Fraser Island

We left Robert awkwardly without hug or handshake.  For some reason I just don’t think he’s the touchy kind of person, nor did I want to touch him for that matter.  It was nice to leave him though the night before the three of us did have quite a nice time.  We went to a wonderful restaurant that is stocked and operated by the same Hare Krishna farm we had visited on our way to Brisbane.  For five dollars we ate as much as we wanted of some of the best vegetarian food in the world.  Not bad.

We arrived at Dingos in Rainbow Beach amidst a cluster fuck of dreary and aggravated people as bags were being ripped from the belly of the bus and roughly chucked into a heap on the sidewalk and, from the other side, into the middle of the road.  I had to chuckle at the thought that this discourtesy was probably the only arsenal the bus driver had against we obnoxious backpackers and he was taking full advantage of it.  Good for him.  Maybe next time he’ll have gutter puddles to hurl bags in to.

Riding the Greyhound bus had been a new experience all together.  By this point Connor and I had traveled by shuttle, train, hitching, and massive amounts of walking, but not a bus.  Every seat was filled and not a single person on that bus was a local.  We were all young, we all were “backpacking” and we were all headed to the same place.  Shit.  We had become a part of the main tourist tract.  And it didn’t end there.  After collecting our bags, we moved en mass to the hostel reception, queued for our rooms, and filled the place up.  It was obvious that this was normal routine for both the hostel and the visitors we were grouped with.  I was amazed at how many people sacrifice a lot of adventure, a lot of money, and a lot of originality to travel the same way as everybody else. 

No matter, most of them are still very good people and many people I’ve met aren’t cut out for proper backpacking anyhow.  When we returned from Fraser Island Connor and I got into it with a group of girls that were just these kinds of people.  We had checked out but our bus wasn’t due for a few hours and we were told it was fine to leave our bags in our room as long as the other occupants were okay with it, which the original ones were.  Then this new group arrived and I told them if it wasn’t okay we could move our stuff but they said it was fine.  An hour later Connor comes racing up to me in a panic telling me that the girls demanded we get our bags out and that they had complained to reception.  Really?  They had done that after I had just spoken with them?  Ass holes.  So, being ever the very unconfrontational person I am, I went back to our old room, and asked those girls what was up.  They were complaining that they needed to lock the room and that they didn’t like people coming in and out.  Maybe in a mocking tone, maybe not, I can’t recall, I asked them if they had ever stayed in a hostel before because that’s what they’re all about.  People are ALWAYS coming in and out.  Then this little blond Irish girl appeared and mollified them.  I found her so pleasant that I abandoned my thoughts of giving these girls any more tongue lashing and instead showed them around the twenty-or-so shops that make up Rainbow Beach.  On the way the two worst girls were complaining about their phones not having service.  I had the pleasure of informing them that Vodafone doesn’t have network in Rainbow Beach and there is almost no service on Fraser Island no matter your service provider.  Their gasps, horrified faces, and cries of distress were music to my ears.

 

My heart went out to the camping group and guides that would get stuck with this bitch bunch on their tour.  For the most part, our group had been a boisterous, fun-loving, and friendly group the entire three days on Fraser despite the constant rain.  We were from all over the world:  Switzerland, Sweden, Germany, Scotland, Great Britain, Norway, Ireland, the States (obviously), even Israel and our guides were Aussies.  (I’m sure I’m forgetting a few).  We were broken up into different groups with which we would drive, camp, cook, eat, and bond on Fraser.  In our car we had all of the Americans (us and Riley, a 23 year old 200+ lb hoss of muscle who is a helicopter medic for the US Army and was stationed in Iraq for eight months, bless his heart), Israelis and two German girls. Since Connor and I are of Jewish heritage ourselves we’d joke about how they put all the Jews in the same car as the Germans on purpose.  Honestly, if I told you the stories I’ve heard you would agree that it wouldn’t be beneath the guides to pull it.  The company we went with was based on self-driving and so it was all of us driving our own 4x4 cruiser behind the two cars driven by our guides.  As cool as it sounds, the bad-ass effect was slightly blemished by the words “Tag along vehicle” in bold letters across our back window. 

Despite this, the rain, lack of sun, cheeky dingos, threat of tiger sharks just off the beach, very poisonous sea snake I almost stepped on while trying to avoid jellyfish tentacles flying at me (seriously), and three unhappy campers that left the island early, we had a great old time.  The lakes we visited were beautifully clear blue perch lakes and made even wilder in appearance by the rain clouds that drifted in and out of the forest canopy at their banks.  We did the ‘dead man float’ down a fresh water creek, received first class exfoliation spa treatments from the fish in Lake Wabby, made human pyramids, were shown a historically interesting ship wreck, drove along the beaches where Connor successfully learned to drive stick (thank you Riley) and I even got to show off my super awesome, amazing, spectacular driving skills through the rugged, washed out, sandy and steep roads that lead into the rain forest and the famous Lake Mackenzie.  I know; you’re impressed; don’t hide it.  Then at night we were riled up and serenaded by the craziest group of six young Irish guys I’ve ever met while spending our time sharing international drinking games.  All in all I would say the trip was all right.  I guess I’d go back if I had to.  I hope I have to.

Fraser Island is a spectacular place and a World Heritage site.  It is the largest sand island in the world, is home to the only rain forest growing out of sand, the oldest plant known to man, the purest population of dingo (a wild dog), and is a very sacred place for the Aborigine people.  It is the only feminine site in their folk lore as it was made by a goddess and is still nourished by her presence.  Many people believe that in this sacred place magic does in fact happen and I am not one to disregard their claims.  I quite enjoyed myself and the wildness makes me feel invigorated and also at peace, as always, but no magic yet.  Maybe one day I will make it back there (hopefully with at least one day of sun) and discover the type of mysticism the locals whisper about.  

The crew.  From left:  Fabion (Israeli), Connor and I (American), Riley (American), 

 Driving on Fraser.

I know I look like I'm concentrating hard (Chelsea, keep your comments to yourself).  This was up in the rainforest amidst a foot or more of slushy sand and steep grade waiting to gobble us up.