Just spent a few days in Queenstown and it was a pleasant surprise from the hedonistic town of young revellers - I found Cairns lived up to its raucous reputation - I was expecting. Although often rated as one of NZ’s biggest party spots, its nightlife was just one facet, which is also famed for winter skiing, fishing, extreme sports and dining out. Over my week there I counted a large number of older people as well as the expected younger set. It’s small, cosy and very photogenic; if anything more boutique and expensive than you‘d think, like a ski resort town. It’s really very lovely, and I can see why most of the Kiwis I’ve met have a fondness for it.
Here are some fun things I did: visited upmarket ice cream parlour Lick for some expensive but tasty choc ‘n’ caramel.
Tried one of the town’s legendary Ferg Burgers. Busy any time of day but the wait was worth it for one of these giant burgers. My only niggle was the small number of veggie eats compared to the huge choice of carnivorous ones.
Hell Pizza. OK, more of a NZ than a Queenstown special, but this create-your-own pizza chain is notable for the sheer number of options -i.e. just about anything- you can add to your 12”. I love cheese, and opted for four different varieties, peppers and garlic. Maybe not something you’d order in a restaurant but I can never get enough cheese.
Edit: Since I returned to the UK I discovered that Hell has opened a few branches in London in the last few years. Good times.
The air is crisp and, apologies for the cliché, alpine fresh, so being outside in the sun is a great way to spend a day. Walks around the environs take in a small, lakeside wood and public garden. Or you can eat chips and sit and read on the edge of Lake Wakitipu, a deep lake with a free underwater observatory. They also have scaup ducks, and it’s amusing to watch them dive metres under water to the same level as three-feet long fish.
Sunday, 28 March 2010
Saturday, 19 December 2009
Sometimes You Gotta Have a Little Moan
The only downside to organising your own trip is how much time you lose to future planning. Carrying around a brick-sized Lonely Planet may give information to hand but it doesn’t ring five different hostels when you’re travelling, without internet access, to a popular place like Townsville tomorrow, arriving too late in Cairns to visit the travel desks but needing to arrange Barrier Reef excursions ASAP.
It’s easy these days to pre-book everything in advance, and with our big trips like Fraser Island and the Whitsundays we did, but many activities, like snorkelling, are weather-dependent and can’t really be booked more than a week before. Plus you could end up wasting days in one location, waiting for the sky to change so you can jump out of a plane. That happened to me in Queenstown and although I made good use of an extra two days there, it meant losing 2/3 of my allocated Dunedin days. Not so good when you have limited time.
The other thing I found is that some places are so amazing (Byron Bay comes to mind) that you just want to spend extra time, and conversely others (Greymouth) so unappealing that you leave far earlier than planned. It’s one of the beauties of independent travel that you can do what you want, where you want, and pre-booking every night’s accommodation at the beginning of the week contradicts that. We naively pre-booked to stay in a few hostels that were, frankly, disgusting, even compared to the backpacking norm. Stained floors and peeling paintwork is to be expected, even a constantly cold shower and the ‘Continental breakfast’ turning out to be stale bread. Standard - you pay peanuts and it does add to the experience when you rough it.
However, a dorm door that doesn’t lock but opens up directly on to a path is perhaps a tad too much. This particular hostel, built in the white, panelled wood style of the ‘old Queenslander’, was one of the most acclaimed in guide books and on websites for the area. A beautiful Victorian building, its rustic country charm was unfortunately belied by the slight lack of safety. It may be located in a particularly upmarket, boutique resort town but there’s no excuse. There were no free rooms to switch to and the rude staff were reluctant to do anything while we were staying beyond testing it themselves and claiming that people won’t come in because “the doors are quite hard to open anyway”. There was also a metal fan in the room which may have useful if it wasn’t completely orange from rust and lashings of dust. The staff said that it was only a “very basic hostel” and we had too many expectations. On reflection, maybe it was audacious to expect an electric socket after paying a steep and above-market rate of $30AU to spend the night in a listed building.
The three of us did’t normally find things to complain about, but those employees provided us with material to seeth about for a few days later, and when we met people headed that way we didn't hesitate to relay our experience. But soon enough we were able to laugh at it, along with every embarrassment, navagational cockup and the sheer amount of stuff we managed to lose.
So, rant off my chest, I still think that DIY is the best way to travel. Plus the things I saw and did indepently were worth every sweaty Greyhound journey and hostel that charged extra for a pillow. Experiences, good and bad, are what make the trip.
