Special K

I have recently had to deal with an aspect of travelling that is both one of the best and one of the worst things about it. You meet people that you feel close to, that you feel you could be friends with. You spend a few wonderful days together then you have to part. You talk of meeting in the future and all the fun you could have. And you truly mean it. The plans are always vague and distant; visiting each others countries in a year or two's time. Who's to know if they will ever be realised. Who's to know if you will ever see each other again. You move onto the next place and wonder who you'll meet next and whether they too will have the potential to make a difference to your life. Can you truly base lasting friendships on a few days spent together on an island? I dearly hope so.

We wake up with the dawn and pack our bags. The bus stop is about twenty minutes away and we are exhausted; I was up till about half one writing the night before. We find a shopping trolley by the road which kindly helps us with our bags. The bus takes us to a place hilariously named Townsville. It is the gateway to Magnetic Island. As we approach the driver tunes into a local radio station playing 'Townsville's greatest hits'. We listen to the most bizarre collection of tunes ranging from Guns'n'Roses and the Red Hot Chilli Peppers, all from at least ten years ago, to Kesha's latest and best. We had heard good things about Magnetic Island and Libby was planning on going there next anyway so we decided to all carry on together.

We book into a hostel in a koala sanctuary for a couple of nights. After our hectic last few days we feel in need of some relaxation. We head to the nearest beach and take in the topical paradise we have washed up on.

In the evening we play coconut bowling and make good use of the bar's happy hour with a group of English guys. I win a t-shirt from behind the bar, they only have size XXL but I wear it for the night anyway. It's currently crushed into my bag somewhere, I'm still planning on turning it into a baggy tank top ideal for days on the beach.

Magnetic island is pretty. It doesn't feel as special as some of the other places I've been but it's a nice break. I embark on a walk by myself the next day while Amy and Libby spend a day by the sea. Amy has some serious work to do in catching up with my tan. We are meeting a friend from home in a few days who is over who is here for a holiday and we need to look the part. I was planning on doing the beach thing too but awoke with the need to explore.

I enjoy walking through the hills by myself. It gives me a chance to concentrate on my surroundings. I can listen to nature at work. Lizards rustle in the leaves as I pass and occasionally one will make a mad dash across the path before me. I visit some old WWII forts built to help repel the Japanese. One gun emplacement reminds me of a Mayan place of power, hidden high in the mountains where only the gods can find it.

I take a thirty metre track through a forest to a fresh water lagoon, dried out at this time of year, and am confronted by the most ridiculous sign I have seen yet. It warns of the need for walking boots (the path is totally flat); hats and sun cream (you are shaded the entire time); water (as stated, the path is thirty metres long) and warns of the dangers of snakes (fair), cliffs (the path is totally flat! And the edge of the lagoon is such a gradual slope it looks flat) and finally jellyfish. Jellyfish. In a freshwater lagoon you could barely cover your feet in.

I also think the fire warning signs are a bit over the top. I know fire here is an extremely serious business and any sort of early warning can save lives. But I still think a risk scale ranging from low to high or very high would have sufficed.

We get the bus to Airlie Beach. It feels to me a bit like those resort towns in Spain so frequented by the British. It however is the olny way to get to the Whitsunday islands in the Great Barrier Reef. Our friend Lucy from home was organising a conference in Sydney so has taken a week holiday in Australia after. She meets us in Airlie Beach and there is much to catch up on. We head straight to the bar and get to it. That night we go out in Airlie with some people from the hostel. I remember a late night pie and lying on the pavement chatting to Andy back home, inducing laughs and a few hi fives from passers by.

Our boat is called Wings 2. She is a catamaran. Sleek, sharp and gorgeous. Amy, Lucy and I await to board, lamenting the lack of men on our tour. She takes us out to sea, the sails are up and the waves speed past us. We sit out at the front on a couple of sturdy nets over the water. The sea glows green and the sky burns blue. The occasional swell of a wave hits against the fore of our boat sending water surging up to soak us from below.

We make our first stop and I go scuba diving for the first time in my life. There are only four of us that do it, the rest opting for snorkelling instead. It is the most bizarre experience. Breathing underwater feels so unnatural, and being unable to use your nose at all is frustrating. We were taken to the bottom one by one by our wonderful diving instructor. As Lucy and I were sitting on the sea-bed waiting for Libby to arrive Lucy taps me on the shoulder and I see that the strap on her mask has come undone and she is holding it on with her hand. I feel a moment of intense panic then remember that her mask has nothing to do with breathing, it is only there so you can see without getting salt water in your eyes and to stop you trying to breath through your nose. In times like this I wish you could talk under water.

