There’s something to be said for a story that starts like a James Bond movie, throwing you straight in the deep end, a perfect way of getting to know the main character, David, or is that Alistair?
A retired spy, well, not so much a spy as a retired errand boy, David’s rather wry description of his talents, and a woman that most men would give their left arm for, not exactly the ideal couple, but there is a spark in a meeting that may or may not have been a setup.
But as the story progressed, the question I kept asking myself was why he’d bother.
And, page after unrelenting page, you find out.
Susan is exactly the sort of woman to pique his interest. Then, inexplicably, she disappears. That might have been the end of it, but Prendergast, that shadowy enigma, David’s ex-boss who loves playing games with real people, gives him an ultimatum: find her or come back to work.
Nothing like an offer that’s a double-edged sword!
A dragon for a mother, a sister he didn’t know about, Susan’s BFF who is not what she seems or a friend indeed, and Susan’s father, who, up till David meets her, couldn’t be less interested, his nemesis proves to be the impossible dream, and he’s always just that one step behind.
When the rollercoaster finally came to a halt, and I could start breathing again, it was an ending that was completely unexpected.
This story is now on the list to be finished so over the new few weeks, expect a new episode every few days.
The reason why new episodes have been sporadic, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
Things are about to get complicated…
Behind me, I could see Dobbin moving towards the door.
“You really don’t want to do this,” I said.
“He offered me a better deal.”
“I give you these, you will probably have about an hour, two at the most before he kills you.”
She shrugged. She was a deadly shot, so it was not an option to talk her out of it. I threw the plastic bag to her.
“This way, at least, you live. You’re good, but too trusting.”
Dobbin opened the door. “Enough chit-chat; let’s go before someone else turns up. Walk away Jackson, don’t do anything you’ll regret.”
I watched them leave, then turned to Anna. “This should please you immensely.”
“You mean you couldn’t see it coming? Hell, with all that analysis it wasn’t hard to work out Dobbin was the one orchestrating everything.”
I pulled out my phone and dialled Joanne’s number. When she answered I said, “They just left.”
“With the data?”
“With what they think is the data.”
“You have it?”
“No. O’Connell had it, and someone got to him. He’s dead next door, by the way, and we have two medical cases, one relatively serious, both requiring an ambulance sooner rather than later.”
“On it. And thanks.”
I went over to Anna and sat beside her.
Jan was glaring at us. “You said no one would get shot.”
We watched her slide over and join us against the wall.
“I said Jennifer was an unknown quantity. I didn’t think she’d take me so literally, but on the other hand, the signs were there. In training, she shot at three of the recruits.”
“Well, she didn’t recognise me, which, I guess, is something.”
“Who are you again?” Jan asked her.
“Yolanda. I was at the training camp with Sam. Severin made a pass at me, I kicked him in the you know what’s, and he kicked me out. I never gave back the comms unit, and I used to listen in to the exercises and discovered they’d finally been activated, so I went to have a look. Things got very scary when the target started taking out the surveillance team. They were out of their depth. Then I caught up with Sam, called him, and asked him what was going on. He said the target was going to the café and for me to go around the back, no time for hello’s. A minute or so later I see a guy toss something into the back of the café and take off. Then it goes up and all hell broke loose. Naturally, I got the hell out of there, and called him later, asked if he needed some off-book help, and here I am.”
“Could have been the death of you.”
“Nah. Sam and I were the best two of that bunch, and then maybe Jennifer. Damn that bitch to hell now. Hope they give us five minutes with her.”
“So,” I could see Jan was still wrestling with details. “Anna died in that explosion?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know who Anna was?”
“Not at first, but when I saw a photo of her, and the similarities I shared with her, Sam suggested I take her place, and we took it from there. Sam told me where I could find O’Connell and it wasn’t hard to reconnect, it was six months and he didn’t notice the changes in Anna, which, to me, is a sign of bad tradecraft. He still had the money, I pretended to still have the USB but not with me but back at the flat. He tested the USB and found the right level of encryption, then gave me the five million pounds, and we parted. Now he’s dead. When Sam arrived, I thought it was going to be me next.”
“How did you know what sort of encryption was on the USB?”
Good question. Jan was thinking outside the box, which is what any agent should be doing.
“We spend a few weeks off and on in training, studying encryption techniques, but concentrated on one, for reasons we were never told. I realized that it was related to the eventual mission. It wasn’t hard to emulate. I made up about a dozen USBs just in case.”
Tara Benson was not my idea of a typical nuclear physicist, but then I always had been a bad judge of matching occupations to personnel.
I had read her biography and service record, mainly the one-paragraph summary, and it said she was one of the best in the world.
Criteria indeed for anyone on this ship apparently, though I didn’t regard myself as fitting into the category, someone must have thought I had the potential.
