Tasmania, Australia

It’s a really nice climate in Cairns and I’m getting my suntan back. I know, I’ll go to Tasmania where it’s colder than the UK. Genius. Actually it’s a great chance to get off the tourist track and experience something a little less in your face.

I’m greeted in Tasmania airport by a beagle sniffer dog having a good snuffle up and down my legs and bag (Obviously looking for bombs and not drugs so of course I had absolutely no reason to be nervous :S ). Then the luggage cart is driven in straight from the plane and parks up inside the building where everyone just has a free-for-all looking for their bags. No conveyer belts here then? Stepping outside, I’m clearly not prepared for Tazzy weather in just a T-shirt and the reality bites that it’s no longer warm (which is a real bummer as I was hoping that Australia would be hot everywhere – teach me to arrive in winter I suppose).

First stop is Hobart and the Pickled Frog hostel which is an old converted pub which means the bathroom resembles a pub toilet (Always a pleasure going in there to clean your teeth). A lovely bit of slang Australians have is “Map of Tazzie”, meaning a woman’s vagina (due to the shape of Tasmania on the map – check it out), so you can imagine my sheer delight and struggle to keep a straight face when the kind receptionist genuinely asked me if I wanted to see her ‘Map of Tazzie’ when I was enquiring about directions. Ho ho ho.

Tasmania is mostly a place to just soak in the landscape so that’s what I got stuck into. First up is to climb the local Mt Wellington. You get a bus to the base and walk the rest. Walking up gets progressively more difficult as the path slowly deteriorates into a load of rocks to climb up and makes you curse the booze and the fags as you choke for breath. But, after a big struggle, lots of sweating, panting and swearing you get to the pinnacle and notice there’s snow on the ground and you are no longer sweating but freezing your ass off. The walk up was predicted to take 1 hour 30 but I managed to do it in 50 minutes so maybe I just pushed it too hard. For all the pain though, it’s worth it for the rather spectacular (and not to mention sexy) views. See for yourself:


‘Me on planet Mars’


‘I don’t know where to look’

Didn’t stay up there long as I was slowly losing the feeling in my hands so started to make my way back down. Walking down the road this time, it was decided to do my first bit of hitch-hiking. And, bugger me, it worked! After only two cars as well. What you realise pretty quickly is that people in Tasmania are insanely friendly. Got a lift back pretty much to our hostel door which was a total result.

Next up, road trip (again). This time, Andy wanted to try doing some surfing (no chance for me as it’s waaaaay too cold!) and again we’re treated to the friendly locals in Tazzy when Andy went to hire a wet suit, the guy offered to give it to him for free. Rented a beaten up old station wagon which has been probably the greatest car I’ve ever hired. Lots of character, a racing steering wheel and loads of dents and scratches. The added bonus is that Tasmania has some of the greatest roads ever. Their empty, winding up and down and no speed cameras (or none that I saw). All this and absolutely stunning scenery. So we had an enjoyable two days touring the east coast in our speed demon. Here’s the brief highlights in pictorial form:

Meeting ‘Sandy’ the dog whilst Andy surfed:


‘It's pretty ruff out there’

A trip to South Arm or “S” Arm.


‘Not everyone will understand why this is funny’

The greatest photo I’ve ever taken:


‘Pierre? Non! Je vous drais Antwon’

More Welsh place name encounters:


‘Swon-zee-Ahhhh’

And even my own home town (which resulted in a “STOP THE CAR” and a screech of brakes). This version only consisted of a few farm houses though:


‘Home at last’

Andy has also introduced me to the wonders of handbrake turns. This has now become a firm favourite and it’s also very fortunate there are gravel car parks everywhere so we’d chop up the drive by pulling suddenly into these areas and doing lots of bad boy racing. Heres me in action (although the video footage is much better):


‘Don’t tell the rental company’

Returning to Hobart, car still in tact, we have a night on the lash. Drinking games in the hostel and then out to a club. Nothing spectacularly new there except the next day my hangover is one of the worst I’d ever had in my life. I hadn’t drunk a particularly large amount but for some reason I was bed ridden. Managed to get out of bed for about 1 hour and that was it. Spent the whole day in bed sleeping it off. Horrendous. Vowed never to smoke again which lasted a good 3 days.