It’s easy these days to pre-book everything in advance, and with our big trips like Fraser Island and the Whitsundays we did, but many activities, like snorkelling, are weather-dependent and can’t really be booked more than a week before. Plus you could end up wasting days in one location, waiting for the sky to change so you can jump out of a plane. That happened to me in Queenstown and although I made good use of an extra two days there, it meant losing 2/3 of my allocated Dunedin days. Not so good when you have limited time.
The other thing I found is that some places are so amazing (Byron Bay comes to mind) that you just want to spend extra time, and conversely others (Greymouth) so unappealing that you leave far earlier than planned. It’s one of the beauties of independent travel that you can do what you want, where you want, and pre-booking every night’s accommodation at the beginning of the week contradicts that. We naively pre-booked to stay in a few hostels that were, frankly, disgusting, even compared to the backpacking norm. Stained floors and peeling paintwork is to be expected, even a constantly cold shower and the ‘Continental breakfast’ turning out to be stale bread. Standard - you pay peanuts and it does add to the experience when you rough it.
However, a dorm door that doesn’t lock but opens up directly on to a path is perhaps a tad too much. This particular hostel, built in the white, panelled wood style of the ‘old Queenslander’, was one of the most acclaimed in guide books and on websites for the area. A beautiful Victorian building, its rustic country charm was unfortunately belied by the slight lack of safety. It may be located in a particularly upmarket, boutique resort town but there’s no excuse. There were no free rooms to switch to and the rude staff were reluctant to do anything while we were staying beyond testing it themselves and claiming that people won’t come in because “the doors are quite hard to open anyway”. There was also a metal fan in the room which may have useful if it wasn’t completely orange from rust and lashings of dust. The staff said that it was only a “very basic hostel” and we had too many expectations. On reflection, maybe it was audacious to expect an electric socket after paying a steep and above-market rate of $30AU to spend the night in a listed building.
The three of us did’t normally find things to complain about, but those employees provided us with material to seeth about for a few days later, and when we met people headed that way we didn't hesitate to relay our experience. But soon enough we were able to laugh at it, along with every embarrassment, navagational cockup and the sheer amount of stuff we managed to lose.
So, rant off my chest, I still think that DIY is the best way to travel. Plus the things I saw and did indepently were worth every sweaty Greyhound journey and hostel that charged extra for a pillow. Experiences, good and bad, are what make the trip.
Thursday, 17 December 2009
Back to Life, Back to Reality...
Yesterday I arrived in Heathrow at 5.30am to a dark, foggy and -2 degree reception. Airplane seats are so uncomfortable that I’d slept an hour max and my body clock was seriously confused after experiencing three significantly different time zones in one week. But despite that, sleeping in my own bed, in a private room, wasn’t quite the thrill I’d imagined it would be after four months of hostel dorms. You quickly get used to sharing with potentially noisy, messy strangers because it’s the reason that backpackers can afford activities and to travel as long as possible. Though on the flip side I’m so glad to never have to eat noodles and crisps that taste like cardboard again. Food is very expensive in Australia and if you’re vegetarian the nomadic lifestyle makes it hard to buy healthy things like salad without eating cheap pasta… or the dreaded noodles everyday. Eating a tasty meal at home last night made the long journey worthwhile. I give it a week before I miss the traveller life.
Home At Last?
Yesterday I arrived in Heathrow at 5.30am to a dark, foggy and -2 degree reception. Airplane seats are so uncomfortable that I’d slept an hour max and my body clock was seriously confused after experiencing three significantly different time zones in one week. But despite that, sleeping in my own bed, in a private room, wasn’t quite the thrill I’d imagined it would be after four months of hostel dorms. You quickly get used to sharing with potentially noisy, messy strangers because it’s the reason that backpackers can afford activities and to travel as long as possible. Though on the flip side I’m so glad to never have to eat noodles and crisps that taste like cardboard again. Food is very expensive in Australia and if you’re vegetarian the nomadic lifestyle makes it hard to buy healthy things like salad without eating cheap pasta… or the dreaded noodles everyday. Eating a tasty meal at home last night made the long journey worthwhile. I give it a week before I miss the traveller life.
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
Entering the Oven
The good thing about journeying up the coast is that you have time to properly acclimatise to the heat, which rises the further North you go. My first few days in Melbourne were in the dying days of Winter and reflected that - my gloves and hoody were essential clothing, not the balmy welcome I’d expected in Australia! But on the first official day of Spring something magical happened and the weather suddenly flipped to sunny, tee-shirt weather. Hurray!