On the way down I had a few moments to contemplate her ordeal, not only being taken prisoner, but being transported back in the manner we had used, when it was a means I would not willingly use on myself.
It was why the first thought I had when I saw her was to apologise.
She was sitting in one of the special chairs that could analyse everything about you, what ailed you, what diseases you had, the state of your body.
When I had my first medical examination, they put me in an earlier model of that chair and it picked up the missing anatomical parts, the fact I once had several broken bones, that I was slightly anaemic, and the reason why I sometimes had bouts of indigestion.
They fixed all that, and a slight imperfection in my eyesight which I didn’t know about.
The doctor was looking at the monitor when I arrived.
“How is she?”
“Better than we expected. Other than being exposed to radiation for longer than prescribed, and which we can fix, she is in perfect health.”
“Mentally?”
“You can ask her yourself. I’m about to sign off on her going back to work, after a good night’s sleep.”
He spoke to her for a minute or so, then helped her up out of the chair.
“I assume you are the new captain,” she said when she saw me.
“Not by choice, but for the time being, yes.”
“I have a few questions, if I may?”
“Now?”
“If it’s possible”
There was a consultation room free, so I escorted her inside and closed the door. It was odd, I thought, that she sat behind the desk.
I also felt like she was making a mental assessment of me, perhaps thinking that I was not what she might have considered Captain material. To a certain extent, I may have once agreed with her, because everyone expected a captain to be much older and therefore wiser.
It was an analogy I’d heard before.
“Whose idea was it to transport me across to this vessel?”
I had expected that the means might be questionable, but in the moment, and considered along with the course of action I’d taken, it was the right decision.
“Mine. After discussion, of course, with the relevant experts. The risk was acceptable, proven by the fact you’re here now, and relatively unharmed.”
“It was a surprise, I’ll grant you that, and a first. From what I managed to overhear, the plutonium was sent down to their bunker to provide power to the facility, under the surface of the moon, and only accessible by the transporter. Given the risks, it also surprised me they were so committed to using it.”
“Since most of that crew were escaped convicts from the Mars mining prison, any means would be acceptable.”
“Prisoners, not aliens?”
“Yes. The ships were old personnel transports, and the big ship, where you were being held, an old freighter.”
“The Orion.”
I knew it well and surprised that I’d not recognised it. They had managed to disguise it well.
“A ship, I’m sure, you might be familiar with,” she added.
Perhaps my captain’s bland expression was not so bland.
“Ancient history,” I said, “from a time that I would rather leave in the past.”
There was a story, and not a pretty one, of a voyage not so long after commissioning, where systems failed and crew members died, all part of the experience in those early years in space. The quest for profits had outweighed the necessity for proper testing, and we had borne the brunt of the ‘test as you go’ mentality that had reigned before Space Command had taken over.
“You must tell me, one day.”
Her expression was one of curiosity and not one to be mistaken for anything else.
“Is there anything else?”
“If you are considering retrieving the plutonium, let me know and I’ll be happy to help. I suspect the people on Venus would like to see it sooner rather than later.”
“You know where this base is?”
“Of course.”
“Good. I’ll let you know after I’ve spoken to the security people.”
This is like so many roads off in what is known as the Gold Coast hinterland, that tract of land between the ocean and the mountain range that runs along the eastern side of the country, known as the Great Dividing Range.
This is the road that runs behind where friends of ours live, and runs on down into a valley where a river runs, and when the rains come down, floods.
It’s hard to imagine that a few hundred years ago all of this would have been tropical jungle, and intrepid explorers would be making their way north or west, just to see what was there.
I imagine in another 100 years, all of this will be gone, given over to housing, shopping malls, and factories, and anything that resembles country living will have been moved out to far beyond the mountain range and towards the what is called the ‘red’ centre.
Or over that time there is a reckoning with mother nature, and if there is, I know who I’d put my money on.
But, as for a story…
…
It was quite literally the road to nowhere.
You just had to follow it until it disintegrated into a dirt track, and then for another 20 miles before you finished up at a rusty gate attached to a dilapidated fence that surrounds the a house that was cleverly hidden behind a grove of trees, the only place I knew as home. We had no phones, no television or radio, no real contact with the outside world.
Until, one day, my fairy godmother came and rescued me.
Yes, it felt like that.
Little had I realized that there were any other people in our family, and it took until the death of my parents to find out I had grandparents, and a much larger extended family.
There had been, according to my father, no reason to leave. Or for anyone else to come, and the few that ventured to end of the road, found there was nothing to see, and no reason to stay.
For all intents and purposes we didn’t exist, and, oddly, I was content with that.
