Baring All Down Under

Steve Deeks

Description

The follow-up to Baring All Down Under: Hilarious Confessions of a Bewildered Backpacker, sees Steve Deeks coerced into one final hurrah before he returns to the UK. Having grown irritated at hearing endless backpacker stories of how great the east coast is, Deeks decides to put the theory to the test as he embarks on a road trip with one friend and a bunch of people he has never met before, including a Scottish girl who no one understands. Stopping off at various idyllic locations such as Hervey Bay, Fraser Island, Nimbin and Byron Bay and participating in epic adventure tours, things rarely go to plan. Whether tensely stranded on a boat with easily offended Germans in the Great Barrier Reef or unknowingly snorkelling in shark infested waters, there is never a dull moment as the gang party down the country while struggling to avoid trouble. Is Deeks happy about extending his trip Down Under to experience this once in a lifetime opportunity? Find out in his no-holds-barred travel confessions of the much- celebrated Australian east coast.

Sujets

• Humour

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 29 octobre 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781785896613
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Baring All Down Under

The East Coast Road Trip



Steve Deeks
Copyright © 2016 Steve Deeks

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study,
or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents
Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in
any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the
publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with
the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries
concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events
and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination
or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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ISBN 9781785896613

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Acknowledgments
Sarah Deeks and Diana Groves. Pat, Darren, Rob, Mark, Sam, Simon, Ben, Fraser, Joe, Tobias, Steve and Andy.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1 – The road trip begins
Chapter 2 – The boat trip
Chapter 3 – Behind the wheel
Chapter 4 – Hervey Bay
Chapter 5 – Fraser Island
Chapter 6 – Deep in Fraser Island
Chapter 7 – Debauchery on Fraser
Chapter 8 – Noosa Heads
Chapter 9 – Brisbane
Chapter 10 – Surfers Paradise
Chapter 11 – Nimbin and marijuana
Chapter 12 – Byron Bay
Chapter 13 – The Arts Factory
Chapter 14 - The Christmas rave
Chapter 15 – Sydney reunion
Chapter 16 – The final hurrah
Chapter 17 – Going home
Chapter 1 – The road trip begins
As I waited outside Cairns airport in the sweltering humidity of the North Queensland state with my backpack strangling my neck, I was left questioning whether I was doing the right thing by not heading back to Sydney to depart the country for England, as was originally planned. While you could argue that there really is no contest between heading back to a cold over populated island in comparison to partying your way down Australia’s east coast while taking in various adventure tours, it still came as a surprise to me that I was extending my voyage. I had grown irritated at hearing so many gushing stories from other backpackers about how great “doing the east coast” was and felt it my duty to see what all the fuss was about and no doubt put the record straight.
My doubts intensified when I heard a car horn relentlessly beeping, as if an excitable child was driving it, which as it turned out was not far from the truth. I saw a hand with a solitary finger raised out of the window of the four-wheel drive vehicle, which had a large picture of the devil emblazoned across the bonnet with “Stevo” written in large letters underneath it. I strode towards the wagon – so weighed down by the volume of items stuffed onto the roof rack that the engine was almost touching the ground – knowing without a second take that it was my good friend Mark. “Alright toss-pot, you found it then?” he shouted out the window.
“Sure did pube face.”
Once Mark had pulled over and slapped me hard on the cheek by way of a hello, three weary people suddenly emerged from the car: a chubby Scottish woman with red rosy cheeks called Julie, who had a particularly strong accent, and two younger early 20s blond haired Swedish lads, Sam and Simon, who were far easier to understand. They had all met at a hostel on-route down the east coast and would be joining us on our trip south. “We’ve got these three tagging along, hope you don’t mind?” Mark announced brashly. “It’s cheaper that way. And they’re not too bad.” As it was, I didn’t mind, although I did think it might have occurred to him to mention it to me before, especially as it essentially meant I would be spending every waking moment with three total strangers cramped up in a knackered four-by-four.
