In the Path of Ului

Travelling towards the coast from Kroombit, even someone completely oblivious to the news could tell something was amiss. As the coast drew nearer the destruction from the cyclone became obvious, the first evidence being downed palm fronds. Then we noticed the small towns we were pulling through didn’t have power and our driver was to worry about finding a petrol station which had the ability to pump diesel. With a tiny tank, the bus needed fuel frequently and our main concern was suddenly getting to Airlie Beach. We hit a service station with a generator and we all hopped off the bus, buying any food supplies we thought we might need. We knew Airlie was without power, and estimates for restoration ranged from a day to five. The only thing that was for sure was that we would not starve, regardless of whether we made it into Airlie today or not. By some miracle we hit enough towns with open petrol stations and made it all the way to Airlie where the damage from the cyclone was very apparent. Trees were uprooted, palm leaves spread everywhere, windows blown in, some roofs showing damage and power lines down all over the place. Taking in all this destruction, it was hard to imagine they would have power restored to Airlie any time soon. As we pulled into the town itself, only ten hours after the most powerful cyclone in over 30 years, it was clear the town was not prepared for such a catastrophic event. We were dropped off next to the town’s swimming lagoon, not attended by sunning tourists but by cleanup crews removing the debris. Such was the story across town, crews working hard to clear tourist spots to safe condition. In a town so completely reliant on tourism, this interruption in service was devastating. I arrived at my hostel, a feeling of resignation heavy in the air. The staff sat around the reception desk, unable to do any of their usual tasks except check people in and try to help out with any questions – except, that is, anything to do with cruises. The official word across town was ‘no, cruises are not running, go talk to the company directly’. I was in the loft of the large Airlie Waterfront Hostel, a 12 bed dorm with only single beds, the sloped shape of the ceiling preventing the use of bunks. The air in the loft was unbearably hot as the windowless walls offered no relief, and the air conditioners sat powerless. I took a stroll along the waterfront and witnessed the destruction a major storm can wreak on a nautical town. Lucky sailboats sat at their moorings unscathed, but some sat in mangroves while extremely unlucky ones sat smashed against the rocks on the shore. It was a terrible sight, but my biggest question – ‘is my cruise boat ok?’ A local confirmed for me that it had moored offshore for the storm and was unscathed, but I wouldn’t know if or when they were running until I contacted them directly. I headed back to the hostel and settled into a numbness that would last until the power returned. I could do no work on my blog, no attractions were open, the lagoon was closed to swimming, the ocean was un-swimmable because of jellyfish, and come 8:30 the sun set and there were no lights anywhere. After an afternoon of reading, I took a very dark shower with my flashlight and enjoyed the cold water, a refreshing change from the permanently hot, moist air. I hit the pillow at around 9 and eventually got to sleep after some time restlessly worrying my way through the next couple days.

I slept until around noon, with nothing happening in the town there was no reason to wake early. A word with some cruise booking companies confirmed that even on Tuesday the Camira would not be running, and I would have to rebook my cruise. The problem for most boats was a lack of food, as they were equipped with their own generators and thus not reliant on power from shore. A couple were running and offering people an escape from the powerless town aboard a fully loaded cruise boat, a wonderful escape from the tedium of tourism without anything to see/do. One enterprising fish and chips store had a generator and was pumping out two orders a minute all day, his fryer working at a feverish pace. I contributed to the cause and enjoyed a wonderful plate of cooked food. Thus far I had been surviving on carrots I had purchased earlier and a loaf of bread. As the sun set once again over a darkened town, we noticed that street lights started to come on, and a peak around the corner showed that the main street was lighting up block by block. Within half an hour our block was also restored and we returned to the air conditioned glory of the hostel. I probably only went 30 hours without power in Airlie, but even that small time, mostly because of the lack of any activity, almost drove all of us crazy. The return of power was celebrated at the local Irish pub, a couple outrageously priced beers washing the tedium away. As it turned out, in the pitch dark of the night before, the Irish pub was nonetheless fully lit, had all its taps pouring cold draught, its fridges keeping bottles cold, and their stereo pumping tunes at full blast. Leave it to the Irish.

My cruise no longer running, I got up on the 23^rd and walked to the Cruise Whitsundays office to rebook. I had originally booked a package which would have me sailing for a day on the Camira today, and then a ferry would take me to Long Island where I would spend a night at the backpackers hostel before a ferry return to Airlie on the 24^th. I was informed that I could still take the ferry today, that the island was ready for guests and that I could be picked up on the 24^th by the Camira for my day of cruising. Perfect! I eagerly accepted the new offer and plopped myself at a cafe with internet to wait for my afternoon ferry to the island.

The ferry ride turned out to be empty, a total of five passengers on the large catamaran. I chatted with two Kiwi turned Aussies who were living in the Airlie area. They were going to the island to escape from home, still without power on the outskirts of town. He shared some of his beers in exchange for my stories of my travels in New Zealand. They enjoyed hearing about someone having such a great time in their home country and shared some of their own good times in New Zealand. As we alighted, we were told to wait for the resort’s passenger transfer cart, so we sat for a few minutes. A staffer loading onto the ferry told me to enjoy my upgrade and with nothing more than a wink left me rather confused on the pier. The driver of the cart instructed me to speak with the resort staff and they would sort things out, and a very confused me made my way to a very fancy reception desk. The receptionist explained that the cyclone was not kind to the backpackers lodge, also owned by the same company, so any guests who still showed (of whom there were few) were being upgraded. She gave me my key and directions to my room which turned out to be a double room, complete with TV, private bath, and beachfront view. Officially the best upgrade of my trip, for the cost of the cruise alone, I was in a private room in a resort on the beach. My door opened onto the beach and I didn’t have to share it with anyone. That turned out to be the problem though. The resort built for 300 was currently host to nearly 50 guests, none of whom were under 30, except me. Lovely surroundings yes, but a bit lonely. I took a walk to the aptly named Back Beach on the ‘back’ of the island and witnessed the destruction there. While the firmly rooted trees still stood strong, the beach was littered with all sorts of debris deposited high on the beach by the immense wind and waves. Slightly revolted at the sight of the beach so littered, I returned to the resort for some dinner at the bar, a very generous helping of nachos with chilli for a reasonable $12, certainly less than I expected at a resort bar. I lay in my double bed and did some blogging before catching the tail end of a Rocky film and an early bed time. Wakeup was early for the cruise and I couldn’t miss that!

The morning started with a ferry ride to Daydream Island where I waited for the Camira. I got talking with some other travellers awaiting pickup by the Camira, and we shared nasty comments about the rain which was starting to come down heavily. Miraculously, as we boared the Camira’s tender the clouds broke and didn’t reappear for the rest of the day.

