Sunday, January 25, 2015 continued….
We arrive in Sydney for our last night of trip at about 8:15pm. After having to ditch our first cab driver who neither spoke English nor knew how to use a navigation system, we finally make it to our shitty airport hotel. We drop our bags off, throw on some jorts and grab a cab to the city. No time to waste. We head into the city to Stina’s friend Will’s place for some pre-drinking. Our cab driver was fucking NUTS. By nuts I mean he drove exactly like me. Now I am starting to understand why people are afraid to get in a car with me. We did a pre-game straight out of 2006.
About 8-10 shots each (who’s counting?) with one can of sprite between the two of us. Efficiency at its finest. All that was missing was tally marks on our wrists. Then we were off to a club. Now, I’m not typically a fan of clubs, but a big sweaty mess of hot Aussie men does slightly appeal to me. If you can believe it. Once we get there drunky Stina realizes she has no I.D. And no I.D. means no entrance, despite our persuasive American powers. So I text my cousin and we head off to whatever seedy bar he was in where we are assured no I.D. is needed.
A few hours and a few drinking games at the bar later, everyone is shit faced. Like, super drunk. And wants to go home. Or has been kicked out of the bar for reasons unknown (my cousin, Ben). Fuck that. It’s my last night and I am in it to win it. I just need a wing man. Enter: my other cousin CJ! What are the odds? A totally random run-in.
This kid walks in with his current flavor of the month, a hot little blonde number, and I know I am saved! People to play with! So Stina heads home and I head out with CJ and his lady friend to another bar. Where we remain until 6:30am. Now, I would love to give you a little more color on the night, but it’s all a bit fuzzy.
Suffice to stay I was bouncing off the walls doing that thing where I think I am everyone’s best friend. If ya know what I mean. At 6:30am my alarm goes off. Not my wake up alarm. My “time to the leave the bar and go to the airport” alarm. So I bid everyone at the bar farewell, grab a cab, stop at the hotel to grab my bag and Stina, and we are off to the airport.
Monday, January 26, 2015 – Happy Australia Day!
And so begins the most painful flight home that has ever been. Ok, thats a lie. That time I was escorted off the plane by homeland security was way more painful. We’ll call this the most exhausting plane ride ever.
I don’t actually remember checking in or going through security, as I think I was sleep walking through it. I slept the entire flight to Auckland, suffered through a 4 hour layover and them somehow survived the 11 hour flight back to L.A.
Monday, January 26, 2015 (Our second Monday)
Back in the United States of I Hate My Fucking Life. Awesome. Customs was a hot mess. I forgot how much I fucking hate the U.S. Actually, I did not forget. But here I am. My dad picks me up at the airport – he greets me as if I’ve just been gone for a long weekend, not two months. Missed you too, Dad. Back to the real world. Since none of you cheap bastards will sponsor my blog I now have to get an actual job. One that I have to show up to every day. And deal with fucking idiots all day long. My hair has already started to fall out at the thought of it. I hope you all are happy.
A few of you have requested that I continue to write my blog even while not traveling, but I can assure you that blog would not be worth your time. Today I sat on the couch and watched Vanderpump Rules – all day long. I think reality T.V. summaries are pretty much covered on the internet already. And once I start working, it’s only going more downhill from there.
So thanks for reading. And suffering through my horrendous spelling and pathetic excuse for grammar. I have certainly had fun writing it for you all. A special thanks to my BIGGEST FAN: Kim Treacy, who put my blog at the top of her priority list. Like the rest of you should have done. Seriously people, would a comment here or there have killed you?? I’ll expect better on my next adventure…whenever the hell that may be.
An extra special thank you to my TRAVEL SOUL MATE: Christina Lutz. I cannot think of anyone that I would not have murdered after two months together except you. More importantly, I don’t think there is another person on this earth who wouldn’t have murdered me after two months. So thanks for putting up with me. It feels very wrong being apart. I am uncomfortable. I keep looking around for you to tell you something funny. This will take some getting used to.
