Australian Souvenirs

Believe it or not, I’m actually writing this blog from 30,000 ft in the air. Elvis has left the building; we have flown from Melbourne. It was with heavy spirits and loaded sighs that we tucked our tails into the taxi this morning at 6am and watched the sunrise between the high rises. Goodbye to Melbourne, goodbye to our lives there, our friends, the road trip, our small patch of earth.  But because it is so hard to say farewell says something about the past year itself.  For nearly 365 days Steve and I built up a small life for ourselves. We met amazing people and we saw remarkable things.  It is exactly because our experience in Australia was so good, that makes the send-off so much harder. We had tried to shrug off this inevitable goodbye during our adventures, putting a Band-aid over the wound until the time came to rip it off.

We left Sydney, our hearts singed with hangovers and the certainty of the end of the trip. We drove for about 6 hours and pulled up to yet another free camp spot in the middle of golden farmers’ fields. Rutherglen East Rest Area saw our last night on the road. Ironically, alike some other nights of the trip, we were invaded with bugs. Steve and I defended the fortress while Tim whipped our last meal together in the Great White – some combination of whatever we had left in the fridge and cupboards; by some miracle it tasted good. The sun set over the fields and we slept in solemnity that night.  

At the crack of 6:30, we left Rutherglen and drove the last 3 hour disconnect on the map back to Melbourne – the circle now complete. Our dear friend Johnny, whom you might remember from earlier posts, had originally agreed to take us in before our departure. However, his large heart got in the way – he managed to fill up his flat with other vagabond friends during our leave of absence. Luckily, Steve’s bartender mate from the Bluestone days took pity on us and opened the doors to his apartment.

We spent late morning/early afternoon purging every item from the van and up into Sascha’s flat. His eyes widened when we kept returning with load after load, our arms laden with trinkets and bits and bobs; fishing rods, spices, sleeping bags, Christmas presents, and random electronics filled an entire corner of the apartment. Since we didn’t want to wear out our welcome on the first day, we laboriously tried to sort and organize the chaos into more manageable piles. Once we were finished, the tasks didn’t stop there. Well, we tried not to stop. Sascha’s live-in girlfriend Galina had made us lunch and put it in the fridge while she was at work. He fashioned some sandwiches, busted out the traditional Russian salad, and fed us like kings, the first of many generous acts of hosting he showed us.

The Great White was downstairs, empty and dirty and alone. She was supposed to be returned on the 15^th any ways, so we made up our minds to get it over with. After luncheon, we drove her to a self-serve car wash, got on our hands and knees and paid our dues to that hefty beauty. She carried us safely in her berth for 76 days, across highways, beaches, and 4WD tracks; through rainforests, outback, and mountains, in rain and shine. Every last ounce of energy was poured into scrubbing our laughs and hijinx off of the floors, windows, doors, cupboards, cushions, and body of that Toyota Hiace. We prayed that we had enough vinegar and $2 coins to get us there. In the end, we had done all we could, and parked her back in front of the rental agency in Ringwood. Exhausted, we tipped our hats and hopped on a train back into the city.

Just when you thought the adventures were over, my friends, you were sadly mistaken! Now back into our home city, we had other send-offs to make (aside from vehicles!) Ages ago, my Vice Principal had invited me to his jam at a bar in Fitzroy, called LuWoW; he is a member in a sweet musical posse called the Ska Vendors. I had always meant to support him during the year and come out to see a show, but had no time to pull my head out of planning and marking. This was my last chance!

We quickly changed and I dragged the boys out to the funky bar. Fate made it pretty hard for us to make it there on time (see: flash mob of Santas on the tram route, among other things), but in the end we had our bevies in hand and were shaking with the best of the hipsters on the dance floor, amongst jungle cats and Pebbles-esque princesses. It was only a matter of time until the boys faded, but I commended them just for coming out with me in the first place. We headed off in search of dumplings in Chinatown, but were victims to early closing hours and made for home.

On the 15^th, our time in the sun was dwindling, so we decided to enjoy some final hours on our old block. Sascha, Steve, and Tim took the basketball down to the courts on Commercial Road, while I made tracks up and down Chapel Street, getting closer to finishing my Christmas shopping. I rejoined the boys and we drank a Corona in the Melbourne sunshine, with a good hip hop baseline pumping in the background. Alas, we had big plans so we had to scoot home to get ready.

That night, Sascha, Galina, and their roommate John took us to 12 Chairs, an authentic Russian restaurant in St. Kilda East to share with us an experience from their homeland. Despite their warnings of the copious amount of food that we would be faced with, the three of us were shocked when we arrived to a table full of food, and even more shocked when that was just the appetizers! The places were set with shot glasses, as it is Russian tradition to cheers continuously with vodka throughout the meal. We thought the 3 26ers we had brought would make quick work of us, but we ate so much food that it only made a slight impairment on our sobriety. We made toasts from the heart, thankful for good friends, good food, and good fortune.

Apres dessert, our crew made our way to the Vineyard, a rockin’ alternative bar in St. Kilda. It didn’t take us long to enjoy ourselves and the night was capped with the boys jumping off the pier and swimming to shore while us girlfriends shrugged and played lifeguard. Everyone sensible went to bed that night, but Steve and Sascha stayed up until the sun was hanging high over Melbourne.

