Before we left for Cape Tribulation, we wanted to check out the Yacht Clubs once again – that was my job – + give the docks another whirl to see about boats to Thursday Island – Val’s task. Our notes were, much as anticipated, unused, unmarked, but this is what one must expect with this sort of approach. The only result was to make me hot, dusty + sweaty – it was a much further walk than remembered. Val was waiting for me back at the hotel, + hadn’t been much more fortunate. The guy she had spoken to, Brett de Ville, owner of a local fishery company, had been helpful, tho’ none of the information he’d provided had been very good. Sure he could take us up to the York Islands, off the top of Cape York, but first we’d have to obtain permission from the islanders + aboriginal council to land, second it was a wild + desolate place anyway, + third it would cost us $100 apiece for the trip. Then we’d have to find a boat to take us to Thursday Island, which was even more desolate, + dangerous to boot. From there, a fishing boat would take us to New Guinea, or an outlying island thereof (you guessed it – foul + desolate) + from there, another boat to Port Moresby. So, as the man said, “Why not fly?”
Still, we didn’t allow this information to depress us. Why should it, when one doesn’t expect better. So we got ourselves out on the hitching road, a little later than should. It was very hot indeed, + carrying all our gear, we weren’t inclined to walk too far out of town. Fortunately, we didn’t have to wait too long before we were picked up, a girl taking us a few miles out of town. From there, we picked up our bags + carried them a hundred yards or so, + had only just plonked them down again when we were picked up again. He was a pom, who had made his living as a diver before being hit by a truck, + now walked out onto the coral + collected tropical fish for aquaria. He talked to Val most – I was in the back, with the radio blaring out behind my head, so couldn’t hear the conversation, but I was able to soak in the scenery – glorious yellow beaches, blue water, green palms. And once he’d dropped us, the first truck along picked us up.
A middle-aged couple, in their 40s, now retired, + travelling about. We sat on the back, on top of their tent, – a very comfortable perch, + out in the open, so really fabulous, even if we did catch clouds of dust from time to time, from vehicles going the other way. Came to the Daintree river, with its Beware of Crocodiles sign, + took the ferry across from there. A lovely spot, + a quaint ferry, but a grumpy ferryman, + $2 each for the trip. On the other side, there were 3 other hitchers – Europeans that we knew from the hotel, + they’d been waiting for 3 hours or so, so our driver agreed to take them too. We felt just a little disturbed that our idyllic ride should be disturbed in this way, but at least it gave me the opportunity to sit up on their box, facing forwards, + hanging onto the bar. It was an exhilarating ride – all one had to do was look out for hanging vines – I managed that, all but once.
We were dropped off at the 2nd of the shops in Cape Tribulation – that’s all there is, no town as such. Our 3 companions set off for the hotel, our drivers turned round + headed back out, + Val + I, after making a couple of enquiries, hoisted our packs + set off walking to the camping spot out on the beach. It was a good bit further than we’d thought, 4 kms or so, so were pleased to be picked up – a young guy in a beat-up Cortina with a superb stereo. Another ex-pom (or taff) from Cardiff, now living on the dole + sleeping on the beach. Walked down to the beach from the car-park, passing 2 young ladies without their shirts – this is my sort of place, I thought – + then down to the beach.
The camping sites aren’t on the beach itself – that is covered completely when the tide comes in – but back in the trees at the edge of the forest. We picked ourselves a place with a camp fireplace a few yards from our neighbour, + set up there. Cooked tea straight away – a magnificent chili, + then starting singing + playing the whistle, but had to escape into the tent to escape the attentions of the mossies.
With no luck on the transportation front, it was as well that our trip out to Cape Tribulation was relatively easy. It is supposedly quite the alternative place, so should provide us with some r and r before we step into Asia.
I’m assuming that the “box” was the hood of the lorry? I sat up on one when I was traveling from Eastern Sudan into Western Ethiopia, hanging onto the rail, fearing that at any moment the lorry (filled with beer bottles and a dozen other riders) would pitch off the narrow mountain road and into oblivion. BTW, I’m assuming you’re now in Ethiopia. How are you finding it?