Asia Summer Series: Hua Hin, Thailand (Part 2)

This is the final instalment of my previously published print articles on Asian destinations. Last post, I ventured onto the streets of Hua Hin, a beach resort town in Thailand. Now I reach the railway station...

The railway station is one of the most attractive I’ve ever seen.

Having been built in an age before air-conditioning, it was constructed as an open-air pavilion in a traditional Thai architectural style, with timber beams supporting a gabled tiled roof.

The whole thing is painted red and cream, with red tiles further increasing its brightness. A neat line of parked motorcycles in front of the structure underlines its sense of neat order.

It’s a pleasant building both to look at and walk through, but the real gem here is the second structure along the low platform. In an even more elaborate style, its roof features multiple peaks and small patterned windows punctuating its walls.

Though now unused, for many years this was the Royal Waiting Room, where members of the royal family would wait to board a train (perhaps reluctantly) back to Bangkok. 

In a continuation of the regal theme, across the rails from the station is the Royal Hua Hin Golf Course, laid out in the 1920s by a Scottish railway engineer. The course is open to the public and has some memorable features, including ocean and temple views from its links.

An unusual hazard, though, is the colony of resident monkeys which have occasionally been reported to make off with balls.

Heading back to the coast, I reach a small cove dotted with fishing boats, and several restaurants with timber decks jutting out over the water on wooden piles. It’d be an atmospheric place to have dinner, seated on the open-air deck and looking out at the sea.

The region around Hua Hin has its own royal-themed attractions, so one day I travel north to the nearby city of Phetchaburi to see the palace at Phra Nakhon Khiri.

This set of hills on the edge of town is famous for its beautiful gardens and the 19th centre palace at their centre. It was constructed by King Mongkut, the ruler immortalised by the musical The King and I.

Approached by a funicular railway which hauls visitors up the hill, the palace is a fascinating fusion of styles, with a large dose of European influence.

As I approach its entrance via a terrace lined by large white flowerpots, I feel it could be a villa in Spain or Italy (if the tropical plants were ignored).

From its windows there are fine views of nearby temples and greenery, and it’s interesting to tour the interior and imagine its original occupants’ life in this intersection of Thai culture and the Western world.

Another royalty-tinged attraction within day trip distance from Hua Hin is Khao Sam Roi Yot National Park, to the south.

Among its highlights are three caves, the most popular of which can be reached by boat. Within it is a pavilion built for the 19th century King Chulalongkorn, who visited it en route from Bangkok.

Back at my hotel, I ask one of its managers, Jutamas Boonrat, what she thinks is most distinctive about Hua Hin, considering that Thailand has so many beach resorts.

"The best thing is the powdery sand," she replies. "The beach is about five kilometres long from beginning to end, so people can enjoy walking or riding horses. You won’t see motorcycles or four wheel drives along the beach. It’s private and nice and quiet.

"I think the expression ‘less is more’ is perfect for Hua Hin."

Disclosure time: On this trip I travelled courtesy of the Tourism Authority of Thailand.

Asia Summer Series: Hua Hin, Thailand (Part 1)

To mid-January this year, I'm running a series of my previously published print articles about Asian destinations. This week's focus is on Hua Hin, a Thai beach town with royal connections...

I’m wading into the Gulf of Thailand when I realise that there’s something surprising about the water - it’s as warm as the contents of a bathtub.

Even back home in Australia on a summer’s day, sea water will usually feel cool at first contact; but here in the tropics, it evidently never gets a chance to cool down.

So I’m soon bobbing in the clear, warm liquid, looking along the shoreline to the point where it meets the horizon. Ranged along it are small groups of sunbathers at rest along the beach, a long stretch of sand interrupted by the odd rocky outcrop.

After my swim I make my way back to my room at the graceful Sofitel Centara Grand, a low-lying collection of accommodation wings in the coastal city of Hua Hin, 200km south of Bangkok.

Soon I’m seated at the cafe in the oldest section of the resort hotel, which opened in 1923. 