Recovered, we decided to drive up to the next city, Lauceston (which I had no end of difficulty pronouncing ‘Law-sess-ton’). So, yet another rental car (this time a brand spanking new Hyundai from Hertz) and another nice drive. Of course this little beast got put through the paces again in any gravel park we could find. Also squeezed in another game of golf (traveling really must suck I bet you’re thinking). Still pretty hopeless and the 1st hole was cruel enough to have a lake to drive over which of course I lost 2 balls in. However there was lots of wildlife about on the course and managed to see some geese having sex which was great.:


‘Fuzzy duck? Ducky Fuzz? Fucking Ducks?

After another poor game, we check into our new hostel in Lauceston which resembles an old peoples home, it even had an old person sitting in the front room knitting. But it was warm, clean comfy and had free coffee so what more could you want. Andy had his bed stolen on the first night by some drunken local so we did the only thing that was right…..reported him to reception of course! Aha! I love a good grass.

The original intention of coming here was to hire motorbikes and tour the west coast as this was the only place in Tazzy that hired them. As I don’t have a license to ride a motorbike, don’t really know HOW to ride a motorbike, and have only ever ridden a 100cc automatic scooter badly, I wasn’t exactly feeling confident about this one. Andy rides a bike back home so he assured me it would all be fine. Luckily for me it turned out that this place was never open and we never got round to hiring them (which is probably for the best as I probably wouldn’t be sitting here writing this now). Phew! I do want to try but I think I want to have lessons first.

So no bikes, we did the only thing we could in a small Australian town. Namely, look around town hall where the Australian Ferrari members club had all congregated to park their GORGEOUS cars. Every Ferrari imaginable was here and although the cars were stunning and drule worthy, the owners were slightly less desirable. They all paraded round in Ferrari jackets and Ferrari shirts. Laying out their Ferrari toolkit with Ferrari spanners in front of their Ferrari car. Some even had Ferrari socks on for gods sake. “Yes mate, I can see you own one but you don’t have to dress up like one”. It’s a little bit pathetic really, I mean if I owned one, I wouldn’t really park it up so a load of poor people could touch it that’s for sure. I’d just drive the bloody thing. And I’d do it naked too. Maybe Marks and Spencer socks, but that’d be it. Anyway, luckily I had some golf balls in my pocket so I walked around bouncing them on the floor making them all get a bit nervous and give me some cursory glances. After that there was nothing left but to look at Japanese monkeys in the park, climb a hill (which luckily had a bowling green on it – so more bowls) and have a game of squash. Which Andy thrashed me at. Bastard. Ended the evening on a curious one. One of the girls in the hostel wanted someone to go with for a drink so I popped out with her for a Guiness. Turns out she was one of the ‘others’. An extra in my favourite hit TV show Lost. Funny the people you meet eh?

Last day and still stuck in Lauceston, the bike company failed to get back to us again (phew, again). So we did the only thing we could in a small Australian town. Drink. We had a flight at 8 in the evening so what better way to spend an afternoon than doing a pub crawl around town and playing Keno (lottery) in every pub. Needless to say, by the time we’re at the airport we’re pretty pissed and I knock over a big cleaners cone upon leaving the toilet much to the amusement of the entire check-in queue. Great. Oh well Melbourne here we come:


'THERES A BOMB ON THE PLANE! Aha, just kidding. We're drunk. Seriously though, we're all gonna die'

Cairns, Australia

Yes! Finally I can get rid of that wretched van and I can slag it off as much as I want now cos I wont get any bad karma and crash in it cos I won’t have to drive it anymore. Ahaha! Sodding thing caused us one more annoyance by being too tall to fit into the free parking area so we had to pay to park it overnight as well as our accommodation in a hostel plus the days rental fee of the bloody thing in the first place! Well…it did get us here I suppose. Farewell Doris you bitch!!!


'I think the van ruins this shot'

Right then. Cairns. Ah! A modern clean hostel at last! Although it’s right next to a night club and when you walk the corridors it has the feel of a maximum security prison. However, our flat mates are very plesant. Unbelievably, I have had, and this is no joke or exaggeration, a 100% record of having the first voice you hear in EVERY hostel up the east coast, belonging to an Irish person. Australia is Ireland 2. There’s no two ways about it. This, of course is no bad thing though as every single Irish person I have met have been fine ambassadors of their country and are all very nice, genuine people. The other great thing is you’ve always got someone to get drunk and sing songs with.


