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Next stop on the magical mystery tour was Arlie Beach, basically a 300 metre strip of hostels and bars. Life here revolves around drinking and sailing. I was there to indulge in the latter, mixed with a little of the former. After a heavy night out I went to board my home for the next two days, the bizarely named ex-racing boat Freight Train. Despite the passengers consisting of 15 girls and 3 guys, I still managed to find myself sharing a double bunk with a bloke I'd met only minutes earlier. The days were spent sailing around the beautiful Whitsunday Islands. We were woken up early and put onto Hook Island, with the amazing Whitsunday Beach, which has 98% silicon sand, almost pure white, and real arse to try and get off your towel and clothes. On the second day I went for a dive, which was pretty poor - visibility of about two metres didn't help, but I did see a 2 metre plus Emperor Maori Wrasse called Elvis. On the second night, after another massive meal prepared in a 1m sq kitchen, the sound system packed up, so our skipper John pulled out his guitar and treated us to a set of acoustic classics. The chilled out mood was spoiled by torrential rain. This meant the hatches had to be closed overnight, turning the boat into a boiling hot box. After a few hours of broken sleep I was able to quite literally slide out of the bunk, by now slick with man sweat. On the final morning we raced a few of the other boats back. It wasn't much of a race. The ancient Freight Train was ponderously slow and was left well behind, despite (or perhaps because of) my lengthly stint at the helm. Upon return to terra firma a shower was swiftly sought, two days worth of salt, grime and sweat scrubbed off and a power nap taken. Then came the apres-sail drinks, a table having been reserved for each of the day's returning boats in a bar. I had an early bus to catch so made my excuses around 11:30 and was just about to climb into bed when the fire alarm went off. After a good few minutes of standing around looking annoyed I was told to leave - luckily I was still fully dressed, unlike the numerous poor sods who came out in there nightwear. The memories of university halls were uncanny. Like then, it was probably some t*** smoking in his room.
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