Day 370 | Dougies, Port Douglas: yeah, another day here
rest day2
Does it take years of travelling to make plans one day and postpone them the next?
Has for me, I’m usually more predictable than that.
A day in Port Douglas just didn’t seem enough.
Now two seems quite adequate, thank you.
I haven’t stayed in one of these backpacker “resorts” in the past, I guess the trail through Asia is littered with them. There’s a variety of accommodation here, camping, where I’m stationed, a parking area for all those Wicked vans, plenty of packed dorm rooms and more private, and expensive options. It’s all set in a huge garden, let’s say jungle, overcrowded with vegetation of the type fairly common in Port Douglas, big shady trees, palms, colourful flowers, bright leaves, a lot of mulch of the natural variety, paths, the swimming pool and hammocks out the front, an overused ablution block, guess we must be well over the licensed numbers, a cheap and well used bar smack in the middle, a cheap restaurant over one side. You can guess the age of the resort by the music that’s on the video jukebox that plays continuously: Billy Joel, Metallica’s Enter Sandman, Dire Straits, Faith No More, Steely Dan, other longhaired 80s rockers I no longer recognise, most stuff that was old before most of the resident crew was born.
The population is on continual rotation, each day more punters arrive, those on the earlier cycle heading off for a day at the reef, around $160 to get to a deserted cay about 45 minutes off shore, more are leaving, sunburn evident, dragging their wheelie bags noisily over the decking, some staying for longer go off to their house cleaning jobs at the 4 star resorts on a bike without use of a helmet, or lounge around in ridiculously comfortable hammocks, being mostly European, French, German, not many Aussies, cigarettes seem a major part of social interactions, the TV set hidden away gets few viewers, we know how to socialise, TV is for another generation, here the age band appears to be from 23 to 26 in general, you’re old at 30.
I’m not at all tempted to take the boat out, seems the memory of two weeks at Ningaloo on the other side of the country has helped save me the cash. Speaking of temptation I have had the solitary beer at the close of each day, making use of the Happy Hour when a stubbie can be had for $3.50, after which I stumble off for a standard issue early night.
My first night here I ran into two other cyclists just arrived after almost finishing a loop through the Atherton Tablelands and up to Cape Trib on 28 mm tyres. Not a good start when they announced that they had not warmed to Nelson on their recent South Island tour. Hunh, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard of that, anyone else I speak to wished they’d stayed longer. One night here was sufficient, saw them today in town so they must have found a room more suitable, ie, without the random night time noise of youff.
I’m glad I stayed the extra day but now I can sense I have the mood for kicking along a few miles tomorrow. There’s a ferry across the Daintree River supposedly at a cost of $1 for bikes, a couple of hills, but the road is sealed for as far as Cape Tribulation when the real work will begin.
Cape Trib marks the end of this highly populated sector of my trip that started in Kuranda, not so many backpackers beyond, it’ll be back to the bearded 4WDers with their camping trailers.
Also after today the posts are going to be back to the sporadic: only occasional reception out there, Cooktown, Coen, Bamanga, well, until I make it well down south.