As much as I would like to be more frequent with my posts, the lack of free wifi and the abundance of time spent away from electronics has been astounding and unexpected. My office has changed yet again and here I sit in the BBQ area of some hostel in a place lovingly named, Airlie Beach. I say this with contempt as I have not had one encounter with a pleasant person - I think they call them “Bogans”. Let’s just say I have met a lot of fun people, dinner and a show.
Nevertheless, every high has its low and that is what I receive in this aftermath. Blessed be my hands as they run through my dirty and greasy and ever growing locks, remnants of fine sand huddled to my scalp. Shrapnel from our battle on Fraser Island where the goon flows straight into and out of the brackish lakes. If you did not attend basic training, you were left behind while everyone got wasted and wrestled with the dirt in hopes of a comfortable place to sleep. The young flesh and bone hardened with another stupor and the harsh sunlight of an early wake. What an amazing time to be alive. If you enjoy long walks on the beach then this is the place for you. If you enjoy marathons on the beach then this is also the place for you. If you don’t, then keep your chin up with a drink and keep it up to gaze upon millions of little white lights as they gaze down upon you in mutual jealousy, but don’t forget to bring your Dingo stick and always do it in groups of four.
Hiding the beasts away when the sun was out made way for a peaceful time. Through squinting pupils we learned about what makes this place such a destination, and soon learning it is just one long journey. Although we took frequent breaks to bathe in the pools and wash the memory’s away to make room for more, we frequented more-so the Toyota Landcruiser F80 hearth, yellow and metallic on it’s exterior, and very sandy on the interior. Playing our marching song on repeat and repent to those whose synapses were not forced to connect the rhythm with the beating heart of our adventure. I surprise myself when I recollect how short the journey actually was. Three days does not seem like much when we hear of thirty-day diets, six month physiotherapy, and five year rehabilitation, but yet here I sit, a changed man.
This post is dedicated to Uncle Steve, our tour guide.
PS: If you see an image you like, send me an email and I’ll give you the link!