Of course, the dues had to be paid for such a fun evening, and Steven was laid up on the couch for the better part of the day, until I coaxed him into the shower with buttered toast and unlimited glasses of water. Normally, Steve and the couch would be best mates for the day, but time was too precious. We had some very special farewells to make at my old school.

Once he was (somewhat!) righted, Steve and I took the train out to arrive with just enough time to chat with the Admin before the bell would ring. Next, we popped into the classroom that Steve took over for 3 weeks to say a ‘hi’ and ‘goodbye’ to our Grade 2 friends. Finally, the bell rang, and I stood outside my old music classroom and allowed myself to be spoilt with hugs and hellos from my old students and other teachers; all of which who will be held in a particular place inside of me. I have oftentimes wished to bring this school back to Ontario because of the beauty and charm of the way everything holds a friendly balance there.

We met with a few of the teachers who were available for a quick dinner before they scurried off to the Grade 6 Graduation ceremonies that evening. We shared a few final laughs over some Thai food, and made genuine promises of keeping in touch when we parted. It was emotional, but I reminded myself that it’s better to love it when you leave, than be dying to go.

Getting back to Sascha’s place, the comrades had another traditional surprise for us. We were going to have a ‘Russian Spa’ that night. The boys went out and gathered the appropriate branches and shuffled us into the building’s sauna. Once we were all hot-like-Bikram, they instructed us to stretch out, and proceeded to lash us fondly with bundles of the branches. Despite this seeming odd, we all felt very relaxed, and at the end of it all, made a running leap into the awaiting pool.

Once we unwound, the Russians cooked up a midnight feast consisting of salad, platters of prawns, cheese, and nibbles as we watched a movie. As we stuffed our faces, we protested to our friends feeding us so much; it seemed the moment we even thought we were hungry they would read our minds and food would appear. We were beginning to feel guilty! They assured us that their European roots, and will to fill people up was incurable. We vowed to repay them somehow for their ultimate hospitality that night as we went to bed.

The morning of the 17^th was an important one. I set out to pick up my wedding dress from Raffaelle Ciuca! Galina graciously came along to help me with the mission, and we spent over an hour in the shop, trying out different hairstyles, accessories, and discussing wedding-things. It was good to have a girlfriend there in lieu of my solids and home. While we pranced and paraded around, Steve was traipsing around the city, finishing up his Christmas shopping and getting his hair cut.

In the afternoon, he decided to take it easy and play video games with the boys, while I traded places with him and raced around Melbourne Central amongst the last minute shoppers of the season.  That evening, Galina made cabbage rolls for dinner, and we all went to bed beyond full and happy.

The next morning, we said goodbye to Tim. As an attempt of thanks, he cooked breakfast and we forced everyone to wake up early enough to eat it, and during which, we gifted them a small token of our appreciation. Tim walked out, and it was weird. We knew we would see him again, but this made everything so final. The road trip was definitely over. We were leaving tomorrow.

WE WERE LEAVING TOMORROW!! Steve and I kicked our butts into gear, and borrowed Sascha’s car in order to run errands in Fitzroy, Chapel Street, and downtown. Finally, my holiday shopping was finished, and we had but one more obstacle in our way: packing.

In fact, packing up all of our accumulated junk, holiday parcels for our loved ones, along with oblong, oversized objects like art and fishing rods, seemed more and more like an impossible task. There was no way that it was going to fit into the suitcases in our possession. In desperation, we set out on a scavenger hunt to find a suitable bag. In a stroke of genius, Steve realized we could buy a surf board bag, stuff it with everything, and sell it once we got back home! Assuming our problem was solved, we enjoyed one last .30 cent McDonalds soft serve and watched the street performers of Melbourne before we got down to business.

We packed into the wee hours, shifting piles, rolling and unrolling clothes. Eventually, everything to stuck into a bag somewhere or other, but we were worried about the weight. Everyone packs on a few extra pounds at Christmastime, but this was going to be tight. All we could do was hope. Steve retired while I watched Home Alone with Sash and Galina, memorizing Kevin’s Mom’s airport rant in case I needed to use it the next morning.

5 hours later, the alarm was ringing and our journey was beginning. The long toil home.

We hugged our hugs to Mother Russia, and waddled our suitcases out to the awaiting taxi. Heaving them in the back, Steve and I sat fairly silent on the way to the air port; partly from fatigue of a short sleep combined with a long trip, and partly from an honourable valediction.

Our haze was broken when we got to the airport and weighed our bags on the scale. Bag after bag was overweight. By a lot. The attendant kept cheery and insisted that we would find a way to get everything home. She asked about my wedding dress and our time in Melbourne. We could hardly reply, beginning  to pale as we realized our error. How could we possibly afford an extra-extra-extra bag, or even the surplus load charges?! The future was looking dim.

The attendant, who I will not name for her job security, granted us a Christmas miracle. Winking at us, she ushered all of our bags through with ‘heavy’ tags, explaining, “I’m pretty good at maths, and everything’s all sorted.” We were confused. We needed to pay for the extra bags. She winked, akin to the Claus himself, “consider it an early wedding present.”