Until I decided to venture further afield, run into two people, a man and a woman, both of whom said they were related to my father, and ask me to take them back with them to meet my father,
A bad choice, but I didn’t know it at the time.
Not until my father ran them off at the point of the gun he always had with him.
He knew who they were, and it surprised me to see the change in him, from the strong silent type, to a man greatly afraid, though he would not tell me of what.
He just told me to lock myself in my room, and not to come out for anything.
I heard him leave, but not come back.
It took three days before I left that room, to find I was completely alone in the house. Outside, it was a different story. There, half way between the back door and the barn were the two people I’d brought home, both dead. A little further away were my parents, also dead.
And another man, who was leaning over my father.
I stopped when he looked up in my direction.
“You must be Jake.”
How did he know my name? I nodded, warily watching him in case I had to run.
He went from body to body, checking to see if they were still alive, then stood and turned around to look at me.
“Do you know what happened?”
“No.”
“Do you know who the other two are?”
I assumed he was referring to the visitors.
“No. The man said he was a relative, asked me to bring them here.”
“How did you…”
Escape? “My father told me to hide and not come out.” If this man was associated with the other two…
Perhaps he saw my trepidation.
“I’m a friend of your father’s, a policeman. You were supposed to be safe here.”
We were, until I brought the harbingers of death. “Not any more,” I said.
There’s nothing more certain than a favourite website you go to and use often, sooner or later starts charging a subscription ‘fee’. I guess nothing in this life is free, they have to raise advertising to make it so, but…
The alternatives that charge do not give you the facilities you need unless you pay an exorbitant monthly or yearly charge. And, if you accept the minimum charge, you get nothing other than a visual display of your books, and that’s about it.
And what author starting out can afford the $200 a month for the premium site to get all the bells and whistles, which coincidentally is the stuff the author needs just to sell.
Anyway…
I remember when the NANOWRIMO site had been updated, and the changes looked good. At that moment the site was free, but you do get a lot of emails and requests to purchase products, which I think is a reasonable way to raise money for keeping the site free.
But, how long is this going to last before a ‘fee’ is introduced, and then a ‘fee’ to enter your book?
It’s the airline principle, it was a flat charge for the ticket, now you pay for this tax, that tax, fuel tax, baggage tax, tax on the tax, and then if that’s not enough, a charge for the food and water. Soon it will be a charge for toilets, and then the air you breathe.
It’s inevitable, and once these charges start they don’t stop and only get higher with each passing year.
A lot of the sites I use are free. Some have since started to charge and have put up a firewall to stop you from getting any free information.
I’m not a rich author, so sadly I have to discontinue using these sites.
Perhaps the problem is that the owner of the site has come up with a good idea, thousands of people sign up, and suddenly a small website becomes a big one, and hosting costs suddenly go through the roof.
Like airlines, it’s the user that pays.
Often I see or get an email from, various people with what looks to be a useful site. Some start out by giving you a month free to have a look and use the facilities. In some cases they are quite good, in others, well, there are a dozen others like it that are still free.
But, after a month, you have to pay. What gets me with some of them, they are asking somewhere between 50 and 200 US dollars a month, you heard that right, a month, which you can basically double that for me after the exchange rate and a dozen bank fees.
Sometimes there are different levels, but basically, if you look at the fine print, the lowest level set, which gives you very little, is set low deliberately. Say it’s 10 dollars a month. It’s no different to the free version except they probably don’t have annoying ads and advertise, what for many, is non-existent 24/7 help (via an email, no guarantee they look at it more than once a week, if at all). Money for jam for the site owner, as the saying goes.
Why can’t there be a more reasonable option?
But I get it. Everyone wants to get rich quick, it’s an objective that’s built into all of us, but it seems I missed the inoculation given the day after you’re born.
I also get it that these people worked hard on coming up with the websites and facilities, and they deserve a reward for that hard work, but to me it would make more sense if they sold the service for 10 dollars or even 20 dollars a month if the systems were available and they worked. And flowing from that wouldn’t 20,000 sales at 20 dollars, be better than 2000 at a 100 dollars?
The same seems to go for the so-called decent website hosts, like WordPress, Wix and GoDaddy. The free option is good but just for show and tell, but I’m sure they deliberately nobble it so it’s slow and kludgy just the sort of attributes that turn potential visitors off.
I thought if I paid a monthly charge for Wix, and reading the inclusions for what my site could do over the free one was very persuasive, so I signed up. The site was no better than it was before and half the options that were on the list weren’t available, and still aren’t. But I suspect if I paid them 100 plus dollars a month or more for their premium package I’d get it.
But, to pay for it I would have to be selling a million books a month, and I doubt, no matter how good my web site is, it wouldn’t attract that kind of business.
