Progress, I Guess

It’s coming on to 18 years since we moved from Victoria to Hervey Bay. Peter was having some medical problems and a doctor told him to take a couple of weeks off, get away from winter in Melbourne and go and lie on a beach somewhere. We did that. The beach was Brampton Island off the coast from Mackay. It was a lovely holiday. We swam, walked, played golf, mucked about with archery, climbed up the trail to the top of the island’s peak, enjoyed the wonderful sunsets. It was great.

Going home wasn’t so wonderful. Airlines are very susceptible to domino effects. Sometime during the day a flight was delayed. That meant return flights and on-going flights were delayed. The short story is we didn’t get back home to our house 80kms west of Melbourne until after midnight.

Next morning I went out to the deck overlooking the valley and the Wombat Forest. It was cool and misty and very beautiful and bloody freezing. It had been nearly ten years since I’d left Perth and, although I’d enjoyed my time in the Victorian bush, I started to think I’d about had enough. But I wondered what Peter would think about that. He came out to join me, leaning on the rail, admiring the view. And he said, “You know, Greet, when we retire we should go somewhere warmer.”

Huzzah!

Over the next couple of years we drove up and down the Queensland coast and even flew over to Perth, looking for a location that would suit us (that we could afford). We deliberately avoided the Gold Coast and the Sunshine Coast. Too much traffic, too many high rises. One time we stayed for a week in a rental at Woodgate, a tiny town right on the sea south of Bundaberg. Usually we would drive to Bundaberg or Childers for supplies, but this day Pete decided to head south, to a place called Hervey Bay. It was perfect, on a quiet bay, not too large to have traffic even at peak hour (that turned out to be school pickup time) but big enough to have a hospital, supermarkets and a Bunnings you could see from the moon. There was even a couple of bookshops.

Back then most shops weren’t open on Sunday. Basically, the whole town shut down at Saturday lunchtime until Monday morning. You could shoot a cannon down the main street without hitting anybody. Life was good. We’d go for walks on the beach, have Saturday breakfast in a local café, amble along the pier, play occasional golf. I’d go whale-watching every year. And (of course) we’d work on our one acre garden.

Not that life is no longer good. We’ve downsized to a smaller property which can be managed by a couple of septuagenarians and we only have one car. But in the last couple of years Hervey Bay has exploded. Housing estates (big houses on tiny blocks) and retirement villages are popping up like toadstools in mulch after a bit of rain. People are selling their houses in Sydney and Melbourne and moving up here with a wallet full of cash. Property prices that had been stagnant for about 15 years have skyrocketed. The town is bursting at the seams. The roads are constantly busy and it’s becoming difficult to find parking at the main beaches.

Yes, I’m whinging. The council has approved the first 18 storey high rise on the Esplanade overlooking the beach. We reckon it’s the thin edge of the wedge. Previously, buildings were limited to six storeys. It won’t be long before (no longer) quiet little Hervey Bay is going to look like Coolangatta but without the surf.

Ah well. That’s progress, I guess.

A bit of nostalgia.

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