Open to the air on each side, it’s not just a place to sit and sip tea in the tropical breeze. The cafe also functions as a small museum devoted to the hotel, with a variety of old artefacts dotted about its interior.

One of them, a polished timber letterbox embellished with painted lettering in both Thai and English, hints at the days when vacationers sent handwritten letters to the folks back home, rather than posting a pic to Facebook.

“So what’s special about Hua Hin?” I wonder as I sip a cup of Earl Grey and look out over the swimming pool below.

Maybe it’s the lack of the energetic party atmosphere that’s often associated with Thai beach resorts, particularly those islands on which backpackers eat, drink and socialise at a frenzied pace.

By contrast, this hotel and Hua Hin itself possess a calmer atmosphere, and it’s clearly a destination for those looking to relax rather than party.

As I walk through the hotel’s gardens on my way to explore the town, past elaborate topiary in the shape of animals, I reach a shrine dedicated to the King of Thailand, featuring a full-length photographic portrait with flags standing to each side.

This royal connection has been a key factor in the Hua Hin's recent history.


When the hotel opened as the Railway Hotel in the 1920s, it attracted Bangkok’s well-to-do to what had previously been an unexceptional fishing village.

Impressed with the new seaside resort and the contrast it provided with the busy capital, King Prajadhipok ordered the construction of a palace here, aptly named Wang Klai Kang Won (“Far from Worries”).

The current monarch, King Bhumibol Adulyadej, has kept up the tradition of frequent visits to this summer palace, and there are side benefits for the locals.

Twice a day, the king allows visitors to walk in the palace grounds as exercise; as I’d entered Hua Hin by road the previous day I’d seen numerous people doing just that, walking in brisk circuits through the gardens.

There’s also a shop near the palace, Golden Place, which sells organic fruit and vegetables which have been grown on the king’s farms.

If Hua Hin is regal, it’s also relaxed, something I notice as I walk along Thanon Damnoen Kasem away from the waterfront, toward the railway that the hotel was once named after.

It’s mid-morning and the street has yet to fully wake, but there are people wandering here and there, looking into shops or sitting outside restaurants.

Then I arrive at the railway station...

[Next: The royal waiting room, monkeys on the links, and a palace linked to a musical...]

Disclosure time: On this trip I travelled courtesy of the Tourism Authority of Thailand.

LA Beaches (In Transit)

In the course of my journeys as a travel writer, I often make notes about ideas for articles which I hope will sell later on.

Sometimes they do, sometimes they don't. Sometimes they surprise me by selling years later.

Occasionally though, an idea goes nowhere.

Such was the case with my half-day in Los Angeles, USA, back in September 2009, when I was en route to Montana with a group of journalists for a hosted tour.

I didn't want to venture too far from the hotel near LAX, given time was limited, so it occurred to me that a walk along the nearby beaches might make an interesting story for Australian travellers similarly transiting LA with time to kill.

I started from the shopping strip at Hermosa Beach. It was about 8.30am on a Wednesday, not a time you'd expect much street life; however, there were plenty of joggers, walkers, dog exercisers and cyclists passing by.

There were some fun business names here too: Baja Sharkeez, Cafe Bonaparte, Fat Face Fenner's Fishack.

The pier looked attractive, stretching out into the Pacific. I was surprised though at the flatness and depth of the beaches, quite different from the dune-backed Australian beaches I was used to:

This spaciousness lent itself well to beach volleyball courts, and I could see plenty of these...

... along with a statue honouring local lifesavers (known as lifeguards to Americans):

From the pier, I could see a real-life lifeguard setting up traffic cones to mark the patrolled swimming area:

Walking south along the shore toward Redondo Beach, I passed by houses which were built right up to the edge of the sand, no doubt occupied by the rich and/or famous. A good opportunity to examine some of California's distinctive Mediterranean-inspired architecture:

After an hour or so I reached Redondo Pier. This was quite different from the fingerlike Hermosa Pier - instead it was an enclosure of concrete, timber and steel, sheltering an off-limits stretch of rocky beach.