Not one of the basic packages, read affordable for me, has the ability to allow downloads after sales. You can’t even have a sales page where you can actually sell books to people like you were a bookshop. That’s in all of the premium packages, so they say, and that costs far too much.
GoDaddy was by far the worst, telling me if I signed up for the 60-dollar-a-month package I could have sales and downloads. I tried to add it to the web page, which I might add was as difficult to create as all hell, and when it didn’t work, rang up to ask why I couldn’t have downloading after sales and was met with silence.
No, that’s not available at the moment, I was told, and not likely in the future. What am I paying all this money for? I don’t have a GoDaddy site any more. I had a Wix site that I paid for, and I don’t have that any more. They don’t offer anything useful, and they too, make it virtually impossible to create a useful site, so it sits out there in the ether with disappointment written all over it.
Perhaps others have had better luck, or things have changed in the last few years but I won’t be going back.
Maybe one day someone might understand the needs of the majority who can afford to pay exorbitant monthly charges but just not as much as we are expected to, for very little in return.
Then he checked behind him in case he was being followed. He was not. He ducked under an awning as another gust of wind shook it, avoiding a gush of water that fell like a waterfall, then moved on.
Was it Clara Higgins, an informant and a club singer? He had interviewed her for a case, and they hit it off. She worked at the ‘Blue Note’. Her voice was pure velvet and smoke, a sultry husky drawl that had bought and sold a dozen cops and PI’s before him.
She was leaning against his car six weeks ago, smelling of gin and expensive perfume, whispering about a crime that desperate men were about to commit.
It could be her. She lived in the shadows, but she usually called him Jackie. The caller didn’t.
Was it Lydia Vance, now Rawlings, his sister, a woman variously in and out of trouble, with a no-good husband he had offered to sort out?
She had a voice that had grown raspy over time from a heavy bourbon habit she said was the only thing keeping her sane.
Their last conversation was a tense, midnight phone call eight months ago, her voice thick and gravelly as she begged for money to clear a gambling debt.
No, she didn’t have the stomach for whatever dangerous game this was.
He shook his head, and the water dripped from his hat brim. Another glance up and down the road before turning the next corner. Three suspects, but they were heading in a different direction.
He turned the corner, the lane narrowing, this time not stopping to look up at the rain. It was falling harder, and he could hear the sound of the drops hitting the ground.
It was the sort of rain that made a familiar sound.
It bounced off the walls of the lane, as did other sounds, though he could not say where they came from. An arguing voice came from above, distorted by the rain and the surrounding walls.
The theatre alleyway was looming ahead, a dark chasm where anyone or anything could be waiting. Jack slowed his pace as his heart rate increased, and he could feel the sweat from walking fast in anticipation.
Was it Sarah Kelly, the missing journalist? She was the nosy type who pushed buttons and limits, but good at her job. He had been quietly helping her. Her voice was naturally husky, especially when tired and working a lead.
She was sitting on his office desk just three weeks before, her voice dropping to an intense, quiet rasp as she showed him some evidence and city hall shenanigans. Two days later she vanished.
The cadence matched perfectly. Was she alive? Was she trying to get a message to him, or was it a trap?
Could be, but…
Was it May Lin, the ex-detective he had just taken on? She had a cold, raspy cough for the last week from a flu that she refused to take time off to get better.
Just yesterday, at their early morning meet-up at the diner, her voice was a rough, gravelly whisper, warning him that she heard on the grapevine that Internal Affairs was investigating his old cases when he was a cop.
If it was her, why the disguise?
He stopped just short of the turn into the alley. A sixth sense sent a shiver down his spine. The rain eased. His mind settled on two candidates: a desperate Sarah Kelly trying to surface from the dead, and a compromised May Lin playing a double game.
He turned into the narrow, dark alleyway, the neon lights from the main road reflecting in the pools of water that covered the cobblestones at the entrance.
He cursed, just remembering the cracks in the sole of the left shoe as the water seeped in, cold and uncompromising.
He pulled his hat down low, covering his face in case CCTV cameras had recently been installed. Then he looked up and saw a blinking red light mounted near the entrance.
He scurried past, close to the wall.
He travelled the full length of the alleyway, checking doorways and hiding spots for assailants, his hand on the gun in his pocket, just in case.
It was eerily silent, except for the occasional sound of running water. He saw the telephone booth, now disused and grimy, and walked past it, barely able to make out where any evidence might be, before continuing.
On one side, a single lamp cast a dim glow over the telephone itself, but it was not strong enough to reach the ground.
If he was being observed, it would not do to let them know the telephone booth was his destination. Not yet.
He slowly returned as the rain eased, as if on cue. Above him, several high windows were lit, casting a pale yellowish light into the night. They did not illuminate the alley.