Saturday, January 24, 2015
Today we awoke refreshed after a full nights sleep. The dirty Irish cunts in our hostel somehow didn’t keep us up last night. I don’t know what it is about these skanks, but they cannot physically walk without stomping like fucking godzilla. Every time they stumble down the hall. I don’t even know how they do it. I walked down the hall and tried to replicate the thunderous noise and physically could not do it. And don’t even get me started on how fucking loud these little whores are. They are not capable of talking. They have two volumes: mute and screaming shrew. And let’s face it, they are Irish, so it basically sounds like they are screaming in a foreign language because you can’t understand a word they say. Today we saw one of these chicks who looked beyond haggard walking around the hostel in a loose tank top with no bra and her tits flopping around everywhere. And I’m not talking about cute boobs. I’m talking about those nasty Orangutan boobs that hang awkwardly and swing around everywhere. They are really more like utters than boobs. Fucking gross. No one wants to shit that shit girlfriend. Take a shower and put a bra on. These whores makes me physically ill. The boys are pretty much unoffensive, per usual.
We showered and bounced out of their asap, per usual. We went to the “farmers market” in the park across the street. I use quotes because this pathetic little accumulation of tents made the Torrance farmer’s market look like the Orange County Fair. We then had our favorite breakfast in life: avo smash. Yum. After that we drank a bottle of champs and headed out to the Aussie open. We don’t have real tickets, we just got ground passes which basically gets you into the beer garden. Based on how awesome it was on Thursday we are beyond excited. We should have known….
We show up around 11am, which is an hour after the gates open. Apparently we are a few hours too late already. The line for the beer garden is winding around the entire grounds, and we are told it’s two hours long. What.The.Fuck. What useless Aussie planned this shit? Oh it gets better. We settle into line with some beers, figuring we’ll just party in line and be shit faced by the time we get in. We are then told that we are not actually in line to get into the beer garden. We are in line to put our name and number on a list so they can text us when we can get in the second line to get into the beer garden. As I have not been born with the gift of patience, I am pretty pissed at this point. We basically accept that the beer garden is not going to happen, but we make some friends in line so we decide to stick it out just in case and keep drinking. After we put our names on this ridiculous list, we head to the other beer drinking area, which has basically turned into a second beer garden. It’s not a fun as Thursday, as there are way too many people and you have to wait in line for 30 minutes to get a beer, so you end up having to buy 4 beers at a time and hoard them. Oh, and there are tons of chicks. I guess I should just be grateful that they are not the
Sunday, January 25, 2015
Today was pretty mellow. It’s our last full day of vacation and, wouldn’t you know it, the weather is fucking horrid. It’s the first day that it is not hot. And not only is it not hot, it’s fucking freezing. Being the creatures of habit that we are, we head out to find some avo smash, as our last non-airport brekky cannot be anything else. The plan was to lay out at the beach, but since that is out we just headed to the bar. Apparently Melbourne’s version of Sunday Funday consists of tons of huge groups of dudes sitting around drinking beer waiting for slutty chicks dressed up like they are going to ‘da club to show up. I’ll take flip flops and jorts in Hermosa over that bullshit any day, thank you very much. Not sure if anyone gets super sloppy, as we had to head back in the afternoon to grab our stuff and head to the airport. After the bar we were so cold we went to the “sea baths”, which are public hot pools that look out onto the beach. Stina told the cutie at the front desk it was our last day of holiday and gave him a cute little frown so he let us in for free.
Our stag party boyfriends from the other day have their wedding tonight, so they are sending Stina and I pics to show us what we are missing out on. I’m not gonna lie, we are slightly devastated that we are missing out on an Aussie wedding. But we are spending our last night in Sydney. Our current plan is to stay out all night and then go straight to the airport for our flight. Wish us luck and wait for the outcome in the LAST BLOG OF THE TRIP tomorrow 😦
Side note: at what point does it become acceptable to scold other people’s children. I understand spanking them is out. Sadly. But at some point you have to be able to do something, right? Yes, you guessed it – more wretched children on the plane.
Friday, January 23, 2015
Today is our LAST bus tour of the trip!! But it’s gonna be a long one (that’s what she said). 7am to 9pm long. 14 hours. On a bus. As soon as the bus pulls up we are filled with dread. It’s a mini bus, not a coach. That is what happens when you are a bargain hunting Jew and scour the internet for the cheapest tour. They call them “small group tours” as if it’s a selling point, when in actuality it is just an excuse for them to pack you into a tiny bus with no leg room like an animal for the better part of an earth’s rotation. On a bus tour, being stuck with 20 morons who have no common sense is basically the same as being stuck with 40 of them. You might as well get the extra leg room. Law of diminishing returns when it comes to stupidity.
