not sold in supermarkets by law in Queensland, which is annoying); then the supermarket for water (Jemima had an involved chat with the man about her sunglasses, which he admired); and browsed summer outfits for her and me in the various clothes/ tat shops. She is a lot of fun to hang out with, and we had a lovely time. 

Then back to the motorhome where Kevin took over again, and they watched Minions (she's finally into films, hurrah!) while I sat outside reading a John Wyndham I'd found in the laundry room. Bliss. And finally, beans on toast, and bed. A much-needed recovery day after all the driving, plus some time out for both Kevin and I; and a lovely little place; but our current mission is jellyfish-free beach time, now we are far enough south to be out of the danger zone, and this doesn't quite fit the bill; so we are off in search of the perfect campsite/ beach resort combo tomorrow. 

 

Over half way at Hervey Bay

No caves today, just five hours of driving, with Jemima entertained by Frozen (again), and games of noughts and crosses; and a very welcome McDonalds lunch, including free face painting! Paid for by McDonalds apparently, and she did a brilliant job. And then we arrived in lovely Hervey Bay.

Jemima and I walked to the local shop for provisions (via the campsite's jumping pillow, always a hit), while Kevin recovered from the drive; then we had salads outside the van watching enormous bats fly overhead, and trying to ignore the mossies. Then inside for a well-deserved ice cream and Frozen magazine from the shop for Jemima, after being so patient during two long days of driving. 

And now we're here, we are over half way on our trip between Cairns and Sydney, distance wise; but less than half way time wise, which means we're doing well. We'll see what Hervey Bay has in store tomorrow.

 

A sign post at our Rockhampton campsite showing exactly where we'd come from and how far to go:

 

Rockhampton to Hervey Bay:

 

And on the large scale map:

 

Spelunking and steak

And we were off, around 550 miles to our next stop, Hervey Bay. A steady drive through the unchanging landscape, apart from many signs warning "fatigue kills" or offering roadside trivia to keep drivers alert, e.g. "What's the highest mountain in Queensland?" (Mount Bartle Frere, FYI.) Clearly a big issue when you've got long distances, and long, straight roads.

We made good progress thanks to Kevin's indefatigable driving, and Jemima's sudden love of Frozen (knowing all the songs means she now likes the film, which is very handy). And by 3pm we were near the Capricorn Caves, recommended for their hour long guided tour. Having missed all the New Zealand caves, Kevin kindly humoured my cave yen, and we stopped off.

To be honest, hardcore spelunking (potholing in English) this was not. Nice wooden steps and walkways took us into the open and impressive caverns, with stalactites, stalagmites, tree roots growing floor to ceiling, and imaginary cave creatures made out of the shapes in the walls (a dragon, a crocodile, a dromedary). And at the heart, Cathedral Cave, a natural opening that is so perfectly formed that they use it for weddings. It is also remarkable for its acoustics: our guide played a lovely choral version of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah, and the sound was incredible, rich and full. And then he turned out the lights, and the blackness was absolute - apparently after an hour or so you start to hallucinate because your brain can't fix you in space. 

Then we wound our way out, through a narrow twisty passage called the zig zag corridor, over two swingbridges (which made Jemima happy), and into the open air. No glowworms, but it was still fun to see a cave, and we got some other interesting information too: the plague of cane toads in Australia (250 million now they reckon) started with the import of 250 in the 1800s, to eat the pests harming the sugar cane. They are a real problem - our guide had lost dogs because they're poisonous when eaten, and he used to be sent into the back garden with a golf club by his dad when young, "to practice his swing" on the toads on the lawn. More seriously, a local mountain was the site of a massacre of aborigines when 300 men, women and children were thrown off it by a Major Wheeler. The mountain, horrifyingly, was named after him, and only renamed last year. As a result, local aborigines apparently accord the white Australians the status of a hostile tribe - but at least they are no longer in a state of war. (There was a really good centre locally for exploring aboriginal culture, but sadly it was closed on the weekends - hopefully we'll get the chance somewhere else.)

Anyway, a short final drive, and then we were in Rockhampton, beef capital of Australia. Our usual routine: find campsite; park up; swim with Jemima; and then dinner - going out for steak the only option tonight, given our location.

We'd been recommended the Criterion, an elegant cream, fretworked and verandah'd hotel dating from 1889 (where the Queen has stayed!). The interior was more Wetherspoons than the Ritz, with lots of dressed up Rockhamptonites out for Saturday night; but everyone was, as usual, welcoming and jolly; and the steak was, as promised, fantastic - perfectly cooked, melt in the mouth tasty. Sadly Jemima was flagging so we had to leave before the band came on and the party really started - but then it had been a long day, and we had the same to do again tomorrow.

 

Airlie Beach to Rockhampton:

 

Heli-beaching

Helicopter. This was Kevin's conclusion about the best way to get to Whitehaven Beach. He'd done a helicopter trip over it on his last visit here, and loved it; but this time we were going to land.

