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Published: August 6th 2007
England and Germany
Some damn good times.We arrived into Hervy Bay to find that there was in fact, not really much to do here. So I made a phone call, and I was lucky enough to get booked on to a Fraser Island tour with big deal I bought back in Cairns, starting in 2 days! On top of which I moved to the hostel where I got a free night, and who did I meet, but crazy german Hannah! She was also destined to be on the same 4x4 tour as me, and things were shaping up to be a decent few days.
The next day we pottered around, and I must admit, I was even sad enough to nip into the local university library and flick through some engineering textbooks whilst I waited for the internet. However, I soon gave it up as a lost cause when I realised how much I'd forgotten in only 4 months. So in the afternoon myself and Hannah headed off for a lengthy walk before returning for the Fraser tour briefing. As if luck wasn't already on my side, it turned out I was one of only two of our group eligable to drive the car, and the
other didn't want to drive anyway! I barely slept as I dreamed of flooring it up and down the beach, the spray of the sea lapping against the tires, and a car full of scantily clad women awe-struck by my driving skills...
Fraser Island Day 1 We were all up early to get our stuff together and get the minivan packed and head down to collect our 4x4. This was our first chance to really talk to our group, and seemed we had a fairly worldly mix. There was three pretty French girls, an Irish chap, two hot Danish girls, nutty German Hannah, two Koreans and me, the sauvé English boy.
The other group who we’d be touring in convoy with were mostly Brits, and definitely seemed up for a laugh and getting stuck in. The French girls seemed slightly hesitant about camping, but most the boys seemed more than willing to lend them a hand.
Well, we arrived into a garage (still on the mainland) to be shown our magnificent 4x4. Albeit, a little rough around the edges - it took forever to identify all bumps and scrapes so that we weren’t blamed for
them - it was big, and powerful, and grrr… I sat in the driver’s seat, caressed the steering wheel, played with the clutch and generally felt like a man. I was given the brief on changing between 2 and 4 wheel drive, the rest of the basic controls, and given the glorious moment of firing her up. The engine roared into life, and I think I saw glimmers of admiration from the French division as I cruised it round the car park at 10mph. Damn straight.
Once it was loaded up with the food, tents, camping equipment, and most importantly, booze, we were ready for the off. Everyone piled in, and took my place at the wheel. Now, cool shades were clearly of utmost importance in my position (to complete the image, obviously), so I had to borrow Hannah’s aviators. Now I was set. I fell into position behind the chap taking us to the ferry, and Group 2 behind us. I let the Landrover go as it screamed along the last tarmac roads it would see for the next 3 days.
We arrived at the ferry terminal and mingled with the other group whilst we waited for
Unloading the Van
You see, if you work as a team it gets done so much quicker! So I stood and took photos instead. the ferry. Upon arrival, we were told that only the drivers must remain in the cars, and everyone else was to get on the ferry first. So there they all were, stood on a little balcony, watching the drivers putting the cars on. But it wasn’t that simple. Oh no. We had to do it
backwards. Now having not driven in about 4 months by this point, the prospect of backing a lumbering great 4x4 over a wobbly metal platform barely wider than the car itself, onto an already rather full ferry, with an audience, was not an inviting one. But in this sort of situation you’ve just got to bite the bullet and do it. So whipping it round I backed it down the rather steep hill, gradually guided it over the platform and followed the impatient mans directions into the back. He still wasn’t satisfied when I was barely an inch from the car next to me, but he’d have to stick it because I had to clamber out before the next car trapped me in. Success!
Finally, a quick, and wet, ferry ride later, we arrived on to Fraser Island, the biggest sand island in the
world. Bashing it into 4 wheel drive, I whipped it off the ferry, picked up my crew, and we were on our way. The rather stunning Dane, Diana, was to be my navigator. Crackin. If the weather brightened up from the intermittent showers we were getting, these three days would be perfect.
