Tiaro. Terrible coffee. Watery. Served in a dirty, water-stained glass mug. Resembling an early morning urine sample. But without the fuller bodied aroma. One of just two stops on the sixty mile stretch of highway south between Maryborough and Gympie. Like Childers a little way back, steady stream of motorists pulling over for a short respite.
But Tiaro lacked the colonial charm of Childers. Or pretty much anything else. Its only redemption a helpful woman in the town’s information centre. Map of Gympie. And decent public toilets. Although you’d be forgiven for thinking this wasn’t the case. Came across a man relieving himself against a wall barely twenty metres from them. Pointed out sharply to him how close he was to the Conveniences. Dismissive grunt.