So we are off. Stina and I each have a new book for the day so we are all set. We head down the coast and have some photo stops at various beaches. They are pretty. But a beach is a beach. We enter the Great Ocean road and then wind around for an hour or so before we stop for lunch in a little seaside town. We were supposed to see wild koalas along the way, but as you all know, Stina and I repel wildlife and had no such luck. The tour guide said she has never not seen a koala on this trip…in ten years. Well Ms. Tour Guide, meet my friend, Black Cloud. He perpetually hangs over my head and fucks shit up. The afternoon is where the good stuff is. First we have to get the rainforest walk out of the way. This is our 42nd rainforest walk in the past few weeks, so we are kind of over playing Tree Jeopardy. Ms. Tour Guide has a thing for tree’s that have rotted out and the top has fallen off. Every Aussie tour guide has one tree fetish. Not sure the rotted tree would be my choice, but to each his own.
Finally, we make it to the stuff you see on the postcards. We first stopped at Loch Ard Gorge, which has beautiful limestone cliffs and a hidden beach that looks like paradise. This was the site of Australia’s most famous shipwreck. It was a cargo ship named the “Loch Ard” that crashed into the cliffs in 1878. There were only about 50 or so passengers and two of them survived by floating into this beach. Straight up Titanic style. One of them floated on a table…so you know he probably pulled a Kate Winslet and refused to share that shit. Anyway, two 18 year olds, a boy and a girl, were stranded at this beach. They found a farm nearby where they were stuck for 3 months. And they did not fall in love and live happily ever after. At least lie to us for the sake of a good story. Anyway, there are a bunch of hiking trails, so our guide gave us 45 minutes and said we could fit two in. Stina and I did all three in 30 minutes. Shocker.
Next up was the 12 Apostles. No, there are not 12. There were never 12. It was actually never called the 12 Apostles, it was originally named “The Apostles” and people just stated adding the 12. There are currently 8. We had a photo shoot while trying to avoid the Asian bus and then we were on our way back home. Pictures for your viewing pleasure.
We looked for Magnums all day, but everyone just had the knock off ice cream bars. It was disappointing, indeed. We hated everyone on our bus because they were fucking morons who couldn’t even figure out how to exit row by row. So every time we got off a cluster fuck ensued in which everyone stared at eachother willing the other to make the first move. It was an early night for us. Not only because we are exhausted, but because tomorrow is Aussie Open day #2!! We only got the free tickets for Thursday, but our stag party friends informed us that you can just buy a ground pass for pretty cheap and get into the beer garden. You don’t get to watch the matches, but we all know Stina and I are just going for the beer.
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Today is mainly a travel day. We are super hungover, but we figured if you are going to spend the entire day feeling like shit, it might as well be on a travel day. When you have to fly. Flawless logic. We have a morning flight from Cairns to Melbourne with Jetstar. Jetstar blows – and not just because the seats are tiny, but also because their pilots haven’t quiet mastered the take-off and landing aspects of their job. Minor details. We befriend a 15 year old boy in the seat next to us who looks like he is about 10. He thinks we are hilarious and pathetic and will probably tell his friends all about the ridiculous drunk chicks he hung out with on the plane. Take off is rough, but we manage well enough. After about three hours or so we begin our descent. Our descent into a fucking wind tunnel apparently. Stina screamed, and there may have been tears. People were staring. We held hands. Probably since we hadn’t been able to cuddle the past few nights. And finally we had arrived in Melbourne! I was about 3pm by the time we got to our hostel. Our room is a box. With no air conditioning. Just a fan. But we do have free wifi and it actually works in our room! You guys will probably have noticed an increase in text messages from us because we are spoiled for i message capabilities. We went for a walk on the esplanade and got some Mexican food. I am assuming this is pretty obvious to you all, but it was an early night for us.
Thursday, January 22, 2015
Today is a very exciting day. Not only is it Jorgie’s 30th birthday (hehe), it’s Aussie Open day!! Yes, we are going to be real, non-backpackers for the day and we could not be happier about it. And old client of mine hooked it up with some free tickets, which is primarily why we scheduled Melbourne for the end of our trip. We head off to the open around 10am, which is when they open the gates. We are eager beavers. It took about 30 seconds for us to find the beer garden – which was empty at that point. We swore to return, got some champagne and headed to our seats where we watched some Sweedish chick get her ass kicked by a Russian chick. Is it becoming clear how much Tennis I watch? About halfway through the match the inevitable outcome was glaringly obvious, so we left to check out the situation in the beer garden. The situation inspired lots of hope for the rest of the day.