First stop, Lake McKenzie. We arrived after an hour of cruising through the exhilarating off road forest terrain, everyone excited and doubtless a little nervous as the 4x4 rocked from one side to the other over uneven hills, and clipped bushes as the road was barely wide enough for the great beast. But, we got there in one piece, even if the French did seem a little shaken. We put our swimming gear on and headed down to the enormous lake. A bit chilly at first, all the blokes jumped in, and a few of the girls tentatively joined us. Well, Germany somersaulted in, but without doubt she is a welcome break from the rules. As the heavens opened, the Koreans retreated to the car, but the rest of us splashed about, and a couple of us dared each other who could swim into the lake the
furthest. That is a daunting prospect when the water is as black as night only 1m from the edge, but I took the title of most crazy. A recurring theme over the past month actually…
From there the weather eased off a little, and we completed our trip to the other side of the island where we stopped for lunch. And then a whole new driving experience awaited me; flying up the beach to the campsite. And flew we did. It was totally different to constantly changing up and down gears in the forest, and constantly driving 10 metres ahead of yourself. Here it was the open sandy beach, where the only concerns were sand dunes, and sudden dips where the sand had been washed away from inland streams reaching the sea. This meant two things; one, I could open her up into fourth gear and hitting speeds of around 70kmh, and two, that the whole car got a big jolt every time we hit a dip that neither me nor the navigator spotted. The ones at the back got the worst of it, and occasionally connected with the roof! Ragin. The sand dunes and to be treated with
caution, but speed, as too slow and we could get stuck, but too fast and the sliding wheels could go beyond my control. It kept me on my toes, and was unbelievably fun.
We got to the campsite just short of high tide, and embarked upon putting our tents up. Thankfully I was sharing with Hannah, and she had a knack for it and threw it up in no time. Before long we’d all cracked open the booze and were boiling hot dogs over a stove. We all sat round in the sand, had a laugh and attempted to learn everyone’s names. I had to take it easy on the goon as I was driving, but due to extreme recent consumption, I seemed to have developed some immunity to it anyway. Once everyone was merry, guys seemed to wander off with various girls, and disappeared for a while on to the beach or into tents. As the Danish had hit the sack early, I wound up with a very nice French girl, and after some light petting on the beach, I headed for my bed alongside Germany.
Fraser Island Day 2 We got up and cooked a very
Indian Head
If you'd stood here about 300 years ago, you'd have seen Mr Cook sailing past. You'd also have been killed by Indians, but thats by the by. unorganised breakfast of fried eggs and spaghetti hoops on toast. Once the 4x4s were loaded up, we set off to Indian Head, which was a rather hefty drive north. Great for me, but I’m not sure the others found the same exhilaration in being bumped and rocked around the tin can! I did manage to hit 100kmh as the beach flattened out though, a great personal achievement, and I think Denmark was impressed too. (I must state, by this point everyone just called each other by countries, it was much easier than remembering names).
Indian Head was famous for this was where Captain Cook sailed past and saw Indians, shaking spears at him. It was odd to imagine Indians stood in the very same spot that we were in, all those years ago. At least they had something to shake there spears at, we weren’t expecting a grand vessel or the such like, just a few sting ray and sharks, but to no avail. So, we took a few piccies of the beaches stretching away below us before setting off towards the Champagne Pools, ‘A short walk north’ our instructions informed us. A short walk it was not. The
sun had come out and it was rather hefty walk along the sandy yellow beach. However, it was nice to feel the sun on our faces and the sand between our toes instead of driving for a change. And the Champagne Pools didn’t disappoint. As we walked along the wooden platform that hugged the cliff which had followed the beach, we rounded a corner and saw the clear blue pools below us with a few people laying around and taking dips.
Straight away we headed down, and got changed in the classic British method of under-the-towel-and-hope-it-doesn’t-slip. From there we all rushed to the water but quickly changed plans as it turned out to be royally baltic (freezing). Nevertheless, some of us carried on anyway, and enjoyed floating in the uber-salty water, and jumping off the sides. It was short lived however, since we were all starving and well aware that time was quite tight in order to get to the next campsite before high tide. So we packed up shop, and walked the hefty walk back to the car before driving a short way to a campsite with BBQ’s, and cooked a crackin meal of steaks with salad and
spuds.
As we drove down the beach we stopped to take some pictures next to an old shipwreck (not Captain Cooks, as far as I know), and soon after with a rock formation known as the Pinnacles, which are basically lots of nice colours. However, the daunting reality of the situation suddenly set in; it was 4.30pm, and we had to be at camp by 5.30pm, because that was high tide. ‘An hour, that’s ages!’ I hear you call. No, no its not. We had to drive all the way back down to where we first pulled on to the eastern beach, the length of which we had spent the entirety of the previous day covering. At least a 2 hour drive, we estimated. Crap. At high tide the beach would be completely submerged in places, so it was time to put the pedal to the metal.
