East Coast Australia (South)

East Coast Australia held a mixture of anticipation and dread for us as we made our way to the famous resort of Byron Bay. For starters, we weren't sure how 'old-uns' like ourselves were likely to fare amongst the hordes of teenage gap-year students who are renowned for coming to this area of the country to drink themselves into oblivion, get jiggy with other like-minded travellers and generally party all the way up to Cairns.

The small surf town of Byron Bay had dramatically grown since Sarah had visited five years ago. What once had been a hundred metre square block of restaurants and hostels with a decidely hippy vibe, had been turned into largely developed and over-crowded town, with mass tourism now as it's main focus. The hospitality and charisma shown by the locals however didn't seem to be too affected by this, the necessary evil of tourism obviously being largely responsible for many of the inhabitants thriving businesses.

To settle us into the East Coast vibe we'd decided to steer clear of the typical 'Party Hostel', and booked a sensible looking place on the outskirts of the town called Middle Reef. The place itself wasn't exactly sparkling, but the fact that it felt like a real house (four bedrooms, kitchen, bathroom, lounge and veranda) made for a particularly homely feel. The age range varied greatly too, from the dutch couple in their fifties in the next room, to the comical nineteen-year-old Melbournian girls who, if faced with the choice, would have happily killed each other rather than give up the large mirror which seemed to hold their attention for much of the day.

Although a nice place, we didn't really intend on hanging around for too long and so we had a couple of things to achieve in a short space of time. The first being a highly recommended trip to the hippy heaven of Nimbin with Jim's Tours. Collected early by our very 'chilled' guide called Dougie, he drove our bus up to the lookout over Byron, explaining how he'd not only been run out of his home town in Victoria at an early age for organising a rally against the opening of a smelting factory, but also plays a large role in opposing the likes of McDonalds and other such corporations who annually attempt to bring their business to Byron.

With his "Smile on your dial" rule for life, it was quite refreshing to listen to the stories of how his fellow hippies gather in Canberra outside parliament every year with a twenty metre spliff in an attempt at getting them to legalise the "herb superb".

Nimbin itself, according to the missus, is a symbol of what Byron used to be all those years ago. The specimens strolling down the one-street town are prime examples of what continued drug use can do to the body, but they're all friendly folk with time to chat if you so wish. We'd only been off the bus for what must have been about thirty seconds before a rather spaced-out looking lad offered us the opportunity to purchase. Hippy shops selling special cookies and an interesting museum bring good business to the town, which is surprisingly left to it's own devices by the local authorities.

After an hour or so in Nimbin we were whisked off to the house of another local hippy called Paul. This guy left New York some twenty ago in search of something more, but ended up buying a house by a large lake in the middle of the rain-forest, to generally stroll around in a big flowery shirt eating watermelon and macadamia's, and indulging in his favourite pastime of doing nothing, or building strange things from junk in his driveway.

I should think the visiting tourists pay enough for him to get by, but after forty-five minutes in his house we still weren't sure what he was actually meant to offer the tour, his main contribution being when he changed the music from one artist to another.

Back in Byron after the enlightening tour, I took off the next morning for my first Aussie surf lesson. The tides on this particular morning were quite rough, and after two hours of fighting my way back out into the surf against some hefty currents, I'd pretty much had enough. I did manage to stand up a few times and actually surf however, rip-curling and billabonging all the way into shore. A far more respectable effort than last years dismal (and profoundly hungover) attempt in Newquay.

Our last night in town meant there was only one thing left to do: a visit to Cheeky Monkey's nightclub. Rallying together most of the house for this event didn't seem to be too difficult a challenge, and after a few warm-up beers at the house we all made our way into town. Once inside the venue in question, we were confronted with gangs of people all completely smashed and dancing on the tables, something we'd heard about but was still quite surprising to see. We managed to battle through it for a couple of hours, but in the end our sobriety got the better of us and we left everyone to it.

Skipping Surfers Paradise, a slightly glitzier version of the Kidbrooke estate, and the city atmosphere of Brisbane, next on the agenda was Noosa. Steeped in a stunning landscape of tropical vegetation, this is one of Queenslands most scenic resorts. The wealthy inhabitants who have settled from all over the continent have spent years making it their stomping ground, whilst constantly defending the area from high-rise development. Yet again, we'd caught up with Tom and Lisa and so met them at our accommodation on the north shore in the midst of the Great Sandy National Park.

Whilst in the general area, and taking advantage of our friends own mode of transport, we all headed to the late Steve Irwin's Australia Zoo for the day. Unlike any other zoo we've previously visited, the whole philosophy here concentrates on conservation.

As mentioned in the Darwin blog, Crocodiles were hunted almost to extinction a few decades ago, and Irwin made it one of his prime missions as the 'Crocodile Hunter' to save what was left of these deadly animals.

We all took part in some Elephant feeding, and wandered amongst the Kangaroo's which are left to roam freely amongst visitors. The highlight for us however had to be the Tiger Temple. Here, three Bengali tigers were bought out for their afternoon play. Handlers have been in the enclosures with these majestic big-cats since they were just weeks old, and consequently can interact with them as if they are common house pets. We stood outside with real envy, as they made our office based jobs seem trivial compared to what they get to do every day with these beautiful creatures.

Back in Noosa, we had one last day here to check out the beach, and meet with Alex and Mike, another younger couple we'd met in our 'house' in Byron Bay. The lads all went out to be big and clever in the ten-foot crashing waves, whilst the girls sat around in the surf club sniggering at us.