He was here. Now. As there was no evidence, he would wait. Perhaps the husky-voiced woman would come, thrust an envelope into his hands and then disappear. Dressed in black, she could easily fade into the gloom.
The only sounds now were his breathing and raindrops hitting metal. Leaning against the telephone booth, he was right under a steady drip onto his hat, so regular, so mesmerising, he closed his eyes for a moment and tried to massage away the tiredness.
The steady drip onto his hat nearly caused him to miss the beam of light from above. It shone directly on a plain, stained and creased envelope sitting atop the pile of rubbish that had accumulated against the booth.
Just as he leaned down to pick it up, the light snapped off, plunging the area into darkness. The sudden change left him temporarily blind.
“Go to the diner and wait.”
The same husky voice. He swivelled around, but all he could see was darkness, punctuated by a rim of light from the bulb above, and a sloshing sound.
The woman escaping?
It took two minutes for his sight to return. He had the envelope, but no clue as to the identity of the woman.
He took his torch out of the other coat pocket and opened the envelope. It contained a photograph.
It was a photograph of him and Jackson Pike, taken a year ago when Vance was a cop investigating a break-in at City Hall. Pike was alleged to have staged the break-in to obtain evidence of a rigged election. The photograph showed Pike handing Vance an envelope.
Evidence of what? Was Vance part of a cover-up? There had been evidence, but it was not Vance who was the guilty party. It had been his partner, Elroy Baggins. Two weeks before, Elroy had been killed in a shootout.
Baggins had died and had taken the truth with him, leaving Vance to explain the unexplainable: that the dead officer was corrupt. That maybe he was guilty by association or tarred with the same brush. It was why he quit. He had been very close to finding the proof, and then the boss called him into the office and gave him a choice: resign or be destroyed.
In the end, he had no choice.
Now, Vance figured, if they couldn’t get Baggins, they would come after him.
May Lin had tried to warn him, but his money was now on Sarah. She had somehow got hold of the internal affairs evidence and had got the message to Jack via May.
Another look around the alley showed nothing. She had gone.
There was nothing for it, except to go to the diner and wait.
One‑Day Brisbane Stop‑Over: The One Spot That Turns a Quick Layover into a Memorable Adventure
You’ve just landed in Brisbane, the sun‑kissed capital of Queensland, and your flight schedule gives you just one day to soak up the city before you’re back on a plane. The clock is ticking, the luggage is already on the carousel, and you’re wondering: What single place can I visit that will make this 24‑hour lay‑over feel like a mini‑vacation rather than a rushed transit stop?
The answer: South Bank Parklands – Brisbane’s vibrant, riverside playground.
It’s not just a park; it’s a compact, walkable micro‑city that bundles everything a first‑time visitor craves—stunning river views, iconic attractions, a taste of local cuisine, and a splash of Australian wildlife—all within a 30‑minute train ride from the airport.
Below is my insider’s itinerary, plus practical tips so you can maximise every minute without breaking a sweat.
Why South Bank Beats All the Other “Must‑See” Options
Feature
South Bank Parklands
Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary
Mount Coot‑tha Lookout
Brisbane River Cruise
Proximity to Airport
20 min via Airtrain (Civic to South Bank)
30 min + bus transfer
35 min + shuttle
20 min + ferry
Time Required
3–4 hrs (full experience)
2–3 hrs (animal‑focused)
1 hr (view only)
1 hr (scenic)
What You Get
City skyline, beach, restaurants, museums, art, playgrounds, free Wi‑Fi
South Bank delivers the most diverse, self‑contained experience in the shortest amount of time, making it the perfect single‑spot highlight for a whirlwind lay‑over.
The 4‑Hour South Bank Sprint
Quick note: All times below assume you’ve already cleared customs and stored your luggage in an airport locker (or are traveling light).
Arrive & Orient – 20 min
From the airport: Grab the Airtrain from Brisbane Airport to South Bank (stop “South Bank”). Trains run every 10 minutes; the journey is 18 minutes.
Ticket tip: Use the TransLink go card (or the “QR‑code & go” option on your phone) – it’s cheaper than buying a paper ticket, and you’ll need it later for a quick ferry ride if you’re feeling adventurous.
Stroll the Parklands – 40 min
Enter via the Civic Centre gateway and follow the riverside promenade.
Snap your first photo at the Mural Wall—a massive, ever‑changing street‑art canvas that instantly feels “Brisbane”.
Head toward the iconic Streets Beach, a man‑made lagoon with a gentle wave‑pool and sandy shoreline. Even if you don’t dip in, the beach‑side loungers make for a perfect Instagram moment.
Lunch with a View – 60 min
Choose a waterfront eatery:
River Quay (modern Aussie, great seafood)
Mosaic on the Park (Asian‑fusion, vegetarian‑friendly)
The Milk Bar (classic Aussie café fare, perfect for a quick bite).
