I’d Paul, fellow hosteller back in Cairns, to thank. Sharing the story of World War Two soldiers billeted in tents in fields and woods throughout the Atherton Tablelands. A little respite from the oppressive coastal heat and humidity. Thousands. Waiting to depart from Cairns. Across the Coral Sea. Many never to return. The occasional roadside sign the only reminder of innumeral troops based on the plateaux.
Legal advocate. Former journalist. Feisty. Passionate. Following a path shaped by circumstances. Adaptive. Sharp and intelligent. Focused. Careful in her choice of issues. Making a difference rather than pursuing lost causes. Resilient. A formidable ally. An unenviable opponent.
I’d met Karin quite by chance. A wrong turn. Sort of. Drawn away from the usual tourist tat on the main street. Down into a small alley. Craft shops mostly. Curious. She’d spoken first. Engaging. Conversation flowed. Drawn to a close only by my need to do a few jobs. Return to my campsite before dark. I’d suggested a sociable coffee the next day. She’d accepted.
Not afraid to challenge boundaries. Or be constrained by borders. Arbitrary divisions. Dual national. Two Western nations. Affinity rather than allegiance. Much of her life spent elsewhere. Europe. Asia. Amongst very differing societies. Australia now for a while. Contemplating her next move. Writing a book about some of her earlier experiences tackling a very personal injustice.
Conversation with breadth and depth. Refreshing. Politics. Sarah Palin. After Obama. Democratic models. Religious fundamentalists. Education of the masses. Ruling elites. Porous borders. Journalists. Writing for discrete, subscription only publications. Notions of Justice. Wikileaks release of diplomatic cables. Right to know or an inhibitor of frank exchange of views. Twists and turns. But always respecting the opinions of others. And not hopeless idealism. Rather, views shaped by a healthy cynicism. Reflecting a very international outlook.
A welcome sign. Allaying my fears of a particularly large elephant roaming wild.
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]
Wallaby watching from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.
Ken tracks down Wallace the Wallaby. For those not familiar with marsupials, these critters are vertically challenged kangaroos. Indigenous. Which means that somewhere in the undergrowth lurks a whole army of well-intentioned, but wholly misguided, rights advocates.
Cycling in Tropical Queensland. During the wet season. About once an hour. Stop. Bus shelters ideal. Off boots. Pour water out. Remove socks. Wring out. Replace. Pedal away.
Difficult to comprehend. Over half a metre – something like twenty inches – of rain in just a few days. Flash floods. Local woman swept to her death. To the south, Cardwell. Devastated recently by Cyclone Yasi. Now submerged by swollen rivers. The Barron reaching a thirty year high. Main highway south closed. Trains disrupted. Far north Queensland cut off. Yet more extreme weather. Another example to add to my ever growing list. Tick.
I’d headed out of Cairns. Up into the Atherton Tablelands. Cooler than the coast. But, being over a thousand feet above sea level, invariably wetter. Frequently lost in cloud. There’d been talk of a storm as I’d left. An emotional departure. Leaving friends behind at the hostel. Assuring them I’d keep in touch. Their concerns about the weather seemed unfounded. Until later. Lightening. Torrential rain. Fortunate to be staying under cover.
They mean it. Wettest wet season in a decade. Mostly, it seems, on my head. Trust me on this one. Even if I’m not a doctor. Rocket scientist actually….
After the storm from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.
Ken ventures into proper, wild rainforest. After a spot of rain the previous night. About six inches. Sadly, sweeping one local resident to her death.
