Day 58 – 60 : Brisbane – “I can do you a good deal on Swine Flu.”
We emerge into the hot Brisbane night tired and slightly irked by the fact that, inconceivably and despite being on practically the same longitude, Brisbane is an hour behind Sydney. Throw in the fact that the clocks have just shifted back home, and the handy “just invert a.m. to p.m.” trick of knowing what time it is back in Ireland is thrown into total disarray.
We locate luggage (thank you Virgin Blue for not losing it) and take a courtesy shuttle into the heart of Brisbane. Even in the gloom of Australia’s forever marching spring-time dusk, I’m impressed with just how open, clean and seemingly modern Brisbane is.
A short walk later and we’ve located our hostel; one of a trio in a line next to one another, all apparently resembling a reckless fusion of sorority and frat house. Somewhere near its corrupt heart an Irish bar festers, the strange sound of inept warbling permeating through the walls in sickening waves like drowning sheep.
We find our room, and it’s around this point that a repeat performance from the morning in Sydney when my back decided to painfully entangle itself flares up again. At some point in the middle of the night, as sex-starved backpackers race around the complex in search for the willing (or the drunk) and with the neon sign outside bleeding an amber glow into the room, my back explodes in pain. It’s excruciating and, soon enough, I have Sheila up and delving into baggage in search of narcotics. I take two (I wanted to take ten) and Sheila proceeds to massage an enflamed bundle of sinew and nerves in my back. With tears streaming down my face, I’m vaguely aware of my surroundings as painkiller, massage and fatigue eventually drag me under.
Sore, tired and generally of a pissed off disposition, we walk into Brisbane and take a look at Queensland’s biggest city. My impressions of the previous night are only compounded by how clean and well planned out it all seems in the light of day. Brisbane is a new city, with a genuine sense that some degree of thought has been invested in its layout and construction. Unlike Dublin, which resembles the planning deftness of a demented child. We hit the high-streets and walk in to a medical centre and book vaccinations for tomorrow. The rest of the day we spend walking around or relaxing back in the hostel and availing of the free wifi; a veritable treat in these parts.
Day two in Brisbane we walk back into town for our appointment with various innocuous forms of modified viruses. We’re on time, but in the great tradition of medical centres, we’re kept waiting for over an hour. A young and visibly upset Asian girl comes in during this time and announces that she is in need of an “emergence appointment”. She goes in before us but is literally walking out the door about three minutes later. I don’t want to judge, but, the only emergency I can think of that can be described, diagnosed and prescribed in such a short time is emergency contraception. But who knows.
The doctor (eventually) sees us both at the same time, and as Sheila lies on the bed dreading the needles and I sit in an arm-chair not really giving a shit, a batty nurse comes in and asks us where we’re going so as to know what to inject us with. We give her our itinerary, and she starts pulling out boxes from a fridge that appears to cater for every disease known to mankind. I see names such as diphtheria, polio, typhoid, dysentery, malaria, Japanese encephalitis, hepatitis, yellow fever and all forms of gypsy magic.
We’re immunised against typhoid and hepatitis A, the B flavour reserved for those who consider themselves at particular risk due to certain activities in Thailand. As I have no plans to sleep with any Thai prostitutes, I think I’m fairly covered. The two vaccines are injected in one cocktail of protective goodness and, truth be told, I barely feel a thing. Sheila also doesn’t pass out despite a history of fainting at inopportune times. It’s at this point that the Doc asks us if we want Swine Flu. Well, not actual Swine Flu per se as I’m pretty sure he’d lose his licence if he infects us with the actual H1N1 virus, but the vaccine is available – only if we want it of course. As we’re moving back into Ireland’s flu season, and we’re here anyway, we sign up and it’s soon prepared in a separate needle.
This one I do feel, whether because it’s a bigger needle or simply because protection against virulent pigs needs to go that little bit deeper. The nurse mentions diarrhoea and suggests antibiotics which we accept but end up not paying for. She also explains that we should expect headaches, fatigue, cramps, and general malaise due to the vaccinations. Basically I’m about to get my period. She also reveals that my left arm will probably ache for a while. “That will be the typhoid,” she says, knowingly. Great. Though being dead would undoubtedly suck more.
Food wise, Brisbane is a success during the day and an absolute disaster at night. For lunch I seek out sushi in great platters while Sheila avails of wraps and other chicken based products. We suck on half-priced smoothies and walk around admiring the city, from its university grounds to a pleasant park nearby. At night, however, everything “does a New Zealand” and shuts up early and we resort to Hungry Jack’s. Which is actually Burger King under a different name for some bizarre reason. Probably something to do with copyright.
At one point in a food court I spot a Japanese guy labouring over some text. I take a peek and I notice that he’s translating some English into his native tongue. Ironically, as I waited for Sheila to return from the bathroom, I was translating some Japanese into English on my iTouch. The irony that, somehow combined, we would make a formidable opponent, isn’t lost on me.
Having survived the madhouse that was our accommodation and a flirtation with some life-crippling diseases, we walk down to the train station and board for Maryborough West, a train station that will allow us to connect to our next port of call – Hervey Bay. Temperatures are high in Brisbane as we leave, knowing full well that we won’t be experiencing anything cooler for a long time.
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