Today's photos

First, the laundry project from hell which is kind of getting there.

Next, proof that the dogs love their new bed, and the cat doesn't mind it either.

Survivor Palm Cove

More reality than reality TV, this is a recap of our recent four-day trip back to lovely Palm Cove, 5km north of Cairns in FNQ, and reviews of the businesses which vied for our custom.

Why the holiday now? Well I'm six months pregnant, and it seemed like a good idea to take one last romantic, luxury holiday before even leaving the house involves a pram, nappy bags, kilos of paraphernalia and, of course, a screaming baby. It's such a good idea that the evil Marketing geniuses have given it a name; the "Babymoon". I refuse to call it that.

The flight there
Ah, Qant-arse. They now offer on-line check-in, allowing you to choose your seat the night before you jet out. Oooh, gadgets! Except there's a bug in the system, which they know about but haven't fixed yet, resulting in the hubby and I not being allocated seats together because mine was a FF rewards booking and his was a regular purchase. Never mind that I rang their reservations department and had our bookings linked two months ago to prevent this. Never mind that when I called Reservations 12 hours before departure it was apparently "too late" to do anything about it (other than arrive early and plead with the check-in desk) because I'd already progressed too far in the on-line process. Never mind that I specifically pointed out that I hadn't printed our boarding passes and asked if it was therefore too late to use the "Change Seat Allocation" function and was told "Yes".

Ignoring their advice I found that on-line persistence paid off, and I was able to change Bevan's seat to the one next to mine. I thought about trying to scab an upgrade out of it, and did point out on the phone that "I'm six months pregnant " but no luck. Apparently that only works on trains.

However, I will grant that flying Qantas does have some all-included benefits in the price. The headphones are free. The crappy movie was free. The non-alcoholic drinks are free. The hot chicken and rice "lunch" - served at 10.15am (which was actually 9.15am according to my watch, which I'd already turned back to Qld time) - was free, as was the complimentary "Splice" icypole for dessert to put one in a tropical mood.

Accommodation
The Sebel Reef House is a glorious place to stay. Our Brigadier Beachfront Spa Room was exactly that: a colonial, plantation-shutters-aplenty beachfront location, with a spa of such dimensions that one felt nervous about swimming in it less than an hour after eating. And NO WATER RESTRICTIONS! We cranked it up three out of the four nights we stayed there, and quickly learned not to add the complimentary bubble bath and run the spa jets. Of course, that was only when I could lever Bevan out of the two-seater wicker couch suspended from the balcony roof as a swing, or myself from the arm-chair and matching ottoman which elevated my pregnant ankles to swelling-proof height.

The staff are friendly, relaxed, professional and completely unobtrusive. We had a choice of sun lounges by either the fresh or salt-water pool (the fresh-water featuring a waterfall), although delivering a bowl of hot chips pool-side proved more difficult than imagined. The Reef House restaurant isn't the sort of place that does chips. It does a smoked-cheddar souffle, or a perfectly cooked minute steak, but not a bowl of chips. Never fear, Brigadier Bar to the rescue! The area between pool and lobby is a help-yourself, honour system bar with a range of chips, cashews, imported beers and lime wedges to satisfy mid-afternoon hunger pangs brought on by three lazy laps of the salt-water pool.

The Brigadier Bar also includes a range of magazines, newspapers, books in several languages that you can swap with whatever you brought with you and have finished, and a chess set which shall not be discussed ever again.

If lunch the first day was good, dinner the last night was fantastic. Local buffalo feta souffle this time for me, the saltiness of the cheese perfectly off-set by a scattering of sweet caramelised onion (which looked exactly like the chicken jerky we bribe our cat with, but presumably tastes a lot better). Turkey spring-rolls with cranberry and hazelnut salad had been an impressive entree, and the creme brulee for dessert was perfect. Bevan started with a magnificent duck salad before raving about the snow peas and mash accompanying his steak with pepper sauce. He can't remember what dessert was, other than that "it was beautiful!" (A check of the pdf menu on-line jogged the memory back to a pecan nut pudding with maple syrup anglaise.)

Breakfast the next morning was just as good, with Eggs Benedict for me (one of the best Bearnaise sauces I've ever had - just the right amount of cracked pepper) and roasted banana pancakes for Bevan, both of which efficiently replaced conversation with happy grunting.