The Camira is a 26m catamaran with an 80 passenger capacity for day trips on the Whitsundays. It is capable of 30knots in good winds, and proudly sailed by a crew of 6, all of whom are responsible for both keeping her sailing and tending to the needs of their passengers. Such needs as hunger were well catered to by a schedule of tea, breakfast, tea, lunch, and a final tea before the day was done. Our first stop of the day was reef snorkelling, which we were given an hour to do. It felt like everything was  moving quickly, but a lot must be done in a day trip. The reef was impressive, but I was saving my awe for Cairns when I would get underwater with the fishies. After snorkelling the drinks cooler was opened and we were allowed unlimited beer and wine for the rest of the day, a welcomed treat, but one must be careful of liquor consumption in the strong tropical sun. Our next stop was Whithaven beach, one of the world’s top 10 beaches (that’s right, two top tens in a week!) where we had over an hour to enjoy. The beach had also suffered from the cyclone and its usual bounty of pure silica sand was scarce, most washed out to sea. It was still a wonderful beach and we enjoyed playing with a beach ball, swimming in the water (in our stinger suits to protect from jellyfish of course), or just laying and doing nothing in the sun. The time was not spent idle on board the boat and when we arrived back on board by tender, a wonderful BBQ spread was ready, including barramundi, a local variety of fish and salads galore. After some more sailing around, the return journey to Airlie commenced around the other side of Whitsunday Island. The seas were quite high today and we encountered up to two metre swells with winds upwards of 50 knots. Technically this was too high to sail in, but because winds in port were calmer, here we were, unable to put up the full rigging. We did manage 21 knots in a calmer section of water, but the wind made full sails dangerous, so we motored along for half of the trip under the Camira’s strong engines.

The whole sailing experience was terrific and made me crave more time on a sail boat. The company aboard the boat was amicable and I had no trouble finding people to chat with. The activities were wonderful, the food delicious and plentiful, and the staff were terrifically easy to get along with. While many people cruising the Whitsundays take three day live-a-boards, I found the daytrip to be a good alternative for the cash or time strapped (both of which apply to me). On return to Airlie I was sad to leave the boat, but more adventure waited the next day. I have decided however to look into sailing, maybe even learn to sail myself. A boat under sail is a very majestic sight, and there is something quite romantic about getting from A to B without expending any fuel, using only the power of nature. My evening in Airlie was contrastingly anticlimactic, and culminated with an ice cream before bed. Tomorrow I would find myself on board another boat for the trip to Magnetic Island, party central and my home for four nights.

PS:  Ului made serious news because of its rapid intensification from Tropical Depression to Severe Tropical Cyclone Class 5 within 24 hours.  By the time it made landfall in Australia it was class 3 and rapidly losing power.  Airlie Beach sustained relatively little damage as it was sheltered by a nearby mountain range from the most serious winds.  This was the most powerful cyclone to hit this region in a few decades and the town is not in any way used to abuse from such intense storms.  On a side note, a Severe Tropical Storm Class 3 is equivalent to a Hurricane class 1 or 2, while the likes of Hurricane Juan which made landfall in my home city of Halifax was a Major Hurricane Class 3.  Another example of a city unprepared for the fury of mother nature.

Giddy-Up!

From tourism crazed Hervey Bay I was off to quiet Bundaberg on the 18^th, for what reason, I had no idea. Bundaberg is tiny town not too far north of Hervey Bay with little in the way of attractions. In the heart of sugar cane country however, Bundaberg is the home to the Bundaberg Rum Distillery, the only supplier of Australia’s ‘favourite’ rum. I got off the bus here with Andy, the only other OzEx passenger who was stopping in Bundaberg, and we made our way to the nearby Cell Block Backpackers. I had seen several of these prison themed hostels in New Zealand and Australia, but this was my first time staying in one. Perhaps there are some better examples of the hostel-in-a-former-prison than this one, or else the idea might not be as good as it sounds on paper. This hostel is host to numerous backpackers deciding to take some time away from travelling and pick some fruit. Yep, fruit picking. Getting paid an absolute minimum to break your back and burn your shoulders in the middle of Australian fruit country. Not exactly my cup of tea but the travellers I met at the hostel seemed to enjoy it – at least it pays the bills...barely. For Andy and I, it was not for the fruit orchards but the rum distillery to which we were headed. It cost $25, which is steep for a tour, but it did include two free drinks at the end and is on par with other distillery/brewery tours in Australia. The tour started with a seemingly unenthusiastic tour guide who took us to some very exciting parts of the distillery! But as the energy and  familiarity amongst the group grew it quickly became apparent she was only suffering from a lack of positive feedback from the group. I guess I have done too many brewery tours, because I am no longer excited by them, blasphemous as that is, being in the presence of so much liquid gold. Maybe I should be doing more distillery tours instead! This being my first brewery tour I was thoroughly engrossed by the process of producing the elixir. Areas such as the molasses storage building and the ageing casks had me lit up with a dumb smile, learning the series of steps required to produce such a particular drink. At the conclusion, we were led to a bar where we would get our two free drinks. Recommended was the Liqueur rum which is only available from the distillery itself, so I went for that and a rum and coke, preposterously poured off tap as if it were a draught beer (and indeed they do call it draught rum and coke). The liqueur was delicious on ice with cream, while the rum and coke was spoiled by the bad coke syrup they use. As the other tour members petered off, Andy and I hung around talking to the guide about all sorts of things, like working at the company and living in such a small town. She told us about a staff favourite drink called ‘Fantasia’, which is a mix of the liqueur, Fanta orange pop, and a touch of cream. Sounding quite disgusting, she set out to prove us wrong and made us one. Surprised at the free drink, we accepted graciously, and after a sip agreed in similar surprise at how tasty it was. Joined by a male staffer who brought his tour to the bar, he asked us what our favourite drink was, and while preparing drinks for his tour made us each one of our  favourites. On free drink number 3.5, we were quite happy and hung around, half seeing how far we could push it, half just wanting to keep them company and show appreciation for the drinks. Before we knew it another two drinks were up for us and we were hardly going to turn them down! Another free drink each came before they started cleaning the bar, the end of the day fast approaching. We took the hint and started to beat a retreat when we were offered ‘one for the road’. I’m not sure what we did right, maybe it was just being social and showing an interest in their line of work (the tour guides are also factory workers on a rotation scheme which has every employee doing every job to avoid tedium), maybe Andy and I are good looking guys – I’m not sure, but thank you!

