The Sunshine Coast: Lazy Days

August 20th

After a walk on the beach, Gil heads back to Brisbane shortly after noon; his band has a show tonight and there's business to attend to. He does not want to go: how could he? This place is Paradise! I can't understand why the whole world isn't desperate to live on the Sunshine Coast. Maybe I haven't travelled enough yet.

Kellie is disappointed she has to work most of the time I'm here (she took time off to spend with Tom post-Ekka); she calls or messages every couple hours to make sure I'm OK, not too hungry or bored.

My neck is still angry, so I spend the heat of the afternoon lying on the floor reading, looking out to the water from time to time hoping to see whales, which are currently in the area.

No whales.
For that matter, no kangaroos. Over 6 months in this country, I have not seen a single kangaroo. People (Australians) are shocked when they hear this. I, however, am beginning to suspect the roos are in line with the drop bears.

***
Kellie is going to stay at Tom's, but is concerned I'll be scared. I try to explain what an amazing gift it is to have a place to myself; the last time was mid-February.
Secretly, I love her doting over me.

And this is how I spend my time on The Sunshine Coast: swim, read, run, swim, walk, read, bike, swim, swim, read.

The weather is mind-boggling beautiful, and the hours drip by.

The Sunshine Coast: Travellers' Karma

August 19th
I am the luckiest person you know.

"Tom! You'll never guess: I mentioned to Gil last night about heading to Noosa -- he has Wednesday/Thursday off and offered to drive!"

"I gotta say, Little Sister, you're very good at manifesting stuff."

The dilemma had been whether to catch a lift up the Sunshine Coast on Sunday with the guys or try to find a ride mid-week. The latter was ideal, since Tom was already "knackered" (which cracks me up in his German accent) a few 16-hr days into The Ekka and was hoping for a little quiet time before hosting an occasionally rambunctious Canadian.

And so here I am, Wednesday morning, bag packed and slung on my back, distinctly more compact since a few items were jettisoned. While talking to Sally and Carlie, I have a moment of hesitation: the plan is to be back in Brisbane by Sunday, then head south, arriving in Sydney the following weekend. It would therefore make sense to take Carlie's book -- which I had nearly finished -- and not lug all my belongings with me.
But when is logic fun?
[Answer: When it's propositional logic, and only if you're a nerd.]

***

"Do you have any CDs?"
"I have Bon Iver..."
Raised eyebrow. Indie rock is not Gil's thing.
"... and a mix of gangsta rap."
Sidelong quizzical look.

I hand him the burned CD labelled That Gangsta Shit. Gil opens his mouth to say something, thinks better of it, and puts in the CD. "Born Killer" starts, the van's stereo just able to handle the bass.

My friend Sam sent the CD from Thailand; it ranks high on the list of Best Things I've Received in the Mail.

We pull into Tom's mid-afternoon and head to the beach for a quick swim.
I love the way the sand squeaks. Gil tells me that for the longest time, he thought all sand squeaked; that was just how it was.

Sitting on the beach, I'm talking through possible action plans. I hadn't taken into account how far Sydney is from Byron Bay, where I had been hoping to hang-out for a few days. The amount of bus travel isn't appealing. Kellie, Tom's girlfriend, catches part of the story: turns out her parents are up visiting her sister. Her dad drove so he could bring the dog and they're heading back Monday.

"They drive right past Sydney; I know they'll take you."

Seems as though I don't even have to try anymore.

They say nobody likes a show-off, Universe, but if You wanna to keep this pace up, I've got zero complaints.

***

Tom and Kellie are amazing and abundantly generous, the type of people I aspire to be. While Kellie makes dinner, Tom does acupuncture on my neck, the left side of which decided to throw a fit yesterday morning.

When I met Tom in Melbourne early April, he had only recently become involved with Kellie; every time he spoke about her, it was with the fluttering excitement that comes with the first blush of a new relationship. So I was a little nervous to meet her a week ago at the Ekka. But only momentarily, because in an instant we're sitting at the back of Divine Donuts swapping tales over wine and cheese. And it's shortly decided that I will definitely come to Peregian (near Noosa) and stay at her place. After all, she has a spare room.

After dinner, Gil and I head to Kellie's place, while she stays at Tom's. Her apartment is a sweet little place, not even a five minute walk from the beach. It's insisted that I make myself at home: Kellie has travelled extensively, only recently becoming more settled, and is very happy for the chance to be on the flip side of Travellers' Karma.

And How

August 16th

"Every time I go around, it's like a new world!"
This from the drunk ocker as he makes the rounds chatting up all the tables, circulating like the host of a party.

Gil and his friend Mohammed came to pick me up this afternoon and with Sipola, have been showing me the Brisbane sights. [Note: This does not take particularly long.] At Kangaroo Point, I cause Mohammed to squeal and hop backwards over the railing: he's terrified of heights and I'm standing too close to the edge.

The boys drop me back at the house later that evening and invite themselves in for tea.

"I think it's very cute that you've been adopted by two large black men in a matter of days," says Sally upon my return.

The boys also like this.
Me?
Everything is just great.

Stephan's Skyneedle

The Brisbane night sky is lit up by the lights of Stephan's looming Skyneedle. People either love it or hate it. And the only reason they love it is purely for kitsch value [which is, admittedly, through the roof].

