Chasing the sun

First light, short shadows, the westward flying plane. Only another sun chaser would understand the true value of those things. The idea of going to a place named after the golden ball of goodness itself appealed to me more than most. Fortuitously, Queensland was the first serious stop on South Africa's tour of Australia in late 2012.

The schedule took us to Sydney for a practice match but Brisbane, in the Sunshine State, was where the real Tests would begin. The locals called it Bris-Vegas in a disparaging reference to tackiness, but I was not going to be swayed so easily. Even if the city lacked soul in the way I imagine the one it is nicknamed after does, it would have warmth of the literal kind, which was fine with me.

Sunlight bounced from the streets, complete with bicycle lanes, glistened on the water, and reflected off the mirrored modern structures that made up the Eagle Street Pier. The mall by the water was my introduction to Brisbane and it was every bit as expensive (because it just cannot be called cheap) and nasty as it sounds. The restaurants were flash, the patrons were flush, but it was not just good times that were flowing; the Brisbane River was too and it would prove central to my experience of the city.

A river usually comes with a guarantee of an opportunity for exercise and I had previously made use of many. On the Thames' South Bank, sightseeing was included; on the Zambezi, I shared space with baboons and a pair of elephants, and along the Waikato, moving became a form of meditation. But Brisbane was completely different because the focus was on the physical activity of running and the many interesting ways of performing the seemingly mundane task of putting one foot in front of the other over and over and over again.

No matter where you start - I began at the aforementioned shopping area - over the course of two weeks, every run can be different because of the 15 bridges that connect the two sides of the city. Some routes meander through the Botanical Gardens, others force you to jostle with cyclists in narrow shared spaces. And then there is the floating walkway between the wonderfully named Story Bridge and Merthyr Street. In glorious sunshine, your eyes are treated to light of a brightness they may not have enjoyed before, footsteps and whirring wheels are the soundtrack, and the sense of community from the many other people doing exactly the same thing was more welcoming than I expected Australia to be.

Without delving too deeply into the love-hate relationship between South Africans and Australians, let's just say there is a level of aggression shared between us. It is evident on the sports field where contests between the two nations often come with some extra needle, but it also exists beyond the boundary. There are almost 150,000 South Africans living in Australia, many of whom moved there when South Africa's transition into a democracy threatened to become violent, and there is a tension between those who stayed behind and those who left. Of course, we are not the only country that has a significant expat community in Australia because people have been flocking there for generations.

My first encounter with an "Australian," was actually with a Lebanese man, then an Italian, then a Chinese person. All that makes Australia a much more diverse place than it can come across as being.

Brisbane has a significant Greek influence. My childhood was spent among people of Mediterranean heritage, so I was intrigued enough to visit the West End. Apart from the fact that it shares a name with what I regard as one of the best part of London, it was where the Greek community settled initially.

Restaurants spilling over onto pavements and delicatessens that open up into massive grocery stores stand as a testament to that legacy. One of them, Delta Continental, is located on Vulture Street. The only reason I remember that is because the same road leads to the Gabba. With red and yellow seats, the ground looks like it is trying to be the sun, never mind have people sit in it. I was underwhelmed by it as a venue.

They say it used to have much more character before the revamp, which has since swallowed other Australian venues like Adelaide Oval, and I hope they are right. The Gabba I saw had the same garishness as some parts of the city it is in do. There's too much Vegas and not enough Bris. The most interesting thing about it was an anecdote we unearthed about why the street it sits on has its name: not named after a group of birds that nested there waiting for a carcass, or even a pack of dodgy businessmen, but rather a Royal Navy warship that was in operation during the Crimean War in the 1850s, called the HMS Vulture.

What was talked up to be a fiery pitch - so much so that South Africa fielded an all-pace attack - turned out to be the opposite. Brisbane was not all sunshine and... well sunshine, either. The second day of the match was washed out, effectively forcing the draw, but that did leave me with more time to explore some of the more charming parts. The Library Bar, the old government house, the Brisbane wheel.

Beyond Brisbane's borders are attractions including a koala sanctuary, the Australia Zoo, which was home to crocodile hunter Steve Irwin, and much further afield, the Gold Coast. The schedule meant I could not get to any of them, and I was particularly disappointed not to be able to bask in the rays of a place that sounds made for nothing else. But that's just another reason to keep chasing the sun.