I’ve been doing this for some years now and I have always maintained a fascination with the old Bali. You see, during the 1940’s and 1950’s, this fascinating island attracted a tribe of artists and anthropologists who came to enjoy its magic and ended up leaving their own mark on Bali. Painter Adrien-Jean Le Mayeur de Merprès arrived from Belgium and settled in Sanur with his new Balinese wife. Anthropologist Margaret Mead arrived from America to study Indonesian culture, gender, and human development. Walter Spies was a Russian-born German painter, musician, and polymath who arrived in Bali in the 1930’s and became a significant figure in Bali’s cultural renaissance.

I’ve never wanted to travel into the future, my fantasies lean backwards - toward a slow and simple life where people and relationships mattered more to each other and time was abundant. I often mention, to those who listen to my musings, that I can’t wait for time travel to be a reality so that I can go back to those days and drink gin with painters on balmy nights, under starry skies, in Bali with gamelan music floating on the breeze.

This week I think my dream of time travel will become my reality. I’m on a Cruise Ship in the North Pacific Ocean drinking cocktails, eating far too much gourmet food and walking laps around the promenade deck to counter the calories.

Tonight I will cross The International Date Line. It’s Thursday May 14 today and when I wake up tomorrow morning the Pacific Ocean will give me another Thursday May 14.

It’s a wonderfully absurd notion and maybe proof that time is a social construct. Nevertheless I’m imagining the implications;

Will my iPhone have a conniption?

How will my step counter tally my daily steps?

Will my photo timestamps support the evidence of my time travel experience?

Will I age normally while my calendar repeats itself?

Will I technically be younger than people who stayed at home?

I find that travel tends to alter my relationship with time anyway; Memories add value, routines are altered and unexpected adventures warp the sense of passing time. Maybe that’s a reason for travel - not to escape our ordinary lives but to leave the strict machinery of ordinary time behind.

I may never reach the Bali of Walter Spies and drifting gamelan music but somewhere between two Thursdays, on a ship crossing an imaginary line the ocean, I might come surprisingly close.

Until the use of plastic packaging became widespread here, almost everything was wrapped in organic materials; larger parcels in batik fabric and smaller parcels, such as food, in leaves. Once a take-away meal was finished, its container was thrown on the ground or in a nearby river and it didn’t matter, because that container was most likely a banana leaf. If not a banana leaf it was something similarly organic that would break down and add to the spiritual cycle of life and death that permeates Balinese culture. Is this the reason why the majority of Balinese still throw their waste on the ground or in waterways? I don’t know but that excuse is definitely wearing thin.

The last five-or-so decades of tourism growth in Bali has seen rubbish increase exponentially and the locals, the tourism sector and the tourists themselves have no idea what to do with it. Simply because official processing systems have been inadequate at best or, in some cases, nonexistent.

During this current crisis the streets are lined with piles of rubbish, illegal dumping is rife and government authorities are being criticised and blamed by people who have no idea what to do with their own waste.

I think it’s a good thing.

You see people are finally talking about the elephant.

My friend in the picture below is ‘Little Made’, named because his off-sider is also named Made but he is bigger. They run a business collecting rubbish and, until now, have taken it unsorted, to Suwung. Little Made has morphed into something of a Rubbish Warrior. He talks about ‘memilah sampah’ a relatively new phrase in the lexicon of the Balinese. It means ‘sorting rubbish’ and Little Made now does it all day, every day. What he lacks in stature he makes up for in fortitude, waking at dawn to sort other people’s waste like a person possessed. I asked him, in both English and Indonesian, where the rubbish would be taken. Sadly he had no answer in either language.

He piles it in his truck.

Meanwhile, I’m noticing a huge flurry as most businesses and some homes begin their ‘memilah sampah’ journey. Separate containers are appearing everywhere in tourist areas. Households that can afford to are buying sealable buckets or even compost systems.

Large scale rubbish operations are not new. Some are businesses, like ecobali, and are paid to collect, sort and process. Others, such as Sungai Watch, Plastic Free Pemuteran and Jasri Hijau are volunteer warriors who do a fantastic job within the scope of their abilities.

