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It's a bit looser in Noosa
Entry 28 of 114 | show all | print this entry |
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As this is our 36th day away, we are now, chronologically, 10% through our trip. I always find that journeys of any duration have this interesting contradiction. On one hand it feels like everything has gone quickly but then if I think back to the day we left Toronto, it feels like an eternity ago. Nelson Mandela made a similar observation about his 25 years at Robben Island prison - a day of breaking rocks can feel like forever but then, before you know it, a year has come and gone. I always thought we had a common bond, me and Nelson . . .
Anyway, Leo drives us to the bus station and we resume our Greyhound experience. Greyhounding in Australia is completely different from Greyhounding in the US, which I did for six weeks back in 2000 (see that travelogue at www.travelpod.com/members/jambo). The passengers are predominantly backpackers like us, as opposed to the white trash and lowlifes that I generally kept well away from on American coaches. The drivers are friendly and professional and the bus stations are not in parts of town that you would fear for your life in.
Noosa is about three hours north of Brisbane and is another of the sun 'n' surf stops on the East Coast backpacker trail. Our hostel, the Dolphins Guesthouse, is a converted motel that looks like it has a fair bit of hippy influence. The common area is an atrium with hammocks, bead curtains, incense burning and people lounging around smoking various substances.
Our ritual at any new place, it seems, is to unload our stuff and then proceed directly to the beach. It's a beautiful day and the nearest beach to the hostel is, appropriately, called Sunshine Beach. The waves are warm but deceptively high and extremely powerful. As I'm bouncing around waiting for a good bodysurfing wave, one picks me up and hurls me forward, knocking me off my feet and under the water. As I land again, my left ankle comes down on the sand at one of those unnatural angels that makes you go "oooh, that's gotta hurt!" when you see it on TV. As soon as I hit the ground I know it's not good so I just float in until the waves lap me up on to the beach. I gingerly put pressure on my foot but, having twisted my ankle loads of times, I know this was what I had done. I try walking it off and it seems a bit better but by the time we get back to the hostel it has swollen right up. Jane fixes me up with a polstice and some gauze strip, so I get to spend the rest of the evening with my foot up, drinking beer and watching sport on telly. Result!
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