Let's have a Ferris Buellers Day off! A fabulous suggestion and a throwback to the time the Old Duck and I decided to take a day off work and go and get some things done from my list. Must have been 9 years ago or so - we were both still at Mercer and we can proudly say we are possibly the only two people in Melbourne who actually got to ride the Melbourne Star (the Ferris wheel of death, not called that because anyone died, but because the poor thing sits there rusting away - one of the less successful tourist attractions the city has ever produced).
Time to repeat the fun and drag along Andrea and B for a little adventure. There was some discussion on what to do and as the day promised to be windy, maybe a prosecco brunch would have been the more sensible option, but then again, we all know how the last time the four of us went out for a brunch turned out. As do my neighbours on Hardy Street. But that's a story for another day and names shall be omitted from today's tale to protect the guilty.
Back to the Friday in question, because a Ferris Buellers Day off needs to be on a Friday. It was agreed that we would meet at Southern Cross station and wander down to catch the ferry in Docklands over to Portarlington (yes, it is one word) where we would enjoy a stroll, a leisurely lunch at the Portarlington Grand Hotel before a pleasant voyage home.
The first part of the plan all went well. We were on time, we had tickets, we had coffee and we were ready to board the Geelong Flyer. A slight concern when the skipper (or it could have been first mate Gilligan), announced that it would be a slightly bumpy crossing and that the outside areas would be closed. The mood was high as we set off and there was much laughter. Until the first waves started to hit. Woah, that was a big one as the Old Duck began to clutch the table with a look of panic in her eyes. All good I don't get seasick. Except it would appear I do. As do lots of other people who all of a sudden acquired the latest in sailing accessories - a sick bag.
I must say Gilligan was very good in running around exchanging used sick bags with new ones - awesome job, where do I apply? With waves crashing around us, the 75 minute crossing felt a lot longer. With Celine Dion's "My heart will go on" in the background, the thought hit me. Did I also not share another death defying crossing with Andrea and B on our Camino? Was this a sign that the three of us should never be on a boat together?
But we survived (obviously) without the need of priestly intervention (thank you Father John) and eventually we were back on solid land, legs a quivering. A nice cup of tea and I started feeling better, so back to enjoying the day with a stroll around the town. Lunch time and off to the lovely Portarlington Grand Hotel. Most enjoyable, although I did find myself only able to partake in 1 glass of bubbles, the tummy still not quiet convinced it was safe to indulge.
The question of the return journey was at the back of our minds, but we chose to ignore it. Until it was time to return. The Duck spoke first. Maybe we should catch the bus to Geelong and then the train back to Melbourne? Problem, there were replacement buses and only one bus - would have taken ages. An uber was considered - the Old Duck whipping up her Uber App in record time. But didn't the captain say the return trip would be smoother? We ran into the ladies who had bum shuffled their way down the stairs on the way over, they would not be returning by boat. Somehow we talked ourselves into agreeing that yes it would be smoother and that we would indeed get back on board. What could possibly go wrong.
Once on board, we were told that eating salty crisps would help. OK, happy to try that. B and the Duck even went as far as thinking Dutch courage in the form of more bubbles would be helpful. So clutching a sick bag in one hand and a crisp in the other, we set off. It was slightly smoother. I did not get sick and the Duck did not go as pale as on the way over. Could have been the alcohol. Could have been the crisps, but we made it back to Melbourne in 50 minutes - much quicker.
Our celebrations in having survived to tell the tale involved more bubbles. Lots more bubbles. Portarlington is a lovely town - might catch the train next time.
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