So both cars set off, full pelt. Obviously, it started off ok, without too much trouble from the sea. However, the small streams running into the sea were swelling, and at one point we had to slam the breaks on as we narrowly avoided a 1.5 foot deep crossing. Instead
The Pinnacles
Ooh, coloured sands. Exciting. we drove a little way up where it was shallower, and prayed that the 4x4 wouldn’t become stuck. We crossed ok, and continued to floor it up the beach. As the evening drew in, and nearly an hour had passed, there were places where the car barely fit between the sea and the banks. At times we had to slow our charge and time it with the flow of the tide rising and receding. The girls were fretting. But I had faith in our fine automobile.
By 5.45pm, we had covered masses of ground and everyone had their eyes peeled looking for the campsite. And then, at 6pm, there it was. Like a beacon of hope, and living proof that everything will work out in the end if you just have some faith, and cane it as fast as you bloody dare.
However, we weren’t out of the woods yet. As we pulled up the narrow, sandy entrance into the little patch of land, the 4x4 got stuck. I changed into a lower gear and took it steady, but to no avail. I told everyone to get it out as I backed it up and tried again.
The waves lapped at the rear wheels. I steadied it over the most solid looking bit I could find, it slowed, the wheels began to skid again, crap crap crap… but then it bit, and the fine ass car heaved over the ridge and on to the campsite. And never had there been a finer excuse to crack open the goon as girls gushed over the most phenomenal display of driving they have ever witnessed. Well, we cracked open the goon at least.
We cooked the most atrocious meal yet of hard rice with some anonymous stew, but we didn’t care. I ended up wrestling Germany in the sand, and wasn’t surprised when people were watching and pointing. But there solemn faces were unusual, and as we looked round a couple of dingo’s were only a couple of metres away, keen to get in on the action. Well, we briefly filled our pants, before dashing back towards the middle of the camp. On the spur of the moment, we decided not to do the whole cross arms and walk slowly backwards method, and ours worked a treat.
Fraser Island Day 3 Even on the last day, the excitement
didn’t stop, nor did our dices with death! As we finished up our breakfast, we studied our itinerary and found that a pleasant walk to Lake Wabby was planned, just 20 minutes away. The sun shone as we packed our swimming gear and headed along the beach. As a ranger approached I expected a pleasant ‘Good Morning, and have a nice day!’ or, at worst, a telling off for having a messy campsite. Alas, no.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to pack up your stuff and head towards higher ground” he said.
“But were just off to Lake Wabby, we won’t be long. Why?”
“There is a Tsunami warning in this area”
Well that made our minds up. What are the odds? The first day that might go smoothly, there’s a tsunami warning. I won’t lie, I was very excited. The girls, as expected, were terrified. We quickly loaded up the car and headed up the hill inland, to higher ground. How good it would be to witness a huge wave come blasting towards us and destroy everything just below where we stood! So long as no one died, of course. But at the peak, we decided
Hannah, aka Germany, aka Legend
Ooh, she looks a bit stir-crazy... Albeit, I had just collapsed our tent while she was getting changed, so I guess shes allowed it probably wouldn’t happen, and as we were on course for Wabby anyway, we drove further inland to the lake and saved ourselves the walk.
And the lake was amazing. From our high vantage point we could see the rolling dunes leading down towards it, and we couldn’t wait to crack on, so we did. We went down the wooded hillside and took our flip flops off when we reached the dunes. The sand was so soft, and we came to the lip of a huge sand dune that led straight down into the lake. Blatant opportunity for carnage. We took off all but our swimming gear, and fell down the sand dune in the most stupid ways we could think of. I chose cartwheels, and since I can’t do them to save my life, it wasn’t pretty. But we all finished with a splash, and settled ourselves for five while our heads stopped spinning. Class.
The girls sunbathed on one side of the lake while a few of us boys swam across to a tiny secluded beach on the other side, and kicked back. Not a cloud in the sky; life doesn’t get much better than
this.
