Marvellous multi-layered Melbs

February 2013. And so it was that I got onto the Greyhound bus for the last time in Australia, to face the longest bus journey yet - 13 hours from Melbourne to Sydney overnight. After a late afternoon pit stop at the Chinese New Year food festival with Jo and Alex, my giant bag and I were on our way again. I don't remember much of the journey other than not being able to sleep, and as that is not particularly thrilling, let's move on.

Ah, Melbourne! I was kindly taken in by Dimi and Laura Papettas, who you probably don't remember from the New York instalment of the blog that I updated - oh, over 6 years ago now(!) Anyway, they were the first pals I made travelling, and so will always have a special place in my heart (ahhh). They further cemented this love by providing me with breakfast and lodgings for my entire stay in Melbourne, which was incredibly generous considering they had known me for the sum total of about 3 days back in June 2012. So, big shout out to Dimi and Laura for being absolute heroes.

Also notable about the Melbourne portion of the trip is the fact that I went running for the first time in many months around the streets of St Kilda, the trendy suburb of Melbourne where Dimi and Laura lived. The run almost killed me, despite failing to reach a pace beyond 'suburban mom fast walk', and I undid it all by eating many local delicacies (which we shall get onto), but the main point of this tangent is that I can say I went for a run and therefore feel smug.

I arrived in Melbourne at arse o'clock in the morning and was immediately pulled into the excitement and drama of the St Kilda Festival, despite having about an hour of broken sleep on a coach. I write this portion of the blog as a 33, going on 34 year old woman and I MOURN for my previous energy levels. You wouldn't catch me doing anything like that now I'm a cantankerous old fart.

The festival, in Luna Park

After a night of no sleep and a blatant mis-application of makeup

Luna Park's famously bonkers exterior

I don't actually remember what we did at the festival besides queuing for a long time to get my face painted, but it must have been fun, aside from the hideous crowds (which I have always been keen to avoid, even before my cantankerous old fart years). Aside from taking me to the festival, I cooked with Dimi and Laura in their flat, they took me out for a Greek meal (didn't disappoint!) and I have a vague recollection of attending a comedy night that was either hysterical or total crap.

Turns out I knew a few others in Melbourne too. Sammy from uni was a delight and joined me in Kooglhoupf cake eating at Monarch Cakes, as well as hugging yarn-bombed trees (see below).

There's no accounting for taste

I was also reunited with Kerry, a lovely lady who was very kind to me when I first got to Queenstown (and introduced me to the deliciousness that is Milo). She almost persuaded me to stay in Australia for longer - I was really loving Melbourne, but I decided to be lame and crack on with the rest of my trip as planned #adventurefail.

One recommendation I must make - if you ever find yourself in Melbourne, or any other city try taking a free walking tour (NB: not strictly free - you pay what you think it was worth, or face lifelong embarrassment unless you're totally ballsy). We also did one in Kyoto, Japan and it was way better than any paid tours I've been on before, a great way to kill a couple of hours and get a low cost culture fix to boot. You're welcome.

After my whistle stop tour of Melbourne, I flew back to Sydney for another night at Jo and Alex's where I basically gatecrashed Valentine's Day - we all went to an ice cream shop that served ice cream containing pieces of fruit pie. What a perfect way to end the Australian leg of the trip, as I psyched myself up for South East Asia...

Sydney ☀️

Here's where the travel diary gets a bit, well, unwritten. I just went through my hitherto comprehensive notes and  - depressingly - the rest of the Australian section seems to consist of a list of expenses. Although I am annoyed to have to log into Facebook and try to piece together the memories by wading through ancient photo albums, the expense list pretty much says it all. And here I was, in the most expensive city in Australia.*

Fortunately, a good family friend, Joanne, and her now-fiancee Alex stepped in and let me stay at hers for most of the Sydney portion of the trip, which saved me hundreds of dollars that I could then spend on tat, and ice cream that contained actual pieces of pie, something I don't need a notebook to remember.

