Qld Outback Tour - Pubs & Poetry

Done - my five hotel pub crawl
comes to an end

I have a confession to make. I love beer from the tap a great deal. Really ... a lot ... and I love the characters you find in pubs.

For the past four years, it has been banned, along with most of the things I loved to consume and sometimes over indulged in. Recently, those wonderful researchers at Monash University suggested that I could return to the frothy stuff and breast the bar with a beer glass and not a long-shanked wine glass. For goodness sake, those things were never filled much past half full and then there was the stereotype of the poet and the glass of red.

I missed sitting on bar stools and shooting the breeze with bar staff. So many stories were passing me by for the benefit only of my digestive system. It never quite seemed justifiable.

So, late this morning, having noticed yesterday that Barcaldine has five hotels in a few hundred metres along its main street - the last throws of the Capricorn Highway - Sue and I set out on a pub crawl to visit each.

Starting at the Union Hotel, at the eastern end, would prove to be a mistake, as it transpired they had the best tucker so would have made a good place to finish. Regardless, the publican pulled up a stool with us and explained his family heritage in Barcaldine. Born here, he left "for the big smoke" and became a banker, before returning to purchase the Union from his father (one of two pubs in town papa owned). The pub is on the market now but he was philosophical about life in Barky and was glad he came back.

The Railway Hotel sits across the road from the railway station - like der - and also the Tree of Knowledge Memorial. Here, we were joined by a regular patron and it must be said, entertained by an Irish/Scottish barmaid. She was quite a character, although her "mongrel accent" - her term - took some getting used to and I was only on my second beer. She shared lots of ideas of things to see and do around Barky and expressed a great love for the people in the town. She's now in her fifth year in Australia and battling to secure permanent residency. As we left, I asked her for a business card so I might complete a Trip Advisor entry. There were none so she tossed me a beer stubby cooler. "Use that."

The Artesian Hotel was my third beer and by far our least pleasant. Well, it wasn't unpleasant but it was a battered old pub, with old stained and in places torn carpet and electrical cords hanging from holes in the ceiling and a loud speaker system. Rough as guts seemed an appropriate conclusion. It is apparently the loudest and most boisterous establishment on Friday and Saturday nights, invaded as it is with all the younger drinkers. Decor is apparently unimportant. It wasn't unpleasant in terms of feeling uncomfortable, although having the large breasts of Samantha Fox threatening to break free of their slender restraints in the poster above my head was a little intimidating.

The Shakespeare Hotel was easily the most impressive, with a big airy bar reached after an imposing entrance hall with a huge wooden staircase leading upstairs to accommodation. Heather, the owner, met us with a big smile and a hearty welcome, as did her sister, who sat at the bar, knitting. Again, we were the only customers. The sisters were originally from Beverly Hills in Sydney but had lived at Cronulla "for ages", so we had some common heritage. I thought I noticed something hairy about their feet, even though they weren't of the Shire. They had loads to share about their lives and then Heather's sister took us up those magnificent stairs to look at the first floor. The rooms were very old world but clean and tidy and the pride that the place was held in was obvious. The Shakespeare is on a corner block and has a huge verandah around two sides in the style of most country hotels. This was my favourite port of call.

The last beer was had in The Commercial Hotel. Bidjara man, Gerry Fogarty, is the probably first indigenous publican in the central west of Queensland and certainly the first in Barcaldine. Nice tidy little pub and the one with the longest opening hours. As a result, he gets the well oiled of the other pubs when they shut. I asked him this was a problem he said it could be a pain at times, especially the young blokes. Sue asked him how he dealt with it. "The young blokes know what I expect. That's pretty much enough." Hmm. He wasn't a big bloke and didn't employ security. Impressive.

That was it and boy was it worth doing. With the exception of the Artesian, it was a really interesting way to spend a few hours getting to know folks and their town. Pubs have great stories but they don't have to always be from long ago. For the cost of five beers, we got a great education about Barcaldine and in a much more interesting and less rehearsed manner than a tourist information officer.

We had lunch at Ridgge Didge Cafe. The food was nice but the service was ... distant. I suspect the
lass who served us hadn't completed her training in customer relations. After discussing several options for my meal, she gave me less in the way of recommendation and more a list of negative options. "No" was a word she had mastered. After settling on a gluten-free option - sorry, the only gluten-free option - I retired, defeated to my table, only to be informed five minutes later it wasn't available. I should add, I got a steak by compensation. Oh well, I enjoyed my Coke. Sue, by comparison loved her all day breakfast and an excellent cup of coffee.

Click to see today's photos

We slipped back to the Australian Workers Heritage Centre to finish off what we missed yesterday and then back to camp at the Barcaldine Tourist Park and another campfire tea and damper. This afternoon, I was invited by the owner Jeff, to read a few poems, which seemed to go over well. Its a really friendly, clean park with lots of grass and drive through sites. Jeff and Lyn are only new to town and they've already made this into a great stop for those rolling up the wallaby track.