Turkeys and Penises and Mud Crabs, oh my!

Sunday night I returned from a weekend in Noosa with my mum and sister. It was my non-denominational Festive Season gift to them and a much anticipated break.

I have never been to Noosa before and was filled with anticipation, especially for the legendary shopping.

My introduction to the shopping was swift and painful. The very first shop we entered on Friday afternoon presented me with the most glorious handbag, a beacon of handbagy wonder. Eagerly I asked the saleslady to get if from the shelf for me. Eagerly I examined its beautiful, intricate detail; already projecting how much happier and more fulfilled my life would be with it on my arm. Eagerly I fumbled for the price tag, mentally reaching for my credit card and finalising the transaction. Eagerly I threw the bag at the hovering saleslady: $1585, that's how the price read. At first glance my brain simply registered $158.50 and instantly I thought "wow, what a reasonable price for such a beautiful bag, wrap it up". At closer inspection I realised there was no full stop or dash seperating any of the digits and the horror dawned on me. ONE THOUSAND, FIVE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY FIVE DOLLARS (not Lira or Yen or even NZ dollars to bring down to a figure my mind can comprehend).

It was almost totally down hill from there. The first half dozen shops we entered featured $800 dresses, $400 jeans and the most wonderful boots, the price of which I was too terrified to enquire about.

But this is not a totally sad tale. At one of the shops I discovered Desigual, a Spanish brand of clothes made just for me. Crazy colours, fabrics, prints and textures; just the sort of stuff I love. Mum and J bought me a skirt for my birthday and I can't wait for the weather to cool down a little so I can wear it.

Apart from the wonderful/horrible shopping there a number of other memorable things about Noosa.

The turkeys. They are everywhere. The streets, the cafes, hiding in the scrub around the beach. Where do they come from and why are they are there?

The penis trees. Otherwise known as Padanus Palms, these trees literally look they are growing penises instead of roots. Yes, I am as deep as your average puddle but these just cracked me up every time I saw them... and I saw a lot of them. [See pictorial evidence below.] Mum and J got well and truly sick and tired of me nudging and pointing each time we passed one (about 100 times a day).

The mud crab. We had the most delicious, indulgent Queensland Mud Crab cooked in garlic butter, with lots of herbs and big slabs of crusty bread to mop up the gorgeous buttery sauce on Saturday for lunch. Mud crab is one of life's true treats for me. It's something I rarely have but often crave. Mmmmm....

And memorable for all the wrong reasons was Noosa Marina Sunday Markets. If there was an Olympics for piss weak markets this would certainly be in gold medal contention. "Markets" is really too strong a word for this collection of crappy stalls: stick on fingernail decals, handmade pottery mermaids, new age crystal rubbish... and these were the best of them. The advertised "fresh produce" consisted of one stall, out the back in the car park, with a sad display of half a dozen of a few fruits and vegetables. The only positive of the day was the lovely Ferry ride from Noosa to Noosaville and onto Tewentin. Oh well, live and learn.

So onto a few pictorial moments from the weekend...

Mum and I enjoying some Krispy Kreme action before boaridng our plane.

Ladies who lunch. Waiting for our

Mud Crab while enjoying some

very yummy cocktails.

Yes, I have no shame.
(But it does look like a penis doesn't it?
It's not just my dirty mind.)