'Wonderwaaaaal, etc'

Spent our first night meeting up with the lovely Sam and Dave (She’s actually called Daisy but I have a problem with mis-hearing things so shes in my phone as ‘Dave’) that we met in Sidders. Had a chance to share and divulge all the great and varied drinking games I have learned thus far on my trip. Copious alcohol and a pack of cards and it really is game over these days. Anyway, end of the night hotdogs sum it all up:


'They're grotesque! Hideous! Yet, I can't look away...'

From Cairns most people tend to make the journey up to Cape Tribulation to trek through the stunning rain forests and mountains. I went go-karting instead. Got some of the Irish gang to join us so we had a hefty crew for a mini Grand Prix. Naturally, of the 3 races I had the fastest lap time and generally destroyed all other racers on the course. To be fair there was only really Mark, Andy and me battling for it as the Irish guys were no competition. Of all the things I’ve seen and experienced up the east coast I have no shame in saying this was possibly the most fun I had had. Pathetic isn’t it but, hot damn I just love burning round a track going as fast as you bloody well can skidding round corners and the like. Definitely going to do some track days when I get back home. After being fantastic on the track we crossed the road to a pitch and putt where my game had vastly improved since the hideous efforts of last time. Even though the greens were like the rough. Went home that day and discovered a strange rash on my side although it didn’t itch. In fact it felt like I had cracked a rib. As I write this 3 weeks later, it still hurts. I believe it was because I was pulling so many awesome G’s on the go-kart track that a rib popped out. That’s how extreme I am.

Didn’t stop me from booking a trip to go diving (well, snorkeling actually) in the Great Barrier Reef. Best snorkeling of the trip this one. Was warm enough to go sans wet suit (and stinger suit – no nasties here) plus the visibility was excellent. Also nearly killed myself a few times pushing myself to the furthest depths. Managed to free dive to the sea bed 50 feet below. Its quite tricky doing both the equalizing (blowing air through your ears to stop your head imploding from the pressure of the water) all the way down and also relaxing so that you don’t panic and run out of air. Kinda scared myself a few times when I was right down the bottom and choking for air and you realize you gotta get all the way up sharpish! But its all part of the adrenaline rush really. Oh yeah, saw some fish an’ tha’ too. Also had a professional underwater photographer with us and took these rather knarly snaps:

Had the rarity of meeting someone from Wales on the boat on the way back. Number 4 now since I left last November. I guess Wales is just too lovely a place and not many people want to leave it. Either that or it’s just full of lazy buggers. Also met a Steve Irwin alike ozzy bloke who prided himself on annoying people. Had to admire him for his work as he was chewing my ear off about his anal sex fetish. Jeez. Gerroffme! And finally one of the crew members under a wildly false sense of confidence, believed himself to be an entertainer and subjected all passengers to his piss poor renditions of folk songs all the way home. He also seemed to take offense when people put their ipods on instead. “What are you listening to ipod man?” he would ask. “Something better”, would have to be the response.

A new day, and as I was shirking the whole Daintree River and Cape Tribulation rainforest shit, I thought I’d better give some of this nature stuff a crack. So hired another car and bombed up to around Port Douglas to go to Mossman Gorge. So:


‘Forest’


‘Gorge’

And


‘Rat being slowly eaten alive by flies’

Sweet. Next up a crocodile farm. How’s about this irony fans, just as we were about to have our crocodile feeding demonstration, the keeper informed us that old Steve Irwin had just been killed just off the coast where we were from. I knew I should have gone to see him when we drove past his zoo! Oh well, R.I.P. Steve you loony. The show merely highlighted what I knew already in that crocodiles are nasty little fuckers and should be avoided at all costs. No less impressive seeing these things snap away at the food the keepers hang out for them.


'Only fish and chips tonight love. Is that ok?'


'Croc of shit'

This nature reserve also was home to the worlds deadliest bird. I mean look at this thing, it’s just hanging


'You want some eh?!'

Apparently, these nasty little bastards are quite fond of cornering humans and gauging their insides out with their big claws Jurassic Park style. I’ll take their word for it. Wandering round the place you see lots of familiars like these crazy guys:


'Bllleeeeeaaahhhhhh!'


‘sup?

Myth Buster! Koalas don’t actually get stoned from eating eucalyptus trees, they are actually very slow creatures as it takes them 200 hours to digest what they eat so they move slowly to preserve energy. So you can impress people down the pub with that one. Also, as expected there are crocs everywhere with lots of info about them being endangered and how they are being over hunted.