Redondo Pier clearly had a lively personality at a more festive time of week. Along one arm were arrayed a number of small timber restaurants - Chinese, Italian, seafood - with views over the water.

There was also a Great White Shark exhibition, and a stall selling hot dogs on a stick. The atmosphere was definitely that of a popular seaside pier from a century ago.

But it was mid-morning on a Wednesday, and entirely the wrong time to witness its energy in full flow. So I prepared to leave.

But before I caught a taxi back to the hotel, I ordered a hot dog (sans stick) for $2.50, laden with mustard, onion and pickles. It was good.

Capel Secrets

The following article, written by me, was published in The West Australian newspaper in 2004; but why not spread the knowledge of this pleasant little town? Read on...

“Not just a one horse town”.

That’s what the local business directory says about Capel, in the southwest of Western Australia. But at first glance, you’d be doubtful.

The one horse is in fact Rogan Josh, winner of the 1999 Melbourne Cup. He lives in a paddock on the main street next to the local pub, with a big sign pointing out his identity.

It’s a generous space, and the thoroughbred seems quite comfortable in retirement, grazing contentedly with his pony companion. Capel may not have many famous locals, but it knows how to look after them.

The town started as nothing more than a 19th century rest stop on the stagecoach route between Bunbury and Busselton, which explains Capel’s position exactly halfway between the two busy regional cities.

It doesn’t look much more than a slumbering hamlet, and most traffic speeds by on the recently built bypass. Travel guides have little to say about it. But there are some interesting features to the area which make it worth a visit.

The first is wine. Capel sits at the northern edge of the wine-growing zone which stretches southward through Margaret River and beyond. From humble beginnings, viticulture has become a thriving industry. The local success story is Capel Vale, a winery situated two kilometres from the township on the other side of the highway.

It certainly impresses the visitor. A two-storey building hosts tastings, sales and an upmarket restaurant, with sweeping views of the vineyard below.

It’s easy to forget that the industry is relatively new to the southwest. Keith Warrick, Capel Vale’s sales manager, says its principal vineyard was a stonefruit farm 30 years ago. “The first vines were planted in 1974. They were a combination of merlot and chardonnay, which produce our two reserve wines today.”

However, Capel’s hidden jewel must be its beach coast. There are 29 kilometres of white sand beaches in the local shire, stretching along the Indian Ocean.

The best is Peppermint Grove Beach, eight kilometres from the town. Once a sleepy holiday village with fibro shacks, Peppermint Grove is fast evolving into a small coastal town. But don’t be put off. On a weekday, you can often be the only person on the sand.

Facilities are simple: toilets, a children’s playground and a few shelters on the sand. To the south is fast-growing Busselton and the curve of Cape Naturaliste, to the north is Bunbury and its busy port. But in the middle there’s nothing much to do except lie on the sand and relax.

If even this is too much like the big smoke, try Forrest Beach, Peppermint Grove’s sister beach a few kilometres south. It’s accessible by road, through flat, dry cattle pastures that reach right to the dunes. At the beach there’s nothing but some basic toilets, a bin and a couple of shelters. You can’t get more “away from it all” than this.

Capel may seem overlooked at present, but there’s a whiff of change in the air. Its proximity to rapidly gentrifying Bunbury and improvements in local infrastructure point to future development, and already land prices are rising. For the moment, however, it’s a sleepy town just off the tourist highway, with some interesting surprises on offer.

Note: As this article was researched some years ago, the author takes no responsibility for readers' reliance on the information within. Always check on the current wine/beach/retired horse situation before travelling to Capel.

Signs and Portents: Poland 3

Gone to Hel and back? Or just dying for a pie in the most unlikely of places? This week I continue my survey of curious signs encountered on a Lonely Planet assignment through Poland in the depths of winter in 2006...

1. There’s nothing like that nice Mr Shakespeare to encourage confidence in an English language school... though you might wonder whether Poles are really motivated to speak just like the Bard.

