Cairns: the city with temperatures hotter than a game of monopoly at Alan Sugar's house and reefs too big to
hang on God's door at Christmas. Unfortunately for me it was also the city where I began to realise how expensive Australia could be. I was therefore stuck like a limbless man in a pool of Vegemite. I was poorer than church mouse in a town dedicated to Atheism. I was stumped like a cricket player who had lost his bat and had to make do with a chewed pencil. I was like a metaphor in a something or rather. At least it was hot. So after a week of sunbathing I proudly looked like an orange dipped in marmalade. Bank refunded, I jumped on a greyhound (unfortunately in this case it's the name of the bus company, although your original thoughts would have been much more exciting if not for my Cynophobia ...oh, come on, don't be lazy - look it up) and headed South for Airlie beach. As my mother has already informed me it was indeed the first time I've ever been so bright and Airlie for anything. The following day I hit the sea on an Ocean rafting trip. This semi inflated boat ripped through the water like a propelled Michael Phelps and blasted out tunes as varied as Jet to the Village People. We snorkled around Whitsundays and chilled across the white crystallised sands of Whitehaven. There was also a chance to restock on some healthy greens with the all inclusive lunch. Whitsundays, which is not simply our Lord's day of rest and weekly pun-a-thon, was beautiful and Whitehaven truly was. After this, an overnight bus left my neck creaking like Big Boy's floorboard. But a mere cuppa later and I was fresh and awake for our arrival in Hervey Bay and the start of a new tale. There was an Englishman, four Irishmen and two Germans in a 4x4 - no this is not the start of a joke, but the tale of my journey to Fraser Island: the largest sand island in the world. Having purchased enough beer to give Weatherspoons a run for their money and squeezed into the Jeep tighter than a fourteen year old Indie boy's trousers, it began to occur to me how difficult three days as a lone Englishman in a Jeep full of Irish men may be. Yet, after a couple of hours of ribbing over a few hundred years of oppression I was glad to be six foot higher up than expected and was able to relax into the next few days. Over the three days, I was surrounded by a jolly group of 27 twenty-some-things all up for a laugh. There was one wee lassie who grumbled more than a Henry hoover; yet, conveniently for us she ditched us before we could get round to doing the same to her. Fraser was full of lakes clearer than Volvic, roads that gave the clutches on our 4x4s a run for their money and Champagne pools where the sea did to our shoulders what skips do to tongues. We also saw a Dingo just after I had concluded that they were simply a myth created to prevent backpackers sleeping and dumping waste on the beaches. The few days were consequently one of the highlights of my time in Australia. Although, three days on beaches and staying on camp sites with limited shower opportunities meant that I would continue my travels flaking off sand in my tracks.
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It was time to say 'g'day' to Bruce and 'ows it gowin' to Sheila. Time to get down the bottle-o to grab me enough tinnies to make me chunder. But time most importantly time to re-Christian myself Sammo!*
Yes, I was in Victorian Australia; yet, without all those unsightly factories. It was of course the state of Victoria and the city of Melbourne where I was reacquainted with teen chum and minor giant man Simon; or to use his formal title Simmo. Baptism over, I headed down to the river to attempt some semi extreme sports. The sport in mind: wake-boarding, where the events of the day most definitely woke me up. Having watched others show me how it's done, I followed (swim)suit and slipped my size elevens (that's right ladies!) into the board ready to ride. Unfortunately, with another boat also trying to use the water, my abilities were slowing us down and so shortly after starting we changed plan and decided that it may be better idea for me to be pulled along in a rubber ring instead. Later, falling off the tube at 90km/hour toward the bank and hitting my head harder than a suicidal woodpecker it was safe to say that this hadn't been a good idea. After my neck had stop being such a... well, pain in itself. I decided to watch the Melbourne race in the 2011 Formula One Championship. Watching the race with Simon's family, it turned out this was quite the event: with cars, planes, scantily clad women and celebrities as famous as Brian McFadden all involved! Although confusing following who was winning, losing, in, out or how that safety car with the flashing lights was ever going to sell ice creams on that side of the fence, it was great entertainment as the F1 cars whistled along the track loud enough to multiply my ear drums into the entire Notting Hill carnival. For the next few weeks I spent my days throwing limited numbers of shrimp but a fair few sausages on the barbie - Ken was not best pleased after her face melted. I also, played more football than Charlie Sheen has tantrums, went drinking a fair few nights in Eurotrash and relived 90s shopping in both Woolworths and Safeway. I also began doing as Victorians do (no not colonising everywhere I visited): watching AFL, a sport where the players stampede toward their opponents with enough intensity to make rhinos squirm. Specifically, I went to the Melbourne Cricket Ground to watch Richmond vs. St. Kilda. Many handballs (which in this version of football is apparently legal) later and the game was tied tighter than a pair of oversized swimming shorts. A great spectacle for the neutral, but not for the saints who vowed never to slay any dragons ever again. It was also Melbourne Comedy Festival season. So our choice in act was David O'Doherty, a man who rambles enough to ware Janet Street-Porter out. Yet his songs made me chuckle so much that had I not been wearing thongs my socks may well have blown off. In conclusion, my stay was a relaxing and homely break from backpacking life. I am now leaving Melbourne for Cairns to head back on the trail. Apparently there are crocs in the sea, but I've never been afraid of shoe-ware. *Technically, I've never been Christened and as such can not be re-Christened. However, as God lives in the sky and I'm currently situated down under I figure I am far enough away that he wont hear me. Is that how it works? And does God own the Internet as that might scupper my theory? |
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Samuel FryTraveller Archives
June 2011
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