'Holy Jesus mother Mary! Look at that one over there!! They've spotted us!!'

All well and good until you go to the gift shop and you can buy genuine crocodile handbags. HUH??!

Right that’s it then I guess. The east coast nailed. For all the whinging, I did have a great time but I think what I’ve learned is that being on the move constantly is really no fun as you don’t get to meet people for any length of time. I’ve learned that hiring the campervan was possibly the most expensive way to travel the east coast (especially when you rarely sleep in it!). I’ve learned that I prefer snorkeling to diving, hostels to camping, motor boats to sailing, pitching to driving and driving to walking. I’ve learned that the east coast is one hell of a backpacker tourist trap and if you like the whole tacky Spanish holiday resort thing then you’ll love it. Been there, done all that, so this time round it wasn’t as appealing. I’ve not really encountered any hideous spiders lurking around to mess with my mind (THANK YOU JEEBERS!). Met some great people along the way, regained my sun tan, did some things I’ve never done before, and generally had a hectic month of doing stuff. If I had to pick a pic to some it all up, then I think this one does it quite effortlessly.



'Indeed'

However, it don’t stop now honey, uh uh girlfriend! Off to Tasmania next, for a week of exploring. It’s here that I have to say goodbye to travel buddy Mark, so look after yourself dude and try not to hurt someone or yourself! Its now up to Andy and myself to prove if everyone in Tasmania has two heads or not.

Keep it strictly east coast blog fans.

Deadly Spider and animal count: 2
Mcdonalds Spotting count: 40

Airlie Beach, Australia

After the hasty exit from Mackay, we decided to soldier on to Airlie Beach. After all the dangerous things I’ve been doing since traveling, driving along the desolate ozzy roads at night, dodging huge juggernauts every 5 minutes has been some of the most intense. The added bonus is that every 15 minutes or so you have to stop to clear all the bugs off the windscreen as your visibility gets pretty terrible because of all the evil insects cruising around at night. At least their not inside biting me I guess. Having survived imminent death from passing trucks, we arrived at Airlie beach at around 3am and now had the added danger of dodging all the piss heads falling in the road. As it was late there was no way of checking in anywhere so we sneaked into a camping site and parked up for some rest. Left in the morning without paying and attained our first and last free night of accommodation.

Airlie beach is a small harbour town with a little strip with shops and bars on along the water front. Similarly to Hervey Bay, Airlie Beach is the launch pad for most trips to the Whitsunday Islands, laying claim to having some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. More beaches. Joy.

Met up with a traveling chum who I'd previously met in Laos, Perth, and now here in Airlie Beach. Whilst staying here she had the unfortunate misery of experiencing every travelers worst nightmare. One night in her hostel somebody broke in, in the middle of the night and stole everything she owned whilst she was asleep next to it all. Clothes, wallet, camera, ipod, the whole mackonky. Naturally she was devastated but she is slowly getting back on her feet again with a little help. Not sure why I then decided to stay in the same hostel as her after she left, even the same room. She assured us that it was a first for the hostel as that had never happened before. Little did I know I was soon to experience another 'first'....

Attempted to spend a night out sampling the nightlife but as the first bar was full of local and traveling grockles alike, I wasn’t really feeling it. Jelly wrestling was being fiercely promoted in the nightclub next door but seeing the skanks that were lining up to participate confirmed that I really wasn’t in the mood for all this and headed back for some rest.

The day of our Whitsunday trip, and upon parking up in the harbour, we notice the van was now swarming with green ants on the front of the vehicle, feasting on the bug fest that we picked up the night previously. As we were leaving for a three day cruise there wasn’t much to do except hope they cleaned it up for us (which it turned out they did, cheers boys!).

Waiting around in the cafe reception, looking out to see who will be joining us on our sailing cruise, I pictured all the beautiful people depicted in the brochure, lounging on the deck of the boat catching rays and frolicking on the beach. It slowly dawned on me that something was terribly wrong. It would appear that our trip would be the 'first' in five year to have an entirely male crew. A sausage fest, if you will. I wasn’t overtly bothered too much but the gang of Spaniards who were joining us, many of whom were soon getting married, were rather distraught by this fact as they were hoping to use this as a chance to get their end away one more time before their big day. Nice. This was not in the brochure but bugger it, I was gonna make the most of it anyway. This all sounds very familiar…

Our friendly crew, also rather surprised at the meat bonanza, soon had us on our way and informing us of such lovely areas of the boat such as ‘the suicide side’ (the side of the boat that tips downwards when sailing at an angle) and ‘the triangle of death’ (an area of rigging that you don’t want to get caught up in when the sail is at full mast). Once off and away, it’s a nice time to admire the surroundings and let the wind rush through your hair and relax.

