Prepare yourself internet, we have a lot to catch up on.

Noosa. That was our next destination before the trip to Fraser Island. I had heard good things from the people I’d met on my travels, but then again I’d heard even better things about Byron Bay, which I didn’t like. Not the best sources, these humans with opinions.

We hopped off the Greyhound and made our way to the Nomads hostel we’d be staying at. The first impressions of Noosa were pretty good: it was aesthetically pleasing, the weather was good and it looked like Ramsay Street from Neighbors. Such nostalgia. Now, I wish I could say the first impressions of the hostel were as good as the town, but unfortunately that just wasn’t true. Right off the bat the staff didn’t seem all that great, which really casts doubt over the rest of the facility. Sadly the room wasn’t much better, with pillow cases and duvets that looked like they hadn’t been washed for a year (they were actually washed, but they looked old and far too well used). The fact we had duvets and not just a sheet seemed ever so slightly retarded as well, as the mercury in Noosa was hitting a pretty high point.

We were warned by a Scottish guy in our room that the kitchen was “the worst fucking kitchen ever,” to quote him. I assumed he meant it was small or ill equipped. I assumed wrong. The kitchen was disgusting: the benches to eat on looking as if they had never been cleaned in their life; the pots old and stained; and the sponges and towels for washing up looking as though they hadn’t been changed for weeks. Revolting. I really didn’t want to put anything in there anywhere near my face. Thankfully we only had to endure this crap for two nights before heading to Fraser.

The hostel owned its own bar, which put on a night of hilarious games and free food for people who were part of the VIP group, which we were. The first game was limbo and the prize a free tour offered by the local travel shop, who was hosting the VIP section. Now, I may be limber, but I knew I would never win a game of limbo, so I sat out and watched everyone else make an ass of themselves. Nice to see someone else do that for a change.

Next up – heads or tails. The rules to this were really simple: you choose whether you think a coin toss will land on heads or tails, the MC flips the coin and the losers have to remove a piece of clothing to stay in the game. I felt I had an advantage in this game: I know that a coin will land on heads more times than it lands on tails. It has been scientifically proven. So, watching the people around me gradually getting naked, I marched on to victory after victory, not losing as much as my shoes. Then, out of nowhere, it happened: I got it wrong. Off came the shoes. Then I got it wrong again, so off came the socks. By this point we had a Jesus lookalike standing completely naked, with just a hat to keep his modesty. Before too long I was standing in just jeans and then I got it wrong again. I had a choice: either strip to my boxers or leave the game. There were enough naked men on the stage that I decided they didn’t need another one and gracefully left the game. The prize was a tour of Fraser Island, which I had just bought anyway. Not worth flashing the audience for.

The third game was called Sex Positions. Now, I’m sure you can figure out the plot of the story here, internet. The contestants had to pair up and perform the sex position called out by the MC, with the loser being the slowest pair to do so. Melanie wanted none of it, so she suggested our new lawyer-friend, Jack, and I should pair up. His answer was as expected, I was heartbroken. However, in an amazing plot twist the MC announced that he needed one male and one female judge to determine who was the losing couple in each round. Bang on (pun intended). He chose Melanie pretty quickly and, after much arm thrusting in the air, he chose me too.

Our judging was impeccable.

One by one the couples fell until the final round loomed upon us: using audience participation, the couple who could arrange the biggest orgy would win the grand prize. Quick as a flash they were grabbing innocent bystanders and pulling them into the fray. The first couple were dominating, with a good ten people piled on top of them. The second couple – two girls who had performed consistently well to that point – were nowhere to be seen. With mere seconds left on the clock, one of the girls resorted to pulling up her skirt and flashing me to snatch the win. I was happy to give in to her sterling effort, but Melanie wasn’t and neither was the MC. Sorry girls, I tried. The politics of a sex position contest are unforgiving.

Only one game remained: the mini bicycle race. If you recall, internet, my expertise on a normal size bike in Byron Bay left a lot to be desired, so I took the wise decision to sit the race out. Each team needed three people, with at least one being a girl. One team were short a girl, so I brought the MC’s attention to Melanie, who was just about ready to castrate me for it. He didn’t take no for an answer and ushered her to the stage. My job here was done, I was an instrument in the greatest moment in Melanie’s life.