Andy and I walked back into town a tiny tipsy, but not as much as I would have expected. Perhaps all the time standing around decreased the effect or maybe Aussie rum just doesn’t do the job. We went to a pub for a meal deal we spotted earlier, beer with a generous dinner for only $10. After some darned good steak we walked back to the hostel quite content after a surprisingly full day in the tiny town. Before we got to sleep, we talked with some of our roommates, all of whom were staying on the long term, working the fruit fields. Every morning the backpackers participating woke at around 5, getting into their work uniform and scoffing some breakfast before scurrying onto a hostel owned bus which shuttled them to work in the fields. I couldn’t help but think the hostel never actually changed roles from the prison it once was, the workers, now willing and coming from slightly more diverse backgrounds. Apparently these workers partied as hard as they worked and we were informed we were lucky to have missed Friday night when apparently the very room we were occupying turned into a bit of an orgy, each with their own partner in their own bunk bed, with varying efforts made in maintaining any degree of privacy. Yikes! Apparently one poor soul who found himself caught in the room on such a night slept in the hall to avoid the sight inside the room. I say again, Yikes!

Alright, enough of this freaky town, it’s time to move on. That’s pretty much how I’d sum up Bundaberg; a one day’er. Sure, the distillery tour is sweet, but you can’t drive after, so stay a night, just not at the Cell Block Backpackers on a Friday night!!! After catching the local fruit and veg market for some snack food we met the bus and got out of Bundaberg. I’ll probably never come back, and that’s ok.

The next stop north was the Town of 1770. That’s right, the town is a number. It was about this time we started to hear more and more about an approaching menace, Cyclone Ului. It was now headed for the coast north of me in Airlie Beach and it just happened to be that I was slated to arrive in Airlie on Sunday and so was the cyclone! Cruises on the Whitsundays were being cancelled across the board, offshore islands were being evacuated, and everyone panicking. Backpackers on their way north were stopping in 1770 and not going any further, creating a pileup of residents in the hostels, and tour companies were not helping any. Rumours were abounding, and an emergency Greyhound express bus which circumvented the rest of the east coast in favour of a direct trip to Cairns was not helping any. Before I knew it rumours of OzExperience ceasing service were flying from every angle. Even a call to the company’s office told me and many other backpackers that busses would not be going to Airlie until things were sorted out. One driver who found himself in 1770 on Thursday told his passengers they would be better off not continuing on to Airlie. Somehow he managed to convince all his passengers to stay in 1770 (probably had something to do with him telling them it was company policy, which it turned out was not) and he turned around and went back south rather than continuing his route (which was frankly a nasty thing to do considering he still had three days before the cyclone hit). Our driver, Kenny (aka ‘Jabba’, in the stupid nicknames they are forced to use on the east coast), refused to give in to the hubbub and said that regardless, he would be going north to Airlie. Unless the bus was caught in the very eye of the cyclone, he would be continuing on his route. All this tension and confusion created an indescribable atmosphere in 1770 as supposedly laid back backpackers panicked about reservations on boats, meeting flights, and money. Concerns regarding boats were fully legitimate as (if backpackers would only read the fine print in a tour reservation they would know) cancellations due to weather phenomena do not warrant a refund. Generally, companies were willing to give out a voucher for service, but for a traveller with a deadline and flight on the other end, this does no good. I seemed to be safe because while it was only Friday and the cyclone was landing Sunday, my cruise was supposed to be on Tuesday – nothing to do but enjoy the moment and hope for the best. Meanwhile, a weather system pushed ahead of Cyclone Ului brought torrential rains to the already rain soaked east coast by late afternoon and drenched us in 1770. The majestic sunsets, beautiful beaches and other wonderful scenery of the area was sheeted in rain so we stayed indoors. While the afternoon sun persisted, some went for a motorcycle ride in hope of continued good weather, but returned drenched to the bone and very unhappy. It was yet another drop in the already whirling sea of tension, frustration and trepidation dominant in the backpacker hostels. I’m sure we all slept with thoughts of what was to come, unsure not of our safety, but of the future of our well earned and carefully spent money.

Luckily, rather than going straight for Airlie and staying overnight while the storm hit, we were headed a couple hundred kilometres inland to a cattle station for a day in the shoes of a cowboy. One of the things that OzExperience throws in to distinguish itself from just another bus service, the stay at Kroombit Cattle Station is anything but thrown in. Costing another $45 for accommodation and meals, plus payments for any other activities in which you might like to participate, the stay does not lead to many positive feelings regarding the value of the OzExperience bus. This does not speak to the stay itself however, which turned out to be a highlight of my east coast experience. After a buffet style lunch we split off into three groups, those who wanted to go quad biking, horseback riding, or do nothing (and save money in the process). I sprung an extra $45 for the quad biking, a steal considering the comparative prices up the coast for a two hour guided quad ride. For what turned out to be more like three hours, I felt like a bona fide red neck tearing up the dirt trails on my very own overpowered 4x4 ATV. I shifted like an old pro, carefully descending the hills and shifting down just in time before a little bump to hit the throttle and get some air. Wow...what a feeling. It probably suits that I was wearing blue jeans, a khaki shirt and a bandana. That’s right, a bandana. The bandana was actually for later but it turned out to be a good accessory choice as it prevented me from breathing all of the dust thrown up in the wake of other riders.

After tearing up the trail for a while, we practiced some more cowboy skills, lassoing and clay pigeon shooting. The lassoing was free, but for another $10 you could take 5 shots with a 12 gauge at some moving targets. I had to have a go at it, and after some instruction, I was off, getting 4/5 targets, the first pulling further to the right than I expected. From here we all participated in a mock rodeo, after a demonstration from the smelly resident cowboys, trying our hands at catching, tipping, and ‘branding’ goats. Now, before I get emails from all my vegetarian friends (send them anyways though, its good hearing from you all!) please note that no goats were harmed in the making of this blog, well...one was, but we ate him and he was slaughtered humanely off site. Working in teams of three, one had to catch the goat in a small dirt arena; the second had to tip it gently and keep it down while the third ran and grabbed a brand, in this case only painted red to demonstrate the ‘hot’ end. After a proper branding, the time would be tallied with any penalties (from rough treatment of the stock, more than one teammate out of the circle at once, touching the wrong end of the brand, etc.) and a winner declared. Unfortunately, because of a particularly energetic goat (which saw fit to ram my crotch after caught and dragged back to the team area) we did not place in the top three but it was a riot and had almost everyone happy. Of course, any event involving catching and pushing around animals will garner some scepticism from animal lovers, and while no one was outspoken about it, there were a couple who silently refused to partake. We were given firm assurances that the practice as performed by us is fully ethical, and does not harm the animals. The head rancher pointed out that when he opened the pen to get a few goats to wrangle in the ring, he didn’t have to grab and drag them in, but they pushed to be first. He says that goats are more intelligent than given credit, are much like dogs, and don’t mind the attention given by the experience. While they give good pursuit, he demonstrated that some had the jig figured, and would in fact run to the person trying to catch them. In one hilarious case, a group’s catcher was trying to grab one goat, while another kept blocking him as it wanted caught instead. I can only explain it by assuring you it seems they like the attention! Of course, we aren’t causing any bodily harm or pain to the animals...when the ranchers catch them they usually have something more sinister in mind such as real branding, castration, or checking for infections.