The relief was enormous. Yet again, Steve and I couldn’t come to terms with our good fortune. It seems every time we need help, someone steps in. In fact, the generosity we have experienced throughout the trip, as well as our lives in general is outstanding. It’s almost inexplicable. Maybe our Grandma’s prayers are working, maybe karma is kicking it to us. Perhaps it is just pure luck, running into good hearted people.

Whatever it is, we’ve met charitable hosts, unforgettable friends, and dodged a few bullets. We’ve absorbed the beauty of the world into our eyes, through our breath and sweat and our dusty footsteps that have since settled in the Outback.

Australia may not show our imprint on its surface. Hopefully, there is no trace of us passing through, aside from whatever affectionate energy we expelled there , which is now floating around the places we visited; like a  trail of breadcrumbs, we left small pieces of ourselves along the way, imparting them to people and places we will never forget.

And in the way you may not see the mark we left on Australia, you may not see its mark on us; but it’s there. The best souvenir of all is not in our luggage, our bags or our pockets. We carry it with us in our veins, in our hearts, and in our minds; being alive and young forever in our memories here.

I Can Feel It In My Bones

Driving into Sydney was a bit surreal; we had saved the iconic city as one of the last events of our journey and we were charged up as we glimpsed the Sydney Harbor Bridge on the horizon. The big city! The one on all the postcards and t-shirts around this sun burnt country. At this point on the trip, emotions are running highs as well; a strange mixture of anticipation and despondence.  I am so excited to finally return home and see my family, friends, dog, wardrobe – yet, I have fallen in love with Australia and it’s going to be indescribably hard to leave.

Ironically enough, we were visiting and staying with another Canadian in Sydney. Aras is a friend of Steven’s, another Lithuanian basketballer, they grew up playing against each other. He visited us in Melbourne when we had first moved over in January, and now we were meeting him up on his end. We pulled up to his apartment in Alexandria and were greeted with that familiar old North American accent and distinct red and white flag on the wall. Getting a little closer to home every day now.

After setting up our stuff in his roommates temporarily empty nest, we set out to explore the city. We took the train down to Circular Quay and were greeted with the beautiful sight of the harbor – bridge and Opera House in all. Call me sheltered, but I never knew the two were so close together! I had never seen a picture encompassing both structures at once. With the late sun, it was breathtaking. We trotted down to Opera Bar and indulged in some dumplings, ciders, and a bowl of chips before we split for our date.

Our date with the Hunger Games: Catching Fire! I had been waiting for this moment ever since I polished off the series at 4am in my bed, and after the first movie depicted the story as close to my imagination as it could have been. (Forgive me, I never went through an embarssing obsessive stage with a fiction when I was a teenager, so I think I’m going through it now.)We walked to Hoyt Cinemas and sat back for the show, and it didn’t disappoint! All three of us can’t wait for the third one. After the movie, Steve and I were beat and head back to the apartment, while Tim decided to catch a drink with our new friend Hayley that we had met in Budgewoi.

He got in late, and in the morning informed us that she had taken him to a local ‘jam’ at a bar in Surrey Hills, where musicians just got up and chimed in whenever they pleased. Another one was happening that night, and we were all keen to be entertained by the talented Musos of Sydney. With those plans in mind, we set out to 1812; the coffee shop/book store near Paddington for a flat white.

After getting our caffeine buzz on, we visited Tim’s old house to pick up a few things he had left there in October while doing some temporary work. We met his friend Lucas, and the owners Husky/Staffy mix called Bruce, and got some design and decorating ideas while Tim sussed out his belongings.

 It was a short visit since we still had plenty to do! After dropping off the car back at Aras’ place, we took the train back downtown to wander and take in all of the splendor of the Royal Botanical Gardens. Our walk continued us back through the Circular Quay and the Rocks and over to our pre-planned seafood lunch at the Sydney Fish Market.  

We had waited long enough since our Barra-bonanza to start craving seafood again, and were looking out for an all-you-can-eat to satiate our fresh seafood fill. Aras and his friends had suggested the Markets, and we immediately knew that was what we wanted when they told us that you picked the raw meal you wanted and had them cook it up in front of you. The website advertised that they were open until 4pm, so we arrived around 3:30.

Time was not on our side – the Markets were still open, but they were in the process of cleaning it all, and the ovens were off. We frantically flitted to every vendor, in hopes that one would fry us up anything with claws or scales, but it was no use. We ended up purchasing a few slices of sushi, while Tim ate some cold crab and oysters on the docks. We were disappointed that we missed out on our fish-dish, but hey, there are worse things in life (like losing a surfboard).

Our early dinner set us up for our night out with Hayley. Steve, Tim, Aras, Megan, Danika, Natasha and I all reached White Horse for the first Motown jam. We had a drink there and enjoyed a few classics, but the real show was kicking off at Ginger’s down the street.

As soon as we entered the room, music from all forms of instruments crammed into our ear cavities as a colourful, energized sensation. We found Hayley tucked into a corner, and we grouped together to find seats. As a voice coach, Hayley attends these things not only for enjoyment, but also to perform herself once and a while. We were thoroughly jazzed up by all of the talented musicians ebbing and flowing from one another, making things up on the spot. They were incredible. One guy, something-or-other Patrick Harris did a song, and his announcer informed us that he had opened for the likes of John Mayer! He was that good.