Famous Bondi beach

 So, here's what I remember doing. Sorry for the lazy bullet points but a narrative is somewhat lacking.

- Getting to über-hostel 'Wake Up!' at some ungodly hour at night and crawling into a mostly-empty dorm.
- By this point, I hadn't actually spoken to another human being for about 48 hours and was getting a bit sick of my own sparkling company, so checked out very early and went to get registered for Medicare so I could get free / cheap vaccinations for the SE Asia portion of the trip and speak to another human being. Yawn.
- Wandered the streets until I met Joanne during her lunch hour, wandered back to her flat in centrally-located and trendy Darlinghurst (yes I lucked out). She had a fantastic one bedroom maisonette with an outdoor terrace at the back, where we spent every evening eating BBQ and drinking red wine (it's a tough life).
- Spent a day walking some of the bays across to Bondi Beach, then sat in a shirt and shorts trying not to get sunburnt (sort of succeeded).

Really enjoyed this placard.

Beautiful Bondi

- Booked a tour to the Blue Mountains (so called because the eucalyptus oil released from the trees there mix with water vapour and sunlight to create a blue haze). There were several tour buses going from the same place and none of them were marked. I travelled a whole block with a group of Chinese tourists going to Port Stephens before I realised my mistake and was unceremoniously turfed off of the bus. I did make it to the Blue Mountains though:

On the edge of glory (or horrendously messy death)

- Took a tour round the Sydney Opera House. BEST TOUR EVER. What a building. Didn't think I would be that interested but the history about the building is fascinating. A must-do if you ever visit Sydney.
- Heard 'Gangnam Style' play out of every single shop / off-license / vaguely commercial enterprise.
- Went on the Sydney Monorail (closed in June 2013 so just got in there on time. Mmm... monorail).
- Went to the Pylon Lookout, part of the famous Harbour Bridge, from where you can see the beautiful harbour and Opera House. $11 compared to $200 cost of climbing the Harbour Bridge for the same-ish view.

View from the Pylon Lookout

- Visited a bloody great bar called Shady Pines and hung out with a very lovely ex-colleague of my Mum's - Jo Ley. We met up a couple of times for drinks, monkey nuts and many lols. Jo, if you're reading, hello!
- Wandered round the State Library of New South Wales - it's pretty.

The Reading Room - State Library of New South Wales

- Chowed down on some incredible Chinese food before jumping on the next overnight bus bound for Melbourne - another 12 hour extravaganza. At this point, I yearned for a smaller country to travel across... 🚌


*That I went to, anyway. It may well have changed since 2013...

Noosa, Brisbane and Byron Bae

My diary entries are somewhat erratic for this portion of the trip but I shall attempt to recall some information. They say Facebook is a time sink - perhaps it is, but it has furnished me with most of this, so I say huzzah for it.

Noosa was a total washout. Unsurprising really, considering Oswald was very much still on the loose and wreaking havoc. Fortunately Ness of the Fraser Island contingent managed to help me persuade Rick that I needed a lift all the way to my next hostel in Noosa, Dolphins Beachhouse (the hostel names do not improve from here, I'm afraid). I met a girl called Emma and we teamed up to go 'into town'. This involved wearing our usual unflattering backpacker's garb, but for two game-changing attentions to detail: putting on some lipstick (Emma) and donning flip-flops (me). It was Australia Day, so even if I hadn't wanted to leave the sickly yellow four walls of Dolphins' female dorm to find some evening entertainment, it would have basically been against the law. Fortunately, Oswald seemed to be a storm with a healthy respect for partying, and had eased up ever so slightly, so we were able to get a lift into town on the last shuttle bus.

To mark the occasion, we met up with the Fraser Island gang and went big at Flanagan's Irish pub. I don't remember much apart from drinking whatever was on offer and watching Connie go nuts on the dancefloor. As we whirled around (read: skidded about a bit and periodically peeled our feet from the sticky floor), the mighty Oswald picked up the storm pace outside - he wasn't about to give up any time soon.

