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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.