Before dinner was served up we were treated to some roasted meat and the bar was opened. Anyone wearing a cowboy hat and bandana received a nominal discount, which made the $2 bandana worth it. Cruelly, the  roasted meat was goat, but the carnivore in me didn’t mind at all. An evening of drinking, camaraderie, whip cracking (no really, we learned how to crack whips), more drinking, mechanical bull riding, and eventually sleep. Sometime in the night it started raining torrentially as the outer edges of the cyclone reached far overland and touched the ranch. We woke to a soaked landscape, more rain on the way, and anticipation as to what we might be driving into today as our determined driver took us into the aftermath of Cyclone Ului.

An Island in the Sun

Picked up from Noosa in the early afternoon, the 15^th was a day for driving and not much else. After a few hours driving, the bus terminated for the day in Rainbow Beach, most popular as a base for travellers to Fraser Island. To this point I had not planned a trip to Fraser Island, saving money and getting my ‘off the coast’ fix at the Whitsunday Islands. Thus, the stop in Rainbow Beach was only because it was mandatory, and I was only staying the one night. Unfortunately, by the time we arrived and were settled, the sun had set and we missed out on the famous sands so I decided to catch them at sunrise, before the bus left at 7am. For dinner this evening I took advantage of my hostel’s dinner deal, $10 for a pretty decent dinner. The hostels in this part of the country specialise in self drive tours of Fraser Island, so it should come as no surprise my hostel was called “Fraser on Rainbow”. I’ll come to Fraser more a little later, but in summary; it is the world’s largest all sand island, a World Heritage site, and a very fragile ecosystem. Nevertheless, backpackers are allowed to tear all over the island in 4x4’s, 10 per SUV, doing whatever they please in the generally police-less wilderness. It’s a recipe for disaster and I’ll tell you why it has had unsavoury results later.

The next morning was slightly overcast, but cleared up quickly so I could catch some of the sunrise. Now, I’m not sure where these elusive sands are, but I couldn’t find any of them! While the beach was pretty (as most beaches in this part of the world tend to be) there were no multicoloured sands to be found anywhere. Perhaps I had to wander further up the beach. But, with limited time, I grabbed some breakfast, checked out of my hostel and hopped back aboard the bus for Hervey Bay. Now I know you’re going to look at the name and pronounce it “Her-vey”; don’t. I made that mistake many, many, many times, and it seems to annoy Australians almost as much as pronouncing Cairns the way it’s spelt. Nope, this is “Har-vey” – I don’t know why, it just is. I checked in to the well appointed – but slightly out of the way – Palace Backpackers (sounds way fancier than it is) and set about planning a two night stay. The OzEx driver was surprised to learn that I would be staying in Hervey Bay for two nights without going to Fraser Island, but my philosophy is that I bought a ticket with unlimited hop-on’s and hop-off’s, so I’m going to take advantage of that! I spoke with the friendly receptionists and was given a wide range of activities to enjoy in Hervey Bay, but the problem was that they all cost serious $$$. I opted for a day of bicycle riding around the extremely spread out town, but was unsure of my second day. The staff implored me to visit Fraser Island, and when I  told them I just didn’t want to spend a few hundred dollars to join a bunch of backpackers who were visiting the natural oasis just to get drunk and tear up a beach in a big SUV, they offered me an alternative. Instead, I could do a one day trip at a very reasonable $170, including the ferry there and back, full lunch buffet, and a day of fully guided touring. After some contemplation, I agreed and got them to book it for me. The day of biking was slightly disappointing as by midday the temperature was in the mid 30’s, and while it was a dry heat, it made biking terrible. The ‘botanical gardens’ where I was told I could hand feed turtles turned out to be a grassy area in the middle of suburbia, with a tiny pond in the middle that had only a few ducks in residence. I biked along the esplanade and out the 1km long pier, watching the local anglers trying for a catch and the occasional ferry destined for Fraser. I got bored, tired, and sweaty pretty quickly and headed back for the hostel. Good timing too because within a few minutes of getting back the skies quickly turned dark and a torrential downpour was unleashed, lasting the rest of the evening and keeping everyone under cover. I will also mention here that it didn’t help that the bike was pretty bad, and in hindsight I wouldn’t have rented from the company I did. Some of their bikes were in a terrible state and even the one I got which seemed pretty good was nearly impossible to pedal. I spent my evening with some new acquaintances playing card games, which eventually turned to drinking games as the inevitable box of goon came out. I underestimated the power of goon and after a few glasses I found myself surprisingly drunk, collapsing in bed with a stern reminder to myself that I had to get up the next day for the tour.

Hung over as I’ll ever be, I somehow managed to pack my day bag, put sunscreen on, and get down to reception on time for the pickup for my tour. The second I was on the bus, I fell back asleep, probably not still drunk but very much regretting the last couple glasses of goon. There is no such thing as a good hangover, but if there were such a thing as a bad  hangover, a goon hangover it would be. Not only did my stomach feel like it might rebel at any moment, but my head was squeezed between vice grips and I felt too tired to stand – and I know that wasn’t sleep deprivation because I got at least six hours of sleep. I woke as the bus stopped at the pier, delivering us to the boat that would take us the rest of the way to Fraser Island. It turned out the boat ride was exactly what I needed, and as I enjoyed the fresh sea air on the top deck, my hangover seemed to disappear (and not the way some people’s hangovers disappear over the side).