It got noticeably hotter from Brisbane onwards, and a little more humid once we passed the Tropic of Cancer near Rockhampton, but my travel buddies and I were more than happy to cope with temperatures in the low 30s every day. Back home I wilt at that temperature.
Australia only has two seasons in the Tropics and when we arrived in Cairns the weather was slowly transitioning from the tourist-friendly Dry to the more humid Wet. We only had a few light showers during our week there but you could definitely feel increased humidity in the air.
I'm now in Darwin and the mercury says 32 degrees but it feels warmer because the air itself is warm. It's literally like opening an oven door and having the heat circulate around you. Not hot enough to burn but on the verge of being uncomfortable. I think I'm almost beyond my comfortable heat limit! As a pasty Pom I think the lack of cool breeze would drive me mad after a while. I've never liked opening ovens.
It got noticeably hotter from Brisbane onwards, and a little more humid once we passed the Tropic of Cancer near Rockhampton, but my travel buddies and I were more than happy to cope with temperatures in the low 30s every day. Back home I wilt at that temperature.
Australia only has two seasons in the Tropics and when we arrived in Cairns the weather was slowly transitioning from the tourist-friendly Dry to the more humid Wet. We only had a few light showers during our week there but you could definitely feel increased humidity in the air.
I'm now in Darwin and the mercury says 32 degrees but it feels warmer because the air itself is warm. It's literally like opening an oven door and having the heat circulate around you. Not hot enough to burn but on the verge of being uncomfortable. I think I'm almost beyond my comfortable heat limit! As a pasty Pom I think the lack of cool breeze would drive me mad after a while. I've never liked opening ovens.
Sunday, 25 October 2009
...and then a galah stole my flip flop
Today we took a day trip by train to Kuranda, self-styled as ‘the village in the rainforest’. The hour-long scenic journey climbed up a steep hill incline and bent round waterfalls, giving us nice views of the city outskirts as it gave way to tree-filled valleys. At times the old-fashioned train wound across hairpin bends in an almost perfect horseshoe, and while I’m no trainspotter it was still a novelty to look out the window and see so much of it curved out.
We pulled up at Kuranda, a laidback, arty settlement full of hippy clothes and high-quality craft stores. It was magical, like Byron Bay but without the strongly-beating commercial heart. I found a retro store and obtained a blue peasant blouse for four dollars and Kat, Vicky and I, along with a travel friend we’d kept bumping into up the coast, had lunch in a sideless organic café near the market. Vicky had regretted not hugging a koala and went to the Koala Gardens. I headed to the Australian Butterfly Sanctuary, home to 2000 butterflies, and saw some amazing specimens, in particular the green-and-yellow Cairns Birdwing, Australia’s biggest butterfly. My favourite was the rainforest-dwelling Ulysses Butterfly - a large, beautiful blue specimen that liked sitting on my camera but not keeping still for pictures.
Next up was Birdworld Kuranda, which taught me the cheeky side of Aussie birds. First up, a galah. These parrot-sized Paris Hiltons of the bird world are pink, blue and white, and thought by some for being a bit dim. This specimen was very interested in pecking at my toes, and soon became determined to wrestle my (pink) flip flop away, while I was wearing it. To give its due, the thing had surprising strength but the thievery was halted by a member of staff.
I went off to admire the rainbow-hued collection of birds, nothing like I’d seen in the UK, and hoped to see if the cassowary was out in its enclosure. I was distracted by a cyan-blue parrot landing on my head and refusing to leave. Its claws hurt, and as I had no desire to be pooped on I tried to remove it but was nipped. Some members of the public laughed as the same member of staff as earlier extracted it and put it on the bird equivalent of Supernanny’s naughty step. What else could these birds do? Well, I was wise to a small, brown one scurrying on the ground and trying to peck at my feet, but not when it flew up and broke off a beakful of my hair. And the little mofo did it AGAIN, just as I was about to go through the exit, and the employee, standing nearby, turned to me and said that they prefer blondes.
I now understand how people get bird phobias. Meanwhile, part of my hair may be in a nest but at least I can say I‘ve left a lasting impression on someone in Australia.