But I just want a normal pedicure...
My toes were still wearing the scraps of polish from my last pedicure a couple of months before, along with the accumulated dead skin of that interval. I was too ashamed to turn up at the day spa for a full-body massage in that condition and decided to get a quick pedicure and new polish. Hey, Palm Cove is the self-proclaimed "Spa Capital of Australia" so how hard could it be? Hmmm. A quick look at the Sebel's in-house spa menu showed that they could do a Miji Jina Foot Treatment to "soak and sooth away tensions" for a mere $98, but I just wanted a normal pedicure with nail polish and sand blasting.

The main shopping strip had a hairdresser/beauty parlour, but their beauty therapist was in - of all places - Melbourne. A plea of desperation at one of the tour booking agencies revealed a dearth of common garden-variety beauty treatments. Fortunately someone knew that the Sea Temple spa does regular pedicures, but only because she'd had a visiting friend make the same plea and had done the research.

The Sea Temple is another Mirvac property, further off the main strip. I really wish I could remember my therapist's name - believe me, I've tried - because she deserves all the public recognition this humble blog can give her. Later it emerged that she'd delayed her lunch break to fit in the non-guest who wandered off the street without bothering to book, and she did a fantastic job. My toe nails are now a lovely shade of red and my heels bear a closer resemblance to skin than course-grit sandpaper. Hopefully she earned a nice fat commission on the ridiculously expensive - but utterly fabulous - bottle of Elemis Milk Bath I bought at her recommendation. This worked much better in the spa than bubble bath, and meant that Bevan got a little bit of spa treatment during the holiday, too.

Bevan was the hero of the day, and not just for remembering the Sea Temple's location. I got a bit hot and flustered on the way there, so he walked all the way back to our room to fetch my hat, and then waited patiently in the resort bar for me to finish. I'm proud to say that the bar's plasma set tuned to the Foxtel music video channel was the only television we saw during our entire time in Palm Cove.

Passions of Paradise
One cannot stay on the edge of the Great Barrier Reef without indulging in a boat trip. Last time we did the uber-touristy Quicksilver cattle muster out to Agincourt Reef. This time we looked for something a little more intimate.

We still don't know whether Passions of Paradise is the name of the tour company or their boat. I just know that it's not actually a brothel, because clearly none of our back-packer companions had any intention of paying to get lucky. On the other hand, the guy whose heart we watched stop beating as he was informed his 'extras' bill by the end of the cruise was $248 may well be selling his body by now.

Our catamaran joined the 8am peak hour rush of tour boats departing Cairns harbour, with a warning from the crew that it would be a rough trip out and sea-sick pills were available from the bar (at a modest extra cost). Being pregnant I decided to rough it out rather than risk a thalidomide-type catastrophe, and instead got a close-up view of the vessel's porcelain for several dignity-wracking minutes.

We had a very educational glass-bottom boat tour of the soft corals surrounding Michaelmas Cay on our arrival there ($18 extra per passenger) before donning our ultra-sexy stinger suits ($6 extra per passenger) and snorkeling gear for some up-close exploration. We knew the chance of stingers that far out was low, but since it's still officially stinger season through to May and I was snorkeling for two (and they provide better UV protection than any sunscreen was likely to) they seemed like a good idea. Besides, all the back-packers were wearing them so it was positive peer pressure for once. And a big howdie to the English back-packer wearing full-thickness makeup for her introductory scuba diving lesson.

Lunch was free, but if you wanted a drink it was $2.50 extra. And the on-board photographer took our photo underwater for free but charged $10 extra per photo for copies. As you can see, we coughed up for it. And no, that's not a basketball stuffed down the front of my stinger suit.

After lunch it was a short trip to another reef for more snorkling over harder corals. The fish life was amazing: we found Nemo, followed an Angel fish on a tour of the reef edge, were fascinated by a school of live cuttlefish and smiled back at the toothy Parrotfish which nibble the coral (ever wondered where reef sand comes from? It's fish poo.)

The sails went up for the return journey, which was smoother and less violently vomitous than the trip out, and actually rather pleasant sitting in the shade outside and watching the on-coming waves.

Out comes our inner John Lethlean.
Palm Cove offers a number of dining options. Some offered fantastic food and service at exorbitant prices. Others offered average food and amateur service at exorbitant prices. While the former was ultimately more enjoyable, the latter provided the better entertainment for those of us who've watched too many episodes of Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares.

