Debbie

Throughout history certain names can strike fear into your soul just by a mention: Hitler, Stalin, Castro, Debbie. I know what you're thinking, "how can anything named Debbie be so bad?" Well as Gilligan once said, "Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip."

Disclaimer: I did not know their was a cyclone coming to the exact beach I was going to. No one did.

It's been no secret that I want to travel as much as I can while in Australia. Each weekend I want to see new places and experience new things. Last Monday a Tiger Air deal to the Whitsunday Islands came my way and it was just too good to pass up. I asked if anyone wanted to go with me, and when no one felt up for a trip to God's preview of Heaven, I decided to go by myself. I know lots of people think that it's crazy for me to travel alone--ahem, Mom--but it really isn't all that scary. You also have to remember that I just uprooted my entire life and everything that's familiar to me to live in Australia for several months, so the being alone stuff doesn't really bother me anymore.

Moving right along, I booked all my flights and excursions and was ready to see what was ranked as Australia's Most Beautiful Beach 2016. Friday morning I got up early and headed to the airport for my 9:30 flight. I try and make a point of taking the train long distances, especially the airport, because I am certainly going to utilize the free travel. ISA and their rotating door of employees aren't going to profit off me.

I get that Tiger Air is the cheap airline to use, but did Sydney Airport really have to put them at gate 58? Just because I like cheap flights doesn't mean I like to be treated like a second-class flier. Not cool. My flight was delayed (no surprise), and I eventually made it off the tarmac at 11:00. I was plum wore out, so I was actually asleep for takeoff and the first hour. Thank goodness I was wearing my seat belt because I was floating when I woke up. Apparently discount prices on Tiger Air also means discount pilots. Not once, twice, or three times, but on four separate occasions I experienced weightlessness. Was I on the Tower of Terror at Disney World? Nope, Tiger Air, but you could've fooled me.
Word of advice: If you are considering dropping $70 thousand to fly on Richard Branson's Zero Gravity plane, skip it and pay $99 for a flight on Tiger Air.

After an hour and a half and an apparent time change (Queensland is an hour behind New South Wales despite being directly above it), I landed in one piece at Proserpine airport. That whole area of Queensland is very podunk. I luckily managed to get a roundtrip bus set up to take me to my hostel in Airlie Beach. The ride to Airlie was flat and cloudy. It even rained a bit, which I should've seen as a precursor for the rest of the trip, but the sun came out and gave me false hope. I arrived thirty minutes later at Beaches Backpackers. Ha. Hahahahahaha. Do not ask me why I booked myself a room at a hostel. I am not a free spirit or a vagabond. That is not my scene. I am a crazy person. But hey, I wanted to say I had done it.

Beaches had a deceptively nice website that made it look very upscale and ritzy for a hostel, but I should have been a bit less naive. I mean, I only paid $22 a night after all. I got a shared room for eight people. It had a bunk bed and no air conditioning with cinder block walls on all sides. The bathroom just screamed "athletes foot" at me as soon as I saw it. It was squalor. North Carrick dorms just got a much higher rating in my book. I changed into my swimming trunks and made my bed and briskly escaped the bacteria haven. You get what you pay for.

I had lunch and went for a walk along the beach, except there was no beach in sight. I was then concerned. I found a bench and called my mom. Classic Hunter move. I was overwhelmed and she wasn't easing the anxiety. "You shouldn't travel alone. This is what happens." I wasn't overwhelmed because I was alone, I just didn't realize what I had gotten myself into. Mom told me to go make friends with "the natives." I told her that this isn't 1765, and they go buy locals. She then asked how my brothel was. Not joking on that one. I explained that I was not in a whorehouse, but in fact a hostel. On paper they're very different. In reality, the lines are a bit blurred. Regardless, I told her as fun as being Tyrion Lannister for a weekend would be, I wanted to make it back to Sydney STD free.

