The alarm went off at six, but I was already awake. There's something about the last day in a city that makes you want to hold onto every minute. The light outside my Highgate Hill flat was that soft, grey winter grey — not gloomy, just gentle. Ten degrees, maybe. The kind of morning where you can see your breath but you know the sun will burn through by nine.
I made coffee in the kitchen — a flat white, because that's what you do here — and stood at the window watching the city wake up. Brisbane in winter is a low, spread-out kind of place. The CBD doesn't loom; it sits there across the river like a stack of LEGO someone left out. The Story Bridge was already catching the first light, and the CityCat ferry was sliding along the water like a yellow beetle. I thought about all the things I still wanted to do, but then I remembered: I didn't have to do any of it. I live here now. There's always next time. That thought, honestly, was the best gift the week gave me.
Today, though, I had one specific plan. A koala. I hadn't been to Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary yet, and it felt like a loose end. So I grabbed my jacket, walked down to the river, and caught the CityCat from South Bank. The fare was fifty cents. Let me just say that again because it still doesn't sound real — fifty cents for a ferry ride up the Brisbane River. About a third of what I'd pay for a coffee. The CityCat slipped past the CBD, under the Story Bridge, and out towards the suburbs, and I watched the city change from glass towers to Queenslander houses with tin roofs, and then to bushland, and finally to the dock at Fig Tree Pocket. The whole trip cost me less than a dollar, and it was worth ten times that in calm alone.
Lone Pine is the world's first and largest koala sanctuary, been there since 1927. I'm told it's a bit of a tourist institution, but honestly, it earns its reputation. The koalas were mostly asleep — because koalas are basically living stuffed animals with a sleep disorder — but I got to see one up close, clinging to a eucalyptus branch, its nose twitching. There's something about the way they hold on with those little mittens that makes you want to protect them. I also saw kangaroos lounging in the sun, and a wombat that looked profoundly unimpressed with the whole day. It was quiet, in that good way. The kind of quiet where you actually notice the birds.
I stayed longer than I meant to — another hour of just wandering, watching a wallaby hop past, and learning that koalas sleep about twenty hours a day. That's a lifestyle, really. When I finally pulled myself away, I took a bus back towards the city, but I didn't go home. I got off at West End. I'd been meaning to check it out properly — the bohemian strip, the Greek cafés, the street art. So I wandered down to the Davies Park markets, which I'd heard were worth a Saturday look. Turns out they're on Saturdays, and today was Thursday, so no luck there. But I found a little spot called Opa Bar & Mezze for lunch — coastal Greek food, all olive oil and lemon and fresh herbs. I had a proper meal for about eighteen dollars. That's a solid lunch at a local place, anywhere in Australia. Eighteen dollars. About twelve US, if that helps
West End felt different from the rest of Brisbane — less polished, more lived-in. There were murals on the walls, a second-hand bookshop with a cat asleep in the window, and a sign for a Greek bakery I wish I had time to visit. I sat outside Opa with my plate and watched people go by. A man on a bike with a surfboard under his arm — in winter, mind you. A couple arguing about something, then laughing about it. A woman with a dog that looked like a small bear. These are the moments you don't get in a guidebook. The moments where you realize a city is not a set of landmarks but a thousand tiny routines.
After lunch, I walked back across the river to the Queensland Museum Kurilpa. It's free, which is a gift, and it's the kind of museum that does a good job of explaining the world around you. I spent an hour in the wildlife section, learning about the animals I'd just seen, and another hour in the history part, reading about how Brisbane went from a penal colony in 1824 to the city it is today. The 1988 World Expo transformed South Bank into the parklands it has now — I keep seeing that date everywhere. It's like the city measured its life in before-Expo and after-Expo.
I also checked the time and realized I had a decision to make. The Night Feast was on at the Brisbane Powerhouse, and I'd already been once this week, but there was something about the last evening that made me want one more night out. So I caught the CityCat to New Farm — another fifty cents — and walked up to the Powerhouse as the sun was setting. The old power station building glows in the evening light, all brick and industrial bones, and there's a permanent hum of generators, or maybe that's just my imagination. The festival was in full swing — neon lights, food stalls, a crowd loose and happy.
I got a lamb skewer and a flat white from a stall and found a seat on a wall facing the river. The lights of the city flickered across the water, and the air was cold enough that my breath fogged the cup. I thought about the week: the arrival, the admin, the bank accounts, the Medicare, the TFN, the ute in the driveway. I thought about the rental in Highgate Hill, about the flat white I'd learned to order without thinking, about the fact that I'd paid fifty cents to ride a ferry under a bridge that most cities would charge you twenty dollars to look at. And I thought about the drive north. Cairns is about 1,700 kilometres up the coast, through Beef and sugar towns and the dry-season tropics. I've got a ute. I've got a road. And I've got no deadline.
That night, I had a beer at a bar near the Powerhouse and watched a street performer juggle fire while a crowd of locals laughed and clapped. It was cold, maybe twelve degrees by the river, and someone in the crowd was wearing a Santa hat and drinking an iced cocktail. Brisbane has a way of making winter feel like summer's long-distance cousin — related, but more relaxed. I walked back to my flat, past the paperbark trees and the Moreton Bay figs, and I thought about how a city becomes yours. Not when you know its landmarks. Not even when you know its streets. It's when you know its rhythms. When you know that the ferry costs fifty cents and the coffee is four-fifty, and that winter here is not a season to survive but a time to breathe.
Tomorrow I start driving north. But tonight, I'm just a person in a rented flat, listening to the wind in the trees, ready for whatever comes next. G'day, Brisbane. Thanks for the lesson.
If you're planning a trip to Australia, a few things I learned this week that might save you time. On visas, check your eligibility for the ETA or the free eVisitor for some European and UK passports, or the visitor visa if you need a longer stay. It's cheap and quick to sort before you land. On transport, the fifty-cent fare across the TransLink network is real and permanent, and you can tap a contactless card or get a go card. For the airport train, check the price separately — it's not the fifty-cent deal. On money, the Australian dollar is broadly on par with the US dollar at the moment, about one and a half to one. A meal at an inexpensive place runs about eighteen bucks, a coffee around four-fifty, and a month of public transport, if you take it daily, is roughly twenty-two dollars. Rent outside the CBD, you're looking at fourteen to eighteen hundred a month for a modest one-bedroom — that's high by local standards, and it's a big topic here, but it's the cost of living in a city that's growing fast. And if you want to see koalas, don't skip Lone Pine. Get there early, before they fall asleep for the day.
That's all from Brisbane. Next stop: the coast road north. I'll bring you with me. Until then — take care of each other. G'day.