Emma and I walked back, the rain and the date meant there were no taxis to be had, and I broke my second pair of flip-flops of the World Tour on my way back to the hostel. The forecast wasn't getting any better, and so I resolved to leave for Brisbane the next morning. I said goodbye to Emma, and boarded what turned out to be the last coach leaving Noosa for a few days - it was the first (and last) time in my life that I made a sensible navigational decision. The three-hour journey was horrendous - not least because there was a problem with the air conditioning and freezing water intermittently dripping on me throughout, exacerbating the sting and itch of the giant mosquito bites that had become part and parcel of my time in Queensland. It was a low point, but as they say 'worse things happen at sea' and that three hours was nothing compared to the bus trips that were to come in Asia.

Happily, I had arranged to meet Anna, Alex and Caitlin from the American leg of the Tour, and Anna had kindly agreed to let me stay at her parents' house while they were on holiday (fortunately they weren't planning to stay in Noosa). The girls met me at the bus station and we sped off to a classy joint (edit: The Regatta Hotel, discovered thanks to Facebook stalking myself from 2013) somewhere near Roma St to have a drink and some nibbles. I recall being quite poorly dressed for the occasion, then remembered I was living out of a dirty backpack filled with damp clothes that were erring on mouldy, and forgave myself the transgression.

Got fed and dried, thanks to these legends

I spent a week or so of down-time in the generous company of Anna and her siblings at their beautiful family home in the suburb of Chelmer, 20 mins train ride out of Brisbane's CBD. I was pathetically grateful to be out of the hostels and in a place that had hot running water and the use of a shower that didn't require wearing broken flip-flops in order to avoid verrucas. We drank tea under duvets to watch the breaking news around the wrath of Oswald - meanwhile, Alex's basement flooded and Caitlin's power was shut off - it seemed that this was no ordinary common or garden cyclone (at least not to my mild British meteorological standards). It was a matter of time before Anna's power shut down too, and with no electricity to speak of, we embraced the wartime spirit and cooked fajitas on the gas stove via candlelight, then played Cranium, which was actually delightful.

The girls took good care of me and we visited the cinema to watch Gangster Squad, ate pies at Pie Face, ice cream at Movenpick and went to the Brisbane Powerhouse for drinks, where I saw a sculpture in commemoration of the 2011 floods which showed the (significantly more extreme) flood level at the time. Maybe Oswald ain't so bad, I thought to myself.

Outside the Brisbane Powerhouse

I also got my first taste of kangaroo steaks, thanks to Caitlin's mum who kindly invited me to a BBQ dinner at their house (shout out to Mrs Manché for the hospitality). Kangaroo steak is absolutely delicious. Lighter than beef and allegedly better for the environment given the large number of kangaroos in Australia, I resolved to find another excuse to eat it as soon as possible. Unfortunately, my next encounter with kangaroo meat was in 2015 when I found some frozen steaks in Hackney Lidl - safe to say it was not the same high quality I had experienced back in Brisbane.

During that week, life went back to normal and I felt recharged and ready for the next leg of the journey. After a brief visit to the Modern Art Museum, a burger at Grill'd (featuring the legendary Ellen, also of the American leg of the tour) and an iced coffee that came with an ingenious spoon straw, it was time to move on to Byron Bay.

I HEARTED BYRON BAY (or should I say Byron 'Bae'?! No... no I shouldn't) LIKE WOAH.

It reminded me of the Coromandel in New Zealand, but with more surfers, and was just like that seminal work of art 'The Inbetweeners 2'. Unlike the film, I managed to avoid any card carrying AGDs (Acoustic Guitar Dickheads) and instead ensconced myself at the YHA Byron Bay for 2/3 nights. After spending the first day wandering the streets and beaches, and having the most delicious coffee I have ever tasted I met a lovely French lady called Flora. We hung out, ate cake, went body boarding and walked up to Cape Byron lighthouse, the most easterly tip of Australia.

