PREFACE AND INTRODUCTION - SYDNEY

PREFACE

I have been reliably informed by my parents that back in their day there was no such thing as a 'gap year'. But then, back in their day there was no such thing as the internet, inflatable furniture or rotating washing lines. Do we really want to go back to such a primitive age? In fact, when they were growing up smoking was being promoted as 'good for your health' and doctors actively encouraged parents to feed their new-born children whiskey in order to help them sleep. Of course though, the damage caused by this is laughable compared to the sinful delaying tactics used by gap year students in order to try and avoid the inevitable, harsh realities proposed by the working world. Perhaps they are right - after all, as a very wise man once said "the youth of today now love luxury; they have bad manners, contempt for authority; they allow disrespect for elders and love chatter in place of exercise. They now are tyrants." And who was this wise man? The great Socrates in 400BC. My point is that the youth generation have always been criticized for the changes they make to society and gap years are merely the latest victim. Unfortunately, the term is used so loosely that its merits will always be up for debate and I doubt whether a universal conclusion will ever be reached. Are they a waste of time or do they provide an essential tool in young adult development? For me it was definitely the latter as I did not see it as an excuse to avoid work but instead a rare opportunity experience a diverse culture, enjoy a proud heritage and search for acceptance. But I am not here to preach - I am here to tell you about my adventure and then hopefully you can make your own mind up. This is Bonza Voyage - the story of my gap year in Australia.

INTRODUCTION

Why do they call it 'culture shock'? You see, to me this seems to suggest that upon contracting it you will cower in the nearest corner, grab your ears for dear life and then rock uncontrollably back and forth. As I stood in the centre of Sydney on this first night though, nothing dramatic like that really happened. It was unfamiliar of course, but this was just a minor concern compared to my overpowering sense of excitement. I was a 19 year old, as far away from my family and friends as is physically possible with the exception of New Zealand or The Moon. That thought alone should have been enough to shock me, but I suppose naivety has its advantages after all. Even at this early stage though, it hadn’t been a completely easy ride. In fact, as the flight began its descent towards the antipodean tarmac, I positively hated the place. The reason for this was twofold: firstly, upon seeing the seatbelt sign illuminate each of the air stewards on the flight suspiciously made their way to a room at the back of the aircraft. Not only was this slightly disconcerting, but they very rudely evaded my enquiry concerning the possibility of acquiring another glass of ale. To the shock of the passengers surrounding me, they then emerged wearing what can I only be described as primitive, fabric gas masks – but gas masks nonetheless – and armed to the teeth with canisters of a somewhat sinister looking substance. Now, I am no flying expert but this twist was slightly unexpected to say the least. I mean, I knew I was a quite sweaty but taking industrial action against me seemed a little extreme. After all, I had been under the impression that the seatbelt sign was a safety measure designed for your own well being, not a devilishly, sophisticated snare to restrict tourists’ protests as they were disinfected against their will. The steward’s claim that the gas was ‘in no way dangerous’ seemed ever so slightly ironic coming from a man wearing a highly cautious and protective mask. It’s like a man in a space suit bearing a skull-and-crossbones badge dunking a uranium rod in your tea and telling you to drink up before it gets cold. So I was angry at Australia for this and we hadn’t even touched ground yet. Nevertheless, being a calm sort of person and since the on-board entertainment had been turned off, I tried to distract my attention and duly reached into my bag for some light reading. Prior to departure my mother had collected a couple of newspaper cuttings concerning Australia she thought I might find interesting. Now, if you can, please try to imagine my expression when, coughing violently having just been sprayed by some kind of mystery potion I read the headline ‘Croc show’s off man’s body to friends’. Basically I had flown twenty-six hours to a country where they clean you up like a salad before throwing you to a very cruel death. What a marvellous place......

.......Having arrived at our sixty-eighth pedestrian crossing, I was feeling more than confident about my traffic dodging capabilities and majestically swept between a Mercedes and white taxi without breaking sweat. On this occasion though, this feeling of success was short lived for above my head, I suddenly heard a loud ‘whooshing’ noise. I couldn’t tell what exactly it was - but it was obviously moving towards me at very high speed as the ground beneath my feet began to vibrate. I tilted my head very cautiously, but at exactly the wrong moment and duly received a face full of ice cold, muddy water. This was my introduction to The Sydney Monorail - the flying car that explores the city at a leisurely pace and, when it’s been raining, flushes gallons of water off its tracks onto unsuspecting victims. An event so hilariously unsubtle in its execution, it caused a homeless man to stop playing his recorder in order to have a quick chuckle at my misfortune. He soon realized however that we may be a good source of potential income so got straight back to playing his instrument in attempt to woo us with his charm. The wretched sound was simply awful. Next to him though, there was a sign next to him saying ‘At least I’m giving it go!’ That alone was worth fifty cents for its comedy value, although I would immediately regret the decision as this provided him with far more enthusiasm and, as a result, volume.

We rounded another stone pillar, hopeful that it would prove to be our final obstruction. It was. I was now standing in a glorious postcard facing a remarkable scene that every human recognises, but very few had actually experienced in the flesh. Like meeting a famous person, I felt so strangely familiar with the situation yet curiously lost. Lost for words certainly, as I stood back and absorbed the immense magnitude of the view in front of my eyes. Is it the finest known to man? It is undoubtedly spectacular and truly ranks highly in the ‘breathtaking’ awards. The date was January 27^th and it suddenly hit me that I was standing in the exact sport where Australian civilization began some 226 years and 1 day ago. Of course Port Jackson has changed a lot since then and it was hard to imagine how it would’ve looked for the 750 or so prisoners as they jumped off their lime infested boat. I imagine if Britain were to send another ship full of convicts now, they would simply dance as they realized what fate had so kindly dished out to them. I was standing in Circular Quay surrounded by lively street bars and restaurants, looking at Sydney Opera House and The Harbour Bridge lighting up the night sky in all their angelic glory. With the exception of riding across the outback on a kangaroo whilst wearing a large cork hat and drinking a schooner of 'Fosters', it there anything that says 'I'm in Australia!' more? Not as far as I’m concerned and at that moment it hit me, I had done it, it had begun, I had made it to Australia.

