It was raining; still; it wouldn’t go away; so I decided to head to Brisbane for some cultural benefits. My motorhome was parked at a Chermside Shopping Centre and buses ran every half hour so it seemed like a good idea.

Camera in one hand, umbrella in the other and instructions on bus routes in my brain I headed off to a city I really had hardly visited at all during my life. Droplets streaked across the glass panes as we travelled through the modern suburbs, at times deviating into tunnels, purpose built for buses that got both them and their passengers out of the main roads and into their own little cells beneath the chaos above.

19th century townhouses, now a famous restaurant

We arrived at where it was desirable to alight; I knew this because the bus driver told me so, otherwise I would have ended up at the ‘Gabba, scene of a lot of pain for New South Welshmen apparently, something to do with sports I heard.

No sooner had I come from the depths of the transport dungeon than I spotted a free bus so I hopped on, past so much modern development with the occasional historic building holding sway against the intrusion of the high rise.

Faces were hidden beneath the umbrellas as pedestrians scurried here and there until I egressed by the river and joined them. Here there were different coloured panes of multi-storey office blocks so I started shooting, inspired by the shapes that were reflected.

The old superimposed on the new

I kept myself amused by saying to a lady walking by with a bouquet, “Oh, are they for me?” She merely smiled as she drifted by and I went on shooting but was chastised by an alpha male who emerged from one of the buildings and told me in no uncertain terms that pointing the camera towards the interior of the building was forbidden and no photos were allowed. Since I was about 25 metres away from the entrance of the open glass high rise I found the whole thing extraordinary. He went on to explain that I had been seen on security cameras (like, I cared) and that this was a premier building. I thought to say “Whoop de do” but figured he wouldn’t understand.

Thus it was that I learnt that some architecture in Australia is sacred and no contrary point is accepted.

Brisbane’s historic Customs House

My next stop was lunch at the best restaurant I’ve ever eaten at in Oz, George’s Paragon. The service (fi nally found a restaurant in Australia that knows what that means) was absolutely superb. When I was half way through the biggest sole I’ve ever eaten the waitress, unasked, came and offered to have it turned over for me; upon which she departed to the kitchen and presto, back it came overturned.

Modern and interesting

The pavlova and hot chocolate were fi rst class; so pleased I stopped there (it was half price; why else would I go in!).

Then I resumed walking and strode across the Storey Bridge to the Queensland Art Gallery, half of which was closed because of an upcoming exhibition but there was enough to satisfy; a small but wonderfully eclectic selection. A painting called Evicted by Blandford Fletcher nearly brought a tear to my eye as the sadness of a mother and child stoically walking away from their home forever, watched by her soon-to-be ex-neighbours was emotionally portrayed in this 1887 offering of Victorian life.

After that it was back to the suburbs and whatever the night had to offer in the Woolies carpark.

Mount Coonowrin

THE GUIDING LIGHT

It was like a pointer, nature’s way of guidance, yet the road was man made, the funnel of trees that of plantation timber and only the hill, hereabouts called a mountain, was in its natural state.

The sun, a rare commodity these days, fl ashed briefly between galloping clouds, borne on the remnants of storm bearing winds. Despite many unwanted adventures I’d encountered over the years heading down unnamed roads I turned off yet again into  the unknown with a little more caution this time than previously and, when the road started to appear difficult, I actually pulled up and parked, somewhere in the depths of the Glasshouse Mountains after earlier departing Brisbane.

Exchanging tyres for shoes I headed out with minimalist equipment along the severely eroded road at first, which soon declined into a steep track which, though readily discernible, appeared not to have been trod for some time.

The road to the mountain, so called

It, too, had suffered badly from the recent rains and the occasional off piste excursion was required where I noticed flora I hadn’t seen before.

Then the trail became overgrown and tricky to see but I had reached the apex and here it was decidedly rocky with each step being exercised with caution, bearing in mind a friend’s experience while bushwalking that ended with an ankle busted in three places, then three plates and five screws inserted and her sitting in a wheelchair for months.

I was supposed to notify someone before I walked solo but I neglected to do so though ever conscious of my promise I did take extra care.

Mount Tibrogargan

The views were a delight after I scrambled for five minutes hand over hand up the last bit, though I figured late afternoon would have been the ideal time for photography. Turns out I had climbed Mount Tibberoowuccum (no, I’m not going to pronounce it … ever), about the smallest peak in the area but it overlooks Tibrogargan, the famous mount that is prominent beside the main highway. Mind you, if you think that’s bad, try saying Mount Miketebumulgrai quickly, or any way for that matter. It’s a nondescript hump further north.

Glasshouse Mountains residents

From here I moved on to the Lookout Cafe where, after a little time, I had a small party of “victims” looking at my albums. This went on for about two hours and the English couple plus the Oz and the German girl he was with pored over a few and we discussed travel.

Pied butcher bird

We sat overlooking a sublime view with the mown grass leading down to the macadamia trees beneath which Eastern grey wallabies rested during the warm afternoon and all of this was balanced by the Glasshouse Mountains in the background. A cooling breeze swept across our balcony seats and the special moments were lost on none of us.

Next call was the Glasshouse Mountains Lookout just up the road, a popular spot where expansive views over some of the peaks could be had, along with a lovely picnic spot, toilets and a nature walk.

I thought I might leave and move further north but, in the end I stayed at the lookout not only post sunset but all night. It’s a bit special when you’re the first one at a place like this at first light; moving around with the birds, except that I was interrupted at around 10pm when the local yobs arrived and stayed till the wee hours.

Category: Unknown
Written: Tue 01 Mar 2016
Printed: March, 2016
Published By: