Admittedly it was a mistake piling Noosa, Hervey Bay and Fraser Island into one post, because a lot happened over these eight nights. There will therefore be a fair share of omissions to save this post from becoming an essay. But let’s get down to it. We didn’t know what to expect from Noosa, but we’d heard good things. The description that rung out at us was ‘Noosa is a less commercial Byron Bay’. Instantly we were excited. We stayed at Nomads; a chain hostel with integrity. It only took us a 45 minute long queue to check in to realise Nomads was the place to be. But if we hadn’t figured that out then we certainly would’ve our second night in. The bar/pub/club attached to the hostel was where all the locals went for a decent night out. For us it was a thirty second walk from our room; up through the outside seating area and round to the front of the hostel, where the queue to get in started forming at around nine o’clock. The club did not disappoint; $5 mixers and old school tunes ensured a great start to the night. The only downside; it shut at midnight. We weren’t disappointed for too long however, as the hostel had organised a bus down to another club as soon as the doors to theirs closed. On we hopped, only to get down there and be turned away at the door for wearing flip flops. Our distress waned quickly though when we discovered the club next door had no dress code. Getting in, Cindy and I, as well as a lovely Scottish girl we’d met at Nomads (shoutout to Ellyn), were three of about twenty customers. But we aren’t the type to give up on a night out, and resolved to down drinks until we were pissed enough to make fools of ourselves on the dance floor. Four drinks down however, the club had filled up. A new wave of excitement hit with a few new rounds of drinks each, resulting in us getting suitably drunk and stumbling back to the hostel at three in the morning, kebab in hand. Just as good as home. But however hungover we were the next day, it didn’t stop us from booking a surfing lesson for that afternoon, as we discovered that Noosa is the last decent surf spot on the East Coast; after that various sea monsters mean the water is too dangerous for activities such as paddling etc. Fuck the jellyfish. Traipsing down to the beach for one o’ clock, we met our surf instructors. One seemed very taken with me, but I’ll quickly diminish any readers’ hopes of a summer romance with a hot Australian surf instructor; he was around my dad’s age and simply enjoyed the fact that I was from England and had hair like his wife’s. Going into this surfing lesson, Cindy and I really had no idea what to expect. After my water-skiing nightmare of 2012, I was quite anxious to involve myself in any other kind of water sports. However, after just one lesson, I’m hooked. Surfing is not at all scary, and as the instructor rightly pointed out, it isn’t like any other sport. It isn’t very fast-paced, meaning you have a lot of time when you’re on the board to figure out what you need to do to catch a wave successfully. It’s easy; even I got up first time. My heart leapt when our instructor told me I’d be a ‘wicked surfer’. Finally, I may have found a sport I could be half-decent at. Buzzing from our lesson, we wound down on the next beach over for the rest of the afternoon, and celebrated with Ben and Jerry’s.
We got back to the hostel in the early evening, ready for our last night in Noosa. And what a night it was. Bumping into one of the groups from Somerset we’d met in Byron Bay, we hung out with them for the rest of the night until all the clubs closed, and then accompanied them back to Noosa National Park where their campervan was parked. How five 19 year old boys managed to squeeze into what was, in reality, a people carrier not a campervan for an entire East Coast road trip I will never know. Goon, beer and speakers in hand, we sat on a patch of grass overlooking the sea until the early hours of the morning. At around five o’clock, the Australians came out. Donned in fitness clothes and whatever else you wear when you exercise (I wouldn’t know), a decent fifty people must’ve passed us that morning. I can’t imagine what a sight we were; off our faces, drenched from a swim in the sea earlier that morning, music blaring, rubbish everywhere, goon bags being swung in every direction, I feel we may have seemed a little disrespectful. Typical British. Greeting everyone who passed with a slurred, ‘Good morning’, to mixed reactions, we had a good laugh. Until it reached seven o’clock and Cindy and I realised we needed to get back to the hostel to check out. Accompanied by our new friends who had their hearts set on a Maccy’s breakfast, we set off on the hour long walk home. We parted ways down in Noosa town. I don’t think they ever did make it to Maccy’s. Dreams shattered. After a shower where we discovered various injuries from surfing and climbing (and falling) on the rocks during our all-nighter, and some breakfast we felt mildly like human beings again, and after monging out in Nomads reception for the morning, we set off to catch our next Greyhound bus up to Hervey Bay.
I know I said I was combining this post with Hervey Bay and Fraser Island, but after seeing how long it is, omissions and all, I’ve decided to do them in separate posts. Sorry if this disappoints my many fans.