Interestingly, the great playwright used to be styled as 'Szekspir' in Poland, though the original spelling of his name is usually used now. Szkoła języków obcych means 'school of foreign language', by the way, and this example was in the beautiful Main Town of Gdańsk.

The Bard was pleased that his passing mention of Poland in Hamlet had been noticed by the right people.

2. Don’t ever say something will only happen on 'a cold day in hell' if you’re heading to northern Poland. For on the end of a long sandy peninsula north of Gdańsk lies the attractive village of Hel. And when I was there in March 2006, it was very cold indeed. Still, how many people can say they’ve been to Hel and back - and saw a Baltic grey seal in an aquarium on the way?

The tourism bureau wondered why its “Go to Hel” campaign was failing to bring in the visitors.

3. No, this scary metallic fish seen in Hel wasn’t an aquatic offshoot of the robots in the Terminator movie series. It was actually a warning about maritime pollution - the sign reads 'Don't litter the sea'. It was also a tribute, I felt, to the surrealism endemic in Polish poster art.

Newly-released papers revealed that Poland’s former communist rulers had attempted to construct an artificial dolphin for their Socialist World amusement park.

4. This bumper sticker belonged to Gdynia businesswoman Beata Zielińska, a former Adelaide resident who had taken the secret of Australian meat pies back to her homeland and manufactured them to be sold to Polish schoolkids. The sticker reads 'The pie is good and cheap'. Quite right.

The EU was willing to approve manufacture of the Aussie meat pie, but drew the line at Vegemite.

5. This starkly evocative sign was one of many stencilled onto the giant concrete ruins of the bunkers at Wilczy Szaniec, better known in German as Wolfsschanze or in English as Wolf’s Lair. This hidden complex in the East Prussia region of Germany (now the Masuria region of northeast Poland) was Hitler’s wartime HQ from which he directed Germany's invasion of the Soviet Union in 1941.

It’s supremely ironic, I think, that the Führer's nerve centre, where he spent almost all the remaining years of WWII, is now deep within Polish territory. If you’re going to visit the ruins by the way, I couldn’t think of a more atmospheric time to do so than the midst of winter, when the broken concrete blocks and surrounding vegetation are thickly covered by snow.

Von Stauffenberg intended to show the Führer exactly how he felt about him with a surprise novelty gift.

More intriguing signs and portents to come...

Clubbing in the Pacifique

There's something about islands, and the tiny airports that serve them. As our ferry pulled away from the quay next to Hamilton Island's airport, a big red Virgin Blue 737 roared unexpectedly over our heads, its takeoff having been concealed behind the headland we were passing.

This dramatic intersection of technology with nature seemed quite neat, as we were heading determinedly away from the high-tech outside world to the Club Med resort on Lindeman Island, part of the Whitsundays group between the Queensland mainland and the Great Barrier Reef.

Towards, in fact, a lack of mobile phone reception, unless you fancied a steep hike up to the 8th hole on the golfcourse above the resort.

Luckily there's wireless Internet access at the bar so, dear reader, I'm able to type this at you while seated on the outdoor terrace looking out over palm trees, a beach, a turquoise sea and a selection of vegetation-covered islands along the horizon.

Yes, I know, that sounds like a sample of bad copywriting for a travel agency poster, but what I can say? That's how it is. There's even a soft balmy breeze gently ruffling my hair. Well, not quite, it's too short to be ruffled, but you get the idea.

Anyhow, Club Med is... interesting. I'd never been to one, but had a vague idea of it being a place for sporty young couples and singles. It turns out that the Club Med in the Whitsunday Islands, at least, is very family-friendly. Partly that comes from the price, which is pretty reasonable for a week; partly from the kids' facilities and the fact that a self-contained island resort is a safe place for kids to run around; and partly from the all-inclusive nature of the tariff.

That's a very rare thing in the world of travel; you know once you're on the island that you won't be putting your hand in your pocket unless you want to use a few extra services such as massage. Though I can't help wondering what a non-drinker would think about subsidising everyone else's alcohol consumption. Though perhaps a non-drinker would go to a resort where they could pay a la carte instead.