CHAPTER 21 - FRASER ISLAND PART 2

Its face was half illuminated in the fire light, as it sat there staring into his eyes. Because of the singing, we hadn’t heard it sneak into the camp and, looking at its dirty face, go through our bin. We all sat in complete silence, staring back and wondering what it would do. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it turned and disappeared into the night. Nervously laughing about the situation, we all returned to our tents quite quickly and zipped them firmly shut.

 

Throughout the night we were kept awake by savaging dingoes surrounding our camp. It sounded like there were hundreds of them and at one point I was convinced they had developed the dexterity to open the zip and so grasped my pocket knife ready for a fight. As the sun breached the horizon, the noises ceased allowing me to venture out and inspect the damage. The camp was a mess as all the bins had been ripped to shreds by the wild dogs, allowing the rubbish to flutter into the surrounding forest. The humidity had increased dramatically leaving me feeling sweaty. Nobody else was awake at this point so I grabbed my towel and ventured across the beach to the shark infested water for a little wash. Luckily, there was no traffic on the road and I was able to cross without any problems before stripping off completely and diving into the refreshing water. This may seem like a  slightly crazy idea, indeed you may be asking yourself why the men in white coats hadn’t arrived to take me away before this point, but I just wanted to embrace this moment in touch with nature. So far I had camped, eaten lots of meet and built a fire – the next logical step was to go skinny dipping. Plus, I calculated that if a shark was going to be big enough to take me, it would need water deeper than a metre to swim in. At least I hoped. As I had imagined, the feeling was completely liberating and separated me totally from the stresses encountered in the modern world. I say - forget about going to university, earning money and getting a mortgage – just strip off and go jump in the sea! Thankfully the waves had lost a lot of their enthusiasm, becoming relatively gentle and allowing me to swim parallel to the shore without much hassle. Unfortunately though, the moment must have grabbed me slightly too much as I heard the imminent roar produced by a 4x4 convoy motoring in my direction. Suddenly very aware of my naked state, I frantically clawed my way to the beach looking for my towel. It then became apparent that the moment had really taken me and I had in fact swum quite a distance along the beach. In doing so, I had lost my towel and, with it, my dignity. It was too late now though, the chance to save myself had passed – I was now merely an incredibly white naked man, covered in goose pimples, parading in front of a mass of traffic. They beeped a lot. One person may have even shouted ‘it must be quite cold mate’. Either way, my embarrassment had been sealed.

 

Upon returning to the camp, most of the other guys had arisen and were beginning to pack the kit away. ‘You look really tired mate. Dingoes keep you awake?’ I said noticing Tim’s drained look

‘No they bloody didn’t – it was this idiot’ he said pointing to his close friend Dave ‘he was so scared they were going to break into the tent that he sat hugging me for the entire night’

‘Well you did say you liked a little cuddle’ I remarked

‘True. But not from him – plus I was bursting for the toilet this morning because this git wouldn’t let me go in the night – he said the dogs might ‘get him’. What a women’

‘They might’ve though’ Dave said in defence

‘Sure mate, and then what would they have done?’

‘Don’t know…licked my face or something I suppose.’

.So you didn’t let me go for a piss because you were scared a dog was  going to lick your face? Fan bloody tastic’.

Tim, Ryan and Dave decided to go off and explore the island on their own during the day, although we all agreed to meet up again for camp in the evening. Having spoken to Jimmy in the Whitsundays, I was anxious to venture inland and experience the fresh water lakes dotted across the island. By far the most beautiful and most notorious is Lake Mackenzie but we had been assured that the adrenaline junkies amongst us would really thrive at Lake Wabby. So that’s where we went first of all with the intention of enjoying Mackenzie on the return journey. However, upon arrival we realised our day was going to be filled simply getting to Lake Wabby.

 

Having parked the car we wondered into the wilderness, following the sign post which suggested the lake was a mere 1.8km away. Now you must understand that, under normal conditions and on a tarmac road, this would no be an issue. Indeed, for the first few hundred metres which was on solid ground, this distance seemed like a relatively straight forward task. And then it hit us. As I rounded a bend, I saw one of the most beautiful sights known to man – and one of the most demoralising. Stretching out in front of us were hills and valleys of beautiful rolling sand dunes. Illuminated in the strong midday sun, with the wind causing a gentle shiver across the surface, it looked like an infinite field of golden corn moving gracefully in the breeze. But the thought of having to cross it with the sun beating down from the zenith was one of utter despair. Chatting to the others, we agreed that Lake Wabby (from all the anecdotes we had heard) would be worth the effort however, and so set off on foot to cross The Sahara. After approximately 30 seconds I had enough sand in my shoes to build a beach in Dubai  so I took them off and threw them into the paralysing bag upon my shoulder. The sand was scorching on my feet but this only made me walk faster thankfully.  A long time seemed to pass in those dunes, but eventually the lake came into view submerged at the bottom of a huge hill side. You see, this was the appeal of Lake Wabby – it was surrounded by some of the steepest dunes on Fraser Island, making it fantastically fun. Immediately, through a combination of relief and exhaustion, I collapsed at the top of the largest dune, turned onto my side and let gravity do its job. The thrill was incredible as I gained momentum, my turns increasing in frequency as the water at the bottom got closer and closer. By the time I reached it, I had lost all sense of spatial awareness – I may have been half way down the slope, or still near the top, I simply had no idea. But then the spinning stopped and my body was engulfed by clear, fresh water all around. It was cold - really cold. As I scrabbled around to the surface in order to gain my balance, my dizziness set in causing me to tumble backwards into the water again. Eventually I managed to gain my footing and emerged from the water. It was then that I realised, for the second time that day, I had been caught with my shorts down – quite literally. Still, we all had a good laugh. Lake Wabby was a sublime place to have fun. Throughout the entire afternoon, we devised different games to play in and around the lake. Obviously most (if not all), involved some kind of rolling, running or sliding down the huge slopes into the beautiful water below. Someone even managed to successfully ride the dunes on a surf board – unfortunately the front of the board dug into the dune at the bottom and sent him belly flopping into the lake. Everything followed the same pattern of gaining great speed down the slope before launching ones body into the water. But this giant sandpit was bloody brilliant and the perfect way to release your inner child who has been suppressed for years under the immense strain of the western world.