I think you can all see where this day is headed. This beer garden was HUGE, the Aussie men were plentiful, and the women were not. Nothing I love more than shooting fish in a barrel. And day drinking. After trying out a few different groups of dudes we found some funny ones and decided to grace them with our continued presence. Drinking with Stina and I is like winning the lottery; luck needs to be on your side and you just wait for your number to be called. And wouldn’t you know it, they were a stag party (Stag party = bachelor party here). I don’t know how it’s taken us almost two months to find a stag party, but we all knew it would happen eventually. We spent the next few hours getting sloshed. The plan was to go back in to watch Serena play…but they had a big screen in the beer garden. Soooooo. What’s the difference really? And do you have any idea how quiet you have to be when you are watching a tennis match? It’s like being muzzled. I could barely handle it sober. I can’t be held down like that, people.
We did go back in at some point to watch Djokovic (#1 in the world) play. He looked like an ass hole to me. I rooted for the underdog, who I think was adorable, but I stopped wearing my contacts about a week into the trip so I can’t really see shit. He got is ass kicked, off course. Ever the consistent spectators, we headed back to the beer garden once it was clear where that match was headed. Where we remained until about 8pm. We had gotten passes to the Heineken VIP area earlier in the morning. Some skanks were walking around handing out passes to attractive men only. They were like a snooty, uptight version of Budweiser girls. Stina went up to one and asked if she could get some passes. The chick literally made Stina walk her over to where I was sitting so she could make sure I wasn’t a beast before grudgingly handing over the passes. It was like Regina George was checking to make sure I wasn’t wearing sweat pants. We went up to the VIP area, but it was awkwardly uptight. The room was filled with guys with too much product in their hair and chick in heels. Heels – at a fucking tennis tournament! Not exactly our crowd. We drank our free beers but looked longingly out at the middle class where all the fun was being had – and let’s be honest, where we belong. We spotted our stag party boys and high tailed it back down to party with the lay people.
The rest of the afternoon was spent as you can imagine. Getting totally shit faced. Eating ridiculously fatty foods. Like gravy fries. How can something as simple as gravy over fries be so insanely delicious? My sister-in-law is probably drooling as she reads this. As you should all be. A bunch of the single dudes invited us to go to dinner with them. We were promptly uninvited by the married guy in the group. Married people ruin all the fun. Did you take a vow of marriage, or a vow of boring? Because you could have fooled me. A slight tiff ensued amongst the single and married men, but we parted with them promising to meet up later at the bar below our hostel, which apparently they frequent quite regularly.
When we got home it was getting dark. I was confused because I thought it was about 4pm. It was 8:30pm. Time flies when you are keeping pace with a stag party. An Aussie stag party. We got some kebabs (the Aussie version of a gyro) and I promptly passed the fuck out. I awoke around 11:30pm a few hours later to a bunch of facebook messages from the stag boys, who were downstairs at the bar, as promised. But those who have been day drinking with me (which is probably all of you) know that once I am down, I am not getting back up. It’s like when someone has a concussion. If you let them fall asleep, it’s over. I think 10 hours of drinking is my limit these days. Old age is a bitch. Stina was beyond thrilled that I did not make her go out, as she was equally down for the count. Travel soul mates strike again.
Tomorrow we spend 14 hours on a bus to see the Great Ocean Road!! Should be thrilling. Ok it will be boring, but there will be bus people to talk shit about and lots of cool pics.
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.
Friday, January 16, 2015
Today was another early start, as we are the first sky divers of the day! We are jumping in Mission Beach, where you literally land on the beach. It is somewhat known as the best sky dive in Australia. We are picked up at 7am and headed off to the office to sign our lives away. We were then introduced to our tandem partners and harnessed up. Now, if there is one thing I’ve been looking forward to, it’s hot skydiving instructors. We haven’t seen an attractive man since Byron Bay, so we are due. But alas, they are all old.
And mine is a big lesbian. Why am I not surprised? Apparently even the good looking Aussies know not to come this far north in summer because its so damn hot.
We didn’t spring for the pictures because (1) I’m cheap, (2) It was a bit cloudy and (3) After your first time jumping out of a plane the novelty of spending $100 on pictures of yourself wears off. They packed about 8 jumpers + 8 guides in the plane. I was shocked by how calm I was.