Either way, it's liberating to leave the wallet in the room safe and simply eat and drink as you feel like it. It also eases all sorts of social issues such as whose turn it is to buy the drinks.

It's an unconventional business model which must limit the opportunities for the resort to make extra profits by offering tempting chances to spend more; and probaby explains why the standard of food and drink is firmly in the 3-star (actually 3-trident) range. However, the guests like the system a lot, so it must be a drawcard in itself, and certainly a point of difference.

And vive la différence. Another notable point about Club Med is the scraps of French terminology about the place, courtesy of its French ownership. The staff, for example, wear shirts with the initials GO, which stands for gentil organisateur; as opposed to gentil membre, a Club Med guest. There's something charming and faintly retro about the use of French in an Anglophone country with a mainly Anglophone clientele, a reminder of the time not so long ago when French was the langue internationale.

And, come to think of it, there's something pleasingly retro about the whole place. Although there's much more emphasis on guests making their own choices of activity (or non-activity) than there was back in the '60s when Club Meds were famous for their group activities, there are significant remnants of that era evident in the nightly cabaret shows performed by the indefatigable international staff (last night's had a Bollywood theme); and even more so by the curious 'crazy signs', a communal dance led by the staff, who assemble suddenly around the pool an gyrate energetially to loud music. It's deeply odd, but in a charmingly eccentric way.

It'll be interesting to see where this Club Med heads in the future. There's talk of an upgrade to 4-trident status, which would presumably raise the rates but allow for higher quality in facilities and services. The Club Méditerranée concept will be 60 years old next year, and obviously has to keep evolving further from its origins as a simple 1950s holiday camp.

It's not, frankly, a resort for those needing peace and quiet - there's a lot of sound and motion throughout the day, especially by the pool and the bar - but there's something attractive about its unaffected retro charm.

Tim Richards travelled courtesy of Virgin Blue and Club Med. Virgin Blue flies daily to Hamilton Island from Brisbane and Sydney.

The Fins of Glenelg

Steven Spielberg has a lot to answer for. In directing the 1975 hit movie Jaws, he ensured a generation of kids couldn't take to the surf without worrying about a great white shark encounter.

But Spielberg was far from my mind when I travelled to Glenelg Beach on a hot Sunday in 2004 in Adelaide, South Australia.

I’m from Melbourne, and the prospect of enjoying a day at a real beach, and swimming in a real ocean, had me dizzy with anticipation.

Glenelg is a distinct and pleasant Adelaide experience (and also a palindrome). It was the place where the first British settlers landed in 1836, and aspired to be Adelaide’s main port. In the end, it settled for sustaining the role of a charming Victorian-era seaside town.

I had, of course, little idea of the adrenaline rush waiting beyond its shores.

The tide was out when I arrived, so it was a long way to deeper water. As I waded, I thought about my wife Narrelle’s aversion to sea bathing, attributable to the terrifying aquatic stylings of the aforementioned Hollywood director. I noted the reassuring presence of surf lifesavers, and their clearly visible flags.

As I got deeper, I regretted Narrelle not being here. If she came to Glenelg one day, I thought, I would point out the lifesavers, the flags, the clarity of the water. There would be no need for fear, and she would laugh off her girlish fears.

Then, chest-deep, I gazed out toward the horizon. About 20 metres away, a large fin cut suddenly out of the water, attached to the back of a sizeable sea creature. As quickly as it had arrived, it disappeared beneath the waves.

I froze. Then I looked around. No-one else was panicking, on the nearby jetty or in the sea around me. Everyone on the beach looked pretty relaxed. And, come to think of it, that fin had been elegantly curved, in the style as worn by dolphins. It must have been a dolphin. Surely.

Still, discretion beat valour and I trudged back to the sand as quickly as I could manage without looking like a coward. There were plenty of people between me and the mystery creature, after all - surely it would chew one of them first, and the jig would be up?