All have outdoor seating that overlooks the Brisbane River—so you can watch the ferries glide by while you refuel.
Dish recommendation: Try the Moreton Bay bug (a type of flat lobster) on a herb butter or the locally sourced beetroot & feta salad for a fresh, Queensland twist.
Iconic Experiences – 80 min
Activity
Time
Why It’s Worth It
Wheel of Brisbane
15 min (ride)
Offers a 360° view of the skyline and the river—great for a quick “I’m on a Ferris wheel in Brisbane!” selfie.
Queensland Museum & Sciencentre
30 min
A compact, free‑entry museum that showcases Aboriginal culture, natural history, and interactive science exhibits—perfect for a quick cultural deep‑dive.
GOMA (Gallery of Modern Art)
20 min (quick wander)
If you love contemporary art, GOMA’s rotating exhibitions are always provocative and photogenic.
Picnic at the Arboretum
15 min
Grab a takeaway coffee, find a shady spot under the native eucalypts, and watch the river’s gentle current—this is Brisbane’s version of “slow living”.
Tip: If the weather turns rainy, head straight to the Queensland Museum and GOMA, which are both indoor and free, ensuring your day stays memorable regardless of the sky.
Depart – 20 min
Walk back to South Bank Station, hop on the Airtrain, and you’ll be back at the airport in under 25 minutes—plenty of time for security and a final coffee at the terminal.
Pro‑Tips for Making the Most of Your One‑Day Stop‑Over
Tip
Details
Luggage Lockers
Use the secure lockers at Airport Domestic Terminal – Level 1 (AU$7 for 24 hrs). This frees you up to roam unburdened.
Currency
Australian dollars are the norm, but most venues accept major credit cards. Have a small amount of cash for food stalls or the occasional tip.
Dress Code
Brisbane’s climate in summer (Dec‑Feb) is hot and humid (30‑35 °C). Light, breathable clothing + a hat + sunscreen. If you’re visiting in winter (Jun‑Aug), a light jacket is enough; temperatures sit around 12‑20 °C.
Sun Protection
The UV index can be “extreme”. Reapply sunscreen every two hours, even on cloudy days.
Wi‑Fi
Free public Wi‑Fi is available throughout South Bank (look for “South Bank Free Wi‑Fi”). Great for checking flight updates on the go.
Time Management
Set a timer for each activity (e.g., “30 min at the museum”) to avoid getting stuck and missing your train.
Emergency Contact
Dial 000 for police, fire, or ambulance. For non‑emergencies, call 131 444 (Queensland Police Assistance).
A Quick Recap: The South Bank Blueprint
Time
Activity
00:00–00:20
Airtrain to South Bank
00:20–01:00
Stroll the parklands & snap the mural wall
01:00–02:00
Lunch with river views
02:00–03:20
Wheel of Brisbane → Queensland Museum → GOMA → Arboretum picnic
03:20–03:40
Return to Airtrain, head back to airport
03:40–04:00
Clear security, grab a final coffee, board your next flight
Final Thought
A stopover can feel like a logistical hurdle, but when you zero in on South Bank Parklands, you’re essentially plugging into Brisbane’s heart in a single, seamless stretch. From dazzling river panoramas to world‑class art, from a beach‑side lounge to a bite of fresh seafood, South Bank delivers a compact, unforgettable taste of Queensland—all without the need for a rental car or a marathon of bus transfers.
So the next time your itinerary gives you a 24‑hour window in Brisbane, skip the checklist of “must‑see” spots and let South Bank be your single, unforgettable destination. Trust me: you’ll step back onto that plane with a grin, a handful of great photos, and a story that says, “I only had a day, but I made it count.”
Happy travels, and may your lay‑over be anything but ordinary!
The first meaning that comes to mind is a cue is a prompt, often from someone standing behind the camera in a television studio.
That is to say that a cue is some form of signal, a wave, a nod, or verbal.
A cue can also be where a tape or recording is set to a certain place, ready to play. One could assume, if playing tracks off an album of songs, and you wanted to play the fourth track, then you would cue it up, ready to go on, of course, the moment you got a, yes, cue to play it.
Then there is a cue used in a game of pool or snooker, that is a long thin tapered piece of wood with a felt tip.
Not exactly my favourite game, but it’s always the cues fault, not mine.
This is not to be considered with Que which is a shortened form for Quebec, in Canada.
Or que, which for some reason, only in California, is short for barbecue.
Or Queue, as in a long line, or a short one, of people waiting to get on a bus, or waiting to get tickets
In my experience every queue I get in is always a long one, and then suffer the frustration of waiting hours only to be told the tickets have all been sold.