 

Forgetting about the monstrous trek back, we thoroughly exhausted all our energy. Consequently, the hike back to the truck was even more daunting. When we eventually made it, the day was coming to a premature close, leaving no time to explore Lake Mackenzie. Instead, we headed inland towards the central station campsite. Having had our night in the extreme wilderness, it was a relief to see a shower and toilet block, alongside some gas barbeques. Luckily, we met the other two 4x4s by chance and followed them to our designated plot of land. I found the tent much easier to construct on this occasion and even had time to laugh at the German Princess who was shouting with frustration at her new spouse as he struggled to peg down their guide ropes. It was difficult to tell how long it had been since the toilet block was last cleaned, but needless to say it wasn’t during this century. Nevertheless, it was nice to finally have some warm, running water and even more satisfying to get rid of the sand between my toes. The 9pm curfew on the campsite made for quite a peaceful setting as darkness set in and Ryan got another blazing fire going. Compared to the previous night, this one was rather subdued as we sat around discussing favourite childhood TV programs and commenting on the unnaturally large size of the steroid loving ants dashing around our fire. Two German girls from the camp next door came and sat with us, bringing beer as a present as we gave them a jacket potato in return. Although nothing really eventful occurred, it was just nice to be a part of this somewhat old-fashioned but ultimately superior society.

 

There were no dingoes that night, but the ground was so uncomfortable I failed to sleep once again. My frustration and anger soon evaporated though when I got out of the tent and saw that Eva had risen early and bought Emma and myself an ice cream. She was so lovely and quickly becoming a very dependent mother figure. Emma, not surprisingly, was fast asleep in the tent. She didn’t appreciate me jumping on her at all, but soon changed her mind when she spied an ice cream coming her way. Our craving for sugar satisfied, we packed up camp in super quick time in order to make the most of our time at Lake Mackenzie before catching the ferry back to Hervey Bay. I felt sorry for Tom as the inland driving was proving very challenging along the tracks leading to the lakes, causing stress levels to rise slightly. It was times like these that I was actually relieved not to be insured. Eventually, the track simply weathered away leaving us defeated. Not to be outdone though, we grabbed the cricket stuff and marched purposely through the wilderness towards the lake. And there it was. Through a gap in the trees, there was a sudden sparkle like a diamond glistening in the sun light. As we drew closer, I realised that it was the crystal smooth water of Lake Mackenzie lying flat on a bed of pure white sand. Having seen Jimmy’s photos in the Whitsundays, I recognised the unique lake but was not prepared for its sheer extravagance. The elegant sand was reminiscent of that at Whitehaven Beach and created a beach about 20 metres in width. Enclosing the entire space was dense vegetation consisting of a variety of Gum Trees and encapsulating the scene in a landscape of its own. In doing so, it ensured that nothing escaped the eye and all the intricate details remained captured in this small space. The most dominating feature however was the lake itself and the mixture of colours it incorporated into the inviting waters. A clear, turquoise blue surrounding the shore, the water suddenly dissolves into a dark navy about ten metres out, the border between the two so sharp it gives the lake the appearance of an exotic cocktail. Standing at the beach’s edge, the others walked on to set up the cricket where as I just stared and amazement – this scene was a defining moment for my year abroad and truly signified the unique diversity Australia has to offer. Just as Jimmy had said, I dived straight into the water and felt like I could drink every drop. It was pure and free from salt so there were no extreme bouts of choking or intense eye irritation. It was simply clean, fresh and exhilarating. We continued the theme from Lake Wabby, jumping around like children, splashing each other and occasionally dunking our heads under the water. Thankfully I didn’t expose myself this time. Having such a large height and weight advantage, I ran across to Emma and, with the help of Tim, threw her elegantly through the sky, landing in the lake with massive splash of water. I suppose looking back that this was the great appeal of Fraser Island – its detachment from the main land meant a subconscious extrication from the mental responsibilities associated with it. On the island, the mask of maturity could be taken off without critical peer judgement and life could simply be enjoyed. This was of course a unique place because of its special, natural beauty, but its spiritual effect on individuals was deep and created a microcosm of pure enjoyment.

