the tropics

The lady hates the tropics

By Stella Chan

to Thursday Island, the pearly J pride of the North. The home of tlje wongai, the binghi and the taru; of colourful natives of exotic living; of stonefish; of mongrel dogs; and glorious weather. Yes, tourist, TI is a haven for those whose souls yearn for peace or adventure, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer— But what am I saying? My Suppressed Romantic Urge is expressing itself on paper, as it has had little opportunity of expressing itself the more natural way.

(Not that TI is lacking in males. For the benefit of spinster tourists, I would say that there are over .5,000 males scattered throughout ' the Torres Strait, ranging from lanky, hairy mainland warriors to beauteous, courteous Government clerks, in all assorted shades and in all sizes from XSSM to EOS).

What I really set out to do was out line the various diversions associated with “exotic living.’’ You will find, however, that every thing from a wongai to the glorious weather is associated in some way or other. For instance the binghi eats taru and wongai; lives exotically and colourfully; owns a respectable number of mongrel dogs and enjoys the glorious weather which turns him the colour of burnt toffee.

But, presuming that you are not in terested in burnt toffee, I shall describe Tl's interesting night life which, I think, can be called exotic.

FIRSTLY there is the Hyde Park of Tl—the local jetty. It juts out into the harbour like a tongue from a rude mouth, and is shaped like aT. Here all sorts and conditions congregate for the athletic sport of spearing. Each spearer is armed with a long, slender length of bamboo, with two dozen strong prongs on the end. They arrange them selves profanely ,and colourfully around the edges of the jetty and, for about five hours, from seven until midnight, wage incessant war against the garfish, those long silvery bony fish that are very tasty when fried to the consistency of twigs. One can then hold them with the fingers, knowing that there will be no embarrassing spitting-out of bones.

If you do not care to spear, then you may fish and, with the mere dangling of a line over the jetty, you mav catch a good 50-pounder, if you are lucky. Or you may even catch a shark. Don’t say that vou have never tasted shark, tourist.

If you have ever enjoyed fish and chips in a Cairns park (or in the park of any coastal town, for that matter) well, you have tasted shark. rt ■ . - AR do you care to visit the theatre?

V/ It is of the open-air variety like a big warehouse with more than half its roof taken off.

The covered part in uniaue. It is divided into “upstairs” and “downstairs.”

The upstairs is solely for white peonle, as a tactless notice once emphasised. The downstairs is for the early arrivals (non whites) and the rest of the floor space— sans roof—for the late arrivals who. if they smell rain, have to bring umbrellas, sacks, or raincoats. Pictures begin at eight o’clock, but generally a small queue of eager islanders can be seen waiting outside the theatre at six o-clock.

The above, of course, is the orthodox way of picture-going. There is also an other way, where you don’t have to pay.

Along the wall at the back of the theatre is a long row of large peep-holes, made by a kind, native boy with a lot of curiosity and no money.

If you go early you may get a good hole with a wooden cross-beam to rest on. The only nark is that you are likely to catch rheumatics round about the eye if you press too closely to the cold iron wall. Another thing; Do not choose a hole directly under the operator’s window, as you are likely to be drenched with lemonade or slops from the hand-basin, I speak from experience.

All you have to do when you arrive at

THIS dire Warning to Tourists was written by a young woman, who says that she has never been out of tropical latitudes. It was apparently brought on by youthful restlessness as much as by a sudden (and understandable) revulsion against the following plaintive ditty, said to be the Song of Thursday Island:— Oh, T I, my beautiful home, It’s the place where I was born.

Where the moon and stars that shine Make me long for home, Oh, T I, my beautiful home.

T I, my beautiful home, T I, my lovely home, I’ll be there, forever; The sun is sinking—Farewell.

the holes (preferably after lights-out) is to remove the plug of chewing-gum camouflaging it. You may chew the gum during the performance, provided that you replace it at the end of the show.

IF you are lucky enough to visit TI in time for one of our Town Hall dances, you may drop in uninvited.

Otherwise you may flatten yourself against, or twine yourself around, the marble memorial to Dr. Wassell, which is outside. There are also coconut trees against which you may lean and see the dancing if the marble monument is too cold.

In choosing your position you must be careful not to stand in the way of the traffic that will be streaming from the Town Hall doorway to the Grand Hotel over the road.

That is about all that constitutes civi lised entertainment on TI. Amongst the less exotic diversions can be listed dugong and turtle hunting, which resembles

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miniature whale-hunting; gambling; native corroborees; dog fights; drunken brawls involving whole lugger crews; drinking in hotels; eating ice-cream and reading comics. The last half dozen items are, in themselves, diversions of a wholesome type, but they are not very colourful.

IF you would still like to see TI please come and we will see you are given a good dugong curry, a dog-fight and a handful of dried wongais to munch.