My first time under the waves is a blur and passes quickly. I am too busy concentrating on breathing and moving to see as much as I'm sure I could. I am aware that it is amazing though and vow to go again tomorrow.

We drop anchor between two islands and have a night of Goon on the boat. Goon I discovered, and now recall being told by my step-sister when she lived out here, is the Aboriginal word for pillow. When you are done with your box you blow up the bag and can have a sleep wherever you are. I am the last one to go to bed, no surprises there, and go for a short midnight swim in the sea alone beneath the stars. There are no sharks in sight.

Whitehaven beach is one of the most famous beaches in Australia. The sand is one of the purest in the world and is near blinding under the sunlight. We spend the next morning there taking photo's and building sculptures from the sand. I am amazed by how soft it is and how fine. The dry sand is like walking on foam and the wet is almost a white mud. When you look down it is easy to convince yourself it is snow. Then you feel the heat and your brain tells you something is wrong. The clear cerulean water shines and glitters over the dazzling grains. From above it forms patterns as if painted with a brush. Blue and white gently fade in and out of each other.

After Whitehaven I go on my second dive. There are a few more taking part this time, Amy is certified so unfortunately has to go in a different group to me. Right from the start it eclipses yesterdays. From the moment I enter the water there are fish circling around me like satellites. Some dart in and out and brush past me. The coral is indigo and violet, it looms through the sea in great boulders. We traverse valleys and hills. Coral crevasses drop downward, fish swimming in and out, each displaying more colour that the last. I can hear nothing yet there is noise. A gentle and persistent roar. And other sounds that I cannot distinguish. I presume they are some product of the pressure on my ears. Squeaking and bleeping. At one point I swear I can ear bagpipes. Again the half hour passes in a matter of moments. I feel I could stay down forever. The first breath of real air when you break the surface feels almost as unnatural as the first breath underwater.

Afterwards we go snorkelling. I revel in the ability to talk to people about what I can see and I think I see even more that when diving. We see a Giant Wrasse aptly named Priscilla, a known resident of this section of reef. Giant Wrasse's can change sex and Priscilla is currently male. They are amazing creatures. Honestly, google them right now.

I think we were expecting a bit more of a party atmosphere on board in the evenings, having previously done boat tours in Ha Long bay in Vietnam which are anything but sedate. By the second night though we were as tired as everyone else and are happy to just chill out on deck with drinks and conversation. A pod of dolphins leaps from the sea nearby. We watch the sun set across the ocean and the beauty leaves us silent. The sky burns before us.

On the last day we get up at six for an early morning snorkel before returning home. I am definitely still a bit drunk. Priscilla hangs in the water below me. He glides with ease and grace, every now and then his great mouth extending out to feed.

We make some good friends on the boat along with a couple of people to visit while we are in New Zealand. We meet a Dutch girl called Daphne who we love, we discuss how the Dutch are probably our favourite nation, and are very sad to have to leave her. And a couple of great Canadians who we arrange to meet in a different town in a few days time. We lament our tight schedule and wish we could travel with Daphne for a while, making our way down the coast at a more leisurely pace. It is not to be, Amy and I have an overnight bus to catch. We leave Lucy, Libby, Daphne and the Canadians at the bar in our hostel and continue on our way. Sad, but excited for the next stage. I think that will be all the goodbyes for a while.

We arrive in Hervey Bay the next morning and hire some bikes to explore the town. There is a wonderful beachfront with piers that stretch far out to sea and some botanic gardens that we successfully get lost in. Beyond that there does not seem to be much to the town. Again though it is the means to an end. This time we are trying to get to Fraser Island, the worlds largest sand island, called Paradise by the Aboriginals.

We meet the group we will be travelling with the evening before we set off. It is a three day two night tour in four wheel drives. There are thirteen of us including Amy and myself. Eleven of them turn out to be German. The remaining two are Swiss. Swiss-German. We sit down on the sofa waiting for the briefing and don't understand a word around us. They appear to be in two large groups that are each travelling together. I wonder whether we'll have to amuse ourselves for the next few days. One girl kicks up a fuss. She says she will refuse to pay anything if anyone damages the car. Eventually she relents and signs; she has no choice if she wants to come. She adopts a sour expression that she retains for the next three days. We watch a ridiculous safety video then everyone leaves to go to bed. I foolishly think I won't be making any fast friendships on this trip. I could not be more wrong.

Early the next morning we haul ourselves from bed and stumble through to reception. Five of the Germans are waiting there already. Someone makes a joke about the safety video from the night before and before we know it we are all laughing and joking together. I realise almost instantly that I can get on with these people. They suggest that we should all be in a car together (there are two cars, up to eight in each one). We readily agree.