 

We spent the remainder of the day playing cricket on the beach, involving everyone we could find. It was a truly fantastic experience, one which I didn’t want to end. As I approached a group of young women to invite them to join in with the game, I noticed that one of them was Cory – the Canadian marine biologist Emma and I had met in the Whitsundays. This only went to increase the pleasure of this wonderful day as we caught up and shared stories concerning the island. Apparently she had been lucky enough to see some dolphins off the coast early the previous morning – right about the time that I was running along the beach naked frantically searching for my towel. I’m not sure my story was quite as impressive. Without warning, the sun went below the tree line and departed, taking with it our last few remaining moments on K’gari. The others returned to the 4x4s but I stayed behind, just for a few seconds, to take in the wonderful scene for a few more moments. But no time was long enough. Back in Hervey Bay that evening, all the group together, we hugged, exchanged e-mail addresses. We had all shared such an enlightening and enjoyable experience together and now it was time to go our separate ways. 

CHAPTER 21 - FRASER ISLAND PART 1

(For this first post, I have decided not to take a sample of the first chapter but one right in the middle of the book. This may seem rather random and slightly illogical, maybe even idiotic, but I like this chapter and thought it would make a nice opening. In a pathetic attempt to keep up suspense I have only put half the chapter on for now - the rest will appear next week. After that however, the chapters will appear is something that resembles a structured order. Please enjoy)

As our boat pulled away from the harbour, I looked down at all the 4x4s on the deck and wondered just what was in store. We could see Fraser Island from the shoreline, but for some reason it portrayed a sense of remoteness entwined with adventure. I felt like an alpine pioneer, battling my wits against the vicious wrath of nature and hoping to make discoveries which would change all perceptions of the Earth. Behind us, Hervey Bay faded into the distance and almost immediately out of memory. We had arrived a couple of days earlier, having completed a 13 hour overnight trip from Airlie Beach. This seemed logical as it saved money on an extra night’s accommodation and meant we could afford to participate in the ‘all-you-can-eat’ pizza challenge at the Palace Hostel. Having arrived early that morning I was exhausted and in need of a power-nap, Emma on the other hand – a girl who could sleep through a ‘Stomp’ concert, was positively glowing at the thought of exploring a new town. The hostel was lovely, probably the nicest so far and set out much like a mini-hotel you would find along the Spanish coast. With pure white wash walls, it was divided into a number of quaint small flats each containing a couple of bathrooms, lounge and kitchen. The rooms were kept immaculately clean, even incorporating a lovely little balcony. After a quick energizing sleep, I took to the street to find Emma and explore the town. What I found was a rather disappointingly, quiet seaside resort, hiding in the shadow of the famous island just a short boat ride away. Don’t get me wrong, it was clean and tidy but seemed to lack any kind of personality. There were advertising hoardings everywhere, but instead of boasting about itself, they all focused on the attractions Fraser Island. It seemed strange to me that a place would focus all their attention trying to get tourists to go somewhere else. The bungalows lining the street were all similar in style, each surrounded by its own pristine garden and competing with each other to see who could fit the most garden gnomes onto their small patch of suburban land. I caught up with Emma

‘God, this place is a little dire isn’t it? Can’t imagine there’s much to do at night around these parts at night’ I said. Looking around at the small esplanade, it seemed strange that almost all the shops appeared to be closed ‘Or during the day it seems’ I added.

‘I’ve just been down to the beach’ replied Emma ‘it’s got that horrible sticky sand on it. It’s all over my feet and I can’t get it off”

Well, this really did put the nail in the coffin as far as Hervey Bay was concerned – not only was there nothing to do, but its beach was also smothered in ‘sticky’ sand. There was no way back I’m afraid. So we filtered away the next few days visiting the shopping mall and as it was ‘tight-arse Tuesday’, watching cheap films at the local cinema. As we strolled back through the dark, lifeless streets having just seen a particularly gory war film (my choice surprisingly!), we discussed the sportsmanship associated with war

‘I don’t think they could have done that in real life, I mean, it would have breached the Geneva Convention’ I said sarcastically, referring to particularly horrible part of the film in which someone was tortured brutally

‘The what?’ Emma replied

‘Didn’t you know? Apparently prisoners of war have rights – you can’t treat them too bad at all, otherwise you’ll be in trouble. I mean, it is a war so you can go around dropping bombs wherever you like but god, if you don’t provide a prisoner with a cup of tea and a Bakewell tart every afternoon then you better watch out’

We had laughed about how ludicrously pointless these laws were all the way home before getting our heads down and preparing for the next few days of camp.

I went back to our truck on the deck of the Ferry and started chatting to the group we had been put with. There were seven of us in total – 5 Irish and then Emma and I. Much to my disappointment, the eldest of the 2 – a couple named Eva and Tom – had been designated as the drivers due to their ‘maturity’. Not that I was jealous you understand. The other 3 Irish girls were from Kilkenny and to this day I’m still not sure exactly what their names were. It wasn’t because we didn’t talk, in fact we talked quite a lot, it was simply because when the spoke I couldn’t understand a single word coming from their mouths. It was like having a conversation with someone who spoke Hungarian and as a result, I found myself using the exaggerated hand gestures I had perfected whilst talking to the Israelis in order to communicate. With map in hand, I jumped into the passenger seat and helped Tom plan a route around the island. In our particular tour, there were 2 other 4x4s travelling, carrying groups of young English lads, a few mildly eccentric Germans, some Canadians and a Norwegian. Having consulted with them and shown Tom the route they were taking, we decided it would be sensible if we all stuck together, at least for the first day. I took out the safety guide book we had been given and decided to read a little about Fraser Island and the general etiquette expected on it.