What is lacking is education and understanding at the village level. I talk constantly to anyone who will engage with me on this topic, in particular young people. Consensus is that it’s ‘too hard’ - most don’t believe attitudes can change. Older people have thrown rubbish on the ground forever. Younger generations respect their elders and blindly follow suit. More than one person astounded me with the claim that it is a good thing to drop rubbish because their Banjar (local council) pays people to pick it up after ceremonies and gatherings. It seems to me a warped logic that they are doing the paid rubbish collectors a favour.

It’s going to take a long time to change attitudes and educate the huge population here, however, I’m hopeful that it is beginning. I’m a firm believer in magic and there’s plenty of it in Bali.

Don’t stop travelling to this magical island, for the most part it is still a paradise. Why not join me in manifesting positivity in this time of change. It’s an opportunity that, hopefully, will not be missed.

Go the long way round. Tanah Lot is an ancient Hindu temple in the sea on the west coast of Bali. Throngs of tourists head to watch the sun go down behind the temple each evening and the roads become choked with tour buses. The path leading to the temple is lined with stalls selling cheap tat and the vendors appear spiritless despite their circumstances, which, presumably, are both spiritually divine and financially lucrative. Meanwhile there’s a path through the rice fields starting at a nearby village called Kedungu. Start walking early in the morning, it’s less than two kilometres to the temple. It’s picturesque and serene and a far better option than battling the masses at the temple in the evening. You can have a cup of coffee or Nasi Goreng for breakfast overlooking Tanah Lot and watch the crowds slowly build before you set off on your return journey through the rice fields.

Go ‘backwards’. My ‘Great Wall’ tip is also worth sharing. I felt compelled to see a section of this immense structure during my first trip to China. I also felt a sense of apprehension about the crowds I was likely to encounter. I found myself walking through a nasty corridor with stalls on either side, selling tacky souvenirs, and figured I was on the right track to walk on The Wall. However, I spotted a Cable Car entry. I bought a one-way ticket on the cable car for 80¥ plus 40¥ for an entry ticket to the Great Wall. I enjoyed the short cable-car ride to a high point on the wall and then I started walking back down.

You see the crowds tend to head straight to the lower section of The Wall so that they can start walking on it immediately. I chose to do the opposite to everyone else and found I had whole sections of The Wall to myself. I walked for a good half hour, admiring watchtowers, troop barracks, garrison stations, and gunwales, before seeing another soul. It was just The Great Wall of China and me.

Down first, then up. When in Lisbon. Ride Down the Santa Justa Elevator, rather than up. You’ll have exactly the view and the same experience, but you’ll save an hour or so waiting in line at the bottom.

Travel anti-clockwise around the Hakone Loop in Japan.

If the crowds go in summer, go in winter. While the tourist attractions may be closed, the local culture is still evident, probably more so. Rentals are generally slashed in price and chances are the weather will still be pleasant and you’ll be able to sit al fresco at cafes and relax without experiencing stifling summer heat and summer prices.

You get the picture; be contrary.

During summer the colours are dazzling and are said to be the reason Picasso, Van Gogh, Cezanne, and numerous other paint-masters spent so much time here.

2. Walking along the coast. The large city of Marseille lies between the Côte d’Azur to the east and the less busy Côte Bleue to the south west. I love walking between small towns dotted along these coasts and the views are never less than spectacular.

3. Walking Trails. As well as ‘nature walks’ through forests and along cliffs there are many self-guided walking trails designed to show off the fascinating history and art of this culture-rich region. One favourite of mine is the Van Gogh Painters Walk in Arles. You can pick up a map from the Information Centre and follow the trail to find ten sights imortalised by Van Gogh in his paintings.

4. French Trains. A comprehensive network of trains runs along this entire coastline so if I walk too far in one direction I can catch a train home in time for L’heure du pastis (more about that later). I especially love it that dogs, bicycles, suitcases and even inflatable mattresses are welcome on the trains.

5. Les Callanques. The dramatic coastline of southern France is punctuated by beaches, sometimes rocky, sometimes sandy and usually supported by amenities such as toilets, showers, bars and restaurants.

Less structured but more magical than the beaches are the Callanques, steep valleys that run between the limestone cliffs towards the Mediterranean sea. Some are quite easy to access by car or train but many present the enticing challenge of being only accessible on foot. Usually after a considerable walk through scrub and occasionally after downward cliff clamber. It’s worth the effort to settle in for a swim and a picnic in these idyllic natural locations.