Team after team raced around the bar, with the victor being the team to race fastest. The best two teams were made to race again in the grand finale and, much to everyone’s surprise, one of those teams was Team Awesome – Melanie’s team. Courageously they fought and, honestly, I thought Team Dutch had snatched the win. By a tenth of a second Team Awesome had done it – they had won the $100 prize! Not such a bad decision forcing you to compete now, was it Melonberger 😉

With our antics and heroism behind us, we were driven to a club in town, which the bus driver happened to be DJing. As you do. Melanie, Jack and I were joined by a new friend visiting Noosa for the day on business – amazing Todd. Turns out our new Aussie friend loved the UK, so he proceeded to pay for all of our drinks for the rest of the night. Poor amazing Todd must have spent hundreds in the club that night, but we appreciated it. Todd, know that I was shouting “I miss Todd!” on the walk home. You were awesome company, sir.

Skipping forward a day because I can, it was time for our voyage to Fraser Island. None of us really knew what to expect on the three day tour, but let me sum it up for you right now – It. Was. Amazing.

We were taken by bus to Rainbow Beach (God, these names in Australia), where the ferry would take us to Fraser. The bus journey looked to be a good omen for the rest of the adventure, as there were laughs and tears courtesy of our new travelling companions, Japanese Sam and Isle of Man Adam. I sat on the front row of singular seats, with a bin in front of me. Like Kobe, I threw my empty coffee cup into the bin with no complications. Japanese Sam, who was sitting behind me, also wanted to make the shot. I warned him, I said “Sam, there has never been a famous Japanese basketball player, don’t do it,” but the little Devil on my left shoulder kicked in. As Sam was deciding whether or not to attempt the shot, I changed my tune.

“Do it,” I said. “You can make that shot. You can be the first ever amazing Japanese basketball player”.

…and it worked. Parents, lock up your children because I’m a terrible influence. Against his better judgment, Sam took the shot. Much to my sheer absolute amazement, he made it!….then the coffee splashed out of the cup and onto the back of the front passenger seat.

“Yes!….oh shiiiiiiit,” were Sam’s exact words.

Melanie, Adam and I were crying tears of laughter for about an hour as the memories of Sam’s monumental f*ck up resonated through our minds. Clearly, this was going to be the best tour ever.

After stopping off for what I suspected was a Cat Pie, we arrived at Rainbow Beach to be greeted by our lead driver and guide, Carl. Carl was a pretty rough outback kinda guy, but he seemed nice enough. After what seemed like an hour of briefing in the Australia sun, we were finally ready to head off to the ferry. Our tour included driving a 4×4, which I almost wet my pants at the thought of. There were three jeeps, with the first being driven exclusively by Carl and the other two being driven by those of us with a driving license and a sense of fun. We would be travelling as a convoy, with Carl in radio contact with the other two cars behind. The rules were strict: stay 2-3 car lengths behind each other, drive in the lead car’s tyre tracks, do exactly as Carl says, and avoid driving in the salt water as if your life depended on it. Fair enough.

The ferry to Fraser only took around 15mins and Jack volunteered to take the first drive. The speed limit for driving on the beach was 80kmph, which seemed somewhat mad at first. The sand on the beach was soft and the potential to swing the back of the car high. I don’t think Jack’s hands were still once, as he snaked left and right, trying to follow Carl’s tracks while battling with the snow-like sand. Our first stop was Lake MacKenzie, which is a huge crystal clear lake filled entirely with rainwater. The sand on its beach and the water itself contains high levels of silica, which is great for cleaning jewellery, as well as being amazing for your hair and skin. Eat your heart out, Loreal. Who’s worth it now, huh?

I hadn’t planned to go into the water, even though I had worn my new swimming shorts. You see, internet, your beloved blogger can’t swim too well. In fact, he can’t swim much at all. Sort of makes the experience of being in a lake a bit redundant really.

But then, out of nowhere, it happened. Melanie, brace yourself for what you know is coming right now…

As our lovely Austrian was getting changed on the beach, she experienced a bit of trouble getting her top off. No no, she isn’t a nudist (although she might as well be now) – she had her bikini on under her top. As she pulled her top off over her head, her bikini rose up with it to cause every woman’s worst nightmare – the nip slip.