On the way, I asked a stout young lifesaver if they saw a lot of dolphins in these parts. He confirmed that they did, following the coastline. I laughed in a careless, knowing way, but I suspect it came out a bit thinly. Well, I had to know if the alarm should be raised, didn’t I?

It was a faintly embarrassing episode, but thank god Narrelle wasn’t there after all. It would’ve taken ten years off her life and put her off seawater forever.

So thanks a lot, Steven. Thanks to you, I’ve had a dose of that strange modern syndrome in which your life has no meaning until it feels like you're part of a Hollywood movie. Fish and chips, anyone?

Noosa: The Prince, the Pauper and the Deep Blue Sea

Until I came to Noosa, in the Australian state of Queensland, I didn’t know what well-heeled meant.

But last night I was standing in front of a new apartment complex which overlooks the forest and the river beyond, while fire dancers performed for a crowd sipping cocktails around a pool garden decorated with elephant statues and metal structures belching flame.

It was the launch party for the elegantly designed Settler's Cove apartments, which start at about 1.5 million Australian dollars each.

I’m on a media trip to Queensland’s Sunshine Coast and Gold Coast, and this was my first visit to Noosa. As you may gather, it’s made a name for itself as one of the most luxurious seaside destinations on Queensland’s coast; not only for owner-occupiers, but also for short-stay visitors residing in resorts. It’s particularly popular with the well-heeled from Melbourne, for some reason, a kind of Toorak-on-sea.

And Hastings Street, the Noosa Heads beachside strip that overlooks Laguna Bay, confirms that impression. I’ve never seen a holiday town’s main street that looked quite so ritzy, lined with famous brand name stores set back from shiny new paving. If it wasn’t for the tropical trees and the humid breeze, I could’ve been on Church Street in Melbourne’s bayside suburb of Brighton.

So Noosa is distinctly upmarket. However... there are things which keep it from being the sole preserve of the seriously cashed-up. For a start, there are the excellent beaches, which in the fine Australian tradition are free for all to use. Yesterday I hit the beach after lunch, sharing the section of waves between the lifesaving flags with people from all over the world, judging from the accents.

And the day before, I’d walked through the nearby headland reserve that’s a pocket of land belonging to the Noosa National Park. As I followed the track around toward Dolphin Point, I could see the town’s main beach way behind and below me, through gaps in the eucalypts lining the slopes that drop away to the ocean. Below, surfers were picking their way down over the rocks before taking the plunge into the surf.

Halfway along, I encountered Tea Tree Bay, a short stretch of beach wedged in between rocks and trees. It was fairly placid within the bay, contrasting with the bigger waves further out. It was also fairly placid on the beach, with people stretched out very still on the sand or beneath the shade of the tea trees behind. Up in the trees behind me, apparently, koalas can be seen. I say apparently, because I didn’t spot them.

The National Park is an undeniably beautiful place; and the fact it’s survived so close to Noosa seems like a miracle, considering Queensland’s history of rapid coastal development.

Well-heeled or not, we’re all equal when on the beach or peering into the foliage for koalas. How profound.

Getting Away From It All

Last year Narrelle and I pioneered a new travel concept (at least, for us): the 'technology detox' vacation.

The problem is, as a travel writer, that most travel I do becomes a busman's holiday.

Rather than relaxing, I research, contact tourism officials, set up a tightly-packed itinerary and run around seeing sites, interviewing people and writing notes.

I know, I shouldn't complain. It is great getting too see those places and meet those people, and good to be paid for writing about them. But at times of the year when I'm really burned out by work, it's anything but relaxing.

So in February 2008, we headed to Apollo Bay, a holiday town on Victoria's Great Ocean Road.

An unexpected bonus payment had come in, so we could afford to stay for ten days in a spacious modern apartment on the top floor of a three-level bock, with a view over the bay and the Southern Ocean beyond.

As for the techno detox, it was actually quite simple. I left behind my laptop and Palm, and had my mobile phone in my pocket for emergencies, but turned off. Once we arrived there, I also took my watch off and placed it in a drawer.