Almost as bad as being stuck in a traffic jam, which is technically a queue of cars, never to get through the first set of lights, and sometimes not the second.
And don’t get me started on phone queues.
Queues are for people who have a lot of time on the hands.
50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.
They all start with –
A picture paints … well, as many words as you like. For instance:
And, the story:
Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply fly away?
Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, I came to the airport to see the plane leave. Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.
But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision. She needed the opportunity to spread her wings. It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.
She was in a rut. Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level that she, the youngest of the group, would get the position.
It was something that had been weighing her down for the last three months, and if she noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper. I knew she had one; no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.
And then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere. Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication. It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact that she had to entertain more, and frankly, I felt like an embarrassment to her.
So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock. We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.
It was then that she said she had quit her job and found a new one. Starting the following Monday.
Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it was something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.
I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.
What surprised her was my reaction. None.
I simply asked who, where, and when.
A world-class newspaper in New York, and she had to be there in a week.
A week.
It was all the time I had left with her.
I remember just shrugging and asking if the planned weekend away was off.
She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.
Is that all you want to know?
I did, yes, but we had lost the intimacy we used to have, where she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker, but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.
There’s not much to ask, I said. You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place, and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.
Her immediate superior was instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position, he had not taken advantage of the situation like some might. And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.
One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.
So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.
Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology. It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you. I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.
Yes, our relationship had a use-by date, and it was in the next few days.
I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me; you can make cabinets anywhere.
I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job. It was everything around her and going with her that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.
Then the only question left was, what do we do now?
Go shopping for suitcases. Bags to pack, and places to go.
Getting on the roller coaster is easy. At the beginning, it’s a slow, easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top. It’s much like some relationships; they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, followed by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.
What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.
Our roller coaster had just come out of the final turn, and we were braking so that it would stop at the station.
There was no question of going with her to New York. Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back. After a few months in the new job, the last thing she’d want was a reminder of what she left behind. New friends, new life.
We packed her bags, threw out everything she didn’t want, a free trip to the op shop with stuff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.
Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming; that moment, the taxi arrived to take her away forever. I remember standing there, watching the taxi go. It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.
So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.
Already that morning, there had been 6 different types of planes departing, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.
People coming, people going.
Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just to see what the attraction was. Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.
As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.
The One Place That Will Make It Unforgettable – Ciudad Vieja (the Old Town)
You’ve just stepped off an international flight, the scent of the Río de la Plata wafts through the airport, and you have exactly 24 hours to soak up Uruguay’s capital. It’s tempting to scatter your time across beaches, museums, and cafés, but if you want to leave Montevideo with a story you’ll actually retell, focus on one place that compresses the city’s soul into a handful of streets: Ciudad Vieja, the historic Old Town.
Why Ciudad Vieja Wins the One‑Place Challenge
What you get
How it fits a 24‑hour lay‑over
Architecture that narrates 200 years of history – from the neoclassical Palacio Salvo to colonial stone houses.
A compact, walkable district (≈ 15 min of strolling) that lets you see it all without a frantic schedule.
Cultural highlights in one block – Plaza Independencia, Solís Theatre, the Museo Torres García, and the iconic Gateway of the Constitution.
Each landmark is a quick photo‑op or a 10‑minute peek, yet together they paint a vivid portrait of Uruguay’s past and present.
Food that defines Montevideo – the bustling Mercado del Puerto, legendary parrilla (steak) spots, and artisanal coffee cafés.
You can grab a world‑class lunch, a quick snack, or a late‑night bite without leaving the area.
Vibrant street life – tango dancers, street artists, and the ever‑present hum of locals in the plazas.
Perfect for those “I’m just wandering” moments that turn strangers into friends.
Easy access – a 10‑minute taxi or 20‑minute walk from Carrasco International Airport.
No time wasted on long transfers; you’re in the heart of the city almost instantly.
In short, Ciudad Vieja is Montevideo’s living museum, culinary hub, and social lounge all rolled into one – exactly what a short‑stop traveller needs.
A 6‑Hour “Perfect Day” Itinerary in Ciudad Vieja
Tip: Buy a “Montevideo Card” (USD 5) at the airport. It gives you free entry to several museums and a 30‑minute hop‑on hop‑off bus if you feel like hopping back to the airport later.
Time
Activity
Why it matters
08:30 – Arrival
Taxi/ride‑share from the airport to Plaza Independencia (the gateway to the Old Town).
The iconic square introduces you to Montevideo’s blend of modernity and tradition.
09:00 – Palacio Salvo
Snap a photo of the city’s most recognizable skyline and, if you’re quick, climb the modest observation deck (≈ 5 min).
Built in 1928, it’s Montevideo’s answer to the Eiffel Tower – a symbol of ambition.