View from the Cape

Wot, no ice cream?

Yours truly at Cape Byron

During our bodyboarding stint, I managed to get stuck in a strong current whilst swimming at the main beach. I lost my trusty M&S sunglasses, bandana and dignity, and fortunately managed to escape with my life. I managed to get the sunglasses and bandana replaced, but the dignity continues to take a bashing even now ;-).

Before long, I was back on the Greyhound and I was keen to get to Sydney - but it was still approximately 9 hours' drive away (not sure if I have mentioned it yet, but Australia is BIG). For this reason, I selected Coffs Harbour as my not-quite halfway pit stop. There wasn't a lot to say about Coffs, which is potentially unfair given I spent less than 24 hours there, but I did manage a visit to Muttonbird Island, a swim on Jetty Beach and a wander around the botanical gardens to kill the time. The weather wasn't great (for Australia - it would have been a blustery but otherwise perfect day by UK standards) so the swim didn't last long, and there was mild panic (compounded by being left alone with my unreliable and skittish imagination) when I thought I contracted bed bugs thanks to the appearance of some suspiciously red and bitey marks upon my person. Being the tight bugger that I am, I decided I couldn't possibly be arsed with burning all my possessions, or shrinking them in a 90 degree wash so I just hoped the bitey marks would go away, and they did. Addendum: I'm pretty sure I also enjoyed another classic hostel Ready Steady Cook meal composed entirely of ingredients gleaned from a supermarket reduced shelf - other than that, detail is lacking, so let's move onto Sydney.

In the meantime, have some pictures from the botanical gardens and a sign advertising a really expensive beer multipack to make up for it.

The Tri-Island Championship Pt III: Fraser Island

I may have mentioned this before (like, ad nauseum), but I'm catching up on writing this blog approximately four years after the event. Like a diligent GCSE History student, I'm wading through primary (scrappy notes in travel notebook, Facebook photo posts) and secondary (Wikipedia, other people's Facebook photo posts) sources to try and piece together some semblance of fact amongst all my rose-tinted / tightly repressed memories. Take home point of this introduction being, if you want to write a travel blog, remember to do it at the time.

Anyhoo. 

We were last in Airlie Beach and that is when The Great Storm of '13 was about to hit (otherwise known as Tropical Cyclone Oswald). Kate had been due to fly to her next destination and, if memory serves, either had to get to the airport earlier than planned, or her flight was cancelled - either way, there was a sense of unease in the air that a big old dump of rain was on its merry way. However, optimism prevailed and the full extent of the rain hadn't quite reached us at Airlie, so I wasn't too worried about the odd drop or two. After all, it was technically rainy season, and we hadn't felt so much as a drip. 

I hopped onto the overnight Greyhound from Airlie to Rainbow Beach. This was my first, but certainly not my last, overnight bus. Overnight buses are a total ballache. The thinking is that you save on a night in a hostel - which is true, but you trade in a night of proper sleep in a horizontal, if not completely comfortable, actual bed. As we trundled down the Bruce Highway (yes, that is its actual name), I kept waking up to the driver's 1000 decibel destination announcements and rain beating mercilessly against the window - but given we were driving in the dark, I still didn't quite appreciate the level of storm we were experiencing. After about 11 arse-numbing hours on the coach, 4 of which were half-sleep, I was unceremoniously ditched near Pippie's Beach House Backpackers Hostel and blearily wandered over to check in. 

Pippie's Beach House Backpackers Hostel is a name that conjures up images of liberal, sun-kissed youths in the prime of their life spending their days bronzing their taut hides on the beach, and their evenings surrounding a campfire and talking about the magic of travel and what character-enhancing experiences they have had. I chose to stay at Pippie's in order to hopefully experience some of this bounty, before going on a pre-booked tour of Fraser Island with Fraser Island Discovery. The tour booking cost an arm and a leg, but I had been reliably informed by several people that Fraser Island (which is entirely made of sand by the way) was both 'unmissable' and 'amazing', so I did what I always do in these situations: closed my eyes after I entered my credit card details and clicked 'Pay Now'.