Needless to say, when the emcee asked for any other singers in the crowd, our whole table baited Hayley out by pointing and cheering and ushering her up on stage. We were all uber impressed at her talent in joining a song she had never rehearsed, and winging it with fervor and heady style. The gang got drunk while I sipped a DD-ginger ale and we all grooved along.

At the end of the night, on the walk back to the car, everyone stopped to get a slice of late night pizza. While I waited for the seemingly  complex selection of ‘za, I picked up a copy of BRAG magazine. Metric was on the cover. Metric was in Sydney. Metric was playing on Thursday night, our last night in the metropolis. Metric tickets were only $65 bucks.

We drunkenly bought Metric tickets. (Well, I used my credit card responsibly while everyone else drunkenly agreed).

The next morning it took a little effort to get the boys going. After a quick brekky, we took the train downtown and then the 12pm ferry to Manly Beach. The Lady Northcote, in all her green and gold glory, carried us across the harbor and to the shores of the Northern Beaches. We were welcomed by fresh Spanish Blowpipe Licorice and the smooth crooning of up-and-coming pop star, TajRalph.  Talk about heaven. (Watch your back, Beibs!)

The day only got better with golden sun and refreshingly cold waves to help us pass the afternoon. We stayed until 4ish and than ferried back to whip up some pasta and white wine for dinner.  Tim went out on a D.A.T.E. but Steve and I crashed early in preparation for an early morning.

Our date was with Aras and the Blue Mountains. We caught the trainaround 8am and got off at Wentworth Falls. It was a short walk through the town to the beginning of the trails, and in no time we were clipping along the Charles Darwin Walk. 

From there, we diverged onto the Wentworth Falls Track, the National Pass, and finished up with the Short Track. The whole day was filled with beautiful ferns, palms, flowering trees, and dappled sunlight on crisp waterfalls. We even saw a Water Dragon, looking pretty prehistoric amongst the rocks. Getting outside of the Sydney human traffic jam was so refreshing, to feel your heart knock around with your shoes in the dirt, trotting over tree roots. The mountains in the distance looked blue, from the oils of the eucalyptus leaves evaporating in the sun.

By the end of it all we were all so exhausted, we cat-napped on the train ride back. A heavy day called for a heavy meal, and Aras arose to the challenge.  He whisked up a standard Lithuanian favourite, kugelis (a potato cake served with sour cream and bacon).  After a little Ace Ventura, Pet Detective, we hopped undercover.

Our last day in Sydney was a ripper! We started out by taking the bus to Coogee to start the walking trail over to Bondi. We meandered along the coast, dropping in on little bays and swimming holes, and climbing up high along the escarpment, looking down into the relentless Pacific. We passed the massive graveyard where thousands of headstones rest while looking out to sea. Finally, we turned the last corner and saw Bondi Beach stretching out along the coast. It really is a beautiful beach, and since the morning had been a tad cloudy, it wasn’t chalk full of people jockeying for a good spot.

We played in the waves and tanned, knowing full well that it may be our last beach day in Australia. We had big plans for the evening though, so we didn’t have too much time. We found the famous Messina (gelati shop and taste tested some interesting flavours (including Nacho Libre; green gelati with corn chips and salsa!) I ended up getting salted caramel with white chocolate chips, and another scoop of milk chocolate and peanut butter fudge.  Steve also had the latter and opted for Oreogasm on top. Deeeelicious!

Rushing back to Aras’ apartment, we cooked up some Mexican chicken burritos for the pre-drink crew. Downing our drinks before the walk, we speedily cleaned up and set out for Newtown. Our endgame was the Enmore Theatre to see Canadian band, Metric.  They ran on at 8:30 with high energy, sounding exactly like the radio or albums. Emily and her band mates threw their hearts on the stage, pumping out new hits from Synthetica and some old favourites. We jumped and swayed and sang as Emily’s white hair flew up around her face and around her golden microphone.

During one of the breaks between songs, she chatted to us; “I’m not sure where music lives anymore, with all these shows like American Idol out there. But I think it lives in moments like these, between us.” They also dedicated their last song, Gimme Sympathy to their late friend and musician Lou Reed. It was a great song to end a fantastic show, and a touching dedication; we all left full of their spirit and song.

The last dregs of the night saw us getting a few drinks and meeting up with some others at The Bank Hotel, and burgers at Oroporto before heading back to the apartment. We woke up and nursed ourselves back to life with giant Powerades, while recapping the night.

Today we say goodbye to Sydney, and scratch off yet another day on our road trip. The hours and minutes are getting scarcer, and we are all starting to feel the omnipresence of reality pressing on us. By Saturday we will have come full circle back to Melbourne, and thus the end of the trip.

                                                                      ....But we’re going to enjoy the last days as much as we can!!

Over the Hills, and Through the Woods...

We left Nimbin in the dust and drove all day, just about until we reached Port Macquarie. Some days on the trip have consisted solely of driving, listening to Triple J and laying down the km’s on the highway. We stopped at Bloodwood Rest Area – another noisy truck-stop-type free camp. Tim stashed the surf board on top of the roof over the picnic table, not foreseeing the downfall of his cunning hiding spot.

