Tropical Paradise

July 24th

Hi,

We left Sydney somewhat blearily after an all night party....no, we have not reverted to over-aged 20 somethings, it's just the area of Sydney where we were staying consisted of a heady mixture of backpacker hotels, massage parlours, both therapeutic and ‘adult'. all night drinking establishments and Asian fast food outlets. Consequently, although the intrepid Turpies were all safely tucked up by 9:30pm. sharp, the neighbourhood wasn’t and, although Laura slept through the subsequent whooping, hollering, Harley Davidson revving, baroque brass horn concerti and general merriment, Mum and I spent the small hours experiencing every whoop, holler and rev. 

We were up at 7:30am. to buy breakfast from the very German bakery across the way, and still the revellers had not gone home; they'd reached the alpha male stage of inebriation, so we bought our kaffe and kuchen as burly Polynesians faced-off pissed-up scrawny Australians with much chest poking, and gorilla-like posturing fuelled by a dangerous cocktail of testosterone and Tooheys.

Well, it beats popping out to W H Smiths to buy a Sunday Times.

But, the airport shuttle turned up on time, Qantas duly plucked us from Sydney and plonked us in Cairns three hours later, and we drove 60kms up the James Cook highway to Port Douglas on a road fringed by gum tree covered hills overlooking palm fringed coves, each one seemingly trying to outdo the other as candidates for the next cover of a Kuomi brochure.

And so, here we are, on the balcony of our apartment in 'By the Sea' in Port Douglas. We're about 50m from 'Four Mile Beach'. I can't actually see the Pacific - we're on the garden side of the block, but I can hear it, and above the Southern stars are twinkling away - maybe after I've finished this glass of beer we'll take a stroll down to the beach to take a proper look at the stars and think about tomorrow - Mossman Gorge - the oldest rain forests in the world...or snorkelling on the Great Barrier Reef....oh the challenges of having choice!

On the plane I read half of Walt Whitman's 'Song of Myself' - I think Mr. Whitman would like it here, it seems very much a place of ones own making, unconstrained by received ideas and hierarchy.

Time for star watching.

love to you both,

Dad xxx