I don't actually recall my day or night at Pippie's - unfortunately this isn't down to some wild and debauched boozing session, just a poor set of notes for this part of the trip. I can just about remember doing some emailing after re-mortgaging my non-existent mortgage for some wi-fi credit, and going for beers in a nearby bar under a giant tarpaulin as the rain raged on.  

Carefree days on Rainbow Beach (image credit / disclaimer: Pippie's Beach House Hostelworld page. I don't actually know any of these people) 

What it actually looked like. Could be Bognor Regis

The next morning, things were continuing to look wet. I called the Fraser Island Discovery customer service line to see if the tour was still on and they assured me everything was still going ahead as planned. I wasn't sure what to make of that, but decided that perhaps Fraser Island had its own special microclimate that circumvented the storm and, light of heart and wallet, left Pippie's to meet Rick, our driver and guide for the experience. What kind of a guide was Rick? Well, I think this photo speaks for itself:

Here's Rick after a few quaffs of goon, whipping up a traditional Aussie barbie for tea

After gathering the rest of the group, we battled through a picnic lunch under a verandah-type structure and jumped into the 4-wheel drive monster truck that was Rick's tour car, which got us onto Fraser Island via a brief ferry trip. Needless to say, Fraser was a bit of a washout. Rick valiantly battled the wind and rain to drive us down the usually-breathtaking sands, and after a few stops to get out and take photos at the top spots (Maheno Shipwreck, Champagne Pools, Lake McKenzie), we were informed that we had to cut the outdoor portion of our trip short as the storm was actually a cyclone. Exciting! So we did what all good backpackers do when they can't actually go anywhere and cracked out the beers and goon.

Paradise

Cyclone Crew '12. Shout out to Rick, Connie, Ness, Julie, Billy, Lucy and Marcus

Champagne Pools - this is what it is supposed to look like 

If you read this far, I love you. Next instalment - Noosa!

The Tri-Island Championship Pt II: The Whitsunday Islands

I waved goodbye to little Magnetic Island, all 52km² of her (thank you Google), as I stood on the back of the ferry to Townsville. I don't recall much about this journey, other than it was stiflingly hot, which seems to be the general theme in Queensland. I think the Greyhound picked us up from the ferryport, so very little effort was required on my part to crack on with the next leg of my journey: a few days in the glorious environs of Airlie Beach, and more importantly, a few days living the P-Diddy life of luxury I had always craved on a yacht charter around the Whitsunday Islands.

Sound advice from Greyhound

Upon boarding the bus, I struck up a conversation with two friendly girls: Kate (also from England) and Valerie, from Germany. I think they had found each other along the travelling way, as you do, and in traditional traveller style we all made firm friends and knew each other’s potted life histories within c. 45 seconds. They hadn’t done hours of prior research on accommodation unlike old gimpy chops here, so I let them know I had booked a room at Backpackers on The Bay, a hostel selected less for its shining attributes and more for its availability. It actually turned out to be pretty amazing, and located away from the main strip so meant there was half a chance of some decent shut-eye. 

It was there we met a motley crew of people either working at the hostel, generally working in the Airlie Beach area or waiting around to find work on the yachts. I should explain that most of the economy of Airlie Beach, a town of just over 7000, is based pretty much solely on backpackers taking trips over to the Whitsunday Islands / Great Barrier Reef. As a result, it is basically like a mini Magaluf. I wasn’t complaining - after the fairly sedate pace of the Australia experience thus far, and a lot of alone time on Magnetic Island, I was about ready to don a pair of dirty flip flops and party with the best of ‘em. And party we did - at the aptly named ‘Beaches’! Big shout out to Soren, Jonas, Nicole, Chris, Chris and Neil, the Geordie lad who was practically obsessed with Valerie, and kept trying to woo her despite her clear lack of interest. Bless.