Fraser Island is the world’s biggest sand island and a UNESCO World Heritage site. At one point in history it was a mobile sand island, but the formation of coffee rock (a rock like sand structure) made the island permanent thousands of years ago and left us with the unique island we can explore today. The island is home to the most genetically pure species of dingo, one of the world’s top ten beaches, some of the world’s purest water, and lots and lots of drunken backpackers. Many of these backpackers have been given the keys to a large and powerful SUV, responsibility for the 9 other backpackers in the vehicle, and free rein to travel over the islands many roads, which can only be called roads because they are lines on a map but are in fact very loose sand paths through dense forest. A little more on the backpackers’ impact in a moment. I was seeing the island as part of a 25 person tour, taking a gargantuan 4x4 bus over the island to visit a few of the highlights. These drivers are highly skilled, well educated on the island, and highly critical of the terrible driving skills of the many tourists on the island. As we navigated the bumpy, ill formed roads, our driver navigated around many stuck vehicles, always muttering something about how bad an idea it was to unleash such unprepared tourists on the island. Our first stop of the day was in the centre of the island, a place where many camp while staying here. We enjoyed a walk through the rainforest while much of the ecosystem was explained to us and a few of the island’s features were pointed out. Acting like a giant sponge, the island sucks up ocean water from its base, filters it through the extremely fine sand, and from the middle of the island emerges a perfectly pure water spring. Millions of litres flow out into the ocean each day from the various streams around the island and create some of the richest breeding ground for crustaceans in this part of the world. It is for this reason, and because it is a Heritage site, that its waters will never be used to solve the nearby mainland’s water shortage, but that isn’t to say people haven’t tried. From the rainforest, we were back on the bus for the ride to this part of the world’s most famous beach, McKenzie Beach. Fed by the sponge effect of the island, the lake is entirely fresh water and as the pH sits at a constant 4.4, it is too acidic to support life, keeping the water clearer than a swimming pool. The sands here are famous for being almost pure silica, and are known to be a great exfoliant and jewellery cleaner. While the sky had threatened rain earlier, it cleared for us and we were treated to wonderfully blue skies, the sun’s warm rays, and the cool beach sand which doesn’t heat up due to it’s being too white to absorb the sun’s energy. After a plentiful lunch at an island resort, we took off down the beach for some more highlights. Here on Fraser the beaches are the highways, and thus the speed limit is 80km/hr. That doesn’t mean that one should always go 80, but you legally are allowed to. That also doesn’t mean people don’t go faster than 80, but it is the legal limit and it is supposedly enforced as it is on any Australian highway (apparently on many holiday weekends one may spot the extremely odd sight of police with radar guns on beaches). There is something very surreal about sitting in a bus some two metres off the ground, hearing the throaty roar of the massive diesel engine, and tearing down a beach at 80km/hr; an experience available in few places in the world. After a stop to see some multicolour sands (finally!) we were at the wreck of the Maheno. One of Fraser’s more photographed attractions, the former luxury liner paid service in both world wars as a hospital ship before scrapping in the 50’s. Unfortunately it never made it to the scrap yard as a cyclone broke it from its tow and it wrecked on the beaches of Fraser. Now it serves as one of Fraser’s most iconic symbols, although its steel hull is rapidly rusting away. Our next – and final – stop was Eli Creek, one of Fraser’s more serene stops. Its bed is open to wading and is one of the more popular walks on the island. Plenty of fish inhabit the stream and as you carefully keep your shorts pulled up around the top of your thighs to avoid getting wet, there is plenty to see all around. Unfortunately, as I drew near the end of the stream the skies opened once again and I had to make a beeline for the bus with my camera wrapped in my t-shirt. Luckily, this was our last stop of the day and as the rain beat down on the bus, we were all content knowing we had seen what we had come to see, and the weather cooperated at least that long. We climbed back aboard the ferry and after a precarious exit from a low tidal area, we were back on the sea towards the mainland.

If through reading this, you get the impression that Fraser is a delicate ecosystem which could be very easily upset, good, you have read my words as I intended them. Everything about Fraser screams fragile, and the government is well aware that the island needs protection. Unfortunately, those who cause the most harm are given keys to large vehicles and almost no supervision. While drunk driving (or drink driving as it’s called in this part of the world) is dealt with severely, that doesn’t mean it won’t still happen. In fact on my way up the rest of the coast I had more than one backpacker brag to me about driving drunk on Fraser Island. Such stupidity has, and will continue to result in collisions, roll-overs, injured wildlife, injured tourists, damaged ecosystems and more. The native dingoes are becoming so familiar with humans that the formerly shy K9 now boldly approaches camped tourists and seeks food. If that was a bear in Canada, it would have to be shot – here, they don’t know what to do about the protected species. One of the lakes on Fraser has been ruined by tourism as the high acidity strips any sun block and bug repellent right off of a swimmer. A build up of the chemicals eventually resulted in a deadly mix that flowed through the rivers and killed many fish and plants. While walking on most sand dunes is prohibited, many tourists seek the perfect photo of running down the face of a dune into the water below, many injured in the process, both dunes and people. The rusting Maheno is strictly off limits, yet irresponsible backpackers feel the need to get a photo while onboard the deteriorating wreck –dangerous, illegal and inconsiderate. The government sees only one solution and in a decision I completely agree with, the government decided in March that as of July, 2010, Fraser Island will be closed to self drives forever. It is unfortunate as I’m sure there are many eco conscious travellers who respect the fragility of the unique ecosystem, but as is usually the case, the few have ruined it for the many and the entire island must be closed to self drives. I hope that the change in policy has the intended effect, and I hope that Fraser Island is as pristine as it is now for my children and their children after. It is an entirely unique experience, one I am glad I partook in, and one I would recommend to others. If you can get there before July, do a self drive! They look really fun, especially if you rented a 4x4 from a rental agency. If you do one with a hostel, be prepared for a cramped, drunk, slightly dangerous, but all around fun time – but be warned, if one of your drivers is acting like a dick at the wheel, showing off or acting dumb, as a group you must be willing to remove them from the driver’s seat. Everyone’s safety is everyone’s business, and everyone has to be willing to step up and ensure the safety of everyone.

I spent a quiet evening in Hervey Bay, choosing not to partake in the St Patricks Day celebrations at the local Irish pub. It would have been good craic (a little speak I picked up in Ireland, meaning a good thing) but unfortunately the drinks were just too expensive and I needed a night off after the previous evening. I instead raised a cold glass of water to my Irish friends before heading to bed.

“Crikey!”

