Underwhelmed and disillusioned after a rainy introduction in Sydney, JANE ANDERSONsoon discovered the Australia for her, in Cairns
WE LANDED in Sydney in mid-December, after a 14-hour flight from San Francisco, to pouring rain and howling winds.
I wasn’t keen on Australia at first. Is this the land of sunshine, kangaroos, “good day, mate” and that wonderful film of the same name? Well, not for the first three days, at least.
On the fourth day the sun came out, and we started to meet the locals, good-day mates all around. Darling Harbour looked darling, and the Opera House gleamed in the bright sun. But still I felt I could have been in any beautiful city anywhere in the world.
“Are you going to Cairns?” a friendly Aussie inquired. “You really should go to Cairns – it’s very different.” And so, on my return to our apartment, I said to my husband: “Tom, this lady said we should go to Cairns.” “Why?” “It sounds good.” After a short debate: “Okay, then.”
It was that kind of trip, and we hadn’t started to feel the pinch yet. So we altered our travel arrangements, and two days later, after a four-hour flight, we landed in a very hot Cairns.
First impressions: green hills, blue skies and a rather Third World-looking airport. We got on a bus to our aparthotel, which was lovely once we’d persuaded the manager we would rather have a room overlooking the pool than one overlooking a busy, dusty street.
An aside: we have discovered on our trip that some hotels will try to give you the worst room they have. We’ve learned to fight our corner.
One of the first things we did was to book our trip to the Great Barrier Reef. I spent the next three days practising snorkelling in the hotel pool. I got quite good at it, and was able to dive down to the bottom of the pool and stay there for at least a minute.
At 8.30am one very hot day we embarked on a small modern boat with a dozen other passengers, all of whom bar one had snorkelled many times before.
As a novice I was given a life jacket and a pair of flippers (which I soon discarded, as I couldn’t manage to get off the boat with them on), and told to jump into the water and hold on to the rubber ring that one of the crew was pulling.
I soon realised there is a vast difference between snorkelling in a swimming pool and snorkelling in the Pacific Ocean. I was pretty good at holding on to the rubber ring, though.
The morning was fine, and I managed to see some very pretty fish, and quite a lot of coral. But in the afternoon we moved to deeper water. I think they must have been fed up with me, as everyone disappeared off the boat, including my husband, and the person with the rubber ring.
After a while of feeling intensely lonely I decided to gird my loins, and so I jumped into the water. After two minutes in the ocean I decided things were a bit rough, so after a battle against the elements I hoisted myself back on the boat and waited for the others to return.
Included in the price was a trip on a glass-bottom boat. So later I got to see a lot of the barrier reefs and fish from the comfort of a well-upholstered seat.
Cairns was basking in 36 degrees of heat and humidity of more than 80 per cent – hair-wrecking, energy-sapping, irritable-making heat.
The only thing to do, after all that swimming, was to hire a car and head to the rainforest.
Our first point of call was a reforestation centre, which taught us about the different plants and animals in the forest, some of which were very dangerous. This was also where we saw our first and only wallaby.
Braving the dangers of the unknown, we ventured into the vast rainforest. A magical, magical place: cascading waterfalls, dense trees, hanging vines as thick as your arm, and trees playing host to parasitic killers, trees that would hold you captive if you brushed against them, leaves innocent to look at but deadly to the touch. And all the time deathly quiet, except for the occasional calls of the parakeets flying above the forest, and the constant droplets of soft, warm rainwater gently falling through the canopy, and the rustle of the snakes in the undergrowth.
As evening started to fall we emerged at a small village, Kuranda, where we sat at the local watering hole and, over a glass of wine and a sarsaparilla, watched as cockatoos and parakeets gather to roost on trees and telephone lines.
We spent the next nine days in the hills and discovered the Atherton Tablelands through guided boat trips and freshwater lakes, pretty cafes selling tea and scones.
We never did see any kangaroos, but the saltwater and freshwater crocodiles made up for them. Would I return to Cairns? Just give me the ticket.