Backpackers on the Beach staff and new BFFs

Partying done - I do believe there was a 2am visit to the Airlie Beach Lagoon involved (with local law enforcement intervention) - we decided to take the fun back to BotB and go in the pool. Needless to say, the other guests and hostel owners were not impressed with our noisy fun, and I seem to remember those who were working at the hostel were roundly browbeaten with threats of job losses if such an incident occurred again. Five stars for the hospitality in my opinion - you can see that on TripAdvisor.

During those halcyon hours in and around late night boozing, Kate, Valerie, Jonas and I decided we would get in on the yachting action and chose a 3 day, 2 night trip on Silent Night - I can’t remember why exactly, but it was a fairly small charter and it’s always nice to be in a smaller group for these things - otherwise they start to resemble a P&O Cruise.

As always with these situations - I went halfway around the world to get on a boat with 10 other people and two of them were from High Wycombe (a couple, but still counts).

The scenic route

This is where obsessive documentation of everything comes in handy - at least you can remember where you went. Really, this is a nicety though, because who would ever forget a sight like this:

Whitehaven Beach <3

And because we’re still in Queensland, here’s a shot of me jumping in a stinger suit.

Irony

Prior to my World Tour, I remember being very dismissive of those backpacker ‘jumping photos’ and calling everyone in them wankers, but my attempts to be hilarious and caustically ironic just resulted in me joining in. I never managed to jump that high…

We had a beautiful stop off at Whitehaven Beach, where we got a chance to have a good wander and breathe in the literally awesome sight. I had one of those moments where a little voice in your head tells you ‘Drink in this view. You might never come here again - take it all in and store it somewhere so you can take it out and remember - you did this!’.

We snorkelled in Blue Pearl Bay, on the northwestern side of Hayman Island - sadly I never saw the resident Maori Wrasse (pictured below) but looking at other people’s reviews it seems like he makes quite a regular appearance.

Didn't see this guy

The sailing itself was hysterical, mainly because it felt like we were teetering on the edge of capsizing for a lot of the trip. Our skipper, Sammy, and deckhand, Taylor, were like something out of an Aussie boyband, but beyond those dubious credentials they seemed to know how to at least steer and put the sails up, so I felt safe. The only downside was sleeping - the bedroom we were in absolutely reeked of diesel, so made for some interesting conversation late at night when presumably we were off our tits on the fumes. However, it was a veritable Hilton King Suite in comparison to our Danish couple’s double room, which I seem to recall didn’t have the most watertight ceiling, and flooded during a particularly heavy storm on the first night.

This theme continued - as we were sailing during the ‘Wet’ season (confusingly, in Queensland, this is Summer) this meant that there were consistent periods of torrential downpour and storms, one of which resulted in an early exit from our trip back to Abell Point Marina, where Sammy carefully parked the boat and let us all off. It was to last for quite some time, as I found out to my cost after booking probably the most expensive trip of all time to Fraser Island, the next stop on my list (and chapter in the blog). That’ll do for now, my tea has gone cold - and my bum to sleep.

Yours truly

Team Silent Night

The Tri-Island Championship Pt 1: Magnetic Island

So according to my timestamps, I haven't posted since the 6th January 2014. I can safely say (and you are probably aware) that much has happened since then, more than would fill a thousand blogs. Oh, alright then... I met my future husband, we bought a house and then I married my aforementioned future husband. You can't accuse me of resting on my laurels, or not being smug. Anyhoo, on with the retrospective... Part One of Three journeys to Australian east coast islands. 

I believe we left things on a photo of a cassowary. The next thing I remember doing (having dug my travel diaries out from the garage, and consulted the paltry notes) was heading to Magnetic Island via several Hicksville stops on the Greyhound bus.