From relaxed Byron Bay, I was off to Brisbane on the 10^th. A stop many Oz Experience passengers neglect, Brisbane is the modern and attractive capitol of Queensland. Most passengers prefer to stop at Surfers Paradise for the nightlife and – obviously – surfing. I took a miss on Surfers, recognising it for the over visited, over commercialised, tourist trap that it is (wow, that sounds harsh, but it’s true). Speaking with people who did visit Surfers, most enjoyed it but could have taken a miss on it after discovering things they could have spent their money on further up the coast. Hey, visit it on your way up the coast, but don’t expect anything in the way of culture or diversity unless you count the backpacker population. Brisbane was a wonderful alternative, a well kept and fully functional city filled with Queensland history. My first day was spent recovering from my night of no sleep and trying to find things to do in the city, activities which it turned out, were limited. For the first time in my travels I stayed at the Base hostel chain, prominent throughout Australia and New Zealand. Because I booked accommodation and tours through Backpackers World Travel – the parent company for Base – I would be staying with more Bases on the way up the coast. As most Base hostels are, this was a party hostel. The majority of guests are party animals set on visiting every club in existence, and drinking every bar dry. Differing from my travel style slightly, I would have to put up with a lot of drunken grand entrances throughout the night. (My consolation in these times usually involves noisily getting up at a very reasonable 8am, sometimes only a few hours after they have gone to bed. Immature, to be sure, but one feels satisfied in the moment.) I napped through part of the day before dinner at the Base associated Down Under Bar, a $10 meal including a steak, salad and chips, with a beer. Yummy. Speaking of beer, you’re probably asking, “David, what kinds of beer are they drinking down under?” Oh, you weren’t? Well why weren’t you!? Don’t care about beer? Must not be Canadian... Regardless, the type of beer depends on the state you are in. No no, not the stage of drunkenness to which you have drunk yourself nor your level of well being, the states of Australia! Here in Queensland there are only a few ‘respectable’ beers to drink. XXXX (Four ex) and Toohey’s are both brewed by the same company, are symbols of Queensland, and proof positive that ‘respectable’ doesn’t always refer to taste. Sponsoring cricket teams, volleyball teams and other local sports, and having been a part of Queensland for nearly a century now, what the iconic beers lack in taste they make up for in character. Sorry, I’ve got to go chop my nose off; it’s growing out of control for some reason. Actually, pretty much all of the beer down here lacks everything that makes beer good. I wouldn’t call the beer here terrible, but flavourless and rarely exceeding 5%, I feel like I’m in the US of A rather than a member of the Commonwealth (so I guess I would call it terrible). The amount of Four ex one must drink to get a buzz completely takes the fun out of getting drunk; chugging pint after pint becomes too much of a chore – and sinkhole in the wallet – to enjoy. But there’s history here, right? That’s to find out on the 11^th, when I visit the brewery where all Four ex is produced. Exxxxcellent... (hah, see what I did there?)

I started the 11^th with a walking tour around Brisbane. I have to admit it started a bit late as I was still recovering from my all nighter, but it turned out I didn’t need too much time to see the city. The main sights to see are on the West Bank (as in, West Riverbank) where the city has invested vast resources in producing a family and tourist friendly series of parks and leisure facilities. Brisbane does not actually sit on the coast and the only water front is a muddy river which fluctuates in depth with the tides. Because of the lack of swimmable water and the temperatures experienced throughout the year here, the city has made an impressive swimming lagoon here on the bank of the river. Complete with a shallow pool, adult pool, and sand beach for sunning, it serves as the highlight to the downtown area. Past the lagoon and down a very impressive boardwalk path is the very impressive museum for contemporary arts, next door to the Queensland State Library, an equally impressive new library. I parked myself here for a while to use the free wifi before heading off for the XXXX brewery. Walking through Brisbane I got the impression that it is a very clean city with every intention of keeping it that way, maintaining a professional image in contrast to some of the sights to see further up the Queensland coast.

I’ve been trying to figure out something nice to say about the XXXX brewery and tour, but frankly there’s not much to say at all. It’s a brewery, the tour is not especially original, the beer isn’t particularly terrific, and it’s a bit of a hike from the downtown area. There are also no photos to show for it because cameras aren’t allowed on the tour. I took from it that Four ex is favoured by most Queenslanders and there is a culture of loyalty as there is with any regional beer. The tasting at the end told me that most of their beers taste the same, except for their very special porter which tastes like someone tried to rip off Guinness, but died in his own brew along the way.

I spent my last day in Brisbane doing almost literally nothing. That’s right, another one of those days. Aside from some time in the library, I stayed in the hostel and did some blogging. Such was my time in Brisbane, a cheap stop to organise my thoughts and enjoy doing nothing before heading up the coast and doing nothing elsewhere.

After a morning visit to the library for a call home, I caught the bus around noon on to Noosa. Although there were many strangers on the bus, there were a good number of familiar faces from my earlier bus. From many of these people I heard stories of Surfers Paradise, most only contributing to my relief in not stopping there. I heard tales of riotous night clubs, over stuffed and dirty hostels, and high prices. I’m sure Surfers has a nice side, but I have yet to meet a backpacker who came away with an overall positive impression. As for Brisbane, it’s a neat city with a modern image, a great place to stop a couple days, but any more than that will have any tourist bored. Like most Australian cities, it has a happening night scene and will amuse any partier for at least a few days – or rather, nights.

Noosa is rather a collection of many villages, collectively known as the Town of Noosa. Most of these villages have their own beach and commercial centre. I was staying around 5km from the main centre where the bus dropped off, at the Dolphin Place Lodge near Sunshine Beach. While an inconvenient distance from the centre of most happenings, the hostel runs a convenient shuttle almost every hour for free. The walk can also be made in just under an hour along streets, or through the beautiful Noosa National Park in over an hour, or at low tide one can walk along the beach into town, a longer route but safe to say far more scenic. After settling in at the hostel, I caught the shuttle to meet with a friend I had made on the bus, Monica, from Edmonton. We fought our way through the rain which came and went the whole evening, to the local Irish pub. One thing that can be counted on anywhere in the world; if there are people, there will be an Irish pub serving decent food and good pints. Here in Queensland, it is uncustomary to serve beer in pints, rather in pathetic ‘pots’, or ¾ size pints called ‘schooners’. A bartender explained to me that the only reason some pubs serve pints is for tourists. I explained that the only reason we serve pints in Canada is because we like our beer (although I should mention that in Irish pubs, pints are used as per Irish tradition).