Bella Baci
To quote again from the Palm Cove Chamber of Commerce website, "The owners, Sam and Christine, will ensure that you and your guests are treated to a memorable evening in Palm Cove when dining at this lovely restaurant." Memorable is right, but perhaps not for the reasons they hope.

The decor and beach-front location were indeed lovely, but the staff were just that little bit too nervous and keen to impress. Bella Baci is the middle of three restaurants that essentially share the same open space, so we really can't blame them for the constant camera flashes from some idiot tourist at a table next door in Nu Nu. Why that man wanted seven near-identical photos of his partner sitting at their table is beyond me. I'd just like to be there when he gets the prints back from the chemist and sees the death stare I'm giving him in the background of the last six.

Perhaps I've been spoilt by the calamari rings available from the SouthEnd food court at Highpoint, but my entree was a little disappointing. Fortunately they came on a massive pile of salad mix, giving lots of options to hide all the bits that were too chewy to swallow.

Bevan's salad entree was spectacular only for its sheer size. For mains I had a second entree of goat's cheese and sun-dried tomato filo pastries sitting on yet more salad. The first mouthful was rich and magical, but by halfway through the third pastry it was all a bit too much. To be fair, eating some of the salad might have cut through the richness. Bevan's Osso Bucco was huge but good.

The whole thing would have been perfectly OK had they charged about 30% less. If you're in Palm Cove and want Italian, fork out the few extra dollars and go to Vivo instead (see below) because overall it's just better value for the money you're already spending.

Nu Nu
Despite waking up early Tuesday to the sound of tour buses grinding along the main street, getting out of bed and into the shower proved too much to manage before the Reef House brekkie menu stopped for the day, a la McDonald's. Nu Nu had been written off as a dinner destination the night before on a combination of their horrific prices and prominent bragging about winning Gourmet Traveller's 2008 Regional Restaurant of the Year award. However we had considered it as a lunch option, and were pleased to discover the breakfast menu still on offer.

Out of sheer perversity we sat at the same table as the previous night's Steve Parish and waited to be blown away, which really didn't take long. Our waitress knew that she worked at a good restaurant and didn't feel the need to keep asking if everything was OK. The fresh juices were great, and Bevan's lemon ricotta lacy pancakes disappeared very quickly.

My 'french toasted heidi raclette and gypsy ham sandwich' was terribly amusing to Bevan. Well, perhaps that was more the look on my face when it arrived. A small loaf of bread had been hollowed out, stuffed with filling, french toasted and wrapped in a large serviette. It measured approximately 15cm in each direction. It was huge. Somehow I ate most of it. I'm still wondering if they used a microwave to melt all that cheese properly before the french toasting.

For the record, neither of us approve of a restaurant with a page of closing credits thanking their interior designers and the people who supply them with "all things coconut". If the management is reading this, consider yourselves lucky that I didn't have a pen with me, let alone a red one, or you'd have been given a stern lesson in the difference between its and it's.

Vivo
Last time we were in Palm Cove this building was the sales office for one of the many new resorts that have sprung up. Now it's a very nice place for afternoon tapas while gazing out at the beach (which I'm slightly ashamed to admit we didn't set foot on once during the whole trip).

We still can't decide which was our favourite dish: the spiced baby calamari with lime aioli, the prawn (singular) which had been coated in flaked coconut, the crumbed and deep-fried olives stuffed with a veal/ pork mix or the super crispy smoked paprika fries. Maybe it was dessert: Bevan was very happy with the presentation and variety on his tropical fruit platter, and I somehow forgot to share any of my hazelnut and chocolate semi-freddo with berry compote.

Colonies
Apparently this was one of the first restaurants in Palm Cove. Allegedly in 2001 Jamie Oliver tried to claim royalty payments over their blatant use of one of his recipes and the owner sent him a stubby in response. Supposedly one of their goals is to provide 'affordable' dining. I can't personally vouch for the first two claims, but charging at all for bread and charging through the nose for everything else doesn't spell 'affordable' to either of us.

With fewer than 300 tables, Colonies is one of the smaller restaurants in Palm Cove. The staff consisted of two guys squeezed into a tiny galley kitchen, one girl manning the bar and a single waitress trying to do everything else front of house. As mentioned, not a crumb of bread was gratis, which they tried to justify by claiming that it was all 'home made'. One might point out that the garlic bread we had seemed 'home made' only in the same sense that the garlic bread I do can claim to be 'home made' because I slice the store-bought roll and apply garlic and butter that I've mixed together. And what happened to the promised mozzarella?