Onwards then to Rainbow Beach, and the jumping off point for the world famous Fraser Island four-wheel-self-drive jeep tour. We were all delighted to find that we could hire a vehicle between the six of us, the thought of sharing a reasonably tiny Toyota Landcruiser with eleven other people (as is commonplace with the regular tours) not being particularly favourable. Once the jeep and the shopping for our three days had been collected, we made our way to the ferry which would take us over to the island.

It is said that all of the sand from the east coast of Australia eventually ends up here. Fraser is the worlds largest sand island, measuring in at one-hundred-and-twenty kilometres long by a mere fifteen kilometres wide, all created by thousands of years of longshore drift. Rainforests and some two hundred freshwater lakes dot the landscape, whilst dunes tower up to two-hundred-and-twenty-four metres above sea-level, reminding many a traveller that this place alledgedly contains more sand than the Sahara desert.

With a rough itenerary in mind, I was first behind the wheel, with the job of getting us as far north as we could manage in our opening day. Leaving the ferry I was confronted with a fairly tricky section of deep sand to navigate, the thought of getting bogged in at such an early stage not being anyone's idea of fun. The driving here all relies on the tide-time, low-tide generally meaning you can boot along the beach on the hard sand, and so after quite a hairy forty-five minute drive up the beach we reached our first port of call at Eli Creek.

The sea here is lethal, powerful undertow's and man-eating sharks making swimming in the ocean a no-go, and so tourists have to rely on the many creeks and lakes for refreshment from the hot sun. Eli Creek was just such a place to cool off for a little while, and so we all paddled inland as far as we could go and then let the sea-ward current float us back down through the banks of lush vegetation to where the jeep was parked on the beach. Next up, came the famous 'Maheno' shipwreck, the rusting remains of a Tasmanian liner which was caught in an unexpected cyclone in the 1930's.

We'd pretty much reached the northernmost camping spot by about four o'clock, and so we decided to use the time to set up our camp. Tents went up quickly, and we all settled down for a beer before starting the dinner. This is when all hell broke loose. Firstly, the March Flies came out, hugely mutated monster flies that land on you for a few seconds and then bite you, pleasantly leaving behind some of their best vomit. These things are truly scary, the only plus being that they are stupidly slow, giving you a few seconds to kill them before they actually bite. Next, the wind whipped up out of nowhere, catching us all unawares, and making our camp look like a bomb had hit it. The rainstorm which followed was to last for the whole night, making cooking more difficult than it ever should have been and drenching our now relocated tents throughout. Resigned to the fact that we weren't likely to get outside again, we all ate our chicken curry in the jeep with the rain pelting the roof outside, before retiring to our now damp accommodation for the evening.

The night dragged as we might have expected, but morning eventually came, and the March Flies were back for a second helping. Not wishing to hang around and get eaten alive, we all packed quickly and took ourselves off to one of the inland campsites to have breakfast. First destination for the morning was Indian Head, the furthest north our jeeps are allowed to travel. From here it's another forty minute walk around to the next headland, and the aptly named Champagne Pools. These are two large rocky enclosures, where the surf pounds the edges and then bubbles over into the swimming holes. Although pleasant, it was alot of effort for little reward, and the walk back in the scalding midday sunshine meant most of us were back to feeling pretty sticky by the time we got back to the jeep.

Driving south with the tide now receding, we motored down the beach until we reached the inland track which would take us over to Lake Garawongera, and what we hoped would be a less populated area of the island. We arrived to find a large coach sitting in the car-park, sign that around fifty or so day-trippers were currently at the spot, but were pleased to see them all trudging back in our direction when we began to make our way down the track to the lake. Consequently, we were greeted by a truly stunning scene: a totally deserted lake, with our very own golden beach. Knowing we had a couple of hours until it would be time to set up camp, we basked in the clean, soft waters for a while and then dried off before making our way back to the main eastern beach.

This time we were a little more organised, myself and Sarah cooking the dinner while the rest assembled the tents, just in case another storm threatened. Luckily, the weather held up this time, and we spent a nice evening around the camp, chatting and drinking under the stars which could be seen clearly in the night sky.

The only thing we hadn't accounted for during our well-planned construction was the fact that setting up a tent on top of bare sand can be responsible for a miserable nights sleep. I think we were all grateful when morning finally came, and despite being tired, the thought of a hot shower and a comfy bed at the end of the day kept us inspired. Heading off early in the hope of beating the morning rush, first we drove inland via a rugged sand track to the most popular spot of the island: Lake McKenzie. This is the picture postcard destination for Fraser Island, it's pristine blue waters contrasting against the bright white sand surrounding it, and making for a truly idyllic location. That's of course, until you arrive and find it swarming with hundred's of other people. Bloody tourists!

Heading off again, we made our way down to our final stop at Lake Boomanjin, the largest perched lake in the world at two-hundred hectares. The waters here are stained a strange browny-red by tannins leached from the surrounding vegetation, which if you open your eyes whilst submerged makes it appear as if you are swimming through a lake of blood. Nice.

And that was pretty much the end of the adventure. I was back behind the wheel for the drive back, confidently thrashing down the beach and back to the awaiting ferry. We all had a meal that evening in Rainbow Beach, before going our seperate ways the following morning. The east coast so far had been better than our expectations had really warranted, and we were glad that we'd not only got to spend some our trip with old acquaintances, but had also made a couple of new one's along the way. The fears of being out of our depth in a horde of youngsters was a worry of the past, and we headed further north with renewed enthusiasm.

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