We pulled up at Kuranda, a laidback, arty settlement full of hippy clothes and high-quality craft stores. It was magical, like Byron Bay but without the strongly-beating commercial heart. I found a retro store and obtained a blue peasant blouse for four dollars and Kat, Vicky and I, along with a travel friend we’d kept bumping into up the coast, had lunch in a sideless organic café near the market. Vicky had regretted not hugging a koala and went to the Koala Gardens. I headed to the Australian Butterfly Sanctuary, home to 2000 butterflies, and saw some amazing specimens, in particular the green-and-yellow Cairns Birdwing, Australia’s biggest butterfly. My favourite was the rainforest-dwelling Ulysses Butterfly - a large, beautiful blue specimen that liked sitting on my camera but not keeping still for pictures.
Next up was Birdworld Kuranda, which taught me the cheeky side of Aussie birds. First up, a galah. These parrot-sized Paris Hiltons of the bird world are pink, blue and white, and thought by some for being a bit dim. This specimen was very interested in pecking at my toes, and soon became determined to wrestle my (pink) flip flop away, while I was wearing it. To give its due, the thing had surprising strength but the thievery was halted by a member of staff.
I went off to admire the rainbow-hued collection of birds, nothing like I’d seen in the UK, and hoped to see if the cassowary was out in its enclosure. I was distracted by a cyan-blue parrot landing on my head and refusing to leave. Its claws hurt, and as I had no desire to be pooped on I tried to remove it but was nipped. Some members of the public laughed as the same member of staff as earlier extracted it and put it on the bird equivalent of Supernanny’s naughty step. What else could these birds do? Well, I was wise to a small, brown one scurrying on the ground and trying to peck at my feet, but not when it flew up and broke off a beakful of my hair. And the little mofo did it AGAIN, just as I was about to go through the exit, and the employee, standing nearby, turned to me and said that they prefer blondes.
I now understand how people get bird phobias. Meanwhile, part of my hair may be in a nest but at least I can say I‘ve left a lasting impression on someone in Australia.
Friday, 23 October 2009
Cape Tribulation
Cairns’ biggest money-spinner is the number of activities you can do nearby. My travel friend Vicky went white-water rafting on the river Tully and loved it; she also skydived onto a beach book ended by rainforest on one side and the Great Barrier Reef on the other.
Yesterday was Cape Tribulation, a headland a north of Cairns set in the Daintree rainforest national park. We took a river cruise on the Daintree River and saw saltwater crocodiles, albeit from a distance, then stopped off at a number of beauty spots. One of these was Mossman Gorge, a pretty swimming spot on land owned by the Kuku Yulanji Aboriginal community. It is said to have platypus and though I didn’t see any it was still a nice place to watch small fish weave in and around the clear shallows.
We stopped off at Port Douglas, a sweet, if sterile, little place that got rich in the gold rush and nearly perished in a cylone in 1911. Today it’s a resort town with its own golf course and a good trade in tourism. I did like it, but my brief stop felt like visiting an upmarket English coastal town, like Salcombe in Devon, and everything seemed that bit too conservative and old fashioned.
On we went to Cape Trib beach itself, a seemingly isolated (though accommodation is a short walk away), palm tree-strewn beach. It’s just 12 miles from the Great Barrier Reef and lumps of sun-bleached coral are visible at low tide. Going back down, the road, known as the Captain Cook Highway, was beautiful. The water looked lovely and the road twisted alongside the beach on the left and the rainforest to the right. In the distance I could see surfers enjoying the last of week of wetsuit-free surfing before stinger season begins.
Yesterday was Cape Tribulation, a headland a north of Cairns set in the Daintree rainforest national park. We took a river cruise on the Daintree River and saw saltwater crocodiles, albeit from a distance, then stopped off at a number of beauty spots. One of these was Mossman Gorge, a pretty swimming spot on land owned by the Kuku Yulanji Aboriginal community. It is said to have platypus and though I didn’t see any it was still a nice place to watch small fish weave in and around the clear shallows.
We stopped off at Port Douglas, a sweet, if sterile, little place that got rich in the gold rush and nearly perished in a cylone in 1911. Today it’s a resort town with its own golf course and a good trade in tourism. I did like it, but my brief stop felt like visiting an upmarket English coastal town, like Salcombe in Devon, and everything seemed that bit too conservative and old fashioned.
On we went to Cape Trib beach itself, a seemingly isolated (though accommodation is a short walk away), palm tree-strewn beach. It’s just 12 miles from the Great Barrier Reef and lumps of sun-bleached coral are visible at low tide. Going back down, the road, known as the Captain Cook Highway, was beautiful. The water looked lovely and the road twisted alongside the beach on the left and the rainforest to the right. In the distance I could see surfers enjoying the last of week of wetsuit-free surfing before stinger season begins.
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