Brisbane--Day Two

On day two, our packs were still lost in LA and Chris and I found ourselves waking from a 12 hour sleep around 4am. We hoped on the internet, figured a few things, then decided to catch a train up the coast to Beerwah to visit the famous Australia Zoo. Sadly, as we all know, Stevo took a stingray bard to the heart two years ago and wouldn’t be there to greet us, but we figured the trip would be worth it anyway.

After stopping by a bakery to have a breakfast of meat pies (which hold you over for a good long while) we headed back to the train station. The train ride up was nice as we got to see lots of the Sunshine coast countryside—including the massive stone pillars known as the Glass Mountains that, surrounded by jungle and pineapple plantations, look like they belong in Southeast Asia somewhere. The ride was a little over an hour, but felt shorter. We stepped off in the little town of Beerwah (basically a hamlet built up around the pineapple farming industry) and onto a courtesy shuttle for the Zoo which took us all of two kilometers down Steve Irwin Way.

The zoo was fantastic, and we took plenty of photos and video (NOTE: unfortunately we lack the proper cables to transfer the pics and vids to the laptop). We got to hang around plenty of roos and koalas, see all the famous cros like Agro, enjoy a show in the Crocoseum, feed elephants, and looks of other zoo stuff. The staff was great and would wonder up to tell you anything and everything you wanted to know about the animals. Some of them were even walking wombats and the like through the zoo so you pet them or get up close.

One of the funnier things about the zoo was how, despite the hundreds of families with kids being around, the zoo staff during shows would drop ridiculous, yet subtle sexual jokes and no one seemed to mind. At one point during the Crocoseum show the presenter asked everyone to imitate their favorite animal ending with “and men, you could pull your pockets out to do an elephant.” There was also an abundance of sexist humor as well, such as when someone asked after the croc feeding, “how do you tell the males from females?” The whole reply was hilarious, but the best bit was,

“You stick your hand up in that pocket, called the cloaca, and if you feel the wallet and car keys it’s the dad. If you feel around and there is nothing in the pocket, it’s the mom.”

We left the Zoo around closing at 4:30 and were shuttled back to the train station, which was really just a lonely looking platform reminiscent of something you see in westerns. We had about half an hour to kill before the next train, so we went into Beerwah and walked around to get a feel for rural Australia. There were two butcher shops on the main road with a predominance of lamb cuts if that gives you any indication. The place was beautiful though, set against the backdrop of the aforementioned Glass Mountains, and there we lorikeets everywhere in the trees—and they were absolutely annoying. The sound a flock of them makes is the most irritating chatter.

Inside an old used book shop I found a hardback volume entitled Australia: The First Hundred and Fifty Years published in the early Seventies. Flipping it open I landed on a page that had a picture of an aborigine under which was the caption, “Blackfellow throwing a spear.”

The train ride back was in the dark, and a lot longer as we had to constantly stop and wait for other trains to pass us. The train was nearly empty, so I had plenty of space to myself and I used it by stretching out and putting my feet on the opposite seat from me. At one point these train officials came walking through the cabin checking tickets. I sat up straight to show the guy my ticket, and as he left I started to stretch out again with my feet on the seat. As I did this stranger got up from his seat and walked over to me. He said something about my feet on the seat, and I thought he was asking me to take them off, so I said yes and did.

“So that man asked you take them off and you put them right back on?” He said, confusing me.

“No.”

“I ask because I’m a police officer,” he flipped open a badge, “and it’s a hundred and fifty dollar fine for putting your feet on the seat.”

“I’m sorry?”

“What did that guy ask you?”

“He just asked to see my ticket. I thought you had come over to tell me to take my feet off the seat.”

He just looked at me for a minute, then put his badge away.

“Well, it is a hundred and fifty dollar fine, so keep you feet off the bloody seat.”

“Yessir.”

He then walked off and moments later got off the train with his buddies (probably more plainclothes cops). Needless to say, I kept my feet off the seat.