We chilled out there for a while, before it was time to drive back to the ferry again. As usual, the past few days had flown by. I gathered the crew together, peeled the girls off the beach and off we headed back to the 4x4.
We finished the trip in typical style. As the other group led, we came to a narrow part of the track, and as luck would have it, several other cars were coming the other way. So I watched as they steered off the track to pull over, and the car lurched over to one side, teetering on the point of rolling on to its side. Thank god it didn’t, and I hung back as the other cars came through. We ploughed on with another few tentative moments, all of which made the driving a constant challenge, and so much fun!
And right before we reached the ferry, our exhaust broke. Typical. It survives two days of total raggin, and now it breaks. It made an awesome noise though, and the groups at the ferry loved it. Turned out to be ok though, as we’d all bought insurance, and thankfully it
covered it.
Everyone was totally knackered when we got back to the mainland, but we were all a bit gutted it was over so soon. I, however, had no time to rest. My Oz Experience bus was booked for an hours time, and the swines at the hostel wouldn’t give me a lift. I said my goodbyes, got some e-mail addresses, and threw my backpack on. This would be the last time I would see Hannah, and it was pretty hard. Never have I had such a good, totally plutonic relationship with a woman, and such a good laugh. Hopefully I’ll see her again one day anyway.
So I legged it to the bus stop, and got there to find the two irish lads and some other old mates too. That night, at Rainbow Beach, me and the irish shared a dorm with some total weirdo, and had I not been so tired, would probably have feared for my life.
Surfers Paradise On the bus ride to Surfers Paradise, I lost the rest of my friends. The Irish jumped off in some random, weed-filled place, the others at Noosa. However, it was not to
last long. On the way we stopped off to do some Zorbing, which was immense! Only a few guys in the bus were up for it, and I was to be bundled in this massive plastic ball thing with two chaps I’d never even spoken to before! After some brief introductions, and a change into our swimming gear, we were shoved inside. It was far from spacious inside this thing, and we got to know each other pretty fast. Then, when the water was thrown is as well, it began to feel suspiciously like some low budget gay porn flick. And then came the push. We rolled down the grassy hillside in this oversized water balloon at a fairly decent rate, and all looked quite serene from the outside. However, inside, it was total carnage. We fell over each other, got flipped upside down, face planted into crotches, and generally built on the whole gay porn theme! But we really didn’t care; it was such a good laugh!! Honestly, carnage is the only way to describe the scene inside that ball. Banter.
When we finally came to rest, we couldn’t stop laughing as we pulled ourselves the right way
up, then sliding out the tiny hole in the side, with the water and all, was just like being reborn! Absolutely class.
Upon arrival into Surfers Paradise, I met a chap called Giles, who was just as posh as his name implied. As we headed down to our hostel, Surfers Paradise Beach Resort, it turned out we had a fair bit in common. At the hostel, he managed to get himself a dorm room, but since I hadn’t booked ahead (as usual), I got an apartment room which was nice, but a little dearer. I was sharing a room with two guys called Ricky and Jamie, who were a complete and utter contrast to Giles. They were the absolute stereotype of London/Essex boys, and loved nothing more than beer and birds! Good lads.
In the evening the four of us headed out in Jamie’s car for some food, before heading back to the hostel for a few beers before bed.
The next day me and Giles took a trip to Movieworld, one of the theme parks that everyone goes to Surfers Paradise for. At $64 (£28) it wasn’t cheap, but since I was stuck here
Ooh, Whos the Hunk in the Singlet?!
Lesson to be learnt: do not consume 2L of Goon on an empty stomach a few days, it had to be done.
And it didn’t disappoint! We went on every single ride; Batman Wingshot (good), Shrek 4D (crap), Lethal Weapon (class), Log Fume (wet), and best of all, Superman (Bloody amazing!). Yes, my hero did not let me down. From 0-100 km/h in 2 seconds, delivering 4.2g of force, followed by countless corkscrews and loops!! You can actually feel your stomach being compressed into your back. We went on it five times and, unsurprisingly, we were feeling pretty ropey, but elated, by the end of the day.
