A Weekend in Brisbane

Our last morning in Byron Bay started slowly on account of the beers consumed the night before, but by midday we were on the road to Brisbane where we were meeting our friends Mike and Bex. We had originally met them in the Blue Mountains before Christmas, and seen them a few times since, but just a couple of weeks after we moved to Sydney they moved away to Brisbane (though they assured us there was no connection) and we were keen to have a weekend of drunkenness with some familiar faces.

Being on the road, or even when settling in a town for just a short while, most friends that you make are for one night only! Stories exchanged in the pub or round a fire at night are always entertaining – you always remember and retell your most exciting tales – but the start of the night tends to follows a tedious pattern of introductions and exchanging background stories and that level of familiarity that defines the relationship between good friends is rarely reached. So when you hit it off with fellow travelers, spend some time together and stay in touch, it's always worth the effort to ensure your paths cross again.

So it was with no lack of excitement that we made the uneventful journey 150km north to Brisbane and the state of Queensland to visit our friends that we hadn't seen for nearly six months. They had been living in a beautiful 'Queenslander' house; a roomy wooden structure on stilts with various levels and open spaces to encourage a cooling flow of air. But it was straight out to the garden we went to discuss our latest adventures and plans for the upcoming weeks. The weather was noticeably better than it had been in Sydney – staying warmer further into the evening and without a cloud in the sky all day.

That evening we went into the city to see a band that had been recommended to Mike – and to our surprise it was a band we knew! I had spent a while discussing slide-guitar with the main guitarist/singer in Byron Bay before his solo gig, but then missed most of his set that evening. So now was my chance to catch him again and this time with his band The Lapdogz. He didn't disappoint and neither did the opening act, Mark Easton Limousine, who played two equally impressive blues sets.

It was a little late when we finally stumbled out of the pub and into a cab that the more inebriated of us were very surprising to find waiting outside. And so it was with a slightly fuzzy head that we found ourselves walking to the market early the following morning. We'd missed most of the markets on the way up, so I was keen to dive headlong into the throng when we arrived. One of my favourite things about markets is the abundance of food stalls – and so I strolled through the crowds with a skewer of pork balls in one hand, a cup of freshly squeezed sugar cane juice in my other hand, and a lady finger banana in my pocket waiting for one of my hands to become free. The fruit and veg were amazingly fresh and cheap, but it was the temptation of the fried foods that mostly won out. As we left the market we saw a corner of a main street that looked like an allotment – and that was more-or-less what it was. An organic community garden where everything from broccoli to paw paw was being grown; with no fences or gate, and no vandalism either! It's a shame when a thought like that occurs, but when it did I felt it illustrated the difference between Australians and Brits perfectly – and markedly increased my resolve to stay amongst these people.

With a couple of brief stops on the way home for cakes, smoothies, and sausage rolls, we made it back shortly after midday. I was stuffed and ready for a kip; but managed to hold out until around midnight and spent the rest of the day strolling through parks and sitting in the garden with jugs of freshly made sangria and great friends.