Tuesday, January 20, 2015
We woke up bright and early at 6:30am for our day out on the Great Barrier Reef! Well, also to give ourselves ample time to put it down at the breakfast buffet, which had been comped due to our room troubles from the previous night. We walked down to the marina to catch our boat. It was 7:15am and I’m already sweating like a pig. Gotta love Queensland in January. Just as we got to the boat I realized I forgot my ear plugs – the fancy ones that don’t let any water in but still let air out so you can self regulate. This is the one day I specifically bought them for, so of course I forgot them. I found some shitty ear putty crap at the Marina and kicked myself, repeatedly, for my auditory blunder. Our boat is basically a huge ass catamaran that they fit way too many people on, all of whom have respect for personal space. So your typical day tour. We promptly took our spots on the nets at the front, after which all the hoodrats who can’t spell the word catamaran came and tried to sit on top of us. If I ran for president, my platform would be personal space. I really don’t think a foot radius at all times in all directions from all other living, breathing things is that much to ask. Did no one get hugged as a child? That can’t be it, because the Germans are pretty good about personal space and lord knows they weren’t shown affection as children. Maybe they were hugged too much. New platform: spank your children.
It’s a two hour ride out to the GBR and our first snorkel sight – Paradise Reef. The coral here was absolutely amazing – pictures just don’t do it justice. We snorkeled for a while – but really, how much coral can you look at? I think we did pretty good for a girl that hates fish and a another gal with inner ears that resemble the fiery depths of hell. Our next snorkel sight was Michaelmans Cay, which is a protected bird and turtle sanctuary. It basically looks like a tiny little deserted sand island in the middle of the vast ocean, until you get closer and realize its basically a bird frat party. Birds all over the place. Tons of them. And turtle sanctuary my ass. We didn’t see any turtles, because like the crocs, it’s mating season. And they don’t take visitors in mating season. Why do all the animals here have to get it on while I’m in town?
The ride back to the reef was without incident, other than the fact that bitches be cray trying to get a spot on the nets. Stina and I held our ground and gave dirty looks to keep the vultures at bay. After about three beers each we were slightly drunk, probably due to the heat exhaustion. We went back to the hotel, showered, and tried to talk ourselves into going out for our last night in Cairns. We are quite partial to the 9pm bed times, if you couldn’t tell by now, so we knew this would be a feat.
After an early dinner, some torrential downpour, and some cheap massages at one of those Asian massage places where you don’t take your clothes off, we bought a bottle of vodka and tried to pump ourselves up. It became clear we would wind up in bed unless we had someone to drag our asses out. But wait, we do have someone to drag our asses out. Enter: River Guide Matt. We called him up and informed him he would be taking us out tonight, to bring a friend and show up at our hotel at 10pm. Strike 1: He was late – but Rory rolls with the punches on vacation, remember? So he did not get bitched out for tardiness as I would usually do. Strike 2: I specifically requested that he bring a hot friend. I have a hot friend, so it follows that he should also supply one so they can celebrate their mutual hotness in harmony. He did not. Boys here think that the fact that they are Australian is their get out of jail free card with American girls. That just because they have that sexy little accent, nothing else matters. Ok, I just heard someone talk in an Australian accent as I type this and I guess that is kind of true. The accent will usually get your in the door to the party, but it won’t get you upstairs fellas.
So we partied in the room a bit – Stina and I polished off a fifth between the two of us and off we wen’t to Gilligans. We had been meaning to stop by Gilligans as some point, as it is basically a giant resort for backpackers, famous for its parties. Three bars, a lagoon pool, restaurants, and tons of skeezy drunk backpackers everywhere. I was too afraid to actually stay there, as aside from being a round the clock frat party the website features petroleum jelly wrestling and wet t-shirt contests as their major selling point. Airborne herpes outbreaks just don’t appeal to me, what can I say? Luckily for us, tonight was wet t-shirt contest night! Nothing makes you feel better about yourself more than watching uncoordinated white drunk chicks with daddy issues wash away any small shreds of dignity they had left with hose. We all got to vote by cheering, but everyone knows how these things go – efficiency always wins in a wet t-shirt contest. Rip that top off from the get-go and you win. Big fake titties also help, and our winner tonight had those in spades. She did win a free tour, so I guess those puppies are paying for themselves.
Now here is where the night starts to get fuzzy – the bar had fireball!!! Not many places have fireball down here, so I think we felt the need to make up for lost time. I turn into one of those Mexican shot boys with a whistle the second I see fireball. It can’t be stopped. We also had to find Stina a hottie, since Matt failed that part of his instructions. I spotted one at the bar and yelled “hey! you! come here! yeah, you! Over here, now!”. And just like that, Stina was introduced to her Irish Prince Charming for the night. I’m that good. Or boys are that easy. Let’s be fair, its a bit of both. So we both had our boyfriends for the night. I’m pretty sure I hit the dance floor at one point. Why god why?? All in all, a good end to a stay in the hottest place on earth.