And, in case we weren’t feeling choppy enough, that night we did an organised pub crawl. As they say, when in Rome… But I’ll be honest; it was a rather dire night out, probably the worst one in Oz. It started off ok, getting on a bus full of piss heads and fit girls up for a proper night out. We got some vouchers for free drinks as we toured through the various pubs, but no matter how much I drank, I didn’t seem to feel it, and the highlight was probably beating some arrogant pool shark that had previously beaten Giles, and my new
mate, Alex.
The evening concluded at a night club, where the hope for some quality cheese was dashed by a shocking selection of ‘Hip Hop’ and ‘R & Bollocks’. So, myself and Giles wandered home, picked up a Maccy D’s, and turned in for the night.
Next day was a write off as I felt rather rough, must have been from my abrupt change from goon to, well, everything else. So I slept, went for a walk through the centre, and slept some more. Despite Surfers Paradises bad reputation, I quite liked it. A tonne of shops and bars and clubs, and the beach is very nice if the weather is good too.
The following day I headed to the beach with Giles, but as it blowing a gale and we got sand in every orifice imaginable, we didn’t stay long. That afternoon I hopped on to the Oz Experience bus with Alex, and headed down to Byron Bay. Now, Byron Bay had an outstanding reputation but we had arrived at a very bad time. It was the weekend of the Blues festival, and everywhere had been fully booked up several days ago. As neither
I nor Alex had tackled this issue by ringing up in advance, our thought process went as such; Either a) The driver can find us somewhere (unlikely), failing that and worst come to worst, b)We get smashed and sleep on the beach. No big deal.
We arrived into Byron, and it was pouring down. On top of which, it was bank holiday Friday and all the bars were shut. So, plan b was shot. Never to be deterred, we just laughed and figured that one way or another, tomorrow morning will come, even if we have to sit in a bus shelter all night! However, my motto of ‘It’ll be alright, these things always work themselves out’, once again came into fruition. The default Oz Experience hostel said we could sleep in the TV room for a discounted rate if we so wished. And it was pretty damn good! We got proper fold out beds with sheets, and it was no worse than any other dorm room I’d slept in, except cheaper! You see, if you just relax, don’t stress, something will always turn up.
Surf Camp After an amazing nights sleep, we jumped straight back
on to the oz experience bus, only to meet Arthur and Kate again! We had a good motley crew to embark another highlight of the Oz experience trip; our free surf lesson.
A couple of hours later we pulled into a small campsite with a surf shack tucked away in the corner. Those who wanted wet suits got kitted up, before we all headed down to the beach for our lesson. We spent about an hour going through the basics of how to get on your board, and how to catch a wave etc. It was clear everyone was chomping at the bit to get in the water, and as we were unleashed it was a scene of carnage. The waves further in are much bigger than back in Cornwall, and naturally that’s what all the guys headed straight for. I must have spent 2 or 3 hours in the water, and caught only one single wave. And whilst it was definitely worth all the effort, I had to go through countless wipe-outs before I got there. Time after time I would be stood for a split second before my board nose dived into the wave and I
went flying straight into the sea and got whirled round like a pair of y-fronts in a washing machine. Then I’d have to swim all the way back to where I started, and by the end, I was exhausted. I had received a surf board to the neck, hit the sea floor several times, and hit some poor girl on a rare occasion when I stood up for over a second. Still, seriously good fun, and worth it all for that one moment of glory! Arthur picked it up in no time. Git.
The lesson finished at about 3.30pm, since we had the afternoon to kill, we thought what better to do than drink! Myself, Kate and Alex cracked open the goon. This was to prove a diabolical mistake. We played a lethal drinking game called ‘Arrogance’. The rules are very basic; the first person pours some of their drink in a cup. They then call heads or tails, and flip a coin. If they get it right, they don’t drink, they get it wrong, they drink it. The cup is then passed to the next person who adds more of there own and repeats the process. With
Me and Robbie Williams!
Showbiz Steve and I shared our final beer together. a string of right guesses, the cup can get pretty full! As we were using an ozzie coin, one tails was replaced with a platypus, and never has the word ‘Platypus’ been screamed so many times! People thought we were nuts.
We all got well and truly wasted. And I mean royally, royally tanked. The rules descended into, if you don’t want to drink, you can take an item of clothing off. And that’s the last decent memory I have. In the end, I was wearing nothing except Kate’s singlet around my waist and passed out next to some random person’s tent, before being found and carried back to the surf shack, where I was dropped into bed.