Following Gordon Ramsay's example, Bevan started with crab cakes that were OK (although neither of us could claim to be crab cake aficionados so we had nothing to compare to). His lamb main course was still a little too capable of saying "baaaa" for my liking, but he was happy with the amount it was cooked through, and it was his dish after all. My chicken scallopini had looked great on the menu, but in reality I was surprised to find that the prosciutto didn't go as well with the garlic cream sauce as I thought it would. The dill garnish was ho-hum, and the wedge of fresh cherry tomato on top was completely out of place for that dish.

White chocolate cheesecake was another option that sounded good on the menu but was actually a disappointment, being a little gritty in texture. My friend Erica's New York cheesecake is much smoother. Bevan's "mango three ways" had a very Top Chef title but unfortunately a somewhat RSL Club presentation: a cheek of mango balancing on a small scoop of mango gelati and a vague smear of mango coulis. The whole thing was jammed into an ice-cream sundae glass (which made the mango cheek hard to eat) and padded out with a heavy whipped cream. At $14.90 it should have been an anglaise at least.

With Bevan's two glasses of red (in awful old-fashioned crystal goblets) and my two LL&B, the bill was our second highest for the holiday and probably our least favourite meal.

Far Horizons
Thursday morning, and we still hadn't quite mastered the art of arriving at a resort restaurant in plenty of time to sample the breakfast menu. At least that's the impression I got from the sole waitress still on duty when we finally got to Angsana after running out of time on our last trip to Palm Cove. If I'd listened to what she said verbally instead of reading her body language I'd have realised that breakfast was still on for another half hour and we were welcome to sit at the ocean-view table of our choice.

The menu featured the near-ubiquitous range of exotically-named juice combinations, but also the more unusual option to create your own from a choice of any three fruits on a pretty long list. Fortunately our lovely waitress from PNG was paying more attention to what Bevan said to her than I paid when she spoke to me. She pointed out that the eggs-plus-extras plate he was designing was essentially the big breakfast less the sausage, which she was quite happy to do even though big breakfasts are usually pretty rigid and his original order cost more. Again, I wish I could remember her name to give her more credit.

My ham and cheese omelet was fine, and we got our first look at a newspaper in days. The good news was that the Reserve Bank hadn't raised interest rates. The bad news was that insurance premiums might go up instead after a massive wind and dust storm in Melbourne that brought down power lines, made people in tall city buildings sea sick and shut down most of the train network. Do we have to go home?

One of the top 10 spas in the world
With freshly-manicured feet I was brave enough to set foot in the Reef House's in-house spa. Their insistance on not performing any treatment on a women in her first trimester of pregnancy was a comforting sign that they know about certain risks, although it did get a little frustrating being repeatedly told "normally we'd do X but you're pregnant so you miss out".

My 2 hour session started with a traditional Aboriginal smoking ceremony performed without the slightest sense of incongruity by my lovely Japanese therapist. The promised 'special' pregnancy setup turned out to be just a regular body pillow covered in a towel, but it was still more comfortable - and physically possible - than laying on my stomach would have been. This massage was the first I've had in years that didn't leave me feeling bruised the next day, but was also the most expensive and least claimable on health insurance.

Baby put on a high-kicking performance to impress a line of Las Vegas showgirls when the therapist laid her hands on my stomach in a soothing and theraputic way. At least she calmed down so I could relax for the facial, which was one soothing potion after another. Unlike at Sea Temple there was no berry sorbet to finish up, but the cup of tea was nice even if I was limited to the normal range "because you're pregnant" instead of the exotics they apparently offer to the barren.

Phone us after you collect your bags
Finally a word in praise of JetPort Parking at Tullamarine. Not only was it less vast and cheaper than the airport's own long-term carpark - where you have to wait ages for the bus and then load your own bags - but it was under cover. Thanks to the RACV member's special we saved even more, and were very pleased with the door-to-door convenience and the speed with which they picked us up on the way home.

So, that's our travel diary. The camera didn't make it out of the suitcase but we don't care because it wasn't that sort of trip. We came home completely relaxed and wondering how much the place will have changed the next time we visit, although by then we'll be looking more for a two bedroom unit at a resort with a kid's club than a romantic ocean-view room for 2.5 people.