I guess I got all the fear out of my system on my first jumped last summer when I tried to fire Pipi for talking me into it. We actually had to free fall through a cloud. Clouds are cold. There is one very important plus to having a Lesbian guide instead of a guy – she put on my harness in a way that did not hurt my lady parts when the parachute went up. Poor Stina won’t be walking straight for a week.
The rest of the day was pretty uneventful as there is FUCKING NOTHING to do in Mission Beach. We hung by the pool for as long as possible in this heat, which was about two hours. Other than that, we just people watched the trashy kids staying in our hostel in complete disgust. About 90% of them are travelers that have run out of money and are now working on banana farms in unbearable heat and humidity so they can make some money to keep going. Personally, if I ran out of money, I would just call my dad crying until he bought me a plane ticket home. I would probably turn to prostitution before the thought of working on a farm even occurred to me. Apparently you if you work so many days on a farm in Australia, you get a year visa. So lets all be grateful we have Mexicans at home, because you definitely do not want this degenerate youth in charge of cultivating your food. In fact, you don’t even want them in your country. They are another breed. Here is an idea – just get a fucking job at home and save some damn money and then travel. Kill Bill came on TV at night, so that was a nice little treat. At 2am some belligerent fucks started drunkenly screaming about god knows what – they were probably fighting over farm equipment or something. Stina opened the door and politely asked them be quiet. Little do they know she saved their lives. Had I opened that door….
Saturday, January 17, 2015
Today is white water rafting the mighty Tully river!! The Tully river is generally supposed to be pretty bad ass, as the water level is controlled by a power station, so it is raftable year-round. Needless to say, I am fucking stoked. I have been waiting the entire trip for some white water. Once we are checked in, another bus of people arrive. A bus that strikes fear in the hearts of travelers everywhere. That’s right. The Chinese bus!! I actually think they were Korean. It doesn’t matter. They don’t speak English and I think we can all agree they would be dead weight in a rapid. I immediately started to freak out about getting stuck in a boat with these useless fucks and agonized over it to know end (you know me). We all scuttled on to a bus to drive up to the top of the river during which an adorable guide, Matt, gave us our safety briefing. I think we can all agree that a man’s hot factor increases exponentially when he is a white water rafting guide. They also all tend to have an absurdly dirty and politically incorrect sense of humor, which never hurts. Now Matt was in charge of putting everyone into groups for boats. Therefore I found it necessary to pull him aside and tell him to “put us on a good boat”. Translation: No non-english speaking meek Asians in my boat. I’m trying to get after it. Not take selfies all fucking day. Matt understood, and placed us with a group of white people with zero personality but the ability to follow instructions. That’ll do. He took fucking forever to organize the groups, so we thought he was slightly slow. He later told us he was just trying to figure out a way to group everyone to ensure that Stina and I were on his boat. Favorites, yet again.
With our group intact and our guide staring at our asses, we were off! The rapids were not exactly what I was hoping for, as the water levels were a bit low. Apparently they have had a pretty dry wet season and it shows. So no big crazy rapids, but a lot of maneuvering to get around rocks. Which means you need to follow instructions. Self explanatory, right? Wrong. At one point we were sitting around having a swim so Guide Matt could make sure all the other boats got down a rapid safely. Meaning we got a front row seat to pure, unadulterated stupidity. These were my favorites: (1) Asian boat – some of them actually did surprisingly well, but one boat in particular spent the entire time screaming any time water touched them. Not sure what they thought was going to happen. (2) German boat – these morons got stuck on a rock and then proceeded to have a conversation with each other while their guide was trying to instruct them what to do. The result was the most amazing display of pure hatred by any guide I have ever seen. His face got red and he was screaming at them “listen to me!!” while gesturing “look into my eyes!”. I was awesome. I really felt for the guy. That entire boat should have taken their money and spent it on my intro “how to be a loser” course. (3) Contiki Boat – as in the kids on a Contiki tour. These miserable fools were a hot fucking mess. They were all insanely hungover from the night before. One girl – who we called “bang” – was trying to keep her Friday night bang blow out in tact all day. One giant clump of bangs swept in her face the entire day.