Mom made me laugh and the sun was out, so I decided to make the best of my trip. Turns out I'm just ignorant and did not go to the right location that Google had specified. I can't even work my iPhone, I never would have been able to use a real atlas. But I prevailed and found the beach after all! There were only a handful of people, and I excitedly put out my towel. I started the cycle of baking in the sun for awhile, swimming, baking, and so on. After killing several hours and enjoying some "me time," I headed back to take a shower with shoes and chill out. On my way back, however, I stumbled upon one of Airlie Beach's neatest hangout spots. They have a man-made lagoon right in the middle of town that is free for anyone to swim in. The water was treated and kept at a comfortable, lukewarm temperature. It was better than the beach and so much fun to swim in a pool that overlooked the ocean. I stayed for quite some time and even watched the sunset.

My evening after that was pretty chill and uneventful. I bought some souvenirs, ate a large pizza for one, enjoyed the nightlife, and took a long, moonlit walk on the beach. I'm a romantic, what can I say. Around 11:00 I headed back to my hostel to find that its courtyard was transformed into a makeshift club, complete with lights, a band, and drunken, barely legal, youngsters doing the Macarena on tabletops. It was the only thing I could hear walking back from dinner, so I knew early on sleep was going to be a challenge. I decided to check it out for a few minutes, and I do have to commend whoever was picking the music. Never in one sitting, and especially at a club, have I ever heard Taylor Swift, Grease, Neil Diamond, the Spice Girls, and whoever sings Hey Baby played one after another. It was like they were trying to call me home. I maintained a strong front and did not let the guilty pleasure songs lure me in. I knew I had to get up super early and couldn't stay out much longer, but I made a mental note to come back the next night and enjoy the compilation of wonderfully, terrible One Hit Wonders. Thank goodness they didn't play Adele or I would've been a goner.

6:00 AM came very early. I don't recall falling asleep, but I have a sneaking suspicion it was to ABBA's Dancing Queen from downstairs. I'm about as quiet as a freight train, so I'm sure I woke up my roomies who likely had gotten in an hour or so before, That didn't stop me though. If they were going to yell it would have been in some European language or Japanese (they were all foreign), and I only know American English and Southern Spanish, so no comprendo mis amigas.

I left for Port Airlie with the sun still down and eventually found it in the misty, morning twilight. (Is that a song lyric? Sounds familiar.) I boarded my Cruise Whitsundays vessel and high-tailed it to the inside lower-deck, where with the speed and precision of a new Hyundai Elantra I went back to sleep. I swear I have narcolepsy. I can fall asleep anywhere. Whitehaven Bach was a 2 hour boat ride, so I got a nice little nap in. I do remember waking up at one point to our boat hitting some major ocean waves. *red flag*

We got to Whitehaven about 10:00, and I can firmly say that the beach and ocean are THE prettiest I have ever seen. I have 20 years and lots of beaches under my belt, and it absolutely wins. The sand was 98% silicon, so it never gets hot. It's also very aerated, so it stays fluffy and fun. The water was crystal blue and warm. The beach was pristine, with only our boat of about 75 people on it. The jungle behind the sand led to mountains that cascaded down in both directions and faded into the sea. It was like a movie. Magical.

After being in awe and finding my perfect spot to lay my towel, I resumed my cycle of tanning and swimming. From November to April jellyfish are very bad off the coast of Queensland, so I was put into a ridiculous "stinger suit" when I swam. I felt like a third-rate superhero with it on. It was one of the goofiest get-ups ever, so I ended up risking it without it in the end. We only stayed for two and half hours, sadly, but I will never be able to forget its natural beauty. God took his time on that place.

Our next stop was Daydream Island, but to get there we had to hit some major waves. Never in my mind did I attribute the monster waves to a possible storm over the ocean. I just braced myself and hoped my picture wouldn't be on CNN the next day with the caption, "American College Student, with Striking Resemblance to Academy Award Winner Leonardo DiCaprio, Dead in Australian Shipwreck." But our little boat road the waves like a surfing pro and got us to our destination.

At Daydream Island I had lunch at a cabana restaurant with bad service and birds, but the view of the ocean made up for it. I ate my meal and then laid out by their pool, sleeping in the sun with my sunglasses on. Silly raccoon Hunter. At 4:00 it was time to go, and I was already getting myself excited for the nap I was going to take at my hostel and the throwback hits that the club was going to play. But first, I had to schedule my pickup for the airport in the morning. This is where the fun begins.