And I saw it. I saw the whole thing.

I could tell she knew what she had done, but because I made no reaction to it, she assumed nobody had seen. Silly girl, I don’t miss a thing. You’ve learned that the hard way now….and so did I, so I made the wise snap decision to de-top and make my way into the lake. Smooth as ice, internet.

Unfortunately, we only had an hour in Lake MacKenzie, but it was a good experience nevertheless….although maybe not for Slippy 😉 I just wish I had made the equally wise decision to take my boxers off in the changing room before I went into the water. I only brought one pair for each day, so had no dry spares to change into afterwards. Dukes. Commando it would have to be for me.

My new favorite lady, Slippy the Bush Kangaroo, jumped at the chance to take the second drive, which was entirely inland. We all said our prayers as the only girl in Car 3 got behind the wheel. Surely, we were bound to die on Fraser Island, but nobody had the nerve to get out and walk next to the car, even though I had suggested it. By far the worst driver on the island, Melanie tried to kill us at every opportunity. We were warned about the wild dingos, but they were no threat in comparison.

Just kidding, Melonberger, you were actually one of the best, much to everyone’s amazement 🙂

The three main meals of the day were provided as part of the tour on Fraser Island, and after Melanie’s attempt to kill us all, we made our way to the resort for the first time to dump our bags and chow down. The lunch on offer wasn’t exactly gourmet standard, but it did the job at the time. No BYO alcohol was allowed in the public areas of the resort, but we were allowed to misbehave in our rooms and on the beach. Strict rules were put in place about going on the beach at night: always travel in groups of at least four strong. Dingos are related to wolves and will behave as such. If they spot a weakness, such as a small person, or someone on their own, then you can expect to be attacked. I’m sure that information is sound, but I don’t think it really applies if you don’t see a single dingo on the entire tour, like we didn’t. By the end, we started to speculate that their ‘presence’ on the island might just be a tourist attraction (turns out we were wrong – other people on the tour had seen some – but you couldn’t blame us for thinking it at the time).

Day 1 of the tour ended with a large group of us getting merry on the beach. I even took the heroic decision to try and summon some dingos while peeing on a tree, but it didn’t work. Probably for the best really, I had their dinner served in my hand…

Day 2 started early. Like, really early. Feeling the burn from the night before, we made our way to the Michelin breakfast on offer – cereal and toast. Breakfast of champions. Unfortunately, the mug pixies had hidden all of the drinking vessels overnight, so our other token Austrian, David, had the million dollar idea of drinking his coffee from a cereal bowl. They all laughed at you, David, but I recognized your brilliance. It was the best coffee I had ever consumed*

The activities for the day included climbing Indian Head point, seeing the ship wreck on the beach and playing like children in Ely Creek. Let me tell you something: climbing a cliff in flip-flops is hard. Really hard. It was also the hottest day of the tour so far, with the unforgiving Australian sun frying human skin at 9am. Super. Even more super when you leave your sunscreen in the car.

The view from Indian Head was amazing though, with the burns on my neck and the back of my knees trophies of a great climb. You can usually spot sharks from Indian Head, but, much like the dingos, they didn’t want to perform for us. Damn it nature, I paid for this.

Just before our frolicks in Ely Creek, eight of us made the decision to take Carl up on his offer of a short flight over the island at the discounted price of $55. We flew over the ship wreck and some of the lakes on the island, before landing again on the beach. For what it was, we felt that the price was a bit steep, but I guess you live and learn.

Ely Creek was undoubtedly the best of the tour for me personally. Almost everyone would argue that Lake Mackenzie was the best, but when you’re a non-swimmer, getting to enjoy playing in water without the risk of drowning tends to win. Ely was a creek of fresh water on the beach and never came more than waist height high. We made the brilliant decision to buy a ball, so before long an epic game of water volleyball commenced. Japanese Sam played with us and had all the grace in the water as a buffalo. Credit to him though, he was committed to the game. However, Adam stole the show with his heroic dives for the ball, all the while being filmed by two Go Pros. If I had the pictures of it, I’d share them with you, internet. Just know that the sun reflecting off my incredibly white torso didn’t distract the other players too much.