The island was originally named K’gari by the Butchulla people, which actually means ‘paradise’. According to legend, the island was formed from the goddess K’gari, a messenger from God, who had fallen in love with the beauty of Earth. In order to allow her to stay, she was transformed into a heavenly island of pure beauty. However, since the westernisation of Australia, many original Aboriginal names have been changed into more practical but slightly less imaginative ones. Captain Cook initially noted the island in 1770, giving it the name ‘Indian Head’ having spotted a number of natives inhabiting the land. In 1836 this was changed to ‘Fraser Island’ following the extraordinary survival of Eliza Fraser who lived on the island having been shipwrecked for about 6 months. Following this, attention grew towards the island and it soon built itself up as an incredible tourist attraction due to its wondrous natural beauty, emphasised by the numerous fresh water lakes and exceptional forest. Stretching over 123km in length and covering a staggering 184, 000 hectares, it is the largest sand island in the world and the only one in which rainforest vegetation reaches over 200m high. Within the majestic, sweeping sand dunes, the island hides away over 100 fresh water lakes each enclosed by beautiful white sand as crystal clear creeks run throughout the complex, dense vegetation. According to this safety guide, the immense sand blows act as fossilized secrets from the past, providing the oldest age sequence of any dunes throughout the world. It was therefore declared as a World Heritage site in 1992, thus explaining the vast numbers of pedantic laws being quoted throughout the guide I was reading. Two arrest-able offences that captured my attention in particular were ‘burning wood from the ground’ and ‘interacting with dingoes’. However, it wasn’t so much the laws themselves that intrigued me but the wording. For example, ‘interacting’ seems like a very interesting word to use when talking about a human and a wild animal. I mean, for me the word ‘interacting’ sparks up images of some sort of conversation - are there humans and wild dogs out there having fierce political debates? Or does it just mean ‘heavy petting’? Either way, I couldn’t see any of these situations arising. At least, I severely hoped not. Also, why couldn’t we burn wood from the ground? I’m sorry, but surely phrasing something like that is only encouraging deforestation:

‘Shall we burn this old, rotten driftwood I’ve found on the ground Bill?’

‘Are you absolutely crazy Jim?! Have you not read the Fraser Island environmental guide?’

‘No sorry Bill, what does it say?’

‘You can’t burn wood from the ground you crazy boy. Here’s a chainsaw, go chop down that tree instead’

I couldn’t really make much sense of this, but I put it down to the eccentricity of the Queenslander and concentrated on the adventure ahead.

Having arrived on island, we made our way in convoy into the dense forest. After a few hundred metres, we came across a little shop with all the essentials you could ever need. The roads were smothered in tarmac and, to be honest, it all seemed pretty easy going. I think god was reading me mind however, as when we turned the next corner, we were faced with the road ahead. I say road but really it was a deep sand track, hugged on either side by thick vegetation which stooped across, blocking our field of view. The main highway was on the opposite side of the island and this was the only route to it, so we had little choice. Besides, this was the name of the game and the whole reason you embark on a 4x4 safari. Tom looked worried, so we pulled over and released some air from the tyres in order to increase their surface area and provide some much needed grip on the frictionless sand. Approaching slowly, we entered the dark tunnel and left all signs of daylight behind. The track was littered with deep potholes, causing the truck oscillate vertically in a sporadic fashion. This was worse - far worse - than being back on Blue Thunder and heading out into the stormy Pacific. I could see Emma’s face changing to a pale shade of green. With each bump being exaggerated by the seemingly non-existent suspension, I wasn’t feeling too great either and neither were the girls from Kilkenny. Then all of a sudden we stopped. It was relieving to have a break from the never ending rollercoaster but worrying as to why we had come to such an abrupt halt. I jumped out the back and ran round to the front of the truck to join Tom who was looking concerned.

‘What’s up mate? You look worried’ I said noticing his confused gaze

‘The road seems to have stopped. There’s nothing up ahead at all’ he replied, pointing to a huge shrub which was standing in our way.

He was right, the road seemed to have come to a sudden end. As the other drivers from the two trucks following came to join, I suddenly heard a massive roar coming from the other side of the thick shrubbery. But it was not from an animal. It was an ongoing destructive noise – one that gave an impression of sheer power and dominance. It was the sound of millions of gallons of water falling through the sky and crushing the ground below into oblivion. The others hadn’t seemed to notice as they retrieved the maps, discussing whether we should turn around and take another route. I began walking towards the shrub, approaching the noise as it grew louder and more prominent. I reached out, grabbing the braches and to my shock it moved aside. Old and rotten, it had simply fallen across the track blocking the view in front. As it moved from my view, the vegetation cleared on either side to reveal the source of the noise. In front of me was the sandy beach and bombarding it was some of the most gigantic waves I have ever seen. Natures symbol of pure explosive brilliance, they broke on the beach with such power it caused the ground to shudder slightly. The beach was long and there was still about fifty or sixty metres between myself and the way so I decided to try and get closer to investigate. But as I walked out from between two sand dunes I go a shock. ZZHUMMMMM! That was the sound they made as the Doppler Effect kicked in and the first of many trucks sped past my position at high speed. I had completely forgotten, but during our briefing we had been explained about the beach. We were looking for the highway and here it was. You see, on Fraser Island the main road is the beach. I had completely forgotten and nearly got myself a face full of truck because of it. I looked left, facing north and saw a seemingly endless beach reaching the horizon, about fifty metres in width with hundreds of 4x4s zooming along it at high speed. It was a fascinating sight. I suppose it’s only logical if you have 75 miles stretch of beach to use it wisely – I mean, why waste the natural habitat, time and money building a motorway when there is a perfectly good natural one already in place? Well, I say ‘perfectly good’ but it didn’t exactly have any road markings, speed limits and periodically disappeared completely with the tide, but apart from that it was great. Anyway, those things only go to hinder the fun possibilities we could have on major roads in the western world so I was rather chuffed. I could never see this concept ever being envisaged in England, but that was the point, this wasn’t England, it was a country that knew how to use its natural resources to its advantage. Or maybe it’s just a country full of nutters, either way I was looking forward to getting on the open road. Sorry, I mean beach.