They turn out not to be one group but three. Two pairs of friends from home who have been travelling as a four for just under a week and a guy on his own who they met two days ago. Me and Amy fit in well despite language differences, we become the 'Special K's', or the 'K Family', a name accorded us by the lady behind reception.

We spend the trip together. We dance together in the car and we pose for photo's together in front of everything we come across. We play games and discuss the future. We spell out words on the beach under the light of a full moon. I feel our short time together dropping away like an hourglass in my head.

The first thing we do on Fraser is swim in a perched lake. These are lakes with no rivers flowing in or out, there only about sixty in the world and forty of them are on Fraser island. The sand here is so fine and pure, like that of Whitehaven, that it filters the water more efficiently than anything used in the cities. I walk by a stream and gaze at it for a while confused. I think the surface is covered in a pale algae. I realise what I am seeing is the sand of the river bed, the water is so clear you can barely see it. It flows over the sand without a sound, there are no rocks to cause ripples and gurgles. The taps on the island feed directly from these streams and the cool crystal that pours out reminds me of water from back home.

The water in the perched lakes is just as clean but it is dyed a deep red. The trees that wrap the island are the source of tee tree oil and the lakes are stained with it. You can wash in them using only the pure white sand, the grains absorbing all grease and dirt. We do so and I must admit my skin and hair both felt exceedingly soft afterwards.

I was expecting Fraser to be somewhat bare. Apart from a small promontory the island is made entirely of sand and I would have presumed that would have resulted in very little plant life. Instead I found a rainforest. Yes, the paths through the trees are nothing but strips of sand and occasionally you will stumble upon a huge dune but apart from that it amazingly seems as full of life as anywhere else I have been. Endless green cut by silent white streams.

The first night we camp in a campsite fenced off from the dingoes. Dingoes abound on Fraser Island and we all see a few. They look like dogs and act like wolves. We are warned many times of the appropriate procedure should a dingo show signs of aggression. Fold your arms over your chest and walk back slowly. This is a technique we go on to adopt for many things. Cars, for example. We are also warned of the dangers of going in the sea, this being prime shark area. We unfortunately did not see any sharks but did spend a long time searching for the elusive Dingo-Shark which can only be found on the full moon.

We visit the wreck the Maheno, a ship built in Dumbarton, Scotland, in 1905. It had quite the life, starting out as a luxury liner and surviving the first world war as a hospital ship before being sold to the Japanese and grounded a few days later during a freak winter cyclone. It was never recovered but was again put to use as a target for bombing practise during the second world war.

The drives around the island are one of two things, relatively slow and so bumpy you can barely stay in your seat (these are the most fun) or fast and sweeping down the endless beach that stretches for the entire eastern side of the island. The sea flows by on one side and the dunes on the other. I see a white breasted sea-eagle carrying a sea snake in its talons. It is a magnificent beast and I am wowed by its size. Our tour guide, Syd, pulls up next to a green plastic chair encrusted in barnacles. It is sitting on the sand facing directly out to see like an empty throne. There is nothing for miles around, it must have washed up in this position but I can hardly believe it. Perhaps it was placed there by an Undine, or by Poseidon himself, upon their last trip through these waters.

Syd excitedly leaps out of the car exclaiming 'This is exactly what we need!' before grabbing the chair and shoving it in the back of our car. There isn't really enough room and it stinks, but Syd seems happy. He tells us that once he found a flat-screen TV in the exact same position. Upright and facing out to sea, covered in barnacles. I wonder what Poseidon would choose to watch. Project Runway if he had any sense.

Our second camp-site is the beach with the dingoes. We build benches out of some wood Syd has stashed in the trees nearby. He triumphantly produces another plastic chair that he found over a year ago.

At times the language barrier does get to me. Occasionally I find myself surrounded by various in depth German conversations that I don't want to interrupt. Worse than this though is knowing that I cannot have these same in depth conversations with these people in English. Some things are too hard to articulate in a foreign language.

We cook dinner and head to the beach to play games that involve spinning very fast in a small circle. One of the K's can't quite handle it and ends up in a wave. We watch the full moon rise over the sea, a voluminous disk that starts the colour of pale gold, and Venus streams an icy light behind us. People trickle off to bed and the K's are left with the Swiss. The moon is high in the sky and it blazes with a light that could almost be day. The air is perfectly clear and the sea glistens under the power of the stars and the moon. Cut glass and silver. Moon shadows stand bold against the pale sand.

Time stands still and the world seems to shrink. Nothing matters. Is there anything better than good company under the stars? I don't think there is. And if you add in some beer well...

