Surfers Paradise and Fraser Island - travel diary

With barely two hours on the bus we reached our new destination. Actually we had already been to Surfer Paradise with Mr D'Ambrosi (do you remember him, the president of the Treviso club in Brisbane?), but only for a few hours, not enough to get a complete picture of the town. We arrived at the central station shortly after lunchtime and as usual the hunt for a hostel began. This city too, being a renowned tourist destination, keeps its prices quite above average and it wasn't easy to find cheap accommodation. Since more or less all the hostel prices were the same, we opted for the most central one and the closest to the ocean. As usual we dropped our backpacks and went to take a look at the centre, also because we urgently needed to do some shopping and eat something.

Even the name, Surfer Paradise, should tell you a lot about the habits of this place... here everything revolves around surfing: there are surf schools left and right, shops selling technical gear and otherwise, and even the benches and all the street furniture are shaped like surfboards. The impression that immediately strikes the eye is that this place has lost its old charm and has turned into a sort of big commercial event to advertise not so much the sport of surfing but above all the economic interests behind it. That doesn't change the fact that the town on the whole is absolutely enjoyable, with a pleasant pedestrian centre surrounded by little shops and restaurants that in the evening get stormed by thousands of people. Perhaps this is precisely the best thing about Surfer Paradise: the nightlife.

It almost seems as if all the backpackers in Australia arrange to meet in this spot to live the night... there are countless clubs springing up on every street corner and the great thing is that most of the time entry is free and they might even give you a drink... it would be a crime not to take advantage of it!

But at this point I'd like to open a parenthesis about a special person we met in Surfer Paradise. Do you remember we told you we ended up sleeping in an eight-person dorm... well, among them there was also a Dutch guy with an unpronounceable and even less spellable name... suffice it to know that everyone called him "L". A guy who had been in Australia for three months by then and who had worked for most of that time up north, fruit picking.... Exactly what we wanted to do! And lucky we didn't, because according to "L"'s stories it's slave labour, a tiring and thankless job. We hit it off with "L" right away and spent almost all the evenings we had available with him, dragging ourselves into the different clubs in town. We also owe him a special thank you because he gave us a super tip on where to eat for free...

you heard that right, free! At first even we didn't believe it, but it turned out to be absolutely true. All you had to do was slip into the dining rooms of a very chic hostel that wasn't far from ours and the trick was done! No one asked you anything, you just had to buy a drink (which was cheap too!) and automatically we got the meal vouchers... fabulous!

All in all, despite finding ourselves in one of the most expensive cities in Australia, as usual, we had come out on top... and now, armed with the usual enthusiasm that sets us apart, we were about to leave the chaotic city life behind and dive into what was supposed to be an unforgettable adventure: Fraser Island.

And here we are once again facing yet another bus journey towards Rainbow Beach, the outpost we had chosen to get to Fraser Island, the last destination of our stay in Australia. Arriving at the central station of Surfer Paradise, the first bus to Brisbane was waiting for us, a little over an hour of travel but the bulk was still to come. Once in Brisbane we headed off to munch something in a self-service specialising in Asian cuisine; just enough time to brush our teeth and from lane number two our transport to Rainbow Beach was departing. After a very long five-hour ride right along the coast of Queensland we reached what can hardly be called a city: in reality it's a sparse cluster of houses whose only purpose is to meet the supply needs of the explorers about to visit Fraser Island.

Once we'd sorted out the paperwork for the hostel, in the afternoon we had what was supposed to be a briefing ahead of the tour. In the end though it all amounted to watching an intimidating video about the dangers of driving on sand, since the exploration would be done with a four-wheel drive. It was time to meet our adventure companions and to our astonishment we weren't the dominant nation, as often happens, but there were as many as four Germans, one Canadian, one Israeli and one Finn. We tried right away to get friendly with our travel mates, since it wasn't the classic "all organised" tour but a solo expedition: us, the jeep and the sand. The evening ended between a plate of lasagna and a chat about what was awaiting us the next day.

In the morning, having woken up early after taking advantage of the free breakfast, we rushed to load the vehicle: two tents, a grill, a gas canister, dishes, two cooler boxes to keep the food, our personal belongings and a great craving for adventure. An hour later the expedition was heading towards the ferry that would take us to the largest sand island in the world. In a flash we had already crossed the stretch of sea separating Fraser Island from the mainland. Barely had we disembarked when we received the most unexpected of welcomes: it was a real dingo, an animal typical of Australia which enjoys particular notoriety precisely on this island. Finally the dream was turning into reality... we were driving between sand and ocean, in a magnificently preserved wild nature.

It took a while to get the hang of driving on sand, but as usual in the end we got the better of it and headed towards the first objective of the day: Gorge beach. From there we took a path that penetrated inland into an immense sea of sand. It almost felt as if we had suddenly entered the heart of a desert: a devastating sun bouncing off the sand and blinding our eyes, a scorching heat that made every single step difficult and thirst creeping in. Having reached the end of the path we suddenly turned around and before our eyes appeared a breathtaking landscape, resulting from the chromatic contrast between sand and sea. Back at the jeep we continued up the coastline towards one of the many lakes on the island where we had decided to have lunch. The day was drawing to a close and there were still many things to see, so after a fleeting meal we immediately set off again.

Our goal for the day was to get as far as Indian Head, the northernmost point of the island we were allowed to reach. According to persistent rumours, from right here it was possible to glimpse the whales and sharks that infested Fraser Island, and we certainly couldn't miss the chance to encounter two of the best-known lords of the seas. As already said, the day was nearly over and we still had to find a place to camp. It was a race against time, or rather a race against the tide which rose and rose and rose, threatening to leave us trapped in one of the most remote areas of the island. When all hope was lost we fortunately met a ranger who advised us to camp along the beach. Meanwhile darkness had already fallen and it wasn't at all easy to pitch the tents, but thanks to good teamwork the base camp was ready and we set up the stoves for dinner.

The first day had given us a big load of emotions and no small amount of fatigue; it had also allowed us to get to know our travel companions better, to whom we had already given new names, since theirs were too hard to remember: and so was born the legend of the burping woman, the young dynamiter, the tent woman, the sewer woman and the sausage crew.

The following day started very early because of the sun beating down on the tent, and after having breakfast we waited for the tide to recede. The first stop of the day was Eli creek, a fabulous stream of crystal-clear water flowing into the sea. The truly wonderful thing about this stream was that you could splash around inside it, following it from its mouth (located in the middle of the forest) all the way to where it spilled into the sea. The second destination instead took us to an old wreck of a ship that sank long ago because of the treacherous waves battering the coast of Fraser Island. The wreck is completely emerged from the water and proudly shows itself off, in its rust-red colour, drowsily resting on the shore. It seemed incredible but half the day had already flown by and ahead of us there were still a thousand things to do, first and foremost reaching Lake McKenzie.

This turned out to be far more arduous than we could have imagined: the path to reach the lake consisted of thirty km of extremely treacherous sand winding towards the heart of the island. After about forty minutes of exhausting driving we stopped for a very brief break at Lake Wobby, where we had the pleasure of meeting a magnificent specimen of monitor lizard resting among the trees. Just enough time for a fleeting glance at the lake and we jumped back in the car, unaware of the dangers awaiting us. The road seemed to never end and we were increasingly hungry since lunchtime had long passed and we still hadn't put anything under our teeth. To make this situation even worse, in the middle of nowhere we were swallowed by the soft bite of the sand. The four-wheel drive simply refused to go any further and the tiny grains got the better of it.

We were bogged down in a worrying way to say the least, but thank heavens, and with the help of the guys from another jeep, we got out of the impasse. We drove on for a good hour until we reached the sign indicating Lake McKenzie, but by now the day was over. A short briefing and we decided to camp at a nearby station so as not to repeat the mistake of the previous night. In an instant we pitched the tents under splendid and majestic trees, lit the stoves and avidly devoured some sausages wisely grilled by the skilled little hands of our German friends. Darkness fell in no time and we didn't waste a second going to bed, but not before an incredible coin-operated shower (yes indeed, we even managed to wash!) and a little glass of Lambrusco.

Waking at the first light of dawn we were about to spend the last day on the island. We were all curious to see this famous Lake McKenzie we had heard so much about... Once we arrived, we certainly weren't disappointed... the lake fully deserves its reputation. It is located in the middle of a tropical forest, surrounded by stretches of sand so white it looks like flour, with frighteningly crystal-clear water that just a few steps from the shore plunged into the depths. As usual beautiful things are destined to end, and so we set off again to reach the agreed boarding point. The instructions they had given us on the first day were clear: 3:00 pm deadline for boarding, with a possible penalty of one hundred dollars per person! Fortunately the road back, although long and demanding, didn't give us any unpleasant surprises and at the appointed time we were at point X.

We returned to the hostel from which we had set off three days earlier, tired and hungry, but satisfied with the feat we had brilliantly accomplished. As if that weren't enough, once we arrived we had to unload the vehicle, clean the equipment and pass a rigorous check of all the technical gear we had been given. We spent the evening with our travel companions, organising a final dinner with the leftovers of our supplies. Dead tired we flopped into bed, in view of the gruelling early rise awaiting us the following day.

At 06:45 we were already up to have the usual breakfast on the cheap and to catch the bus to Brisbane, where our flight to New Zealand was waiting for us. But the enemy is always at the gates and, heedless of the movement of the clock hands, we hadn't realised it was already 07:50, too late to catch the bus which had already left ten minutes earlier. Just what we needed!!! We plunged into ten minutes of deep despondency, trying to find alternative solutions to recover the money lost with the bus (of course the tickets were non-refundable). The only solution before us was not to pay for the night at the Brisbane hostel and use that money to buy a new ticket. And that's exactly what we did: after five hours on the bus we arrived in Brisbane where, after a fleeting lunch, we headed to the airport. It was four in the afternoon and our flight would only depart at 11:30 the following morning.

We definitely had plenty of time to get to know the airport in every corner, but we didn't have a single cent to buy ourselves something to eat. Fortunately Brisbane airport turned out to be very welcoming: there was free cold water, soft sofas to spend the night on and even satellite television... not even at the Hilton. And so, at 11:30 AM on 13-03-2005, our adventure in Australian land came to an end, an immense country to which we perhaps devoted too little time... we were ready to turn the page again and begin a new chapter: New Zealand!