There's something about backpacker bars. Drunken young people spilling out onto the streets, beer spilling out of the drunken young people, blood pouring out of your ears from the DJ Otzi, too much DJ Otzi. This particular bar also encouraged cross dressing, which some of the occupants found most liberating.
The Down Under Bar is just plain WRONG in many ways...but all this was made up for by the dressing up box they kept out back. Obviously they too know that nothing pulls in the punters like a man in gold shorts and a green afro wig. Or indeed several men dressed as women and making a frighteningly good job of it.
Here's some pictures of some of the usual suspects:
The DUB day was a beautifully unhealthy one- sushi and fags for breakfast at 3pm then up to the roof, food poisoning at 6pm, wine and pie at 5am when the bar was clear, then, you guessed it, up to the roof.
We did make it out of town sometimes; to the hills above Brisbane, to the wildlife park and the art gallery and the greek festival. Nothing settles a hangover like a dozen lamb kebabs and the Zorba Dance.
The koalas at the wildlife park were pretty tame; they sleep 80% of the time, so I guess they felt a kinship with us from the DUB. But the kangaroos were a little scary- I have never seen such big balls on a living creature. Seriously. They were some biiiig bastards.