Monica and I met on the morning of the 14^th (she was staying at the YHA in town) to catch the free shuttle to the Australia Zoo, better known as the Steve Irwin Zoo. Calling Beerwah it’s home, the Australia Zoo was founded by Steve Irwin’s father as a centre to preserve the animals which are so important in Australia’s past and present, hoping to educate people so that these animals can remain a part of Australian life in the future. While the Zoo is actually closer to Brisbane, a free shuttle runs from Noosa and other stops between, making Noosa the unofficial centre for travel to the Australia Zoo. On the bus ride to the zoo, the video produced by Irwin on the beginnings of his life’s work in conservation and animal rescue is presented. This occupies the hour it takes to get to the zoo and somehow manages to check the building excitement of the children on board – children both young and old. I for one was grinning like a six year old as the bus pulled up to the zoo, adorned with banners proclaiming “Crikey!”, “Beauty!” and other such Steve-isms. Unfortunately the zoo has no student admission and I paid the full $44 adult admission which seems a bit steep, but by the end of the day I certainly felt I had my money’s worth. The range of included activities is impressive to say the least, although trying to catch all the included shows and demonstrations has guests scampering from side to side of the zoo. Hourly animal presentations are held in the less dangerous animal’s enclosures while more impressive demonstrations are usually held twice daily. The first such demonstration was the feeding of three Asian Elephants. As guests line up, they are given a piece of fruit to feed to the elephants. Simply step up to the line, hold out your hand, and before you know it the elephant is munching happily on a fraction of their daily intake of fruit. Of course, the true Steve Irwin innovation was the Croco-seum (a terrible play on Colosseum), an arena where crocodiles, amongst other animals, could be shown off. Everyone doubted Irwin could get a croc to enter the arena on command, but by putting his own body on the line, he enticed the crocs into the arena for feeding and a demonstration for the crowd. An impressive range of birds is displayed in flight as well as a repeat performance from the elephants who are paraded through the arena. From here visitors can go see a demonstration of the tigers, pat a koala, participate in numerous animal feedings, and more. The true value in the Australia Zoo is not in its range of animals – which is extensive as well – but in interactivity with the animals. The hope here is that positive interactions with these animals will lead to a better understanding, a more educated and hopefully more conservation active public. While the zoo does not specialise in endangered species, many of their animals are, and of course without vigilance, many of the animals in the zoo could soon find themselves at risk. By the end of the day, Monica and I were thoroughly exhausted from walking around the zoo and pretty wiped from the constant excitement of experiencing new animals. On the bus ride back to Noosa we were shown the video made after Steve Irwin’s death, showcasing all the highlights in his career, his accomplishments in conservation and his wonderful family life. It was a bit of a sad note to finish the day on and there were few dry eyes at the end at the emotional conclusion to the film.

I caught the shuttle back to the hostel for a relaxing night off my feet. I ate dinner at the nearby Fratellini Italian restaurant, where they agreed to turn on their free internet if I ate dinner there (they normally shut it off after 5pm to maintain a proper dinner atmosphere). I could have stayed at least another day in Noosa, soaking in the relaxed beach atmosphere and exploring the many villages, but the next day, the 15^th, I was off for Rainbow Beach. I hadn’t even tried surfing in Noosa, which is relatively famous – even playing host to a surfing competition during my stay – but Noosa was another pricy holiday town serving tourists who want beach time. As it would turn out, there were several more opportunities for that further up the coast. I was, however, happy that I saw the Australia Zoo, an opportunity available only here.

Next stop: Rainbow Beach, famous for its rainbow of sands and a major jumping off point for Fraser Island.

Surfers and Hippies Welcome You to True Australia

There’s nothing quite like catching a bus before the sun is up, but cruising out of Sydney as the sun peaked over the horizon, I was off before a single ray graced Sydney’s famous skyline. Travelling up the east coast of Australia I had all my transportation and accommodation booked and was hoping for a safe trip the whole way. The OzExperience bus followed the same path as Greyhound, but offered a more backpacker friendly image while trying to distinguish themselves with drivers who also function as tour guides and some special stops along the way – anything to justify the extra cost vs Greyhound which also offered a hop on hop off service. My first stop would be one of those special ones at Spot X – also known as Surf Camp. This first stop would teach us the skills needed to surf so that we could at least pretend we knew what we were doing if we chose to surf on the way up the coast. After a few pit stops – a couple involving amusing sights such as the world’s biggest banana in Coffs Harbour or the world’s largest prawn in Biloai – we arrived at Arrawarra Beach, aka, Spot X, in late afternoon. Spot X is surfer talk for a surfing spot (usually with sweeeet surf duuuude) which you don’t want discovered, hence, the use of a code word. This ‘spot x’ however, defeats the purpose entirely with massive signs on the highway advertising its existence, thus exploiting an important part of surfer culture to earn money, completely contrary to surfer culture. Ahhh... I love the smell of a sell-out in the afternoon. At this point, people were starting to make friends with others on the bus, and when we were split off into our room assignments, most took time to better get to know our one night roomies. A quick introduction to surf camp from some of the instructors warned us that the night would be a big party, and we wouldn’t get in the water until the next morning. We were given the chance to go back into town to the bottle shop (the Aussie name for a liquor store) before dinner which was an all you can eat smorgasbord featuring a lot of bland and overcooked food. The party kicked off a little later with lots of loud drinking games and shouting in contrast to some quiet background music. The camp had 240 people, way over their usual numbers so the party was particularly crazy. My roomies and I, along with some new friends went back to our dorm (more of a mobile home) to sit and chat on the veranda to avoid the noise. This was my first experience with goon, a drink as infamous to backpackers in Australia as beer is to Canadians. Goon is just a name for what is usually called ‘boxed wine’, ‘cask wine’, or to locals, ‘chateau cardboard’. This is not a quality boxed wine however, this particular brew is made from ingredients that couldn’t cut it in wine production, filtered and processed with the aid of chemicals and other unspeakables. In fact, grapes do not even appear on the ingredients list. What’s more frightening however, is the warning that it “may contain traces of fish or dairy”, two ingredients which are apparently used to help it along in production. Despite the questionable ingredients list, terrible taste, and even worse hang over that is quintessentially part of goon, it remains a backpacker favourite, mostly because of its price starting at only $10 for 4 litres, at roughly the same alcohol percentage as wine. In short, backpackers like it because it gets you drunk on the cheap. I bought none, but sampled some which was on offer for free by those who purchased it and could not stomach it any longer. Sure enough, it worked its magic, and the next thing I knew I woke up with a terrible hangover at 8am, having to get packed up and changed for surf lessons.

At the breakfast table, most showed the usual signs of pain accompanying a hangover as few made it through the night sober. As with dinner the previous evening, breakfast was bland, but the grease worked magic on the hangover and getting us all ready to catch some waves. Our instruction started with the theory of surfing, and some practical safety info important for anyone wishing to play in an environment fraught with hazards such as rips, undertows, crashing waves and dangerous marine wildlife. From here, we suited up in wetsuits, rash guard shirts or otherwise and headed for the beach with our boards. We took a while practicing mounting the board, then headed out into the surf. The waves ranged from a metre to two, but were very constant and rarely crashed without warning. With assistance from the instructors, everyone was up on the board at least once, some taking to it with ease. I managed to stand a good number of times, but wiped out far more times as is the usual for a beginner surfer. The experience of surfing after some proper instruction was far better than the haphazard manner in which surfing is often attempted. No one was hurt, and everyone had fun. After cleaning up and grabbing lunch – which was equally as bland as dinner and breakfast before – we got back on the bus to continue north.