After forcing my backpack into the boot with great difficulty, I was given the red carpet treatment when allowed to sit in the passenger seat for the first stretch of the journey, as a goodwill gesture for being the new arrival. But, thereafter, before entering the vehicle it would be a case of whoever called first got the seat, which had infinitely more space than the area in the back, which resembled a cattle market. Once in position, feet were desperately sprawled out to both sides of me - with one rested on the side of my chair, dangerously close to my ear - as those in the back searched for any of the elusive space that was available.
Feeling as comfortable as a sardine in a tin, we hit the road with the music blaring and began our voyage into the unknown. It wasn’t long before we were on an empty, long stretch of road with nothing more interesting than some dull fields to look at, prompting us to play the dazzling game of who can predict when we will see another car. We would seemingly go for miles and miles without seeing a fellow human, so naturally when we did the game evolved a further aspect that saw Mark tooting the horn and both of us waving our hands out of the window, normally with the Swedes sticking a hand out the sun roof for good measure too.
The idea being that they would wave back, or even better, if they were in a lorry, sound the horn in recognition of our efforts. I couldn’t exactly recall the last time I had played such a game but was almost certain it had been back at Primary School – about two decades earlier. There was a sinister side to the fun, too, where if the driver coming towards us ignored our request – which quite a few, unfortunately, for them, did. Having blatantly been blanked, and with our egos affronted, we would then subject the drivers to the kind of torrent of abuse that no parent would be proud to hear coming from their child’s mouth, along with a variety of frantic hand gesticulations showing our disapproval; all of which had to be administered precisely as they bypassed us, much to the opposing vehicle’s disgust. If nothing else, at least it helped liven up the journey slightly.
As the light began to fade we pulled up at the nearest campsite to settle down for the night. In the interests of saving as much of our money as possible (we had all paid $100 each toward petrol, food and drink supplies) we decided the best policy was for the Swedes and Julie to get out the car into the pouring rain as we approached the site. This would, therefore, give the impression they were not with Mark and myself, so we would cunningly only have to pay for two people rather than five. Smugly getting back into the car having saved ourselves the huge collective sum of $8, we made our way round to our allotted space before being joined by the rest, who cautiously appeared from behind a shelter after checking the coast was clear.
With it now dark and the rain pelting it down we had to hurry. The Swedes and Julie set about putting up their own tent while I helped Mark as much as was possible with ours; though, I have to confess such a task did not play in to my strengths. Although I marvelled at the advancement of modern technology tents, compared with the awkward confusing ones from yesteryear, it was still a painful exercise, with my plight exacerbated by the lack of light.
My limited talent for such tasks was helpfully pointed out to me while doing labouring work in Sydney some months earlier, where I was instructed to fulfil the perceived rudimentary task of rolling up an electricity cable. After several failed attempts and with the cable in a considerably worse condition than before, the perplexed and mildly irritated foreman realising he could be waiting a long time, finally ran out of patience and stopped what he was doing to roll it up effortlessly himself in a few seconds. “Fuck me, the agency said you were a labourer not a monkey,” the beleaguered man, on a tight deadline, observed.
I was getting similarly astounded and untrusting looks from Mark after he garbled instructions at me in our frantic quest to erect the tent before we got totally drenched. I was keen to do my bit but couldn’t help but think I was making more work for him. “Hang on a minute, let me do that,” he would suddenly announce while peering at my handiwork suspiciously with his phone torch, thus preventing me doing any more damage to our cosy sanctuary for the night. In the end, I was assigned the task of blowing up our double spread air mattress. Fortunately, this could be done automatically by holding one end that pumped air into our bed, while ensuring the other remained firmly attached to the energy-generating device in the car. I saw my role as particularly crucial, as without the inflatable airbed we would have to make do with spending the night on the hard ground with nothing more than a sleeping bag and a flat pillow to comfort us - like the poor Swedes and Julie were preparing to do so.
After finally getting the tents up and stable enough so they couldn’t be blown over we went to the sheltered communal eating area to make some food, which gave me the chance to get to know the Swedes and Julie better. Sam and Simon were typical Swedes: blond haired and blue eyed with perfect English who liked a joke but had a serious, thoughtful side. Julie seemed nice enough, though I couldn’t be entirely sure as understanding her proved about as easy as comprehend