First stop, and its snorkel time. These waters are dangerous. Tiny little jellyfish called Irukandji lurk here and there sting will get you swimming with the fishes pretty soon, so to speak. So for protection we’re ‘advised’ to wear rather fetching all over ‘stinger suits’ to prevent any untimely demises. Two things here; if we are ‘strongly advised’ to do this why the hell do you have to pay $15 to hire these suits? I was ‘strongly annoyed’ at this as if they were so concerned about our safety then surely they would be complementary. I feel I’m slowly getting the hang of the tourist trade you know. I thought I might go without just to make a point. Although having the crew fish out my twitching carcass from the water to deliver me home in a body bag wouldn’t really make much of a point, more highlight what I tight arse I was really. The second thing is, the stinger suits cover your whole body apart from your face. And just to make it more fun, these jelly fish are virtually transparent and about 2cm long. Fab. No matter, had a good snorkel around. Followers of this blog will know my opinion on diving is slowly changing, but I think I’m strictly a snorkeler not a diver. Anyway, a nice afternoon was spent fannying around underwater pointing at things. My favourite fish was the mighty ‘sea turd’ as I called it. A big, long, log-like thing with a pulsating rectum on the end.

Evening, and after a stab at the wheel,


'Ok Mr Loveridge, at the next set of traffic lights I'd like you to take a left...'

time to park up and take smarmy sunset photos.


'Hello sailor'


'Ahem, the WhitsunSET'

Inspired by my snorkeling trip earlier I took some artistic license and took a photo of my ‘sky poo’


'Too much fibre'

And although the crews cooking wasn’t amazing, at least we had a peaceful relaxing environment to eat it in and was lucky enough to share it with some sea kangaroos:


Wales! Wales! Wales!

The rest of the evening was spent drinking and listening to the party atmosphere of the other boat having a better time than us parked up across the water. One thing I have to note out here though is the stars. I spend most of my blog grumbling about things (Im a happy chappy really), but the stars out here are simply stunning. You won’t get a much clearer, or broader view of our distant galaxies anywhere else in the world. And with no light pollution from a city, the whole sky is completely full from horizon to horizon. It almost feels as though you’re inside a dome. Incredible stuff. Thought Id spend the night sleeping on the deck with the other guys under the stars. All the others fell asleep after about 5 minutes but I was awake for a good hour just gawping at the awesome sky above me. Then realized that it was bloody cold and uncomfortable and had a perfectly good bed below deck. Felt smug having sat under the stars for a good session and getting a good nights kip in, instead of falling asleep after 5 minutes and spending the night cold and uncomfortable. I win.

Next day, and a hangover, except it has a strange feel about it. I feel bad but I also don’t feel ‘right’. Something is amiss here. Anyway, soldiering on, we park up on the Whitsunday Island to have a frolic on the beach. After a mini trek, we’re graced with this stunning view, although at the time I was in no mood to appreciate it:


'Stunning, etc'

An afternoon was spent on the beach frolicking and dicking about in the way too cold crystal clear waters.



'Bet I can turn it yellow'



‘Yes, but is it art?’

Got back to the boat for more snorkeling. I’ve now found what I like most about snorkeling. Free diving. Seeing how far down you can go to the bottom without dying before you get back up for air. Managed some good depths where I would disappear from view from people watching from the surface. Think I have now buggered up my ear now though as it randomly pops when I’m walking along sometimes. Oh well, it’ll go nicely with my numb little finger now I guess.

Back on board for the evening, then this happened:


'Bleugh'

Yup, spent the evening with some sort of flu bug. I knew my hangover wasn’t quite right this morning. Shivering and aching with a headache and explosive stomach cramps, so was confined to lying on me bed all night listening to the crew bicker with each other and the rest of the passengers getting drunk on deck. Finished me book though so it wasn’t all bad. Luckily it was only some 24 hour thing and I survived the night without any immediate toilet emergencies. Although the stomach cramps did remain and I would randomly be bent double in agony whilst walking along much to other people’s bemusement.

