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The enigmatic Fraser Island, dazzling the mind and the senses, stands as a great paradox of the natural world. Lush, tropical rainforest mysteriously thrives on the world's largest all-sand island that allegedly houses more sand than the Sahara Desert. Brilliant, freshwater lakes - perfect for a rejuvenating swim - collect at the bottom of monstrous sand dunes, providing a stark contrast to the lethal sea, teeming with rips and currents that will whisk you away to New Zealand free of charge and schools of massive, man-eating Tiger sharks. Wild dingoes roaming 75-Mile Beach and sleek goannas stalking the picnic zones are the only reminders of the abundance of life of this sci-fi, otherworld.
It's often said among travelers that "it's not where you are, but who you're with that defines a trip." Nowhere is this more prophetic than on Fraser Island. 3 days, 10 people, 1 4-wheel drive truck and 1 billion grains on sand will bond you and your group like super glue. It's this reason why Fraser has been the tops in Australia so far. Between the English lads, Oscar the Danish Monkey Boy and of course, the Swedish Bikini Team our group was first class, all
the way. Taking turns manning the 4-wheel drive, we treked through the rainforest for a huge beach soccer game with the other Koala's, before hitting the beach north to get doused in the Champagne Pools, rolling down the massive sand dunes at Wabby and a postcard-perfect afternoon at Lake McKenzie. The massive island's secluded roads are all sand and get quite hairy, so when you're not getting bounced around the back like popcorn at 10 clicks an hour, you're fighting not to get stuck in the thick, soft sand (I only got us stuck once - not bad for a Yank driving a manual transmission on the left side). As dazzling as the days were, the nights were simply delirious. Huge barbies in the pitchblack, including the local clams we dug up, interrupted only by 2 dingoes, 1 quick downpour to provide a challenge, 1 jazz band - seriously - and 6 singing Irishmen (aru-gah-tah! aru-gah-tah-tah!), left nothing to do but invent ridiculous games and songs, learn Swedish and quote Borat, while downing our goon and warm beer. The only way to end these sublime nights was falling asleep on the beach, roaching a spliff, staring up at a celestial
sky, bursting with stars and the streaming Milky Way Galaxy, shining through clear as day.
Fraser Island's greatest charm is it's disconnect from the real world. At the beginning of our journey, we only set one ground rule: nobody showers. Over the next three days, we experienced the true abyss of roughing it in tight quarters. My one extra shirt and pair of underwear proved to be total over-packing, as I didn't change my clothes or wear anything on my feet once all week. We all learned just how dirty we could become, before we stopped caring and everything we ate had nearly as much sand in it as it had food. As we boarded the barge the last day, the idea of returning to the mainland was still like getting snapped back to reality, regardless of the fact that we were all still on holiday in a fantasy world down-under. Not a bad way to celebrate my 26th birthday, I gotta say.
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Em
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Dude...
Sounds amazing. Your writing is so captivating and illustrative. Maybe if business school gets old you could work for Fodor's...I mean, only after your stretch managing international bikini teams.