I call the bus service, and they kindly informed me that my Tiger Air flight was cancelled from Proserpine. Aca-excuse me. Apparently the flight was having engineering issues a whole day in advance, so they flat out cancelled it. K. I call Tiger Air customer support and explain the dilemma that they put me in. All that they could do was transfer me to the next flight, which was on Tuesday. That's fine. It's not like people have jobs or lives or only packed two sets of clothes or are staying in a pig sty or anything. I settled for a refund for the flight home. Hello Overwhelmed Hunter, welcome back. I move onto the boat that's headed back to Airlie Beach and quickly start looking up other flights. The cheapest I found was a Jetstar flight for $700 one way. Nah fam, that's not going to work. I called Tiger Air back and asked if they could fly me to Brisbane, or Melbourne, or anywhere not there. They said no. I yelled at them. Fun times.

When we got back to port I had the grand idea of flying to Sydney from Hamilton Island airport. I checked the prices and found a $250 Qantas flight. Manageable. Without hesitation I booked it and did not look back. I knew that the boat company I toured with made stops to Hamilton, so in my mind I was in the clear. Wrong. I go to buy my boat ticket and the lady informed me that all boats are "harboured" until Tuesday. Huh. Apparently there was a cyclone headed right for me, and that was the first I heard of it. So there I stood, in a state of disbelief. A cyclone with the least menacing name possible was wreaking havoc on my travel plans. Good grief, it should at least go by Deborah.

I tried my very hardest to remain calm through all of this. I was 1200 miles from Sydney, and I had no way to get home. The nice lady at the boat desk was trying to be positive though. "Don't worry about not being able to get to Hamilton," she said, "that flight will probably be cancelled too." She was right, all flights ended up being grounded until Tuesday. She was full of ideas, however. "I bet you can take a helicopter over there." When she said that I actually gave her a dumbfounded look
because I thought she was joking with me. She was not. So there I go actually looking into taking a helicopter. I called the helicopter man. No luck there. He wasn't flying in that storm. I learned it was a Category 4. And no, the 4 does not mean 4 times as fun.

After the helpful desk lady told me that the company could not take me by boat right then, even if I was willing to abandon the clothes I left inside the hostel and pay her under the table the $55 I had in my pocket, she offered more bright ideas. "You could try and get one of the people who leave their boat in the marina to take you, and if that doesn't work, try a travel agency." I have no shame and begging is not below me, so there I went. I asked random strangers if they could take me to Hamilton Island in their little passenger boats for my measly $55 I had on me. All were a resounding no. I am giving them the benefit of the doubt, however. It was about a two hour boat ride, and they probably would've been hardcore harassed by Debbie's gusty winds.

So off to town I went to try and strike a deal with the travel agency. They were my last hope. As I walked, I saw people boarding up their windows and strapping things to their car, Beverly Hillbillies-style. People were getting the heck out of dodge. The dudes at the travel agency (not even guys, just dudes) asked me the same questions the desk lady asked me, all obviously to no avail. Their final two options were to either wait out the storm or take a 9:00 PM Greyhound bus to Brisbane Airport for twenty hours and fly to Sydney from there. I didn't really want to drop anymore money, so I went back to my humble abode and asked about staying a few more days. I came to terms with the fact that I was going to miss a few days off work.

Sike! Beaches was full. I would have had my one more night and then would've been on the streets for Debbie's full wrath. I can picture it now: strapping myself to a tree to not get blown away, eating sand crabs to survive, sleeping under a park bench. That brothel Mom mentioned was sounding better and better. I was snapped out of my trance because of winds that were howling, like the swirling storm inside. (That one is definitely a song lyric. Everyone loves Frozen.)

At that point my only option was the Greyhound. I took a chance and called Qantas to see if they would refund me my Hamilton Island flight, so I could pay for the bus. The lady was a real sweetheart, and I'm sure my pitiful begging helped. She gave me a full refund. I traipsed back into the travel agency and told the dude to go ahead and book it. Road trip!

