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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Samuel FryTraveller Archives
June 2011
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