I try to live an Aussie life and see everything I want to see without going on any tours. Time schedules make me itchy and following 30 people around gives me La Tourette spasms. So I didn't care what people said, I was ready to hitch-hike around Fraser Island. All the backpackers I met shook their heads when I told them about my plan. Even bartenders suggested I'd book a tour: 'Don't you know it's the biggest sand island in the world? Only sand and dingos there! If you camp on your own you will DIE!' But every one knows barmen can be drama queens, so I woke up early the next day and asked a tour bus driver for a free ride to the island. Once I made it to the island, I would easily get a lift around. No? The bus driver laughed so hard his belly was shaking and then I started laughing and handed him my credit card. So... I hopped on the bus and went on a two day trip. What is it about Australian men that they can persuade me to book tours just like that? And make me eat vegemite? And give me a bad feeling because I don't hide my love for goon wine? Anyway, I secretly really enjoyed the tour around Fraser Island. We went swimming in lakes and creeks, walked around a beautiful rainforest and climbed Indian Head. We stayed in a resort where the staff's only aim was to fatten us up. I didn't mind at all. But after the third portion of hot chocolate brownie in custard sauce the buttons of my dress were threatening me to pop. Hello new whale bikini body!
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