I went back to my room to shower and charge my phone, and not thirty minutes later I get a phone call. "Hey, umm, your bus is like running five hours late, so if you want to run to the bus station we will put you on one right now." At the time I was annoyed with the dude, but he actually did save me quite a bit of time. I rushed to strip my bed and tossed my pizza at the Europeans. Ahoj, (I have no clue what they were, but that us how you say goodbye in Czech.) I ran down to the lobby, got my deposit, and then practically sprinted back to the bus station. All that running wore me out. Usain Bolt is the man for being able to do that for a living.

Once at the bus station, I found the driver, and that was that. I was off on a twenty hour adventure to Brisbane. The distance is only fourteen hours, but Greyhound takes twelve, thirty minute stops along the way, because, of course they do. From then on it was mostly boring. The roads were bumpy and there was nothing to see. Australia is pretty much either cities or bush. Literally there are vast expanses of nothing for hundreds of miles. My ride consisted almost entirely of sleeping. When I wasn't tired I would take two Benadryl and knock myself back out. Somewhere in there I booked my flight from Brisbane back to Sydney. The ride honestly went very quickly, and I can say that I've seen most of Queensland because of it. Occasionally, when I was actually awake and we needed gas or to change drivers, I would explore the truck stops. I bought a cool fishing shirt for $5, peed in an anti-Heroin bathroom with blue lights so you can't see your veins to shoot up, and saw a giant kangaroo statue. Oh the memories.

After a very precise twenty hour bus ride, I arrived in Brisbane. I said goodbye to the other young people who were in the exact same position as me, only to then realize I was not at the airport. The driver told me it was the end of the line, even after I showed him my ticket. "You got on an earlier bus. This one doesn't go to the airport." Well I obviously know that, guy. Despite being told by the dudes that it would all be the same if I took an earlier bus, it was remarkably not the same. Never trust a dude. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. I was so close, and yet so far.

At that point, I was over it. I didn't bother arguing with him and just left. I walked my annoyed self around Downtown Brisbane until I found the train station. Luckily for me, I was at Brisbane Central. I walked on in and found out that they have airport trains like Sydney, and I bought myself a ticket. There goes another $20. The trains and whole environment of Brisbane was very laid back. I barely saw any people, and only three trains ran in the thirty minutes time I waited on the platform. I get that Sydney is better, but the Brisbanites should still come outside. Geez. Eventually my train came, and with the assistance of another person, I got on the train. Apparently you have to push a button to get on in Queensland. I just stood there staring at the door like an idiot.

My train took me on a nice tour of Brisbane. I definitely had no intentions to go, so it is neat to say that I have been there. There's a perk from all this! It eventually dropped me at the airport, where I was searched for chemical weaponry inside my backpack. Clearly I am a terrorist. I did learn that the Australian TSA equivalent allows you to take aerosol sprays on planes and allows you to come through security without a boarding pass. If only the love of my life ran through there to meet me mere moments before I boarded. That didn't happen. What did happen was me waiting for three and a half hours to board. Then it was nearly my time to get on and it got delayed. Eh, what's another few hours at this point. At long last I did, in fact, board my flight, though.

The flight was only an hour and a half and pretty bleh. Jetstar was much nicer than Tiger Air, even when the flight attendant was flirting with the lady next to me and gave her free water and cheese and gave none to me. I even winked and still got nothing. Never mind me, only a starving young man with an insanely high metabolism that hasn't eaten in who knows how long. At least I was in an exit row and had extra legroom. Another perk! I landed in Sydney at nearly 11:00. I have to say, it honestly felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders when I finally touched down. I would say I will feel similar when I get back to the US, except that will be better because I'll get to see my family.

That weekend is one that I will never forget in my entire life. The whole experience was wild and left me with crazy memories. I got to see the natural beauty of the Whitsundays and the barren beauty of the Queensland bush. Though unplanned and rather boring, it was very cool to see Brisbane too. No matter where I go, there is always a story to tell from it. Here's to hoping the rest of my time in Australia is just as fun and less surprising. Thanks for the mems, Debbie. It only take a Category 4 cyclone to show me who's boss.