London. New York. Rio de Janeiro. Taree.
There was a time, not too long ago, when this coastal oasis was one of the world’s great tourist destinations. With the Big Oyster luring fascinated fans in their millions, Taree was the playground of the rich and famous, and the centre of the Big Thing universe.
Then this riverside paradise was bypassed by the Pacific Highway and the monumental mollusc fell into disrepair, tearing the beating heart out of the town’s tourism industry.
The five-star resorts and lavish nightclubs closed. Taree Disneyland was no longer the happiest place on Earth. Even Jamie Oliver’s Michelin star fish and chip shop served up its final Chiko roll. Taree, tragically, had become a ghost town.
This is the epic tail of a goanna named Joanna, who returned hope and pride to a medium-sized mid-north coast conurbation.
Taree’d and Feathered
May 2014. The Taree Aquatic Club. I’m on my third non-alcoholic aperol spritz with a pinch of turmeric. With cap in hand, mayor Basil Sanchez shuffles towards me, the inimitable Bigs Bardot, seeking advice on rejuvenating the town. He spews forth convoluted plans to tidy up the CBD and plant a few new trees, but it’s clear his master plan is missing something BIG.
“Basil,” I sigh, “if you can’t maintain prolonged prosperity with the aid of an oyster of epic proportions, then I’m not sure I can help you.” Submerged in thought, I languidly sip my reasonably-priced rambutan daiquiri as I gaze out over the mighty Manning River. “I never thought I’d say this, Basil, but perhaps oversized roadside attractions aren’t the solution to all society’s problems.”
The mayor turns away from me, doing his best to hide the tears of shame cascading down his plump cheeks. “Bigs, I know we’ve stuffed up, but give us another chance,” he splutters. “Please, the people of Taree deserve a Big Thing they can rally behind.
“Alright, alright. Maybe you could install a giant goanna as a tribute to the Biripi people who have inhabited the area for the past 50,000 years.”
“But Bigs, we don’t have that sort of money. We blew our budget flying you in from the Maldives. Did you have to travel first class, Bigs?”
“Yes I did, and the sumptuous Neil Perry-curated meals and attentive service were worth every cent.” I hold up my empty glass and Basil reluctantly shuffles off to the bar to buy me another. When he returns, trembling, I soothe him with kind words and my inimitable smile.
Her Full name is Joanna Bigs
“Basil,” I offer when he returns, “I’d like to introduce you to a feisty, yet approachable young lady named Joanna.”
“Oh no, Bigs. My wife has been quite clear that if she catches me with one more – ”
“Honestly, Basil, I’m not talking about one of your cash-crazed courtesans. Joanna is a three-metre-long wooden carving of a goanna who was lovingly created by my good friend, popular local artist Rick Reynolds. And it’s your lucky day, because Rick’s willing to donate her to the town.”
Basil devolves into a blubbering mess, but this time he’s leaking tears of pure joy. He knows that his beloved township had been saved.
“Bigs,” Basil shudders, “the people of Taree owe you a debt that can never be repaid. But where can we install this massive lizard?
“Somewhere that encapsulates the verdant culture and unique identity of Taree,” I explain as I take up my Dolce & Gabbana travel purse and briefly, icily, kiss Basil farewell, “and where the locals will see her every day as they go about their business”
Joanna the Goanna can be found outside Centrelink.