We spell out words using out bodies silhouetted. Dingo, Shark, Fraser, Island, 2013. And 'cookie' (some of the K's have a serous problem). Me and Henrik manage to perfect the 'S'. The Swiss go to bed and we are left dancing in the moonlight. We take a photo mooning under the moon, confident that nothing can be seen in this light. As it turns out I manage to position myself at the perfect angle to light up much more than I would want lit up. Everyone else is fine.

I wake up in the morning with a feeling of sadness. It is the last day of the tour and our time is almost over. I wish we could all stay here forever. We spend the day swimming in lakes and digging our cars out of sand. As we drive along 'Sitting on the Dock of the Bay' drifts over the radio. We fall silent, some sing along, and I think on how false the lyrics feel to me right now and how I wish they were true.

Looks like nothin's gonna change

Everything still remains the same

We return to the hostel for a final night together. Amy and I are happily catching the same bus as Henrik and Klara the next morning so we at least have more time. We draw K's on each other and search the town for somewhere open past eleven. We fail so walk home along the beach and take more photo's on the pier. Jupiter breaks the horizon, burning a vengeful red and exuding power. We woefully say goodbye to one of us who is staying at a different hostel then head back. There is enough time for a final group teeth clean (this is what happens when you hang out with dentists) then I crawl to bed.

We are up early the next day for the bus and more goodbyes. Two of my new friends are in a band called Stereo, I have heard one songs online which I thoroughly enjoyed. We spend the journey going over pages of lyrics with me correcting any major mistakes, of which there are few.

The next stop is Noosa. It is a nice enough beach I suppose, and the headland is a small national park which has a good coastal walk but again there is very little in the town to inspire. We leave the next day for Brisbane and our two remaining K's thankfully decide to leave Noosa with us and come too. I am so glad they are able to change their plans because we no longer are. We need to reach Sydney for a flight to New Zealand.

We arrive in Brisbane and find ourselves surprised at how happy we are to be in a city once more. I walk down a street and find myself enjoying the noise and the feel. Cities speak of activity and opportunity. Of people.

I like Brisbane. I think I would never like it as much as Melbourne but it still appeals. There is a lot of contrast in architecture with new buildings built by old (as old as they get here). There is a park on the south bank of the Brisbane River containing the Brisbane Wheel (Australians seem to be incapable of naming things) along with a small rainforest and a pagoda. Spread through out it we find people practising several different brass instruments. Alone but held together by common purpose. They seem to communicate through the trees and vines, speaking to each other in a language only they understand. Unfortunately Amy and I only have under two days here, I could do with far more.

We meet the two Canadians from the Whitsundays in our hostel and the six of us have a night out in Brisbane. It is amazing. We arrive at the club at about half ten and dance solidly through till half past four when we can be found slowly marching out in time to 'New York, New York', herded off the dance floor by the bouncer. They play songs stolen from school discos and they play songs straight from the charts. We only pause to go to the bar or the toilet, and never for long. When it is done we are exhausted but thrilled.

It takes almost an hour to walk home. We attempt to hail a taxi to New York, play on bike parking and consider going to the casino. It gets light and we find some reporters on the street waiting to present the six o' clock news. They have been up since three. We try get a place in the news but they don't seem too keen on the idea. We find a man on a skateboard clutching a blood soaked rag. He tells us he's been up for seventy two hours and should probably go to hospital. He skateboards off into the sunrise.

Three hours later I am up and it is time for me and Amy to check out. We go to the lagoon and play in the fountains, they clean the hangover off us in a burst of clean water and activity. Before we have to leave we have a final dinner with Henrik and Klara then leave for our bus. Once again it is just us. I feel slightly hollow and am glad Amy is here.

We have made plans to meet up in the future. I want to visit Germany and they want to visit Scotland. The festival and my birthday next year is a possibility discussed. I truly hope I make it to Germany to visit them before too long has passed. Thankfully we have more imminent plans aswell. Henrick and Klara are heading home in a couple of months but not until they have travelled New Zealand. They are travelling south while Amy and I are travelling North. We would like to meet up half way and I am sure that it will happen. I have an idea that before we meet we should each take photos of ourselves pulling poses in specific places and then when the other pair visit that place they have to recreate the same photograph.

With the rest of the K's I have possible plans after New Zealand. New Year has been discussed and possibly Christmas. These are things that I would love to do but currently have no idea where I will be. I can but hope it will be possible. As I hope it will be possible for all seven of us to meet again one day, but that would not be for a long time.

As I said before. The worst thing about travelling is having to say goodbye to people that you feel connected to. When you can feel friendships forming then they are pulled away and you don't know if the opportunity will ever arise again. The best thing about travelling is getting to make these friendships, and getting to meet these people. It is other people that make my life. People are interesting and intriguing and infinitely varied. It makes me wonder who I will meet next. And where I will have to visit next, once I've done a tour of Germany.