The next stop was Byron Bay, the most eastern town in Australia, home to lots of surfing, and nearby the infamous Nimbin. Because this was the bus’ final stop for the day, we all stayed in Byron Bay, although our accommodations varied. This was last time we would all be in the same bus together, but I would see many of these people again. I was staying in a hostel which would be more aptly described as a complex. A multi acre property, the Arts Factory has dorms, tepees, tent sites, private rooms and more. My first night I was booked into a dorm, but for my next two nights I would make use of the tent I had tried but failed to sell in Auckland. Here too, the price of accommodation was far higher than I was used to, $34 for a 10 person dorm and a far better $18 for a tent. I was glad to save any amount of money and more than willing to put up with nights in a tent once again. The hostel has its own pool, cafe, travel booking agency and across the parking lot the locally popular Buddha Bar. Making quick friends with Liz and Eliza, two Welsh gals, we had a quick swim in the pool before dinner at the cafe and a drink at the bar. That evening was my first taste of the usual Aussie hostels – filled with parties, drinking, and eventually, puking. As I got myself ready for bed, a guy I was talking to earlier was led into the room by a couple guys, apparently unable to stand by himself. He made a terrible racket getting into bed and apologised profusely to all of the room’s occupants. I’ve seen drunkenness before, been drunk myself as well, but this was an introduction to such ritualistic binge drinking on the backpacker circuit such as I have never before seen. Fortunately, he passed out and made no more interruptions throughout the night (apparently having already puked his guts out, multiple times).

My new Welsh friends and I took the 8^th to chill out, spending a good bit of the day on the beach. The ladies were quite content to sun themselves while I set off walking to the end of the beach, taking in the scenery and scouting out a good location to shoot from to take in the sunrise. Byron Bay’s geographic claim to fame is its easterly position on the coast, from where you can literally be the first person standing on mainland Australia to see the sun as it rises in the morning. I wasn’t aiming to catch the very first rays, but would return in a couple days to catch the sun rising over the most eastern points of land in Australia. Through liberal application of sunscreen I managed to come away from a long beach session with only a hint of red – satisfactory considering the number of people walking away lobster red. Part of my day was also spent troubleshooting a problem with vouchers from Backpackers World Travel, having been promised that I would receive hundreds of dollars worth of paid for vouchers in my email, and never receiving them; frustrating to no end to be sure.

Dinner that night was at the local backpacker haunt, The Cheeky Monkey. Offering all sorts of specials and theme nights, the Monkey is never empty so long as there are backpackers are in town. Tonight was Mexican night with themed food and drinks. I went with Liz and Eliza, and we enjoyed the food as well as the free margarita that came along with any themed food purchase! As is typical with the Monkey, the party picked up after dinner, gradually escalating from reasonably quiet dinner time to crazy dance party mode. We made our escape as the music picked up, exploring the town for a quieter venue to enjoy a drink and conversation. We stayed momentarily at a railroad themed bar, but retreated back to the hostel for an even quieter night and some sleep.

On the 9^th, I was off to see this part of the world’s sin central – Nimbin, Australia’s answer to Amsterdam. Admittedly, there is no prostitution, and drug use is – technically – illegal, but through the settlement of hundreds of hippies throughout the past decades and the hosting of Aquarius – Australia’s own Woodstock – the town and surrounding areas have become a safe haven for drug use. Police turn a blind eye to the use and growth of marijuana here, even though Australian law still prohibits it. Ironically, the only place in the country where marijuana use is legal, is Canberra, the capital. Aussies usually explain this away as politicians not wanting their kids to get in trouble with the law for their less than savoury habits. The best way to see the area is with a bona fide hippy, a guarantee if you go with Jims Alternative Tours. In the course of our day on the bus (the second oldest in Northern New South Wales) we listened to rants on the merits of natural living, the evils of the government and the benefits of marijuana and hemp. We stopped in Nimbin for an hour to get lunch and whatever other purchases members of the bus might like to make. Before stopping, the driver gave everyone the talk on responsible usage, not getting ripped off in a purchase, and not getting too high on his bus. I couldn’t believe my ears – instructions like this outside of Amsterdam!? But walking down the street in Nimbin, it’s impossible to ignore the prevalence of drugs. Constant offers for weed, cookies or mushrooms are hurled from all directions and more than a few people are interested in buying. Luckily, a simple ‘no thanks’ goes a long way and will generally keep the uninterested out of trouble. Also in Nimbin is the Hemp Museum, an educational experience on the history of the use of marijuana, the history of the local Aboriginal people, and Nimbin itself. After this stop, we were off for some driving through the woods. Along the way, he played some pretty trippy music for us, while describing the different types of ‘gasms’ one might experience in life. He said that while or-gasms were great, there were so many more ‘gasms’ to be had. He promised us a true ‘mountain-gasm’ and took the bus through a very hilly section of the road. The combination of music, amazing scenery, and hilarious commentary – while not giving me a ‘mountain-gasm’...at least I don’t think it did... – made for a memorable experience and is part of the quirkiness that makes the tour worth it. Our next stop was the forest home of a former New Yorker, come to Australia to live in peace away from the oppressive man. We took a hike through his woods, puzzling at the odd assortment of mannequins, dolls, kitchen appliances and more he has scattered throughout the woods (maybe they’re all protecting him against the government’s newest mind control methods...). We hung out in his hut for a while, sampling some of the local fruit and chatting before heading off for the bus again. After a look off stop we were back to Byron for the end of the tour. All in all, it was a hilarious and enjoyable day, one I would recommend to any visitor of the area, although some older minded travellers might not enjoy it quite the same...

Hanging out with some people from the OzExperience bus for the night, we ended up going out to Cheeky Monkey’s for some dancing and fun. We danced our way into the wee hours of the morning at which point I returned  to my hostel for my camera and made my way down to the beach for the sunrise. While my two Welsh friends were underwhelmed, I was thoroughly excited as the sun came up behind some cliffs, gently illuminating the beach and surroundings. We watched as the earliest rising surfers hit the beach before dawn broke, as morning runners took to the beach and the town came alive. It was a wonderful goodbye to Byron Bay, as I was back on the bus in less than an hour, continuing my trek north.