6. The weather in the south of France, at least during the summer months, suits me perfectly with temperatures usually around 90 degrees Fahrenheit, little rain and eleven hours of sunshine every day. These conditions are just right for water sports and it’s easy to rent a kayak, SUP, surfboard, windsurfer or small boat anywhere along the coast. I love the novelty of hiring a paddle boat with built in water slide!

7. Small ports. They’re everywhere and there’s always something going on; fish markets in the early morning, craft markets in the evenings, live music, fireworks and puppet shows. Boats galore, of course, sea birds, fishermen, children having sailing lessons, acrobats and pop-up events, you name it. They are great place to while away time.

8. The delightful and slightly strange customs. There are many including the sport known as La Joute nautique. Strong men wear protective breastplates and perch on a beam that protrudes from a boat. They then use jousting sticks to knock other men off their beams into the water.

9. Moules Frites. The beaches and ports are ideal locations for bars and restaurants, all of which do a roaring trade during summer. The popular, summer meal of choice is Moules Frites and I love it to bits. Fresh mussels, usually a kilo, are served in a heavy cooking pot with a choice of sauces. My favourite sauce is Roquefort. A side of frites is mandatory and there’s often a crusty baguette to mop up excess sauce.

10. Bouillabaisse is a fish soup with humble beginnings. It was originally cooked by fishermen who used low quality fish and ‘spare parts’ that they couldn’t send to the market. It was cooked in a cauldron on the beach with shellfish and spices. Traditional bouillabaisse contains several kinds of fish along with saffron, orange zest and fennel. It has become a more sophisticated (and quite expensive) dish in recent times and is served with pride and ceremony at restaurants along the coast.

11. The markets. When I need a change from eating fresh, delicious and reasonably priced meals from outdoor restaurants in France I head to a market. Even the smallest seaside town holds a market at least once a week where seasonal produce is fresh and cheap. Seasonal is the keyword. I once embarrassed myself by asking for une citrouille ( a pumpkin) in July. Whoops!

12. The cheese. I once heard a heated conversation, in French, between two of my dinner companions that continued for 20 minutes. My friend eventually turned to me and explained ‘we are discussing which is the best cheese’. The French are passionate about cheese and I understand why. The choices include Cow, Sheep or Goats cheese, soft, hard, ash, mature fresh, mild or robust and, of course, cheese from different regions. All are delicious and enjoyed every day, usually with a baguette, sometimes two.

13. The wine. It is cheap, plentiful and divine. My favourite is Provençal Rose and it is usually served with ice at bars and restaurants.

14. The French patisserie. Do not be on a diet in France, you’ll be torturing yourself. Chocolate gateaux, custard tarts laden with glazed fruit, light almond flavoured pastries with almond paste and flaked nuts, Tarte Tropézienne, meringues, the list seems endless and I’m on a dedicated quest to taste them all. They are usually carefully packed into an elegant cardboard box, tied with a ribbon, for the journey home.

15. L’heure du pastis. Pastis is an anise-flavoured spirit best enjoyed at the end of a hot summer’s day due to it’s refreshing nature. I love the routine of drinking Pastis to punctuate the end of a hot day and the beginning of the cooler evening.

16. The language. Who doesn’t love the sound of the French language? It’s melodic, rhythmic and very sexy. I love that I have wonderful, patient friends in France who listen and help me as I bumble through French sentences.

17. The sound of the cigale (cicada). Their chant is omnipresent on a warm day in the south of France and is always a welcome reminder to me that I am in my favourite place.

18. Street art is prolific in France. The French are proud of their artists and happy to show off their creations. I love arriving in a new French town and discovering street art.

19. The Camargue is a unique region, quite different from most of France. It’s a salty marshland with copious lagoons that are home to an abundance of bird life including the greater flamingo.

The Camargue is also famous for it’s horses, a breed thought to be the oldest in the world and indigenous to this area. Majestic black bulls are also bred here and used in Camargue-style, bloodless bullfights. The bulls are tended by ‘Guardians’, very smartly dressed cowboys.

20. Marseille is France’s second largest city after Paris. It has a long maritime history, a cosmopolitan population, splendid architecture and a reputation for crime. It’s a gritty city and I love it. Le Panier is the original old town, first settled by Greek in 600BC. It’s a maze of tiny streets with tall, thin buildings and a series of small town squares that host al-fresco bars and restaurants. Le Panier is close to the old port of Marseille where you can catch a ferry to nearby islands and explore further afield.