It was good being out of touch in a way we rarely are nowadays. I even made a point of ignoring the Internet access in the building's reception area. Being able to focus only on where we were, and the present rather than the future, was enormously refreshing.

To my surprise, however, it was the discarding of the watch that had the most impact. There was no real need to tell the time, as we had no appointments and nowhere in particular to be. There was always somewhere open to eat at, and groceries in the apartment, so there was no need to worry about opening hours. The beach, of course, was available 24/7.

It was remarkable the difference it made. We got up when we felt like it, ate when we were hungry, lay around reading or went out to the town or beach, slept when we felt tired. There was something extraordinarily liberating about being freed from the relentless drive of the freelancer to write more, achieve more, earn more, to the mental backdrop of the ticking clock.

In a world wherein the Blackberry is often referred to ruefully as the 'Crackberry', and in which it's still impossible to persuade everyone that they don't need to be connected to the world during a 90 minute cinema screening, shutting ourselves off from communication and the tyranny of the clock was immensely powerful.

Even if it was for just ten days.

Viva BrisVegas 1: The Artificial Beach

En route to Brisbane on my current travel writing trip, the recorded safety announcement aboard my flight included the line "Can you reach the seat in front of you?".

What a question. I'm on a Boeing 737-400; not only can I reach the seat in front of me, but my knees are in an intimate relationship with it and may soon be required to do the decent thing and buy it an engagement ring.

Who the hell can't reach the seat in front of them? (ah, business class passengers, of course)

But you have to admit, when you glance out the departure lounge window and realise you've drawn the 737 short straw, that this plane is a marvellous thing. Imagine - an entirely functional, extremely accurate replica of a real aeroplane, exactly 70% of its size in every respect.

You have to marvel (and I did) at the precision. Perhaps it belonged to an advanced but now extinct Lilliputian race from prehistory that left it behind when they vanished.

But oh well, what can you do. And Brisbane, Australia (hence to be known as BrisVegas in deference to popular usage) has turned out to be rather good, once you get the hang of it. There's not much street signage and the public transport is notably user-unfriendly, but the thing I've enjoyed most is the thing I thought would be most tacky: the artificial beach just off the Brisbane River in South Bank.

You heard me right: it's a large artificial lagoon full of sparkling clean water lapping up to a stretch of imported sand on which sits a real live surf lifesaver, atop a red tower. Palm trees at neat intervals offer some shade, and if you swim to the deep side you can prop yourself up on the concrete rim and look over the river and the central city.

All of which, strangely, turned out to be rather delightful. I'd spent the morning researching Boundary Street in West End, a former dirt poor working class suburb which is now home to some very cool cafes (I tried out The Gunshop and Espressohead), then walked across to South Bank.

Now I was bobbing in the pool, no, lagoon, and taking it all in. People were sunbathing, the lifesaver was invigilating, and a couple of twentysomething guys were mucking around with a football in a way that was likely to injure someone before too long (why are these guys always present at a beach?). I swam toward the deep edge, encountering a bit of pebbly surface which had lost its sand covering along the way, then scraped my knee unexpectedly as the depth suddenly diminished near the wall.

Then I leaned on it and took in the view. It really is impressive: the blue water of the lagoon contrasts with the brown water of the river just beyond, and a row of mangroves sits at the far side beneath a busy major road. Then the city's glass and steel skyscrapers loom up over it all. It's a striking feature of BrisVegas, the way the tall buildings come right down to the water's edge in places.

Brisbane's reputation for being a city of glitz is not without basis, but that's redeemed by its citizens' relaxed, slightly self-deprecatory good nature about things like the lagoon; locals later shared my smile when talking about it, knowing it was a bit silly but liking it all the same. My first impression is that Brisbane has a lot in common visually with Sydney, but is more laid back and doesn't take itself quite so seriously. Which is all to the good.

Tim Richards travelled with the assistance of Tourism Queensland and local hotels.