The sail back on the way to dry land had us all on ‘the high side’ of the boat as we were cruising along at a good 70 degree or so angle. Pushes it to the point of ‘Yikes! We’re gonna capsize and all die!’. I’m slowly coming round to sailing but I think I prefer luxury yachts with an engine rather than all these sails and ropes and rigging malarky. Far too much hard work for my liking.

Spent one more night back in Airlie Beach and, not being too gruesome here, but I was treated to one of the most teeth-twistingly painful bouts of diarrhea in my life. I actually had to physically muffle myself from screaming in pain and scaring our French-Candian flat mates. Had I let go I would have probably screamed “DAMN YOU NANDOS!!!!!” at the top of my voice, as I’m pretty sure it was the chilli chicken I had before and after the sailing trip that was putting me through all this unnecessary drama. The good news was that my stomach cramps ended after that session funnily enough, even though I felt like I had just shat my bike.

Toilet problems over and it’s time to leave Airlie beach for the next and final destination, Cairns.
Dab, don’t wipe blog fans.

Deadly Spider and animal count: 2
Mcdonalds Spotting count: 34

Mackay, Australia

We were initially gonna end our stint of driving here for the night. Pulled up in town at about 1am looking for our hostel. Found it next door to yet another rowdy Irish pub with fat ugly people spilling out of it and bad music playing. Upon approaching the doors to the hostel some drunk/reprabate/arsehole slumped on the ground next to the door to the hostel pipes up upon seeing me and Andy;

"Fuck off! Yeah thats right I'm looking at you ...fuck off. You've got 45 seconds before the dogs come for you!", he slurrs.

"I'm still wired. I reckon I could drive straight to Airlie Beach....", piped Andy. Good idea lets get the hell out of this fuck hole.

Seriously, since coming to Australia I've come across far too many random, mentallly unbalanced, agressive arseholes who just try and threaten you or act all crazy trying to intimidate you for no reason. Never had this in any other country. Im at breaking point and although Im not the biggest of guys, the next time it happens Im gonna call their bluff and tell them where to stick it. So if the blog entries suddenly stop, you know I've had my head cut off and Im being eaten by some lunatic Ozzy local I gave a piece of my mind to. Onwards!

Rockport, Australia

Cow town. The greatest steaks in Australia. Not gonna argue with them. The gravy was even better. Next!

Town of 1770, Australia

I know. What a ridiculous name for a place. It's all rather pleasant though. A very quite little tourist spot where you come to do go fishing. A night was spent in a caravan park sleeping in the time machine. Was woken by very strange noices in the night. Sounded like a group of children being slaughtered. I think the wildlife is getting a little bit more spicy the further north you go. I'm also slowly getting all beached out. Tough to believe I know.


'ahhh, etc'

Nothing really to report except for our first game of golf on the roadtrip. Teeing off on the first you're warned about snakes in the rough. Luckily Im a fantastic golfer. It actually turned out that I had a shocker and lost so many balls that I was unable to complete the last hole as I had run out of golf balls. We wont mention that game again.

Upon driving away, Mark noticed a small spider creeping up his arm. As Mark is the calmest of the 3 of us when it comes to deadly spiders, it was somewhat alarming watching him getting increasingly worried as it climbed towards his neck. Andy had already left the moving vehicle and I was quickly trying to pull over. My initial reaction to any animal that looks or behaves in a way I dont understand or like is to kill it, but Mark was a little reluctant to do this as he wasnt sure if it was one of those spiders that if it bites you, the poison slowly rotts your flesh away to the bone. Splatting it might result in grim accident so luckily he managed to get out and flick it off. Then we reversed to pick up Andy and give him some sweets to calm him down a bit.

Golf was followed by more extreme bowl movements (bowl not bowel). I'm improving but still way below the standard of a pensioner. Sod this place, lets crack on with a big drive to the next.