With the tide dictating our plans, we decided to use the time available and head north up the beach towards the The Champagne Pools on the north east part of the island. It was a strange sensation speeding along the beach, watching the waves break perpendicular to our motion. Occasionally we would pass the odd fisherman casting in from the sand. I always thoughts fishing was supposed to be a relaxing sport but I can’t imagine it was very stress free doing it in the middle of a freeway. The beach was littered with mini streams running from the dense forest down into the ocean, some of which had caused quite deep erosion on the beach. This somewhat hindered our progress and made for a rather frustrating journey which was constantly stopping and starting. In that respect, it was like driving in London. But that is where the similarities end. The sense of freedom was overwhelming. Looking at the open beach ahead and the power blue sea on our right, I knew I was part of something unique. As we rounded a corner, our speed slowly increasing having just navigated another little stream, something large and dark appeared on the horizon. As we grew closer, we noticed a number of vans parked and stop around it noticing that it was blocking a large portion of the beach.

‘What the hell is that?’ I said leaning forward to ask Tom and Eva in the front.

‘No idea, I think it might be that shipwreck though’ Tom replied

‘Shipwreck? In the middle of the road? This place just gets more unique by the second” I said reaching for the guide book. If there was a large shipwreck, I was sure it would be in there. And it was. Approaching the wreck with the massive hull half buried, half sticking out into the air, the sheer size soon became apparent. At 400ft long, The Maheno was a luxury liner completed in 1905 for fast travel between Wellington and Sydney. Having recorded the fastest crossing between the two, it was given prestigious status and treated as a national treasure. It then went on to complete a stint of national service during the First World War however, The Maheno found herself being replaced by ships with far superior technological advances. In 1935 she was decommissioned and sold to a Japanese firm to be used as scrap metal. Ironically though, it would be the journey to Japan that would see The Maheno scrapped. Perhaps determined for a noble death - dying what she loved doing - the vessel ran into trouble during the final voyage en route to face the firing squad. In cyclone like conditions, the tug rope broke and she was washed ashore on the east beach of Fraser Island. By looking at the crowd of tourists surrounding the ship however, it appeared her popularity has increased dramatically in death. By inadvertently avoiding such an undignified end in such dramatic circumstances, the ship had cemented it’s named throughout history. And here we were, enjoying that splendid piece history in front of our very eyes. As we walked around the huge wreck, watching the sea and beach slowly chip away at its foundations, I felt emotional. To think that this ship had conquered so many great feats and had played a part in winning the First World War was incredible. Although it was a wreck, the ship’s glorious past somehow shone through as it sat in front of me with a unique sense of pride. For me, it simply symbolized the indestructible nature of the human spirit in the fight against evil. Even now, 100 years on since its construction and 60 since it was sentenced to death, The Maheno still survived, more prominent than ever.

Having completed our photo session, we jumped straight back into the truck and continued north along the beach. The traffic was getting far denser and we found ourselves swerving in and out of slower vehicles at high speed. There didn’t appear to be any kind of rules on which side you should pass or any visible lanes – it was like the start of whacky races with every vehicle doing whatever the hell it wanted. As we ate up the miles, I continued to read on through my fascinating guidebook discovering the wonderful secrets this island had to offer. Eventually though I started to feel a little ill from reading and travelling so put the book away. Everyone seemed quite tired now so conversation was down to a minimum. Instead, I put my face up against the window and peered aimlessly into the breaking waves. It then struck me that I had seen no bathers or surfers in the ocean which seemed strange, especially with brilliant high waves like the ones I was staring at. Yet again, I found myself clawing for my guidebook which was now lying on the floor having been shaken from my bag during a particularly large bump. However, I couldn’t really find much information about the beach and was just about to give up searching when my eyes were drawn towards the nature section. Suddenly everything became clear – the reason no one was even going anywhere near the sea was because that this particular section of ocean was a huge Tiger Shark breeding area. So, the ferocious nature of Australia’s wildlife had struck again. It was slightly gutting as I was imaging myself waking up by the campfire and running down to the beach for a picturesque, morning, refreshing swim. I was just thankful I had read this information before embarking on such a trip as it may have been my last.

By the time we arrived at the headland protecting the Champagne Pools, the sun was beginning its descent. The sand beneath the car was also beginning to get a lot deeper and dry making driving conditions very difficult. As we pulled in to park, we saw a number of people having to dig themselves out of deep sand bunkers. There was a small track going inland connecting this north part of the east beach with the northern beach, effectively cutting down walking distance to the Champagne Pools by quite a substantial amount. However, we had been severely warned against attempting it during the briefing due to the unpredictable behaviour and pockets of sinking sand. Following this advice, we parked up and decided to walk the extra distance. Within minutes we were incredibly glad that we had. The track was quite wide, enough to fit two or three vehicles, with steep edges a vegetation lining the sides but not enough to stop the bright setting sunlight illuminating the golden pathway. Ironically, this beautiful setting made for a complete massacre of 4x4 trucks. They were littered throughout the entire path, half submerged with their inexperienced drivers flooring the accelerator in an attempt to get out the dire situation. I ran over to help a German couple and beckoned Emma to help me pull the vehicle out of its grave along with ten or so other volunteers.

‘What possible difference will I make?’ she said

‘Come on, you can anchor us at the back’ I said making a little joke

‘Oh, that’s a bit harsh’ came the reply, but not from Emma, it was a little guy standing just in front of me tugging the rope as well. I quickly noticed him as one of the drivers from a truck in our convoy ‘you wanna give him a slap for that love. No sex for you tonight hey mate?’ he said laughing to himself

‘Nah, we’re not going out mate. She’s all yours’ I replied and we both laughed. Emma punched me on the arm and looked only mildly impressed.