The next morn, we drove the short 20-30 minutes to Port Macquarie and rocked up to the top of the escarpment overlooking Town Beach. Below us, surfers dropped in on some massive waves. Our excitement started to boil up, daydreaming of finally catching a wave of our own. All of the sudden, Tim grabbed Steve’s bicep, mouth open and speechless in shock. Turning around, we looked to the back seat of the van, where the surf board would have been, had we plucked it from its hiding spot and brought it along. We forgot to pack up the board this morning – out of sight, out of mind.

Well, there was no point in all of us going back to get it, so Steve and I grabbed our beach bag and wished Tim luck as he raced back to Bloodwood. We spent the next few hours tanning, swimming, playing ball games – the usual beach routine. Time ticked on achingly, as we wondered if Tim had recovered the surfboard. Finally, he showed back up on the beach with as shit eating grin. “Where’s the board? Was it there?” Shaking his head in disbelief, we realized the board had been reclaimed by another passerby. We tried not to let it dampen our spirits, but we were really disheartened to lose the freedom of being able to surf whenever we pleased.

Somehow the beach day didn’t seem the same anymore. As it was late afternoon anyway, we left and drove to Meadowie Rest Area and whipped up some Chicken Alfredo Crepes for dinner, amongst the raging cicadas.

Things always seem brighter in the morning, and we headed to Newcastle with our chins up. Spending a morning lapping up the sunshine at the Ocean Baths was relaxing. We then drove to Blacksmith and registered at Blacksmith Holiday Park. The boys went fishing with sea worms on the breakwater, whilst I attempted to run in the dry sand as a workout. The workout was less than impressive, and no fish were silly enough to take a treat from a stranger, so we called it a day.

Budgewoi was our next stop. A friend Joel we had met earlier in the year on our Exmouth Whale Shark trip made sure that his family batch was free for the weekend, and graciously left us the keys. We pulled up to the marigold house on Sunrise Avenue, and were able to put our feet up. The place reminded me of my late Nana’s; you know how Nana’s houses always have a distinct smell to them? Not a rotten one, just, distinctive. We speculated that Joel’s grandparents owned the cottage.

Our suspicions turned out to be true, as we explored the town. Our meander down the street crossed our paths with a dear old blue-hair who interrupted us to rave about the local bakery’s cream buns. “They’re only $1 on Thursdays, can you believe it?!” Well, we couldn’t resist a new friend, or a carby treat, so we followed her into the bakery, treated the old darling to a cream bun and had one ourselves. We then continued our walk, passing the local lawn bowling club, the pokies, and the butcher, baker and candlestick makers.

Since you had to be a member at the lawn bowls, Steve and Tim decided to take sport into their own hands. I drove them to Swinger’s 9 Hole – a local golf course (shirts optional) and left them to their own devices. Apparently during their romp, they spotted quite a large, yet harmless redbelly snake, who was probably more afraid of them than the other way around. That eve, we raided Joel’s Nana’s DVD collection and watched an Australian cult classic – Red Dog.

Day 2 in Budgewoi began with our ritual tanning session in Catherine Hill Bay. The afternoon saw us complete a major grocery shop, and doing prep work for pizza making. We each dedicated ourselves to a different themed pizza, pouring our love into them for Joel’s arrival. When he got there, his hipster Volvo was packed with surf boards. Although the sun was setting, we were eager to get wet, and ripped over to Budgewoi Beach. Joely gave us a quick brush-up lesson and we hit the waves. Unfortunately, the swells were huge, as well as rough and I spent more time bobbing around in the whitewash with a long board attached to my ankle than on top of the water. It was all fun though, and we went back to Nana’s place with smiles on; Joel and Steve stopping at the local video store to rent a DVD for the night.

 We popped our pizzas in the oven, but were taken aback when they came out with the parchment paper melded onto the bottoms! Like true backpackers, we ate it anyway. There was enough Tasty cheese on those suckers to cover up the waxy flavor. Then, the shocker: the boys had rented Wolf Creek – a based-on-a-true-story-horror movie that ranks as an ultimate no-no viewing for backpackers in Australia, and especially for me, who can’t stomach horror movies in general. In sum, I lasted about half an hour before I couldn’t handle it anymore and went to read my book in blissful ignorance.

In the morning, Tim and Joley went for an early morning surf, while Steve and I slept in. They left as two, and returned as three, with Joel’s friend (also Tim), and another couple, Dom and Hayley joining us after breakfast. With our crew, we traveled convoy-style from beach to beach until we found one that was surf-able; Norah Head. We paddled out against the current, and no sooner had we reached the break, a massive wave picked me up like a WWF star and tumbled me like a dryer on spin cycle.  After a few more tries, and a ride shoreward on my knees, we called it quits to dry up on the nearby green hillside.

That night, our Canadian cohort whipped up a traditional meal; steak, roasted carrots and mashed potatoes with sour cream and chives as thanks for the hospitality. (No doubt, a meal similar to what we will be having back in Canada). We all played countless rounds of Jenga and sipped on a Ginger Beer or two before tucking in.