Deadly Spider and animal count: 2
Mcdonalds Spotting count: 30

Fraser Island, Australia

Next destination is Hervey Bay, the launch pad for most tours to the mystical Fraser Island. I had already booked up my Fraser Island tour before leaving Sydney and it all looked so adventurous; lazily driving down an endless beach highway, passing other traffic in a 4x4 with all your camping gear and beautiful women in bikinis as your company. This should be alright was my general view on it (its difficult to get too excited about doing new things when you're constantly doing new things everyday, trust me). The only important thing was to arrive by 3pm the day before for the safety briefing. So, arriving at 3:01pm at the hostel, I pile straight into the safety briefing in the hostel bar before even getting a chance to pull my sweaty boardies (surf board shorts) out of my arse from a lengthy 6 hour drive. The safety briefing felt more like a lecture of all the things you cant do; no driving on the beach after high tide, no litter, no feeding the dingos, no camping on the grass, no driving through water, no driving fast, no wheel spins, nag, nag, nag. The worrying one for me was the only toilet equipment was a shovel. Luckily it transpired that there was a resort on the island and it had toilet facilities so I could do what I usually do when in an area of below par toilet amenities and find a posh hotel and walk in and take a crap. Not in the reception you understand. In the toilet.

After a lengthy nagging we were split into the groups we'd be travelling as and told we had to organise our own food and alcohol for the trip. So after a long drive and no time to unwind I was thrown straight into a team building exercise. Great. There was me thinking I was on holiday. As expected, when the info sheets came round with shopping list suggestions, most people in the group stared blankly at each other not wanting to organise anything. I was in exactly the same frame of mind except for the fact that more than I hate having to organise things, is people dithering around doing bugger all. So me and another guy quickly went through the hassle of asking everyone what they liked, didnt like, wanted to drink, collecting kitty money and off to the supermarket and bottle-o (off licence) to buy it all. Team building exercises are all well and good but I prefer to be paid while I’m doing them, not on my holiday. When all supplies were gathered, we were all informed to meet in the car-park at 5am. Hang on! This certainly wasn't in the brochure.

Come 5am, we groggily congregate in the car park for more shuffling about and no one really taking charge. We had to check all our equipment, check off an inventory, pack all our gear and food, do an inspection of the wagon and watch another safety video on how to drive the 4x4s. Seriously, can't someone do all this for me? I am highly lazy after all and I expect more from people. Honestly!

3 hours of perfectly good sleeping time later, we set off for the ferry port, 11 of us all crammed into this beefy 4x4. Our group seems ok although no one's really talking to each other and the beautiful girls in bikinis as depicted in the brochure consist of 3 rather dowdy looking German girls, one of which was sporting a magnificent glass eye. Great. This also, was not in the brochure. No matter, you make of it what you make of it so lets crack on. Quick ferry ride over and we're soon off. The roads rapidly descend into obscenely bumpy sand tracks through narrow hilly woodland. My travel buddy Andy took the reigns first and was enjoying charging around in the van. However, I was crammed right at the back, cracking my head on the roof numerous times, and also in grave fear for my life as all the heavy cooking equipment on the shelf above me is bumping around like crazy and only being protected by a very frayed netting. Again, this was not in the brochure.


'Easy left. Easy right. Over jump. Woah!'

A 40 minute, hell-raising, uncomfortable, fearing-for-my-life ride (complete with a few sheer drops into oblivion for good measure) later, it was my go at wheel. Considering I have never really driven anything larger than a small saloon car before this trip, the thought of guiding a monstrous 4x4 through tight forest tracks complete with the lives of 11 people all in my hands, made me a little nervous to say the least. But, with some positive encouragement from Andy I was soon charging and bouncing around. I soon discovered that sitting in the front cabin, away from impending head injuries from rogue camping equipment, its actually rather fun, if not a little scary. There was more than one occasion where my co-drivers were confident Id make it over some, quite frankly, enormous, bumps where I was more than certain that this machine was about to be written off complete with helicopter rides to A&E. Turns out these vehicles are remarkably resilient and what would normally tear the arse out of your normal road car, these beasts eat for breakfast, albeit at 20K an hour and not leaving 2nd gear for most of the journey.

After what seemed like an eternity, I had made it across the island to the beach, with some of my passengers in the rear feeling like I did before I stepped into the driving seat. Made the decision there and then to try and sit as close to the front as possible for the rest of the trip. On the beach, a touch of surrealism blows over you. Here I am in a big old wagon, cruising down a beach like its a motorway, passing other traffic on the other side of the road (sorry beach) as the waves lap to your side, all the while being wary of planes coming into land. Passed another group on the beach once as one guy leaned out of the window screaming "FEED THE DINGOS!!". Have to admire such a lack of respect for the rules! Driving on the beach is kinda sweet so you put your foot down a bit until you reach a near invisible ditch in the beach where water from the hills has erroded away part of the road and the wagon launches into the air with the inevitable crunch, much to the annoyance/death threats from your passengers. The other hazard is running one wheel into a bit of dry sand at which point the vehicle lurches wildly across the beach (much like the giant boob) and you fear the beast toppling over.