Magnetic Island is reached via ferry from Townsville, where my dear friend Sarah Galletly (who may or may not be reading) is currently located! Sarah, if you're reading, much love to you. The circle of life, it binds us all. Anyway, the main draw for me re: Magnetic Island was the chance to hang out with some koalas at the well-marketed Koala Breakfast in the Bungalow Bay Koala Village YHA, located on Horseshoe Bay at the north-east of the island. I remember getting a bus there from the main port in Nelly Bay, and upon arriving noticing how well-maintained the whole place was. I had a bed in a 4-woman hut, which was basically the place to myself compared to some of the places I had been resting my head. The bar was clean, it was located in pleasant grounds and was altogether pretty delightful. I patted myself on the back for finding such a cracking place and strolled off to find the kitchen so I could prepare myself a well-balanced and nutritious meal that evening.

And then, I found the kitchen.

I have Googled to see if anyone else has shared any horror stories about the Bungalow Bay Koala Village kitchen (it's quite a specific Google search), but looks like it's just me. Time's inevitable passage has slightly dulled the memory of quite how hideous it was, but I seem to remember it involved copious ants, and fridges that performed the function of a gastropub kitchen warming cabinet. I resolved to eat at the hostel bar that night. Come to think of it, they obviously kept the kitchen at a minimum level of crappiness so that people would turn on their heels and get their dinner from the bar. Genius!

To while away the time before it was an acceptable hour to eat, I went for a swim in Horseshoe Bay in the ubiquitous stinger nets, and then apparently made friends with some nice Swedish girls and two Scots, Nat and Pam, during Coconut Bowling in the hostel bar. This is all according to my diary and the photos I have dug out from Facebook - and I do have a hazy memory of chucking coconuts down a skittle alley. However, I have no recollection of taking anyone out with my inaccurate aim, which means I actually managed to bowl in a vaguely straight line, or that I am losing my grip on reality entirely.

The next day, I was booked onto 'Breakfast with the Koalas', an experience involving Bucks Fizz and an unremarkable breakfast, but a lovely tour around the animal sanctuary on-site. Here's a picture of me feeding a cockatoo a cracker with my mouth. I was obviously more daring in those days.

"Who's a pretty boy then?"

I skipped paying the additional $18 to hold a koala and have my photo taken, as I was vaguely attempting to stick to a budget, and once breakfasted decided to go and check out the Forts Walk, which takes in the former Royal Australian Navy artillery battery and several beautiful bays. I remember wandering around for several hours, trying to spot wild koalas but not seeing another soul. There were signs dotted about the place that called for vigilance lest one should encounter a death adder - I walked swiftly on, taking photos and eventually getting too tired to bother koala / death adder hunting any further, and met Nat and Pam for dinner that night. Another hazy one - I think we just drank a lot of beer and chatted bollocks for a few hours prior to bed, which is usually how these things go.

Beautiful Magnetic Island - one of the bays!

Well readers, that's about it for Magnetic Island - I'm attempting short-ish blog posts for the 'easy win' factor. Next time, we venture to The Whitsundays! And who knows, by then I might have won a Nobel Prize and mothered several children. Maybe.

Mission Jellyfish

In the spirit of actually getting this done before I reach 40 and ensuring some sort of readership, I am going to attempt more bite sized entries from now on. Here's one of them.

So, where did I leave us last? Ah, the Jackaroo. Well, it was a genuine delight. A central wooden open decking area, which housed the kitchen and common areas, led to large, airy (-ish) rooms with bunks and mosquito-resistant mesh over the windows. Showers were downstairs, which nobody minded because it was pretty much unoccupied, and the place was just perfect for a few days' doing of nothing. Just writing this, almost a year ago (shame on me, when fellow traveller Hannah Sturdy has been so diligent at blogging) since I was in Queensland, has relit several memories. Not of specific events per se, but of how hot the sun and humid air felt on my skin, the huge swollen bites on my legs, getting a cold beer from the fridge and tasting it turning warm within 60 seconds, sitting on the plane from Sydney to Cairns looking down at the arid landscape below and wondering how anyone inland survived, looking across the balcony at the Jackaroo to the dense canopy of trees in the valley and enjoying, not for the first time, a huge private grin spread across my face and thinking 'Yeah, this is why you are here.'