The next day, I woke up with a stonking hangover, and the sight of the singlet brought it all rushing back. I went for breakfast, and it turns out everyone knew everything, and they all knew my name. What an absolutely class night.
Sydney Unsurprisingly, after our mammoth trip down to Sydney, I was exhausted. After traipsing round half of Sydney, I finally found a hostel that wasn’t fully booked, and settled in for an amazing shower
before a much needed nights sleep.
Time was pretty tight, and I only had 2 days in Sydney. So the first day was my mission to do the touristy thing and see the sights of Sydney. I wandered over to the Sydney Harbour Bridge, and took snaps of the Opera House. It was only then that it really sunk in that I was on the other side of the world. I had been so caught up in all the travelling and the surfing and everything else, that this was the first time I’d had some time to myself. I realised where I was, and how lucky I was to even have made it this far. I couldn’t believe that I was already over two thirds of the way through my trip, it had just flown by.
As I walked round to the Opera House, I bumped into Showbiz Steve! Again, what are the odds?! It was good to see him, and we decided to go and get a coffee. We caught up on everything we’d done, before heading over to the Botanical Gardens to see some nice trees and stuff, as well as an immense spiders
web. As we walked back to the harbour we decided to grab a beer, since we’d both finished seeing the main sights. One beer turned into four, by which time Steve had to head back to his place in Manly. With a few beers inside me I decided it was time for a haircut, so I headed back to my hostel and got a budget buzz cut for a few dollars. It needed to be done.
Blue Mountains The day before I’d booked on to a trip to the Blue Mountains, so it was a 7am start before heading over to the pick up point for 8am. On the bus the driver got us to come and sit at the front and talk about ourselves like some sort of AA group. In fairness it broke the ice, and got everyone chatting. I ended up sticking with an Irish chap called Tony, and a hot American girl called Rebecca. The tour guide was an absolute sleaze monster, coming on to all the girls and using the most bizarre chat up lines. At one point I recall the conversation going a little like:
Kid: Aw, look at those kangaroos!
Dad: Would you like to go closer to the kangaroo’s son?
Kid: Ooh, yes please!
Girl: Aw, isn’t that sweet. My dad would love to be here.
Guide: I can be your daddy if you want. I can be whatever you want.
And there is very little exaggeration in this account of what happened. I know, sick. This dude was about fifty. And he was clearly desperate as he perpetually challenged me and a couple of other lads to running up hills and random sets of press ups. Albeit he lost on the majority of occasions, it was still a rather terrible sight to see a grown man so desperate for a woman’s touch.
On the flip side, it was an amazing day. The sun shone and the walk was amazing, through a vast forest seeing gorges and waterfalls, finally coming out above it all to get some spectacular views of the massive valleys. At the very end of the walk we stood at lookout point over the Australian ‘Grand Canyon’, though I doubted it was impressive as the actual Grand Canyon. It was still stunning nevertheless. To finish off we went and
saw some more kangaroos, yet no damned koala bears. I was a bit miffed at having been in Oz 10 weeks and not seen a single one, so I went to the gift shop and held what was probably an exact replica, possibly even cuddlier.
We even had a laugh at the tour guide, who wasn’t all bad in fairness, and his sleaziness did make us laugh in disbelief at what he was saying.
That night I arranged to meet up for drinks with Rebecca and Tony at the hostel. I also bumped into Alex and told him to come along too. In the end we had a random selection of people come along; Myself, Alex, Rebecca, Tony, Giles who turned up out the blue, and a hot girl called Jenny who bore witness to my antics back in Surf Camp. She didn’t talk to me much, though she was dragged into a few photos.
It was a really good night actually and kind of blossomed out of nowhere. I somehow pulled Rebecca, which must have been a sympathy pull considering the state I was in by then, coupled with my atrocious buzz cut, and that fact
she was really nice and hot too. But it made a brilliant end to what had already been a quality night.
To finish off, Alex made the bold statement (no doubt inspired by the numerous beers inside him), that he would be at my hostel in the morning to come over to New Zealand with me, and just grab any flight at the airport. ‘That would be class!’ I replied, and it would, but I was in the full knowledge that he would have forgotten by the morning, and there wasn’t a hope he’d get himself to my hostel for 8.30am…
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