Rush hour in Kuranda from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.
Kuranda. Truly a tourist town. Once the last of the visitors has left on the late afternoon train back to the coast, the lights go out. Shops close. Streets deserted. A few drunks. And a police presence.
Kuranda. Little town in the forest. Thousand feet above the coastal plain. Noticeably cooler. Much wetter. Made the mistake I was sure many did. At first saw just the nik-nak shops. Small eatries. Aboriginal Art. Quiet in the wet season. A few tourists drifting around. Mostly Japanese. Arriving by scenic railway from Cairns. By three the streets deserted bar a few locals. Pavement tables cleared away. Chairs stacked.
Spend a few days here. Quietly observing. Chatting with gallery owners, cafe proprietors, fellow travellers. Learning of a town who’s tranquility you’d be hard-pressed to resist. Gentle slumber. A few drifters. Unwilling to work. Content to take sitting around money from the State. Misguided belief that society owes them.
Beyond the obvious, a well-educated middle class. Masters. Doctorates. Making a living as best they can. Shop work mostly. Not a 60’s counter-culture. Rejecting materialism. Bar a few wandering around bare foot. Long, flowing beards. Orange robes. Caricatures. Rather, intelligent, savvy individuals. Choosing a different existence. For some transient. For others a settled lifestyle. Drawn to Kuranda, presumably, by the desire to be amongst like-minded folk.
[With especial thanks to Karin’s wonderful blog – Blue Globe – for providing inspiration for the post title]
