A small community with a big heart.

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We departed for Bowen early with the premier bus, arriving late in the evening. Us, being the Messy Crew, hadn't made any plans, just hoping there would be hostels and possible farm work available. We were wrong. We sat for about an hour in the bus station calling all the hostels in the small town but they were all full. We had chosen Bowen's busiest and apparently most exciting weekend; The Fishing Festival.
We took a trip to the local store and purchased two tents and then walked to the nearest campsite which was on the harbor, full of fishing maniacs.

We decided to move to a destination nearer to the beach so we hopped on the local bus, and really, it was the locals bus. Everyone knew everyone. Margaret was getting a lift home, literally, the bus dropped her at her front door, Lou was off to do her weekly shop, while Jake told us riveting stories of how he'd driven his dad's car underage. So we told the locals of our unfortunate events, of not having anywhere to stay, and suddenly they dropped everything they had to do and decided to help. Lou's shop could wait, and Jake loved being in on the action. The driver stopped the bus and called a few places for us while we all sat in anticipation. Then the bus drove us to one of the campsites, but they were full. We hopped back on the bus and to the next stop, Horseshoe Bay, which, to our luck, had plenty of space. It was a beautiful location, right on the beach.

The first night a possum stole our bread. He returned the following night with his mate, although Lene did egg them on with a bread trail to our tent. Now I know I slept a whole month in a tent in Madagascar last summer, but this was by far worse. We hardly got any sleep, and not because Lee wouldn't shut up, but because we had no mat on the floor and the tents were tiny. Ours broke the first night and wouldn't close. We woke every morning covered in mosquito bites.

During the day we lay at the beach. Lene and I made a sand penis while the boys played on the rocks. They decided to join in on the fishing action and bought two cheap rods. They sat for hours on the rocks, drinking beer and 'fishing' (I say 'fishing' because Lee was just a mess. His rod got tangled and stuck so many times, and they came back empty handed both days we were there).

The only internet in the whole town was at McDonald's, an hour and a half walk from the site. Lene and I felt a bit seclude, so decided to move on, again. Airlie Beach was next on the list. An hour bus, only $20, booked.
On our final night with the boys they treated us to an Indian near the campsite. It was delicious in comparison to the usual bread and nutella we'd been living off (sorry Mum, I lied, I'm not eating properly, I can't afford any luxuries).

The boys went to the fishing festival the day we left. They said there were about 10 people and a band playing; a big weekend for Bowen. Meanwhile, Lene and I were on our way to Airlie Beach.

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