Saturday, January 10, 2015
Today we awoke to the sun shining in Noosa. We didn’t have to catch our bus to Brisbane until that afternoon, so we headed to Noosaville, which sits along the beautiful Noosa river, in search of paddle board rentals. A bus ride and AUD 30 later we were the proud renters of two stand up paddle boards for the next two hours. We were told to go up river against the current, so that our way back would be easier, which makes perfect sense. However, up the river was home to the damn yacht club it seemed – we were actually almost killed by a jet ski tour of about twenty fucking idiots who looked like the only thing they’d ever driven was a mario cart. Since anything that goes faster than a kayak is no bueno when you are on a SUP, we switch directions, made it across the the veritable nautical autobahn, and headed for the lovely and quiet section of the river. Stina had a bit of a wobble while trying to admire her lovely surroundings (or a big ass catamaran with lust in her eyes) and took the best fall off a paddle board I have ever seen. Homegirl went down like a starfish, face first, a full frontal flop. She recovered nicely and I resisted the urge to fall of my board in a fit of laughter. It was gorgeous and peaceful, nothing but a few house boats, lots of nature, and us. I was in heaven. Until we turned around. Holy shit. Apparently once you start paddling upstream the river is no longer filled with water – It is now peanut butter. We sounded like the damn Williams sisters at Wimbledon with each stroke we took. It took about five minutes for me to drop to my knees like a choir boy on Sunday. I later conferred with Stina and apparently we both employed the “count to ten strokes on each side, then switch” routine. I contemplated playing dead on my board until someone took pity on my pathetic ass, but then I remembered that Aussie’s only give half a fuck, and Rory in a bikini is not half a fucks worthy, despite my great tan, so I better just keep paddling. And paddle I did. My little heart out. The only thing that could be heard above the gale force winds was the occasional whimper from Stina or I. By the time we made it back to the rental place, we were near tears. I tried to bribe a few 10 year old boys into carrying my board back. Apparently they had better sources of income. So Stina and I lay on our boards like beach wales and slowly swam our way in.
After this, our millionth failed attempt at a workout, we lazed around by the lake and ate our 45th hand-packed salami sandwiches of the trip before it was time to head back to grab our shit and catch our bus. Some chicks on the bus found out there was no wifi and threw a fit. I tried to explain to them that their ticket clearly states that greyhound would ATTEMPT to provide wifi on all buses and that was therefore not a guarantee for which they could seek reimbursement. But my words fell on the deaf ears of fucking morons, so I gave up. Sorry Greyhound, those fuck faces are your problem. Stina kept quiet and rolled her eyes. I am starting to suspect she has an even lower tolerance for stupidity than I do, which is a feat. Only difference is that I can fake nice really well (a trait I acquired during childhood – long story) whereas Stina will wear her contempt for you on her face at all times. It’s kind of amazing. When Rory is nice cop, you need to reassess your life. And enroll in Rory Boston’s “How not be a loser” seminar. For the low, low price of [something I have not yet figured out, but it ain’t low].
We contemplated spending the night watching TV in our room. After all, we had been through a traumatic paddle board experience. But since we only had a few hours in Brissy we decided to get off our fat, lazy asses and go to dinner. Dinner was fab. Stina adopted a goat cheese and spinach croquette as her child (she is registered at fatties-r-us), we through back at pitcher of Sangria, and then off to bed. I dreamt that I lost all my bathings suits the day before our Whitsundays boat trip. I am a pessimist even when unconscious.
Sunday, January 11, 2015
The search for a decent boozy brunch continues…this time in Brissy. We headed down to Southbank in search of a little beach time at the lagoon and peeps getting trashed. We found neither, as the sun didn’t come out and I’m convinced this “Sunday Session” thing is a myth. All people talk about is how Aussies know a good Sunday Session. I’m calling bullshit on this right now. These morons don’t even know what a mimosa is. And the restaurant we went to, with a full bar, wasn’t licensed to serve booze before 10am, which is a problem we have run into before. These people think they party on Sundays when you can’t even get a drink before 10am? I’ve been roofied before 10am in Hermosa. Get your game together Australia.
I will give Australia one thing – the most amazing breakfast called “avo mash”. Our Canadian friends from Fraser told us about it so we sought it out today. Basically it consists of sourdough toast topped with avocado mashed with chunks of feta cheese, arugula, onion, and lemon. It’s heaven on bread. Not that bread needs any help. We headed back to catch the noon train to the airport for our flight to Airlie Beach (Gateway to the Whitsundays!!!). On the train there was a child crying. I gave the kid a stern look at shook my head. This littler girl shut up so fast you would have thought I was holding her barbies ransom. On the plane, Stina was sitting next to the most horrid child on the face of the earth. I did the same thing and it totally worked until her dumb ass mother moved her to the window seat and I could no longer put the fear of god in her. So it’s official, children are silenced by their fear of me. That will come in handy one day, mark my words.
We arrived in Airlie Beach, caught our transfer into town and checked in to our hostel. Our “deluxe” room looks like the jail cell that is given to mobsters who bribe the warden – large and roomy with the poor folk in another wing, but you are still in jail. We headed down to check
out the lagoon, which rocks, and the back to the room for showers and off to beers around 6pm. I think we shot our wad a bit too quickly, because by 8:30 we were ready for bed. And so that is what we did. We went to bed. No one wants to be hungover on a boat anyway. Oh, guess who is saying at our hostel? B+ team America from Fraser Island! The name of the game is AVOIDANCE. Especially since we now know that Stina won’t be able to conceal her disgust. Me on the other hand, I could walk right up to them and say “omg where did you get that bracelet, I love it!”. When in actuality it is the ugliest effing bracelet I have ever seen. See what I did there?
We won’t have any wifi on our boat, so it’ll be a few days before the next post. But that post will include sailing the whitsundays, so it’ll be worth the wait for the pictures alone.