I’ve restricted myself to only twenty things I love about the south of France but there’s about a hundred more. I can’t get enough of it.

I watched from the cobblestones and reflected on how my travel habits, and indeed my attitudes to travel, had encountered such a radical change in the space of two years.

I had visited Venice before, with my bucket list written in the notes app on my phone. I had booked into a small hotel for three nights and set about completing my list. I joined the throngs at St Mark’s Basilica, had my photo taken in St Mark’s Square, walked over The Rialto Bridge, taken a boat ride to Murano, Burano and Torcello, bought glass souvenirs and, of course, paid an exorbitant price to ride in a Gondola. I felt a sense of achievement when I ticked off most of my items but I sensed something missing. I think it was authenticity.

Fast forward two years and I found myself back in Venice. This time I came for a daytrip, actually a series of daytrips. I booked into an Airbnb in Mogliano, a small town about 20kms from Venice. The apartment was on the second floor of a building not far from the local train station. It had a small kitchen, a tiny balcony overlooking a piazza and a washing machine. It was far more reasonably priced than even the smallest hostel room in Venice, and it had all the amenities my travel companion husband and I needed to settle in and establish a regular routine for a couple of weeks.

There were trains to Venice every 30 minutes, every day, and the journey took only twenty-five minutes. There were plenty of other towns of interest nearby, all easily accessible by train from Mogliano. We bought train passes to maximize travel value and started to make a few plans.

The Biennale was on in Venice, and I was keen to see an art exhibition or two but, apart from our usual pursuits of eating and walking, we had no firm agenda. An annoying bout of hay fever set a whole unlikely chain of events in motion.

In our search for antihistamines we met young pharmacist who had recently studied in England and spoke eloquent English. This was helpful since our Italian speaking skills were still emerging. She had expert knowledge with regard to hay fever remedies and was also very keen to practise her English. As our conversation unfolded we asked for recommendations on how we should see ‘the other side’ of Venice. The side without tinned spaghetti. She told us the names of a few restaurants frequented by locals. They were in the backstreets of Venice, of course, towards the lagoon, and our challenge was to find them.

As soon as the antihistamines took effect, we caught the train to St Lucia station and walked for hours through labyrinthine calles (small streets) watching locals hang out washing, nonnas playing with their grandbabies and people buying fresh produce from a floating market. We sat for ages watching the activity at the ‘petrol station” where the boats and water taxis fill up near the lagoon.

Towards the late afternoon as hunger pangs became apparent, we attempted to find Paradiso Perduta on Fondamenta De La Misericordia, our pharmacist friend’s recommended restaurant. On the way we came across Al Timon, a popular Venetian Bacaro or traditional wine bar. We bought two Aperol Spritz for just €2.50 each and authentic local snacks such as milky codfish and Porchetta on fresh bread for €1.50 each. Then we came upon Osteria Al Mariner where we purchased more Aperol Spritz and some heavenly seafood snacks including stuffed squid, octopus, and scallops with polenta. Everything tasted like the sea (in a good way).

English language menus were rare in these restaurants, which seemed to help keep the tourist hoards at bay. We spent numerous hours over numerous meals working our way through the menu over the next two weeks and every single dish we tasted was delicious. Salty sardines, succulent squid, big fat prawns and vongole were tossed through fresh pasta or piled high on platters. Working through the menu was fun and we often had no idea what we were ordering. The elements of anticipation and surprise added to the fun.

We sometimes sat inside amongst tables of happy locals all talking at the same time. At other times we sat al fresco next to the canal and watched as various watercraft glided past.

When we weren’t eating, we were walking through small alleyways, over cobblestones and across bridges. When we weren’t walking, we tried a variety of different water transport options. We decided to forego the overpriced gondola option this time around. After riding on a variety of ferries and vaporettos through canals, across the lagoon and to a few small islands we took our lives into our own hands and rented a double kayak and a guide named Jack.

His first instruction was ‘Don’t touch the gondolas’. The gondoliers of Venice are seemingly at the top of the pecking order and don’t take kindly to anyone messing with their equipment. Taking heed, we set off alongside small alleyways, below the level of cobblestones and under bridges. Jack expertly guided us through some smaller canals to the lagoon then across the Grand Canal not once but THREE times.

Seeing Venice from water level offered a whole different perspective of boats and buildings. I enjoyed brief glimpses of private docks and garden courtyards of homes and the underside of ornate stone bridges large and small.