So he'd booked it last night; and we spent the morning hoping for good weather - the rain kept coming and going (Jemima and I went for a swim during one of the heaviest downpours, which was actually really fun. As another lady in the pool said, you're wet already...). But when the car came to collect us (driven by a nice young man from Woking - us Brits are all over), thankfully, the sun was out.

A short drive to the airport later, we were taken outside to meet Dave, our pilot, and our helicopter, a TINY red Robinson R44 - four seats, one of which had a cushion on, ready for Jemima. Life jackets and headsets on; safety briefing done (basically, don't open the door...); and we were off!

I've been on a helicopter once before, and then the thrill counterbalanced the fear (they are somewhere halfway between a plane (fine) and a gondola (awful) for me. So I was hoping it would be the same. And, with some determined breathing at the start, thankfully it was - especially as this time I had Jemima next to me to distract me. And she absolutely loved it: "wheeeee!!!!" as we took off; "look, we're so high!"; "this is amazing!". Her enthusiasm was infectious. And the fear was worth it for the view. Kevin was right: it was incredible seeing the islands from above, with coral reefs visible under the water, tiny boats scudding about, and amazingly perfect coves tucked into the edges of the islands we flew above.

Dave flew us over Hilltop Point, where a river (looking browny-green from the mangrove foliage) twisted and turned into the opal sea across white sand banks. And there was Whitehaven Beach: pure white, as the name suggests (from the silica it's made from, not sand), arcing away for miles, just forest, sand and sea. And on our way to land in about the middle, a turtle waved his flipper at us as a welcome before diving down.

A gentle bump, and we were down, feet out onto the smoothest, finest, whitest sand I've ever seen, stretching far away on both directions. It was bewitchingly beautiful. There was a boat and its group at the far southern end, but apart from that we were alone. Dave had a handy spade; so digging and beach races were undertaken, while the storm clouds came in again. Then the heavens opened - but actually it was quite refreshing. A follow-my-leader walk (with Jemima as leader, of course); hopscotch; and then it was time to go - damp, very sandy but exhilarated. 

Another glorious flight, with Jemima chatting non-stop into her headphones ("oh, more boring trees... The sea, that's better! Wow, look at that boat! They're very small but that's because we're high up...") Then a ride back to the campsite for another swim, before a taxi to town for dinner. We found an Italian near the water, and celebrated our exciting day. We'd happily stay another week, but time is ticking on, so that's it for the Whitsundays. Off south again tomorrow.

 

 

The wonderful Whitsundays

After so many busy days, with a lot of excitement and a lot of driving, it was blissful  to know we were going to spend a few days somewhere. And what a somewhere.

Whitehaven Beach has been named Australia's number one, if not the world's. It is on the far side of Whitsunday Island, the furthest major island in the archipelago just off Airlie Beach, (confusingly also called the Whitsundays). So this was our ultimate destination. The question was, how to get there.

After a lovely slow morning on the comfortable campsite (with occasional tropical rainstorms), feeding the resident ducks, plus a necessary supermarket shop, we tested the ferry option. Cruise Whitsundays offer various trips, all of which go via Daydream Island and Hamilton Island, the two with resorts on them. For an eye-watering price, we boarded an afternoon ferry as far as Hamilton Island for a recce.

As usual, it was great just being on a boat, and this was a very comfortable boat, zipping smoothly over the waves. But, where it was zipping was very special: the most postcard-perfect turquoise sea studded with white-fringed forested tropical islands, nearly all completely empty like desert islands from a story. A short stop at Daydream island (Kevin and I were very impressed with the smooth docking of a big boat in a small space, and also slightly jealous of the holidaymakers heading for their stay in paradise); and then we reached Hamilton Island, the most built-up. 

The marina was notable for a sea of golf buggies all parked up; this was clearly your main transport option on the island. Jemima was very taken by this idea, so we got on the shuttle bus to find the hire shop. After a circuit around the various hotels (it was extremely beautiful and I'm sure would be amazing to stay in, but felt very constructed), we found the hire shop; but it was not to be - we didn't have enough time before the ferry home. So instead, we walked back to the marina and installed ourselves in a restaurant with a view. Jemima was consoled with Peppa Pig; and Kevin and I with a drink (or three). And we had a lovely afternoon watching the storms come and go over the water, quietly getting tipsy. (We very rarely just plug Jemima into the phone - I am always armed with sticker books, games and colouring for our outings. So actually it was a real treat just to leave her to it, for once.) A tasty pizza; a lovely ferry trip home in the early evening sun; a taxi back to the campsite; and it was all over. Our first taste of the Whitsundays - wonderful.

 

Feeding the ducks (Jemima took the photo of me!):

 

On the boat:

 

 

Jemima disappointed about the golf buggy:

 

 

Making the most of it:

 

Those little dots are fat tropical raindrops falling:

 

Two driving days

The big news: I have finally driven the motorhome! It's only taken eleven thousand miles...