As the sun’s rays rippled into the morning sky at 6am, Steve and I joined Joel and Tim #2 for an early morning carve session. We went back to Catherine Hill Bay, after the other sites were either too big or too small for us. I chose the long board again, while Steve stubbornly insisted on using the 6’1” short board. With breathless joy, I actually managed to catch a few waves, renewing my faith in surfing! Steve had less luck, but enjoyed his practice with dogged determination. At the very least, it was a great morning swim!

When we got back to the batch, we ate a slight breakfast and did a quick tidy before getting into our vehicles and heading south. Destination, Sydney!

Surf. Ice Cream. Sleep. Repeat

When we woke up in the peaceful quiet of Tambourine Mountain, we got into gear and then went to the Tambourine Mountain Distillery right as soon as the gates opened. Contrary to popular belief, we don’t have a drinking problem, we are just in a perpetual search for unique bottles of liquor for Steve’s bar. The distillery was like a little down in Germany, A-frame buildings with brown trim, a fountain and a tree that was flowering delicate purple blooms.

Every inch of the bar was plastered with old world Russian memorabilia and Christmas decorations. We sipped on a few vodkas: lemon myrtle, lemon myrtle and citrus, and eucalyptus. Of the liqueurs, we tasted: fig and green tea, Australian herbal, and some form of toffee. All were delicious, but we left with a bottle of the Australian Herbal concoction under the arm.

From here, we drove straight to Surfer’s Paradise. While en route, the radio broadcaster announced that Justin Beiber was in town! Instantly, I got my hopes up with ideas of meeting the Canadian pop star, getting a picture with him, and becoming the coolest primary teacher ever. When we got into town, we checked into the Surf n’ Sun, and walked around to get our bearings. Satisfied, we made dinner back at the hostel and relaxed in our room that night watching Hangover II.

In the morning, Tim lived the hedonistic lifestyle of surfing and tanning by the pool, while Steve and I sought out an accountant to complete our taxes. Unfortunately, our accountant had a "sense of humour", and we were stuck behind his desk nodding and chuckling for over an hour. Then we split up to do some secret Christmas shopping, and met back up with Tim at the hostel for lunch. The lazy afternoon consisted of us going to the beach; me to tan, the boys to swim. When we got back to the hostel, the boys engaged in an exciting game of pool-volleyball while I tried to soak up a few late afternoon rays.

That night we ate a hearty meal of chicken-pesto-pasta in preparation for the club-crawl. In our private flat, we had British couple who were also going to the club-crawl. Naturally, we all pre-drank together, learning their version of ’21,’ before we met up with the rest of the group.

We were bused downtown, wristbands on and free drink tickets in hand. Over the course of the night, we visited Melbas, The Beer Gardens, Vanity, and Sin City. The latter being the bar where the Beibs had last been spotted, and where his DJ was playing that week. By this point, we had all had quite enough of drinking and partying, and made for home. Steve and I took the long way back along the beach, but in doing so missed allllll of the fast food options and went to bed with hungry tummies. No burgers, and no Beiber.

Checkout the next morning was at 10am. We woke up at 9:58. We scrambled as much as we could, but it turned out to be okay, since the staff was just as hung over as we were.  Steve and I frolicked in the waves to shock our systems back to normal. The current was actually so strong, that sometimes he had to grab my hand to save me from going out to sea! After a greasy feed, we left Surfers’ and drove directly to Byron Bay.

As soon as we got into town, we felt the good vibes. It seems as if the city was full of ‘stylish-hippies,’ and surfers (and the dreaded schoolies that seem to be everywhere at the moment!!) We paid our dues at the First Sun Holiday Park and wasted the evening away relaxing. We eventually got some snacks and brought them back to the Great White to eat them and watch an episode of BBC’s Life.

The next morning, Tim went surfing while we ate breakfast. Afterwards, Steve and I went swimming and I managed to do the shortest workout of life along Main Beach. Since the surf wasn’t the greatest, we moseyed downtown and slurped ice coffees at a small café. More of the usual followed, shopping around, grabbing a roll or two at the sushi train restaurant Konoko, and then back to the van for dinner.

While stuffing our pie-holes, it started to rain. Earlier in the day we had found a small café that rented hooka. Since we were still feeling pretty lazy, and not much like partying, we waited until a break in the rain, and then ran to the café. In the soft light, we sipped on an apple-rose combination and watched the passersby. When we returned to base, we watched another BBC Life episode and slept to the drumming of the raindrops.

By morn, the rain was still falling. Soft and gray, it was hard to get out of bed.  Steve noticed that the ocean was very calm and had perfect sets of small waves rolling in. Ideal for beginners like us. We all enjoyed a few go’s on the board, and had hot showers to bring our blood temperate. I separated from the boys and went shopping, and went to a 2 hour yoga session while they did a grocery shop.  That night, Steve took me on a date to the sushi place, and then we got Gelati and strolled on the beach. On the way back to the van, we ran into two of the Swedish Angels – the Hannas! We made plans with them for the next day – our last in Byron.

We met them at 10 and headed over the Byron Sunday Market. I could have spent a fortune on small hippie trinkets and treasures, and we were all having a great time people watching. After treating ourselves to some wraps from “The Middle East Feast,” we hugged our Hannas goodbye and hit the road.