I was keen to visit the Peggy Guggenheim Art Museum. The museum is located on The Grand Canal in the Palazzo Venier dei Leoni. Peggy Guggenheim purchased the palazzo in 1949 and made it her home. Apparently, Peggy was something of a wild child and had a penchant for affairs with writers, artists and gondoliers. While wandering through the palazzo and its gardens, admiring various forms of artwork, I imagined Peggy’s life there. Art, seen in a building that was once someone’s home, is more appealing than a purpose-built gallery to my mind. All those ghosts from past parties and soirées drifting about. I’d love to hear their stories.

We travelled into Venice on the train ten times or so at different times of the day and evening, savouring different sights and scenes. We came to know our way around quite well. On the second to last day another tourist asked us for directions to the floating fruit market. I answered with confidence; ‘It’s not far from Peggy Guggenheim’s place’.

We enjoyed daytrips to other nearby towns including Treviso, famous for Prosecco and Tiramisu, and Bassano del Grappa where we participated in a Grappa Tasting.

Back on Lista di Spagna, the waiter collected the plates of congealed spaghetti and disappeared inside. The diners sat with their overpriced sparkling water and expressions of disappointment. Somewhere further into the city — past the souvenir shops selling Murano glass that wasn’t made in Murano — a bell was ringing across the water.

Welcome to The Slow Wanderer — a newsletter about travelling less, seeing more, and finding a more authentic version of the world.

I’ve been spending lots of time in Sanur just lately. It’s sleepier than the other side of the island and there are no traffic jams. Not yet, at least.

There’s paved path that winds its way along the coast for around 4 kms past shops and restaurants and traditional boats bobbing on the water. There’s always an interesting sight to see at any time of the day or evening.

Walking inevitably prompts an appetite and it’s not difficult to find delicious food, local or not, nearby. There is a wide choice of restaurants along the paved path as well as cafes and warungs further back from the shore.

Once I’ve satisfied these two primary addictions I always feel I’ve deserved a pamper-treat so I head to a spa. I have put together my shortlist of personal favourites in Sanur, with a brief description of why I added each to my bliss list.

First on my list is Peni Weni in Jalan Sudamala, at the south end of Sanur. It’s owned by a local and is quite traditional in its decor and many of the treatments offered here. The main salon area is open and there is usually a quiet buzz of conversation, in a variety of languages, between staff and clients enjoying mani-pedis. I’m glad I speak and understand Indonesian and a smidge of Balinese because I often pick up a titbit of local gossip.

My ultimate pleasure treatment here is the traditional cream bath. After a half-hour head massage, with a thick conditioning lotion, my head is wrapped in a warm towel to help the conditioner do magic things to my hair. While this magic happens my arms, hands, neck and shoulders are massaged. Then my hair is washed and blow-dried before I float out of the salon in a dreamy state. All this for around$15Aus.

Exactly next door is Leha-Leha Spa. Like its neighbour, Leha-Leha Spa follows a traditional Indonesian theme. Flowers, incense and soft music create an ambience, both welcoming and relaxing, as clients prepare for their chosen treatment. I recently indulged in a three hour massage-body scrub-facial-flower bath combination that left me in a bubble of euphoria for the rest of the day.

Uptown, on Jalan Danau Tamblingan, Sanur’s main road, is Koa Boutique Spa. This one is a more sophisticated venue and offers an onsite boutique so you can buy a new handbag, frock or other adornment after your treatment.

A one hour massage at Koa will cost around $16Aus. I have enjoyed very good massages here although the salon has cubicles rather than enclosed rooms and there were distractions as clients came in and out of the area. I admit this did disturb my mindfulness practice.

My favourite Koa treatment is the very professional pedicure which incorporates a foot scrub and leg massage for $22Aus. Lots of colours to choose from too.

As far as location goes, The Nest wins hands-down as the very best in Sanur. Perched on the edge of the beach with a clear view of boats and sparkling water this spa ensures an exquisite experience even before you enter the salon.

My pick of treatments here is Happy Feet, which costs $37aus and lasts 70 minutes. My feet are exfoliated, and massaged, treated with a cooling mint foot mask, moisturised then finished with an expert polish application. It is a bit dearer here than the other day spas mentioned but that’s a minor consideration when the view from my pedi-chair is worth an abundance of rupiah.

