A couple of weeks ago I wrote about the number of places there were from which food could be had in. Newtown. Having walked through Campsie early on a Friday evening I can say that there are more places squeezed into any odd corner per square foot to be had. The only difference being that in Campsie the food is more often than not to be from somewhere in Asia.

We had started the morning off hoping for something Malaysian and were set on a place called Kopi Hawker Street Food. We went past it on the bus this morning and it was apparent that it was no longer in business. It transpired there were at least two other Malaysian restaurants in Campsie. We were booked into one of them and when we arrived to take our places in the evening it appeared that the place was full.

No matter. We were whisked through the kitchen and all it’s chattering metal and past the solitary toilet with its rubber mat on the floor to a room in the back where there was a table big enough for the nine of us.

The menus was brightly coloured and ran to more than a dozen pages and it was inevitable that we ordered too much food. The table was groaning with it but we ate our way through.

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The only pity is for the poor fellow passengers destined to spend 24 hours cramped in our company tomorrow on the way home.

last day in Sydney and we managed to fit in a walk across a The a Harbour Bridge, a quiet half hour in Wendy’s Secrat Garden, fish and chips in the Kirribilli Club and finished it off with a pint in The Mercantile Hotel sitting under the looming and heavy arch of the Bridge.

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It should perhaps be mentioned that the pint was a solitary pint whilst others enjoyed the rides in Luna Park.

The accommodation in Port Douglas has come as a bit of a contrast to where we stayed in Cape Tribulation. There was something institutional about the metal bed and the other furnishing in our brieze block cabin at Cape Tribulation Beach Huts. The kitchen was a couple of chairs, a fridge, a kettle and a couple of hobs that doubled as a dish rack. But we were two minutes walk from a beach bar and three minutes walk from the beach.

In Port Douglas we have not yet been able to find a bar within walking distance and the beach must be all of five minutes walk away but the accommodation is a bit more comfortable. There may be silk involved in the bedsheets and we have a kitchen with a large window that opens out to a garden and pool. There is a selection of knives I can work with.

So far we have walked most of the way up Four Mile Beach and back again, bought a proper hat in the Sunday market, spent a couple of hours walking through the rain forest and walked along a beach in the semi dark for supper and then walked back in the complete dark, after beer, wine and cocktails, hoping to be able find the gap in the trees that would take us back on the path to home.

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Tomorrow we swim with crocs

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I had it on reasonably good authority that the best way to avoid being eaten by a crocodile was to run in zig zags. So if facing a hungry croc the idea is that the potential victim turns his or her back on all those teeth and sets of at a gentle trot every so often changing direction. The idea being, I assume, that a croc can only run in straight lines, so it will set off at a barrelling pace after you for its lunch but once it has built up a sufficient head of speed it will be caught by either a zig or a zag and before know it the intended victim can breathe a sigh of relief and come to a halt as the errant croc loses sight of you in all the confusion.

I had cause to have a go trying this out whilst walking along the beach at Cape Tribulation.

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There were plenty of signs warning of danger on the way down to the beach. The signs were erected to make clear that crocs had been spotted in the area so there was a risk of being eaten. Accordingly I kept my eyes and ears peeled especially when crossing the many creeks that ran through the sand into the sea. Then as I crossed one there was a distinct and loud plop, the sound of a large and scaly foot entering water. I turned to go and got ready to zig zag. There was another plop and I started out on my first zig. As I did so it occurred to me that before setting out on the zag I should probably make sure that the system had failed and I had simplex zagged myself into the crocs direct line of travel. So I looked back.

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Turned out the plops I had been hearing was the sound of sand slipping down the sides of the creek into the water.