After the fun of northern Queensland, and with our return deadline creeping up on us, we decided to go straight to our next major destination: the Whitsunday Islands, two days away. So yesterday, with four hours' driving ahead of us, we started with a visit to the local waterfall: an impressive, wide, straight, 12m drop into a large pool, perfect for swimming. Jemima and I went waist deep, until we could feel the spray on our faces; then she'd had enough, so I deposited her back on shore and went in for an exhilarating swim. After a bit more of a splash in the river flowing away, and (Jemima's favourite bit?) a barefoot squelch in the soft mud on the shore, we cleaned up, dried ourselves, and zoomed off.

After a sterling drive by Kevin, we stopped for the night at an immaculate campsite outside Townsville. We had a lovely swim followed by steak for dinner; then the next morning it was time to hit the road again. And then, on the wide straight road through landscape that was more like the Australia I'd imagined (scrubby dry desert rather than the lush greenery we've had so far in the tropical north), it happened: I took the wheel. And of course, it was really easy - just like driving a car. (Although Kevin says this Mercedes-based motorhome is easier to drive than our Fiat van-based one; and all I was doing was driving in a straight line, not even a single corner... But even so, I did it! Fear confronted.)

And then, after a lunch pit stop in a very nice cafe/florist, and another day with four hours' driving, we arrived at Airlie Beach, mainland gateway to the Whitsunday Islands. A lovely swim in the campsite lagoon pool (plus I got to read a trashy magazine on a sunbed, which was great); pasta at the van - outside, until the heavens opened with a short but sharp rainstorm; and much reading of tour brochures before the fun starts again tomorrow.

 

The waterfall:

 

 

Jemima jumping for joy:

 

Last view of Tropical North Queensland:

 

And hello "normal" Australia:

 

Me behind the wheel!:

 

My road:

 

End of the day swim:

 

Millaa Millaa to Townsville:

 

Townsville to Airlie Beach:

 

Swimming like a Queenslander

Four Mile Beach at Port Douglas is as stunning as its name suggests. But, like every beach around here, it's pretty pointless - it's not much fun being on the beach if you can't swim in the sea, and no-one, literally no-one we have asked, risks swimming in the sea at this time of year because of the jellyfish, even within the stinger net enclosures (the crocodile show man yesterday said they were a joke for tourists, and he gets a crocodile to attack him every day as his job...). So today, after some research, Kevin found out what the locals do instead, and took us there.

And that is: crocodile-free swimming holes. Our one was at the Shannonvale Creek. The website said you can't miss it as the road goes through it. We didn't really understand this until we got there; but yes, the road did actually ford the creek, ankle deep in water, with a deeper area for swimming either side. And it was possibly one of the most beautiful places I've ever swum. A sandy bank shaded by beautiful jungly trees stretching off either side into wilderness, shelving into a crystal clear creek scattered with smooth boulders, shallow enough to always touch the sandy bottom, not too fast flowing, little fish skimming about (jungle perch we later learned), deep electric blue butterflies fluttering above, and a solitary friendly duck. Like something out of a fairy story.

We swam (Jemima was reluctant at first as it was a bit cold and unfamiliar, but by the end of the day she was splashing about very happily); we had lunch next to the creek; I snoozed blissfully in a camping chair; we swam some more; and we were joined throughout the day by a changing cast of local characters: a large family were all swimming when we first got there; then two men came to sit on plastic crates, smoke roll ups and drink beer; a former coal miner, now mechanic, came for lunch and a swim with his three year old Skyla; an elderly lady swam with an adorable puppy called Biggles (they played with Jemima for ages); a young couple waved at every single pick up truck (and they were all pick up trucks) that forded the creek while they were swimming; and then, at school leaving time, three more families came with chairs, coolers, beer and large dogs to smoke, swim and chat - and they all knew each other. (Australians really are very friendly - we get chatted to a lot.) It was a paradisical place, they were all very lucky to have it as their local spot. But sadly we couldn't stay forever; and the mossies were beginning to enjoy us a bit too much; so eventually we packed up and rolled on.

Jemima quickly fell asleep so we decided to put some miles in (we had realised this morning that 15% of our trip had gone and were no further south than we'd started, after our lovely potter around far North Queensland). Our route took us on smooth roads up through some jungly mountains into the Atherton tablelands: undulating hills of wild tropical vegetation, or banana, mango or sugar cane plantations. After a couple of hours and a few false attempts, we found a place for the night just as dusk and the rain were falling; so we hunkered in the van with burgers and salad, then all crashed out - such a lovely day.

 

Four Mile Beach:

 

 

The stinger warning sign (in case you can't read it, it includes lines like "victim may stop breathing and rapidly lose consciousness..."):

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You can see where the road goes, where the man is walking:

 

Port Douglas to Shannonvale Road:

Then to Millaa Millaa: