East Coast Expedition: Final Day of Fun on Fraser Island and Rainbow Beach

Jan 27, 2011

It was another early morning on Fraser Island. We woke, ate brekky, and packed up camp all before 8:00 a.m. Then we piled into Dolly and headed off to Lake Wabby, our final stop on Fraser Island.  Lake Wabby is both a window lake (when the ground level falls below the water table) and a barrage lake (when a sand blow blocks the waters of a natural spring). Getting to this splendorous lake required first hiking through a never ending forest trail and then climbing up a massively high sand blow. The real issue was that I had left my sandals back on the beach with Dolly because Monkey said "Nah, you don't need em." I should have known better than to listen to this superhuman. My poor feet were getting punctured, jabbed and scratched by the twigs, rocks and rubble lining the mile-long trail (and by mile I mean a couple miles. It was rough). When I finally reached the bottom of the sand dune I wanted to kick my heels up and shout. The soft sand looked so inviting. I dashed madly onto it and began the near vertical hike up to the top. And then my feet suddenly began to experience a pain unlike the kind I had endured in the woods. . The pads of my feet were burning on fire. The sand was hot. Scorching. I felt like I was walking across coals with no end in sight. Why, oh why, didn't I bring my sandals? I was practically dragging my body across the sand on my forearms when I finally reached the top and saw the water of Lake Wabby glistening below. Salvation! I tumbled down the other side of the sand blow and splashed desperately into the cool, refreshing water. It was glorious. We passed the morning floating in the lake among cat fish, turtles, and other little critters.

The peak: sighting my salvation

Lake Wabby

And then Monkey and Byron gave the "Let's go" signal. Unfortunately, getting back to Dolly meant going back over the hell terrain of scalding sand and rocky roads. Oye. The walk back would have been more bearable had there been a foot masseuse waiting for me on the other side. Alas, just Dolly was there for me with my sandals. The Dream Team piled into Dolly for the last time (tear). Then we took off down the sand highway to the ferry, which carried us to Rainbow Beach. Back at the mainland we had the daunting task of cleaning up poor Dolly, whose inside was a disaster full of sand, crumbs and lord knows what else. With a brush in my hand I swept every last granule of sand out of Dolly. Then Monkey dropped us off at the hostel, passing on the way one of his amigos at the gas station. After honking at him, Monkey turned to us and said, "That's Luigi. He's getting married Saturday to our other friend Guido. The entire town is coming to the wedding. It's gonna be awesome. If anyone is still gonna be around you're more than welcome to come too. Everyone is invited!" We looked at each other slightly confused. "Wait," I said, needing clarification."They're getting married for real?" I am a complete supporter of gay marriage, but wanted to make sure I had understood him correctly. "Oh no," Monkey replied. "They're both straight. We're just throwing together a wedding for them for fun. It's a reason for everyone in town to get together and celebrate." I was dying inside with disbelief and laughter. Only in a small beach town in Australia would an entire town gather for a placebo wedding of two best guy friends (who happened to be Italian, not Australian) just so they could dress up and drink the night away with friends. That needed to be filmed for a television show. Sure enough, back at hostel there were posters hanging all over announcing the upcoming Luigi-Guido nuptials taking place that weekend. It was too funny to bare, and so I retreated back to my room for a much needed shower and power-nap.

The Dream Team and Dolly. Are we cool or what?

Around 4:00 pm that afternoon the Dream Team regrouped and set off in search of Monkey's abode. He had offered to take us to the Carlo Sand Blow which was right past his house, and so we made plans to swing by his place before continuing onward to Rainbow Beach's most exquisite spot (which I will get to in a minute). Monkey's crib was located at the very top of a steep hill (its no wonder he has buns of steel walking up that thing every day) that had the most amazing view of Rainbow; definitely the best of any resident in that town. You could see the greenery and beach stretch on for miles in every direction. I wish I could have detached his front porch and the view from it, and slapped it on the front of my home here in New York. What I wouldn't give to wake up each morning, walk onto my front porch barefoot and in pajamas, and sit gazing at the stunning scene I saw that evening. Little did I know that the scenery was going to get better atop the sand blow.

The view from Monkey's pad

The Carlo Sand Blow is a enormous sand mass that offers a 360 view of towering cliffs of colored sand, the rainbow beach, Fraser Island and the other surrounding landscapes. Monkey insisted that we couldn't leave Rainbow Beach until we had experienced a sunset atop the Carlo Sand Blow. He didn't have to twist our arms. We arrived to his house like a group of giddy 5th graders about to go on their first school field trip. An onlooker would have thought that Monkey was some celebrity and we were a bunch of obsessed groupies following him around like enamored puppies. For whatever reason, I found this quite amusing. Monkey took us to the reservoir at the top of Cooloola Drive (what a cool name) and then through a rocky, winding forest path (thankfully I had worn my sandals this time) that eventually lead to the sand blow. Wow. That was the only word I could sputter when I set foot on the sand blow. It was incredible. I was standing amidst a sea of sand that extended endlessly on both sides of me, one leading to the ocean and the other to the lush forests below. We wandered towards the beach side first, where I gazed in awe up and down the coast and out to sea. If I had been in a a harmony bubble earlier on Fraser Island than I was in a harmony globe now, a globe at least three times larger than Disney's Epcot Center Globe (you know, the one that looks like a massive golf ball? Google it.) Being there was really indescribable. I felt the urge to throw my arms out widely, open my mouth and belt the Disney classic "Colors of the Wind" from the movie Pocahontas (I apologize for my numerous references to Disney children's movies, but I can't help it. They are classics, and best express what I can't.) I refrained the urge and sang it in my head instead: "We need to sing with all the voices of the mountains. We need to paint with all the colors of the wind." Someone mastered this technique, because Carlo Sand Blow was a wind-painted masterpiece.

The Carlo Sandblow

Checking out the incredible view

In my harmony globe

The sand blow overlooking the forest

Gradually the sun began to set, but on the opposite end of the sand blow. Monkey lead the pack up and over to the other side facing the forest. I felt like the Von Trapp family from The Sound of Music climbing over the Swiss Alps; we were one big happy, hiking family. We frolicked and played in this nature-made sand box, tumbling around and goofing off. At one point the group decided to spell Monkey's name with their bodies (yes, I told you they were obsessed). As the older, more mature mother of the group, I of course refrained from this silly behavior and offered to be the camera gal instead. My eight darling kiddies sure did know how to crack me up! Once play time ended, we settled our bums into the sand and witnessed the most spectacular sunset. It was breathtaking. Heck, I think it even took my soul away momentarily. As the sun sank lower and lower, the sky changed every color of the rainbow. Perhaps Rainbow Beach should be renamed Rainbow Sky...

My lil monkies spelling Monkey. See it? Yea, no- I didn't either

The mesmerizing sunset

With my E-team kiddies

More sunset

Afterwards, the Dream Team headed back to the hostel where we spent the evening playing pool, darts and ping pong. Then Monkey extended an invitation to everyone to join him at his friend's house party where Merve and his other co-workers were gathered. I said "Count me in" the instant I heard Merve was going to be there. I was excited to get one last dose of "Be cools" from that wonderfully wacky man before I left Rainbow Beach the following morning. Joe was the only other Dream Team member who came with me, as well as our English friend Patrick and two Irish gals who were on the trip with us, and some random dude from Canada who nobody knew (I mention him only because he will come into play again in a future blog post, so make a mental note).  I wasn't sure what to expect, but when we arrived at the house I was pleasantly surprised to find a group of people on the back porch having a jam session with guitars and bongos. The group warmly welcomed us; we sat intermingled among the locals and joined in the singing session which was lead by none other than Merve. Asides from being a skilled speaker he is also a semi-skilled guitarist. Then one of their Kiwi pal, Habs, picked up the guitar and played some acoustic classics by the likes of John Mayer, Oasis and the Beatles. It was so much fun to spend time with this close-knit group of townies, and a nice change from being stuck in a hostel with a bunch of foreign backpackers. I felt like one of the locals. Oh, and I met the near-famous Luigi and Guido. I congratulated them on their big day and gave them both my sincerest apologies that I couldn't attend the event. I truly was disappointed I was missing the big wedding; something tells me that it would have been an quite a peculiar experience.

Finally, around 3:00 a.m. everyone had reached their peak of singing and bongo banging. It was time to go. I gave Monkey a heartfelt hug goodbye. He told me that I was the best American he had ever met and that "you fly your nation's flag well" (something to that affect). He even mentioned interest in coming to the states to see what all the fuss was about. I was happy that I had helped shift his impression of Americans towards a more favorable light. Let this be a lesson to you all: you can't judge an entire nation or people on one or two rotten eggs you've had the unfortunate displeasure to meet. And you certainly can't judge a people based on what you see on television. Jersey Shore is NOT America. I repeat: Jersey Shore is NOT America. (I curse the day that show hit the airwaves, but I'll save that rant for another day).

Joe and I dragged each other home, exhausted from our jam-packed adventure we had these past three days on Fraser Island and Rainbow Beach. This evening was the perfect cap to a fabulous trip. Each tour I went on seemed to get better than the last. I was truly grateful. Unfortunately, this was the final trip I had pre-booked. From this point forward I would be winging it, something I was both excited but nervous about. There was now one looming question: where, oh where, in Australia was I to go from here? Forwards? Backwards? Up? Down? I decided I would sleep on it, hopeful that the answer would be delivered to me by an angel in the middle of the night. Or perhaps the big man above would paint the answer for me with the colors of the wind. And if not, well then I would just deal with it in the morning. That's the appropriate, care-free attitude one is suppose to have on these sorts of adventures. After all my meticulous planning, I decided now was the time to embrace spontaneity.