Arriving in Nimbin was a bit of a culture shock; or should I say counterculture shock. Nimbin is a small forested town overrun by old hippies and alternative-lifestyle lovers. The people-watching was out of this world! We had an ice cream and observed the funky townies in all their glory, and then took a walk through their ‘trippy’ museum.  We camped that night at Granny’s Farm, threw on the Primates episode of BBC’s Life, and hit the hay early.

The next day we put some kilometers between us and Nimbin, and ended up at a free campsite called Bloodwood Ridge Rest Area, just outside of Port Macquarie. 

Jag Har en Tid Underbar

It’s funny how, after being out of the city for so long, you start to feel like you don’t belong. When we drove into Brisbane today, our anxiety and frustration levels rose uncomfortably. Too many people, too many cars, no parking spots. We have become so accustomed to a simpler way of life, one that, for the most part, doesn’t involve fashion, or time of day, or droves of people and 4 lanes of traffic. Coming from Fraser Island, driving on the beach with no roads, and hardly any people, it was quite a change. I’m sure it will take mere days to get back into the swing of city life, but it was just interesting to see how we all balked at the taste of it today.

Our journey to Fraser Island, the largest sand island in the world, started when we drove into Rainbow Beach for the day-before orientation. We had all day to spare so we sipped on a few coffees and used the internet at a quaint local café, and did some window shopping. Actually, Tim did a little more than window shopping – he bought a surfboard! We had all been toying with the idea, that maybe it would be more cost effective than renting one every time we wanted to coast a wave, but Tim put his money where his mouth was and bought a 7 foot creamy beauty, which we immediately put to the test on the beginner swells at the beach.

When the afternoon arrived, we decided to try our hand at some sand dune boarding. It was turning out to be an extremely active day! We rented some boards from the local shop and headed to Carlo Sand Blow. It was a beautiful walk, and when we arrived, the expanse of sand was vast. We found a decent spot to board from and laboriously hiked up the hill. After several runs each, we sure were tuckered out and it was almost time for our island orientation so we headed back into town.

At Dingo’s Backpackers we gathered with 70 other people in the bar and watched a chastising video about how to safely drive a 4WD on the beach and other regulations on the island. Afterwards, we were divided up to meet our groups. Looking around the room it was apparent that there were a lot of girls going – so it was no surprise that our vehicle was full of 20-something blondies from Sweden. Ironically, they weren’t all travelling together. As our day had been full-on, we politely greeted them and then retired early in the parking lot of the hostel (a much cheaper option than renting a room, with access to toilets and showers still, yay!)

In the morning we got up abnormally early to organize our bags and parking spot for the van, and grab the complimentary 2 pancake-per-guest breakfast running at 7am. After that, we shuffled all of our bags and things to the loading area, where our group was put to work, packing up our car. Our group was actually placed in the ‘Lead Car,’ which meant that it had a trailer of everyone’s coolers of food hitched on the back, as well as room for 2 extra people. Our guide, Christos, would always drive this vehicle and lead the safest path for driving for the 3 other pursuing trucks.

Everything packed, we joyously headed to the beach, where we waited for the barge to pick us up and take us across. The Swedes put on an iPod and we all sang and exchanged languages until we reached our first destination. The inland track was quite a shocker – there are no formal roads on the island. Bumping and jiving over rocks and steep inclines, we parked at Lake McKenzie and got right into our bathers.  The lake reminded us a lot of Canada, surrounded by trees and rushes; the only differences being that there was pristine white sand encompassing the lake, and the water was much warmer than any Canadian counterpart. After taking some funny underwater photos and having Tim and Steve launch me a few times, we made tracks for our main camp – K’gari.

K’gari is the Aboriginal word for ‘Fraser Island,’ or ‘paradise.’ The Swedes and us laughed and sang all the way into the dingo protected gate. Actually, the purest form of the wild dogs can be found on Fraser Island, and although they won’t attack you, it was made very clear that we keep our food in the trucks or how to make them know who’s boss if they came to sniff you out. Everyone picked out their tents, picked up their groups dish bundle, and set about making dinner. Over the course of the meal, a campfire, and more than enough boxed wine, we got to know Erika, Amanda, Malin, and the two Hannas very well. We indulged in our wine in the tin camping cups, and took them to the beach in search of a dingo without any success. We returned to our tent-city.

That night, K’gari went wild. It was probably comparable to a forested version of Cancun. People were stumbling, spewing, dancing, losing phones, sleeping in the wrong tents, and articles of clothing were littered all over the campground. There was an Irish guy who spent most of his night rolling around on the ground and was still up muttering to himself, alone at dawn.  The morning afterwards, I paid for the partying with a hangover reminiscent of Western. Everyone was feeling pretty rough, but the Swedish girls got up to make breakfast, wash the dishes, sweep out our car, and then subsequently make lunch for that afternoon. This is how they became dubbed ‘the Swedish Angels.’