Anyway, back to the meat of the blog: the facts. Other than sitting around the pool chatting to my new pal Kate, I passed the time drinking beer and attending a quiz night down at the local bar with the Jackaroo staff (with hilarious, though not entirely encouraging, results). At one point, Kate and I took a hugely adventurous leap from our usual post by the pool and hauled our bodies onto Mission Beach itself. After a record two minutes sunbathing (I don't sunbathe for reasons I am sure I have gone into already) I went for a swim in the designated stinger net area, where I struck up a conversation with a local man who wouldn't have been out of place at Dale Winton's tanning salon, judging by the colour of his skin. 

I should probably explain to the uninitiated that a stinger net area is a box of roughly 20 x 20m from the shore into the sea, which is cordoned off by nets that Irukandji, box and other hideous and highly poisonous jellyfish are unable, in theory, to get through. As I was steaming towards the edge, this chap piped up and warned me not to stray that far. Quite sensible advice really considering the likelihood of the huge numbers of jellyfish stuck on the nets but me being two sandwiches short of a decent picnic I hadn't thought that through, so I like to think he potentially saved my life.
He told me about the high cost of living in Australia (pretty obvious by that point), what to see in regards to the local area (Tropical Island) and how cheap dental work was in Thailand (very, by all acconts), as he flashed me an impressive set of pearly whites, which contrasted in quite a vulgar fashion with his skin tone. He seemed like a genuinely lovely man, but I couldn't help thinking that he may have been after more than just dental work in Thailand. We discussed the Thai sex industry in detail without me actually discovering whether he indulged, as British politeness and reserve took hold. Curiosity unquenched, I left the water and had my customary one minute 'drying off' sunbathe under a towel and sarong, became bored very quickly and hopped back into the 'town' (read: strip of three shops) to get the bus back. I agreed to meet Kate at a cafe and while I waited, ordered a giant ice cream float to replenish myself after my near death experience.

I ended my Mission Beach stay with an impromptu fishing trip, an adventure fraught with danger around every turn, as we were once again in a prime location all manner of sea dwelling nasties looking for a good place to shove a poisoned spine. Happily, we got away with it. The evening was passed in the following way: the boys fished and drank beer, while the girls only drank beer but looked on as fish were caught at a marginal success rate then returned gently back into the sea.

This worked really well until, 4 bottles down, I kept having to run to the beach end of the pier we were on to wee. Apologies for oversharing, but I couldn't stop – God knows what was in those beers but it was the most powerful diuretic I've ever experienced. Allie, my fellow woman-type, was having the same issues, and we laughed as we tag-teamed our way back and forth along the pier, warning each other which bits of sand to avoid. Ah, the fond memories created between backpackers - I hope Allie remembers this with the same nostalgic glow. 

I was sad to leave the relative quiet of the Jackaroo and all the subsequent fun of over-urination, but the next morning I had to get going – my time in Australia was pretty much limited by budget and my Greyhound bus ticket, as I was one of about two other people I met who were just travelling and not planning on working there.
On the way to the bus stop, I was surprised and excited, as a huge Southern cassowary stepped out in front of us, like something from The Land Before Time. If you have never seen or heard of a cassowary, let me elaborate for you:

They're big buggers, found in Australia and Papua New Guinea, with a dagger like claw on their inner toes that can be used to devastating effect if you get them moody. Fortunately, we were in the car should the cassowary have suddenly decided to take a dislike to us.
Unfortunately, my replacement camera was located in the bottom of my day pack, which was in the boot of the van. Such is life.