Soon its time for our first stop, a lake for a quick dip.


'One lump or ten?'

Its called tea lake due to its dark colour and has a load of reeds sticking out of it (unlike any tea ive drunk). A bit nippy for my liking but not a bad plunge. However, swimming about in the reeds and not risking putting your foot on the bottom for fear of what lurks down there is somewhat unnerving. Spot of lunch, and we're introduced into the pain in the arse it is to unpack all the camping gear from the van, unload it all, cook for 11 people, find somewhere to try and wash it up and pack it all up and put it back again. Surely there's a Mackers (McDonalds) round on this national park island somewhere,. I've seen so many on my journey from Sydney. Quickly decided to shurk any kind of cooking responsibilities in return for some ace driving.

Next stop a rusty boat.


'Bloody iceburgs'

Well, its a ship that crashed and got washed up on the beach a long time ago. As you can tell it didnt really grip my attention and I soon found ways to entertain myself on this island.


'Lovely pair of Bristols'

It was slowly dawning on me that there isnt a great deal to do here. Thank god we packed loadsabooze.


'Quiet, 3 bedrooms, stunning views, ensuite hole to crap in'

At about 6pm it gets dark and of course you’re not allowed to make any camp fires so a florecent light powered by the car battery was our only light source for the evening. Didn’t bother me as I wasn’t cooking of course. Then, err, you sit around and drink everything. Pretty simple really. You’re told to go and piss a good 50 meters away in a dug up hole but that notion goes out the window pretty quickly as you can imagine.

Morning, and after 11 people faff around trying to eat breakfast then find a campsite to freshen up and clean the dishes we’re ready to find another thing to look at and take obligatory photos. So, cliffs:


'Bet you cant jump'


'I wee'd in there'

And, um, that’s it. This may well be a very beautiful island but I’ll be dammed if it isn’t sodding inconvenient. Come 4pm we have to call it a day as the beach road is getting pretty impassable as the tide is high. This didn’t seem to stop the one of the Irish lads at the time who was driving, but there were enough complaints from guys at the rear to warrant a time out.

Same again in the evening except this time we corrupted one of the square German girls with vodka who went on to have a spectacular rise and fall within the period of 20 minutes. First she got up and started bark orders at everyone to drink more. Very scary/amusing as it was done with a harsh German accent; “YOU VILL DRINK MORREEE!!”. A bit of singing to a bemused audience, then an attempt at standing swiftly followed by a more successful attempt at falling down. Then she was unconscious in a bush vomiting on herself. All in 20 minutes. Wish I could do that. One thing the vomit did is attract the dingos so we had them darting about the camp. However I was far too blotto at the time so seeing these glowing eyes all mingling around I thought I was just imagining it and chuckled to myself. Not what they tell you to do in the safety video.

In the morning, you wake to find sand in your hair, your sleeping bag and your underwear. Even if you haven’t eaten anything you find yourself crunching on sand between your teeth. Suppose you might expect that from an island consisting entirely of sand. Be weird if you found chocolate in your pants. Although that has happened before.

Another lake to visit, this time it has a steep sand bank on the side so you run down it and dive into the lake (of course, you’re not allowed to dive in the lake, nag, nag).


'Chaaaaarge!'

The one thing you’re not meant to miss on a visit to Fraser Island is the beautiful Lake McKenzie. I missed it. Run out of time and had to do a hectic dash to catch the ferry otherwise be left on the island with the dingos.

Back in the hostel and room for one more piss up with the Irish guys this time involving Texas Hold’ em poker. Bloody lepracorns took all my money both times. Teach me to gamble with the Irish. Nadgers.

Right then, everything packed up? Off to the next destination. (Oh hang on, no I’ve left my bloody spectacles behind haven’t I and I’m not going to see them again. Curses!)

Deadly Spider and animal count: 1 (Andy nearly trod on a deadly snake)
Mcdonalds Spotting count: 27