 It was almost noon before I could choke down a peanut-butter and jam Sammie. By this time, we had seen the Maheno shipwreck in all of its glory, half sunken and rusting in the sea, and arrived at Eli Creek. This freshwater creek had a strong current and unsullied water that urgently ran to the ocean. We even filled up our water bottles with the liquid gold and drank without hesitation. Although it was cold, we all hopped in and let our hangovers wash away with the pull of the water. The Irish guy remained drunk.

After Eli Creek, our group, whom we had by now dubbed Swenada, decided that we wanted to try our hand at driving. The tag-along cars had all had a crack at the challenge, while we were in the lead vehicle. It was a difficult decision since we had really connected with our guide, Christos. Alas, baby birds must leave the nest and after lunch I hopped into the driver’s seat and took a deep breath. I drove our group to the Champagne Pools, avoiding the hazards with a thumping heart. We were all in great spirits – the sun was shining, the glorious sand squeaking under our wheels, the smell of the surf coming through our windows, Swedish pop on the iPod. We joked around with the walkie-talkies, and I must say I felt pretty badass behind that beast of an engine, driving through boggy sand in paradise.

The Champagne Pools are called so, because the rocks shielding the shallow water holes are constantly smashed with waves from the open ocean. Once the waves hit the rocks, they foam and bubble over into the pools, creating the boozy-like effect. We all frolicked in the pools, tanned, and toyed with the tiny creatures that were stuck to the rocks.

As if there wasn’t enough stunning scenery on display that day already, Christos took us to Indian Head, the most Easterly point on the island, getting its name from the red rock covering its face. Steve had his turn manhandling the 4WD over to the base of it, getting a taste for the adrenaline. A short barefooted hike brought us up to a stunning 360 degree view of dunes, beach, palms, and turquoise Ocean. We spotted sting rays and turtles from atop the lookout, and soaked up the last rays of the afternoon. We did not see any of the multitudes of sharks though; swimming in the ocean surrounding the island is prohibited due to the sheer amount of fins circling the land.

Tim drove us back to K’gari, the rest of us singing and banging the ceiling and sides of the truck in high-pitched melody. Suddenly, someone spotted a dingo scampering up the dunes. We radioed Christos and he turned us around to do a drive-by viewing. Although we didn’t get very close to the little guy before he warily trotted away, we had at least seen one before we left the island.

That night, it seemed that the rest of the campers and their convoys had toned down the partying. Everyone settled into their dinners while Swenada  set about dinner and drinking games. The girls taught us a great new one called Swedish Horse Racing, which all of you will learn when we get back. We moved onto Flip Cup after dinner and tried to rile up participants. Hanna #2 even choreographed a funny dance, which we all took down to the other camp to entice volunteers, but it just wasn’t popping off like the night before. On the way back to our grouping, we stopped in at the leader’s tents and kidnapped Christos. Eventually, we had an adequate amount of partygoers to play enough rounds of Flipcup to run out of beer.

I threw on a party playlist on my iPod and we took it over to the ‘club,’ called Winkies. Winkies is basically a gazebo with mosquito netting, a green light, and an iPod dock that the campers can use should they want to get a little cray – which we did. We stomped that thing into the ground; Christos even taught us all how to Greek dance! In time, the merry-making subsided and we towed our sandy bodies into the tent to sleep.

The next day, we awoke to eat a quick brekky and pack up our camp as we would not be returning that night. The small wild slice of paradise would become some new backpackers home after we left it in the dust of our deflated tires. Hanna, Erika, and Malin took turns driving us to Lake Wabby, where we hiked a breathless and sweaty 45 minutes through the forest. It opened up to a grand sand dune, which ran down to the water’s edge of the lake. It was the perfect thing to do on the last day on Fraser. We lazed around and then journeyed back to the trucks for lunch.

At last, it was time to part with wild, overgrown paradise. We drove our truck back to the barge docking and waited for it to cross back over to us. While we were waiting, dolphins leapt in the straight between us and the mainland, and as if by some phenomenon, a wily dingo sauntered right up to our awaiting cars, posing like a king for our cameras.

Once we got back to Dingos, it was all about obligations. Unpack. Laundry. Shower. Charge computer and phones. Exchange pictures. Do shotgun. Dinner. We supped on hostel- burgers and chips with Swenada and later on Christos joined us for a few final pints. We hostel-hopped over to Frasers next door to enjoy some live music. The guy who was playing knew Christos and peer-pressured him to get up and do a few songs. Chris got on the mic and informed the bar that he would only do this if he had his ‘dance group.’ We all joined hands in a circle and kicked up our heels while Chris strummed a guitar and belted out a few Greek jams to finalize the evening.

We were all dreading the next morning, as we knew it was time to say goodbye to the Swedish Angels, who had grown dear to us in the past 3 days. We awoke, and met them back in the hostel for another pancake breakfast. (I think the cakes were meant for the next group on expedition to Fraser, but hey, strike while the iron is hot!) Finally, there were big hugs and kisses all around as we promised that it wasn’t a ‘goodbye,’ but a ‘See-ya-later.’ We filled up with fresh water and struck out for Brisbane.

Like I already mentioned, Brisbane was so overwhelming, and we had no desire for city life, as we were all in quiet contemplative moods. Making the decision to pass through after groceries and beer, we landed at Knoll National Park on Tambourine Mountain where we listened to the lullabies of the crickets and the toads resonate through our screens.