Three flights and thirteen hours on the go gives us an inkling of how preposterously huge this country is.
We’re halfway up the Queensway coast now, having swapped cold and soggy Tasmania for somewhere more suited to shorts and a t-shirts. It’s been a knackering day, but the good news is that on first impressions Airlie Beach seems right up our street.
Gateway to the implausibly pretty Whitsunday Islands, it comprises a handful of hotels and 20 or 30 smart bars and restaurants clustered around a large marina and chlorinated man-made lagoon.
The latter may sound horrendous, but it’s been tastefully done and is completely necessary due to the downright nastiness of some of the sealife around these parts.
According to the warning notices on the beach, a box jellyfish sting could easily prove fatal, or (and I quote) ‘inflict agonising pain, vomiting, confusion and extreme anxiety’.
Man-made chlorinated lagoon it is then.
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