He told us his name was Tim and he was on a month holiday from England with a number of his friends. Emma and I both liked him straight away as his quick wittedness and natural humour caught our imagination. As we continued to try and pull this German couple out of the sand, there became a great sense or unity and team building within the group – after all, we didn’t even know this couple and here we were using all our energy to help them. If we had been driving along the motorway in Britain, would we have stopped to help them? I doubt it. But this was Australia, where everyone goes that extra step to help those in need. I suppose we had all been captured by the situation.

Having helped the Germans out, we continued to walk along the track and up a small hill towards the Champagne Pools. It was pure pain. You see, although sand dunes are idyllic to look at, to climb up them is exhausting beyond belief. It takes the will power and strength of an Olympic athlete, as the ground seems to constantly be giving away beneath your feet. My calves felt like they were going to burst. By this point, we had been joined by one of Tim’s friends, Ryan. He was tall, stocky and with short dark black hair although he always wore a baseball cap and spoke with a thick Canadian accent. It amazed me just how many Canadians I had already met during my Australian adventure, yet only 1 American. Anyway, as the sand dunes ground away our energy, Tim continued to keep our spirits high by telling some amusing anecdotes concerning his travels so far and how he’d been frustrated following our 4x4 for most of the day

‘That bloody Tom is a shit driver. Did you see him coming across the island? Might as well have been stationary he was going that slow. I was like ‘mate, get the hell out of the way and let me lead’. It was so frustrating. Bet you were frustrated sitting in the back?’ he said ranting to himself in his strong north London accent.

‘Listen to him – he’s been going on like this for the past five hours’ Ryan quickly jumped in apologising, but obviously seeing the funny side too

‘He seemed to be going quite quick to me. Mind you, I’ve got a 1 litre, 4 gears, 1989 Peugeot 205 at home so a sit-on-lawnmower seems fast to me’ I said, laughing at myself in the unique way English people do.

‘Ha-ha really?!’ said Tim ‘you must be looking forward to going for a bit of a razz in these 4x4s tomorrow then?’

‘Can’t. I couldn’t get insurance because I’m under 21’

‘Yeah, but surely Tom’ll let you have a sly drive?’

‘Nah, he said I couldn’t apparently’

‘Are you joking? Who cares if you’re not insured? There’s not exactly much to crash into around here! I tell you what, come with us tomorrow and I’ll let you take it for a little spin’

‘Cheers mate, that’d be sweet” I said as we finally turned onto the northern beach.

As soon as we did, I was sure that trying to drive across this part of the island was a huge mistake – one that a group of Irish lads had evidently learned the hard way. Their truck was upside down in the sand, wheels spinning like the legs of a capsized tortoise and debris scattered across the surrounding area. Seemingly oblivious to dire situation they were in, the owners of the smashed up vehicle were sitting around the car playing a guitar, each with a can of XXXX gripped in their palms.

‘What happened boy? You guys ok?’ I asked approaching them just as one of them cracked a particularly humorous joke, resulting in a burst of laughter.

‘Wha’s that boy? Ah thee truck – jus a spot ah bad luck. Nothin ta worry yaself about’ one of them said reaching for another a beer from the cool box they had managed to retrieve from the rubble. Examining the situation I noticed that, along with the guitar, that was the only thing they had retrieved! Well, I suppose it was important to get the essentials sorted.

The Champagne rock pools were rather enjoyable with some spectacular views across the ocean, but it was something I felt I could experience at most English seaside towns. In contrast, there was a rumour that whales and dolphins were usually visible from the top of the headland, but having hiked across the deep sand, Emma and I were rather tired and decided to enjoy the final piece of sun at sea level. When the others returned, we decided to head back down the east coast and find a nice spot on the beach to set up camp for the evening. After a little while, Tim went past us at unbelievable speed, obviously frustrated by Tom’s lack of adventurous driving. I was just happy not to be upside down like the Irish. About 30 minutes later we saw him take a sharp, erratic right turn in between 2 sand dunes, covered largely with marram grass blowing in the wind. We followed suit and found the others unpacking their camping gear in a lovely little circular camping spot, protected from the fierce costal winds by dunes on one side and dense forest on the other. With daylight reducing quickly and having no experience of how our tents were constructed, I quickly jumped out and began assembling the tents in the most illogical way known to man.

‘Umm I’m not sure it’s supposed to look like that’ Emma watching me struggle whilst stuck in the canvas

‘I don’t know, it looks ok to me. Maybe you could lend a hand?’ I said through gritted teeth

‘I’m okay actually, I’m quite enjoying watching your attempt! You carry on”

I did and a mere one hour later, the tent was constructed and as sturdy as ever – a fine place to reside indeed. Apart from the drooping roof.

‘Finished!’ I shouted emerging from the tent and standing back to admire the handy work ‘let’s just hope it doesn’t rain’.

Whilst I had been constructing our shelters for the evening, the others had been assembling the barbeques and preparing generous portions of meat for everyone. In addition, the beers had been cooling nicely and were now ice cold. As Tom, Eva, Emma and the other 3 took care of our cooking needs, I put my scouting skills into operation and started collecting fire wood. I have to say, not using timber from the ground was quite a challenge! Luckily though, we had stopped off at one the assigned collection points to gather some earlier during the day. As I began to assemble the fire surrounded by smoke from the sizzling barbeques, Ryan came over to give me a hand.

‘I can see you’ve had fire building experience’ he said remarking on the textbook scout fire I had built

‘Well I should, it’s all I’ve been doing for the past few months on camp. God, I’ve just put a bit of pressure on myself to perform haven’t I?’

‘Yes, I believe you have!’