09:30 – Solís Theatre
Walk inside or simply admire the neoclassical façade; catch a brief guided tour if time allows.
One of Latin America’s most prestigious theatres; its interior is a golden‑age gem.
10:00 – Museo Torres García
A 20‑minute dive into the work of Uruguay’s avant‑garde master, Joaquín Torres García.
The museum is a hidden treasure that showcases the artistic heartbeat of the nation.
10:45 – Coffee Break @ Café Brasil
Order a “café con leche” and a medialuna (croissant‑like pastry).
Montevideans take their coffee seriously; this is a perfect pause to people‑watch.
**11:30 – Walk the Calle Sarandí & Calle A
Browse boutique shops, vintage stores, and street‑art murals.
The streets themselves are an open‑air gallery, reflecting the city’s contemporary vibe.
12:30 – Mercado del Puerto
Lunch: Parrillada (mixed grilled meats) + a glass of Tannat or fresh “mate” from a nearby stall.
This historic market is the culinary crown jewel of Ciudad Vieja – think of it as Montevideo’s answer to Buenos Aires’ “steakhouse”.
14:00 – Plaza Matriz & Cathedral
Quick photo stop at the square and the stunning Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception.
The square is where festivals happen; the cathedral dates back to 1740.
14:30 – Souvenir Hunt
Pick up a jar of “dulce de leche”, a handmade leather wallet, or a small “candombe” drum.
Take a piece of Montevideo home; everything here is made locally.
15:00 – Return to Airport
Taxi/ride‑share back to Carrasco (traffic is usually light during midday).
You’ll be back with plenty of time for your next flight, and a head full of stories.
Total Time: ~ 6 hours of immersive experiences, plus travel time. You still have a few hours left for a quick beach walk on the Rambla if you feel adventurous, but you’ll leave Montevideo already feeling like you’ve lived a whole week.
Insider Details That Turn a Quick Visit into a Memory
The “Puerta de la Ciudadela” (Gate of the Citadel) – The original entrance to the old fortified settlement. It’s a perfect photo backdrop, especially at golden hour when the light hits the stone arches just right.
Candombe Rhythms on Sundays – If your layover lands on a Sunday, head to Plaza de la Constitución near the gate. Local “candombe” drummers (Afro‑Uruguayan percussion) perform spontaneous shows that echo the city’s African heritage.
Hidden Courtyard at the Palacio Taranco – Even if you don’t have time for the full museum, pop in for a quick look at the courtyard garden; it’s a serene oasis amid the bustling streets.
The “Feria de Tristán Narvaja” – This flea market runs every Saturday. If your stopover includes a Saturday morning, wander the stalls for vintage books, antiques, and quirky souvenirs. It’s less than a 10‑minute walk from Plaza Independencia.
“Mate” Etiquette – When offered a mate (a traditional infused tea) by a local, accept it! It’s a sign of hospitality. You’ll get a quick lesson in the ritual – sip, pass, repeat.
Practical Tips for the One‑Day Explorer
Concern
Solution
Getting there from the airport
Pre‑book a reputable ride‑share (Uber, Cabify) or use the official Taxi del Aeropuerto service – they have flat rates for the city center (USD 15‑20).
Currency
Uruguay uses the Uruguayan peso (UYU), but most places in Ciudad Vieja also accept USD and credit cards. Have a few pesos for market stalls.
Language
Spanish is official; however, most restaurant staff and shop owners speak basic English. A simple “Hola, ¿puedo…?” goes a long way.
Safety
Ciudad Vieja is safe during daylight. Keep an eye on belongings in crowded spots like the Mercado del Puerto.
Luggage
Most hotels/hostels near the airport offer luggage storage for a few dollars. Free yourself to stroll unburdened.
Time zone
Montevideo is UTC‑3 (no daylight‑saving). Adjust your watch accordingly to avoid missing your connecting flight.
The Bottom Line: One Place, Endless Stories
When you have just a day in a city, the temptation is to chase everything. But the most memorable travel moments happen when you immerse yourself in a single, richly layered neighbourhood. In Montevideo, that neighbourhood is Ciudad Vieja – a compact tapestry of history, art, gastronomy, and music that lets you feel the pulse of Uruguay without racing against the clock.
So the next time your itinerary lists a “one‑day stopover in Montevideo,” skip the checklist and head straight to the Old Town. Walk its cobblestones, taste its smoky grills, listen to its drums, and you’ll leave with a story that fits in a paragraph—but feels like a novel.
Bon voyage, and enjoy the heartbeat of Montevideo!
Arrive & Orient – 20 min
Stroll the Parklands – 40 min
Lunch with a View – 60 min
Iconic Experiences – 80 min
Depart – 20 min
