Firstly, we can't really pronounce this city's name - even the assimilated foreigners (Paddys mainly) pronounce it as Kiiiiins. We recent arrivals call it Kayearns. Bogger style. Secondly, we'll probably never need to say the city's name again, except to say, "Yeah, I was in Cairns once, don't really ever plan on going back".
Really it's not that bad, and I'm sure that if you were looking for a bit of diving or sightseeing in the reef, then it'd be alright. It's just that we're suffering from a little yet-another-city-syndrome, and could really give a rodent's posterior about exploring a place that seems to be just a collection of petrol stations, wide roads and oddballs.
That said, we had a damn good dinner in the Bull Bar Steakhouse. Not really a place for tourists - the clientelle were all locals - but by God do they know how to fill their bellies.
Hillareously, the 10 foot pond in the front garden of our otherwise quite nice hotel is actually what they advertised online as their swimming pool. Those passers-by who witnessed Ciaran stripping down to swimming gear mere footsteps from the footpath experienced a shock that could only be matched by that which Ciaran's body could report upon feeling the cold drive through it after dipping into the water. It got better after that, as you can see from his heroic athleticism above.