Guests are offered a refreshing lime sorbet at the end of their treatment at The Nest. What a beautiful way to finish a delightful experience.

All off my top four are within about 2kms of each other and easily accessible by bicycle.

After a wonderful week of exploring Far North Queensland, admiring art and enjoying food, we channeled our inner Michael Portillo and excitedly prepared for our return journey to Brisbane by train.

Cairns is known for its excellent, authentic-style Asian food and we had enjoyed Indonesian, Thai and Vietnamese cuisine during our stay . We also managed to time it just right to catch ‘City Lights’, a fabulous art projection organised by the annual Cairns Festival and spent our last evening eating Pho and watching a light show just across the road.

Despite the fact there was rain predicted we chose to walk to the train station on the morning of our departure. There was a bit of drizzle around and I arrived with slightly damp hair but we were mindful of the impending 25 hours of sitting down on a train and figured some leg stretching might be in order.

Karl complains that I always cause us to arrive far too early for plane and train journeys but I don’t like to take any chances. He stopped complaining when he spotted a sophisticated coffee machine in a cafe adjacent to the station that was open at when we arrived at 7am. I stayed on the platform and waited for the train.

It duly arrived before its scheduled departure time of 8.35am and together we climbed excitedly aboard. We love a train trip.

An added enticement was the fact that this train has ‘pods’, similar to those in Business Class on planes, rather than traditional sleeper carriages. Due to the global pandemic we hadn’t traveled in a Business Class plane seat for almost two years and withdrawals were setting in.

Another reminder of what we were missing were our amenities packs. A handy sanitiser, lip balm, a face washer and hand cream were included but I was surprised at the absence of a toothbrush, especially since the trip went overnight and the train had a bathroom (more on that later).

We sat back and enjoyed the passing scenery which initially featured rainforest and, appropriately, rain.

An attentive staff member arrived to take our menu choices for lunch, dinner and breakfast the following morning. I was really starting to enjoy this plane, I mean train, journey.

Once that task was completed I turned my mind to paid work. I had a contract to mark University papers and the due date was looming. I love it that I can do this work from anywhere in the world (wishful thinking during the pandemic) and a comfy seat on a train with a large picture window was a very pleasant workspace.

Karl continued to enjoy the view.

I had chosen a filo pastry concoction with roasted vegetables on the inside and a balsamic glaze on the outside. Karl had ordered sticky honey-soy chicken. We both had dessert. And we both had wine. Just like we do in Business on a plane except we had the added appeal of a view.

At some stage we noticed the north-bound Spirit of Queensland passing by on its way to Cairns.

With a full tummy and wine-induced sense of relaxation I turned on the large TV screen and scrolled through the movie selection.

I watched two movies before dinner and another after. The beef cheeks I ordered were as tender as any I had ever tasted. Who knew train food could be this good?

Blissed out by good food, nice wine, movies and a sense of adventure I gathered my pyjamas (my brown, Qantas First set) and my toothbrush and headed for the bathroom. That’s right, there is a full and proper bathroom on board this train with hot water, good water pressure and plenty of space. I haven’t yet enjoyed this form of luxury on a plane.

Et voila! On my return from the bathroom I was greeted with a flat bed, crisp white sheets, a fat pillow and a fluffy doona. I lay down and felt the gentle, rhythmic rocking motion of the train and prepared myself for a perfect night’s sleep.

I should have known it was too good to be true! Everything had been super-perfect until I lay my head on my fat pillow. Then it started- the incessant snoring of my across-the-aisle neighbour.

And my in-front neighbour.

And another somewhere else in the carriage.

This is why they have sleeper carriages on trains. You see, jet engines on planes are louder that the clickety-clack of train wheels, the engines drown out the sound of snoring passengers. I was in a business class carriage but I had brought my economy class earplugs and they were not up to the challenge of my loud neighbours.

It sounded like a zoo in there.

Neither Karl nor I slept well and started the next morning feeling groggy and sluggish. We drank extra coffee with breakfast and observed the changing scenery (less rainforesty now) with bleary eyes.

We crossed numerous waterways as we headed through Gympie and into greater Brisbane. There’s a lot of water in Queensland.

On our return home we prepared for an early night to catch up on sleep. Our exhaustion didn’t detract from our enjoyment, however, and we agreed we would do it all over again if we could. We’ll take business-class earplugs next time.