The western part of the sky had now turned a deep shade of red, blending into indigo, navy and finally black the further west you looked. A few stars were scattered across the darker regions with the southern cross again posing brightly, even at this early stage of the evening. I gathered a few more pieces of damp wood and continued to build up the fire as I remarked on the view to Ryan

‘That sky looks absolutely amazing doesn’t it?’ I said as Ryan began to strike a match

‘Yeah man, it’s fantastic and so beautiful. I tell you, when I get all my travel photos developed I’m going to have enough incredible sunset shots for an entire album’ he replied looking up at the beautiful colours above our heads

‘I know mate, it’s superb isn’t it. I just hope I don’t start taking it for granted’

‘No way man. I’ve been travelling for nearly a year and I love it every time I see a sight like that. Even if you lived around here, you’d never ever get bored of seeing that at night. God I love it here’

I agreed, it was a truly incredible sky and probably the most perfect setting for a camping trip. Yet again I wished my friends and family were there, experiencing it with me, as I knew no words or photos would ever portray the incredible feeling of freedom and happiness sights like this could provide.

The fire flared up on the first attempt and went someway to restoring my pride that had been unquestionably damaged during the tent construction. Ryan threw me an ice cold beer as we fashioned a number of seats from the surrounding sand and sat back admiring the glorious scene in front of our eyes. We didn’t say much in those few minutes, instead we stared into the mesmerizing fire watching the blanket of diamond stars reveal itself above our heads. A few moments later, Emma came to join us with a plate full of cooked cow and a mountain of baked potatoes. There were various varieties of steak, burgers and even beef sausages which I felt obliged to sample along with another chilled stubby of XXXX. As I munched through my steak, drank my beer and stared into the fire I had just built, I felt like a man. A real man! On a negative note, most of the food seemed to have a large sand content but I think that is one of the things you have to expect on an island constructed from the stuff. Apart from that, the food was gorgeous and left me feeling positively stuffed at the end. Having completed my best attempt at washing up, I returned to the fire area and took my seat next to the warming flames as night started to close in and the temperature dropped. Ryan and I threw on the rest of the wood to create a furnace as all the other members of the camp came across to socialise and enjoy the security of the fire. In the third 4x4 there was an incredibly eccentric German lady on a honeymoon with her exact opposite conservative husband. They had been arguing for the entire day in German making it quite clear that she wasn’t satisfied with camping on their honeymoon, and as a result was refusing now to leave her tent. I couldn’t imagine the tent was much comfort, but I think secretly he was relieved to have escaped her childish screaming so made little attempt to persuade her out and instead came to join us for a drink. He had short dark hair, glasses and a suede coloured shirt which was tucked into matching shorts. In true stereotypical style, he was wearing lovely sandals over a pair of bright white socks. All of this meant that he wouldn’t have looked out of place working as an archaeologist in Egypt. We handed him a beer and gave a sympathetic look towards the tent. He didn’t speak much English, but he made hand gestures which seemed to say ‘Women – know needs them?’

The tide continued to come in as the roar of the sea increased a few more decibels making the ground shake beneath us. By this point, everyone was huddled around the flames, wrapped in blankets and enjoying conversation. Tim, having taken an obvious liking to Emma, came and sat next to us and proposed a game where we all introduced ourselves and explained where we were from. It felt kind of childish, but was certainly interesting to see the variety of cultures on our trip. As we all talked amongst ourselves, I heard Tim lean over to Emma

‘You know what luv, I really miss just having a cuddle. I love cuddling’ he whispered

I burst out laughing, unable to contain myself. With no embarrassment at all, Tim stood up and announced to the group his desire to have a cuddle with someone. Thankfully, with rejection looming Ryan stepped up and took one for the team, grabbing Tim in a tight bear hug much to the amusement of the audience.

‘Guess how old I am’ Tim said addressing the group

‘38’ I shouted as my response

‘Cheeky bastard. Nah, I’m 24. But, I am proud to announce, I am the most immature 24 year old you’ll ever meet’

‘Ha-ha, well that’s good to hear’ I said ‘what’s the most immature thing you’ve done?’

‘Well, now that you ask, there was this one time when I was drunk that I really wanted to meet Pete Waterman. You know – the geezer from Pop Idle. I thought I’d ask him to give me a job. So, in order to meet him, I went down to the auditions. Unfortunately, they stood me there for a preliminary round before I could meet him and asked me to sing’

‘Really?’ Emma said laughing ‘what did you do then?’

‘Sang the first thing that came into my head - the ‘Only Fools and Horses’ theme tune’

‘Brilliant! Ha-ha – so what happened?” I asked

‘They threw me out actually. Never did get to meet him. Ah well, it’s quite a funny story I suppose’

‘So is that why you came travelling – because you didn’t make it as a Will Young look-a-like?’

‘You know what – I just wanted to experience the world. I was sitting in a rubbish job and one day mentioned to my mate that I might want to do a bit of travelling and he looked at me and said ‘are you stupid? Why would you want to go and waste your money on that – you’ll end up driving a Corsa for the rest of your life?!’ and that sealed it for me really. I was surrounded by people with such a lack of ambition – people who measured life on what car they drove. I didn’t want that, so I got out as soon as possible’

‘Fair play mate’ I said ‘I think most people here have a similar outlook’

It was true and that’s why you get on with most people you meet travelling. Although you all come from different backgrounds and cultures, the overall beliefs you possess are the same. Sensing the conversation was getting a little too heavy, Tim then broke into song and gave us his appalling rendition of ‘Only Fools and Horses’, only to stop half way through as one of the Danish guys gave a massive, highly pitched scream. I looked up to see what was going on and there, about ten centimetres from his face was a dingo....