Built for Expo '88, it was later purchsed by Stephan, a reknown Brisbane hairdresser. Sally and I have been tossing around ideas for a screenplay (a trilogy is the present thinking) featuring Stephan as a meglomaniacal villain.
We're fairly certain we'll be keen to portray himself.

Stefan's Skyneedle has a "Needless Love and Appreciation Society" on Facebook -- I'm one of the 50 members -- and, of course, a Wikipedia page.

The Ekka: The Wrap Up

My last day at The Ekka is relatively uneventful. Although still as aggressive as ever, Terry is horrific at a marginally slower rate. She must be tired. I encourage her to take breaks. Regularly.

Peter is helping out for a bit. I'm watching with curiosity as the owner of the coffee stall opposite us is scribbling madly on a piece of paper. I wonder aloud what he's writing.
"He's probably bipolar," says Peter the Devotee without batting an eye.

***

Tonight, I'm going to an Aboriginal & Islander Queer Night with Carlie and Sally. The Ekka folk repeatedly inquire about my post-work plans. Taking my audience into consideration, I answer a party with friends and leave it at that.

The Ekka: Day/Night

August 14th

Terry is thoroughly enjoying making up the nachos for the eating contest.
She’s telling me for the 6th time that she simply cannot eat spicy food, while drowning the chips in chillies and Tabasco sauce.
The glee with which she yearns to see the contestants suffer at her hands is moderately disturbing.

This is the second time I watch her go through this procedure, repeating yesterday’s speech verbatim. “Wait until tomorrow. They won’t know what hit them! Ooo, I want to see their faces. Maybe I should pick up some extras peppers after work...”

She laughs. I shudder.

***

Terry has known Peter and Leslie for over 20 years. She makes a reference to them as Devotees.
“Devotees of what?”
“I dunno, some sort of Indian thing. The way you can tell is if they’re wearing beads.”

Terry would rather I join in with her as she criticizes and bitches about every person within our view; she’s told me as much.
And also how much fun it was working with one of the Devotees last weekend because that’s all the two of them did.
“She teaches yoga and is really into natural healing, but she just loves being nasty about people.”

I make a weak excuse of it being un-Canadian behavior, but Terry’s passed her judgement on me: Canadian or not, I am no fun.

***

Terry’s approach to customer service: everyone who asks for anything has the IQ of a Dagwood dog and should be spoken to with unparalleled levels of condescension.

[Her prowess is astounding, and that’s coming from someone who worked in an organic fair-trade café, where hipster blasé superiority is du rigeur. Just ask Questionable Content.]

I start counting down the hours shortly after 1:30pm. Not a good sign.

***

Gil comes to rescue me at 5pm; I rustled him up a free pass. I am a carny, after all.

We ride the chairlift that crosses the Show grounds. Gil’s all excited at first, swinging his legs and such, but then quickly gets very still and quiet. He tells me in a hushed tone that he’s a little bit afraid of heights.

We check out all the animals – I hug a llama around it’s neck – finishing in the animal nursery. I start off playing with a sweet kid (of the goat variety) who’s quite taken with chewing my hair. I sort of cradle her in my arms and she loves it.
And then, a while later, I figure, “Well, I'll just carry her around with me...”

“You have to put the goat down,” says one of the nursery workers brusquely.
“Oh, of course.”
I turn to Gil, “But she really likes me.”

As we're walking out, Gil asks if I was thinking of taking my goat with me.
“You were, weren't you?”
“Maybe.”

***

We're in the main arena, watching the events leading up to the fireworks. [There are fireworks every night. Have I mentioned that I love the Ekka?]

New South Wales vs Queensland in the wood chopping contest. It's a serious nail-bitter: NSW gets a knot early on, giving QLD a serious lead, but then NSW flies up from behind to take the win.
I've never been so excited about anything lumber-related in my entire life, with fairly good reason.

Next, the horse-jumping/stock car relay race. I know! Each team member goes through the jump course, leaps off the horse, runs to the car, which does a lap, then jumps out and runs back to tag the next person. Queensland is victorious.

Then: a car-drifting race, synchronized ute [pick-up truck] driving (enough to make Busby Berkeley weep!), mad motocross jumps, astounding horse tricks, a tent pegging contest (tent-peg-removal-on-horseback-via-jousting-lance, which is a real sport here), and an ancient fire truck from I believe 1911 outfitted with a jet engine.

By the time the fireworks start, my voice is nearly gone.
And as is always the case with me and fireworks, each one is my absolute favorite.

“That’s a Good Lesson for Everyone.”

I’m out for a drink with Gil, Tisi’s big brother. He’s the last piece of The Hatcher Family puzzle. I’d met Sipola, Tisi’s younger sister, earlier in the week and her parents stayed with us in Melbourne.

And it’s official: they’re all fantastic, without exception.

***

An older man comes over selling chocolate for some fundraiser or other. Gil buys a macadamia nut bar. After the man leaves, Gil ponders aloud whether the charity was legit, then concedes he’s not too fussed if it isn’t, since he got something in the exchange.

He goes on to tell me about a time he and a friend were approached by a guy who wanted $5 for drugs.

“So I said I’d give him $5 for his shoes.”

The friend, who until this point has been enraptured as Gil waxed on about his personal philosophy, was disgusted that Gil actually took the shoes.

He was disenchanted with the religion. I told him he could still be my disciple, but he ran away.
I wasn’t going to just give the guy 5 dollars; there needs to be some kind of exchange. That’s a good lesson for everyone. The shoes are 1½ sizes too small. I still wear them. I get blisters.