She looked like every guy on the Contiki bus had already had their way with her by this point. And they probably have. She was trash-tastic. The other doe-eyed little bitch on the boat had her hair perfectly quaffed around her helmut and seemed determine not to get it wet. On a rafting trip. Stina and I took care of that with our paddles in about 4 seconds. Oh, and on the boat ride up to the river Matt asked everyone who lives in the Northern Hemisphere to raise their hands, and one of the Contiki guys had to ask for clarification because he wasn’t sure what hemisphere he was from. He was Australian. I wish I was making this up, I really do.
After a few hours we stopped for lunch, and I got my finger bitten by a rabid river turtle. One of the guides said it was because it looked like a sausage. I can’t argue with this. My fingers are not my best feature. Then I was stung by a wasp. It was a rough 10 minutes. Then we were back on the river for a few more hours of rafting.
At one point when we all jumped out to swim Stina and I overheard one of the guides of an Asian raft trying to explain to someone how to swim. I shit you not. I thought I was imagining it, but no. That happened. I can’t decide if that beats the bike tour I did in Germany with Steph where people literally didn’t know how to ride a bike. Seriously, the more people I come across in this world, the more I am convinced that (1) Humanity is doomed unless we can find a politically correct way to institute mass sterilization, and (2) Ignorance is bliss – these morons are so content in their stupidity it’s scary. Matt made comments about our asses a few too many times. He later told us he spent the entire day staring at them. Thank god we wore shorts.
Some girls were not so lucky and a few suffered from very extreme cases of hungry ass, where their ass eats their bathing suit and there is nothing they can do until the opportunity to pick it out presents itself.
After rafting we were taken back to the office – which is a bar by day – and had a few beers. The Asian tour group of unknown origin spent the entire time staring at the pictures that were taken of them spending absurd amounts of money on the photos. Before we left Matt gave us his number so that we could meet up with him that night in Cairns to party. We were contemplating whether or not we would be normal people and go out on Saturday night, but let’s be honest, we were leaning towards having the lights out by 10pm, per usual. However when your rafting guide says “let’s party”, you party. I have been known to make out with a rafting guide (or two) in my day, so I do have a reputation to uphold here. Thus, Stina and I devised a plan for the night. The worst plan in the history of going out plans…
First, we were bused up to Cairns, which is our base for the next few nights. Now remember when I surprised Stina by booking a room at the Double Tree? This is the place. We checked in and were given warm cookies. All our questions were answered. It was seamless. Then once we saw our room – an actual hotel room – we almost started crying. Words cannot describe the euphoria we felt at this moment. Oh, and the beds. Omg the beds felt like a cloud. We could almost just fall…right to…..NO! Follow the plan!! No sleeping!! Step 1 – Food. Now, those that have traveled with me know that (1) I love carbonara pasta, (2) I only eat it when I’m on vacation, and (3) I always eat it when I go on vacation. Once. Every trip. I have not had it yet on this trip, and so that is the plan. We find an Italian place, order ourselves two heaping bowls of creamy heaven (plus a bottle of wine), and put it down. Problem #1 – Carbonara makes you want to climb into bed and rub your belly until you fall asleep. And you all know my penchant for a belly rub. Problem #2 – Carbonara is not exactly a great drinking base. Shit. We must party, but I feel like I’m going to puke. Just make yourself a drink, Rory. It’ll be fine. It actually was fine, because after I took one sip of my vodka soda I puked my dinner up. So that solves that problem. Bring on the vodka! By the time we got ourselves showered, puked and into a drinking ready state we were running a bit late, so we took shots. Of vodka. In our hotel room. I’m 25 in Australia, remember?
We met up with Matt and a few of the other guides at a bar. And wouldn’t you guess our luck – one of the guides was the angry guy who screamed at the Germans! And he is 6’9″. We spent most of the night shit talking about all the fucking morons on our trip today. We hated all the same people. Matt explained to us that once he saw our lululemon shorts he knew he wanted us on our boat, and that he spent the entire day just staring at our asses (which we knew). And all the other guides were pissed at him for not putting us on their boat. Oh, and that we generally just kicked major ass at rafting. Tell us something we don’t know. Before we knew it, it was 2am and I was getting a foot rub in a bar from my rafting guide.
Not bad, old gal. We took Angry/Tall guide and Guide Matt back to the Double Tree for an after party and drank the four beers we had left. Then it was off to bed around 3 or 4am, just in time for our 7:30am pickup for tomorrow’s tour. That one is gonna hurt…