With another day of activities on Fraser completed, it was time to enjoy our last night on the island. After filling our hungry stomachs with spaghetti bolognese (or two servings if you’re me), we made our way down to the beach for drinks and a kick around with Derek the football. A few of the other guys joined in, including…..you guessed it…..Buffalo Sam. Let me tell you, internet, playing football on the beach with no shoes on and sunburn is pretty awful. It’s like kicking a sheet of sandpaper. Melanie and the two German girls, Anna & Kathi, had a walk down the beach, so they missed the biggest event since slipgate.

While playing a game of group keep-up, someone hoofed the ball over Sam’s head. In true eager Sam fashion, he ran after it, beer in hand. Poor Sam was so enthusiastic to get the ball that he ran a little too fast on the sand, and in truly hilarious fashion, fell over. His beer flew out of his hand as he went down in stages, first falling lower towards his knees, before sliding over the sand on his face and almost flipping over. We. Were. Dying. Poor Sam had eaten half the beach and lost his beer, but he had made the entire trip for the group of us lucky enough to see his voyage to the ground. Sam, you were the comic relief we all needed. Thank you.

While playing the simplest of drinking games in our room that had Adam speaking in a German accent and Jack speaking like a pirate (courtesy of yours truly), we were summoned to the bar by Carl to engage in some Aussie style pub games. Christ. Considering he told us he shoots buffalo, this could be anything.

The game of choice was…..I guess you could call it the beer box game? An empty beer box was placed on the ground and each person had to pick it up with their mouth without bending their knees. Easy enough. Except after each round, the barman cut a piece from the box about the size of a baby’s head. Definitely not going to end well. I’ve never really been able to touch my toes with straight legs, but I’ve always been strangely flexible when my legs go out to the side. I can’t do the splits, but I do alright for a man.

…that was until I injured my right groin ligament in karate a few years ago. I really shouldn’t have played this game.

As the box got shorter and shorter, the more I could feel my right leg complaining at me. Determined not to give up, I heroically got myself down to the box time after time, until it was about an inch high from the floor. That was it, my leg couldn’t take anymore and I had to bow out. I was never going to beat Melanie, who did most of it with straight legs. Seriously, what the hell? The final stage was to pick a piece of paper up off the floor and she nailed it with minimal effort. I’m pretty sure they would have had to dig a hole in the floor to beat her. Still, I was happy with 4^th place out of about 20 contestants and the free shot I got for placing highly. I knew I was going to be sore for days though…

Our final day on Fraser was pretty short. After breakfast cooked by Jamie Oliver, we drove to the Wabby Beach walk, where Carl told us the way to go but didn’t join us. The walk to Lake Wabby was 2km long, taking about 45mins over rough terrain and through dense forest, Snakes and dingos were a possibility, but we saw nothing more than a couple of tiny spiders, which I flattened between my flip-flops. Even in their own habitat those bastard creatures aren’t safe from me.

Feeling sore from the night before and the sunburn I’d gotten from Indian Head, along with the massive lack of sleep we were getting, I was pretty quiet on the walk to Lake Wabby. I hadn’t showered in the morning knowing that I’d be bathing in a lake, but that proved to be a stupid decision. My speciality. When the trek across the Sahara finally resulted in the lake in front if us, it was evident I wouldn’t be getting very wet. The sand dunes roll straight into the lake and after about half a meter, the water gets deep. Really deep. Not so convenient when you swim about as well as a cat strapped to a brick. My time at Wabby was spent half sitting on the beach and half sitting in the shade, nursing my injuries. The walk back was better though, as I spent the entire trek back talking to yet another great German, Felix. Carl also moved us to his car when we finally got back, so we spent most of the rest of the tour together. I learned that kites are called dragons in German. So awesome.

As we got back to the ferry with our tour at an end, I found a new lease of life. Our sightings of wildlife on the island were at an all time low until we stepped onto the ferry and saw some dolphins playing in the water next to us. A great end to a great tour.

Our next stop would be a day back at Noosa before taking an epic 15 hour coach journey to Airlie Beach. Slippy would be going on the Whitsundays boat tour for three days there, so I would have to entertain, and more importantly cook for myself again. You’re so inconsiderate, Melanie. With the fear that Airlie would be another Byron Bay, I hoped to God I was wrong.

Only time would tell.

Stay frosty and slip-free, internet…

*Might be slightly exaggerated