Now this is how fortune and circumstance can lead to sheer stupidity: we had been having such luck with our hostel accommodations and heard so many hostel owners say "Crowds? Nah, no crowds, not at this time of year," that we didn’t bother calling ahead to see if any beds were available. Conversation impaired by the din created by the huge throng of youth populating the hostel kitchen and common room, we inquired about beds for the night. The hostel staff on duty looked at us blankly, asked if we had a reservation, and nearly snorted as she told us that there wasn’t anything available – no point in even looking at the room rental book. Try up the road, she said, as she unceremoniously ushered us out.
Undaunted, we walked up the road to a nearby hotel. There were no signs indicating no vacancies, but there wasn’t anyone at the reception desk either. Their reception closed at 2:00 in the afternoon. We walked up further, discovering that there wasn’t so much of a town at Amity Point, just more of a collection of houses and the occasional resort splayed alongside the highway. Oh, and every single place of accommodation (and there weren’t many) was closed. The town shuts to close down between 2:00 and 5:00 in the afternoon, no exceptions.
So what does one do when stuck in a town with no room, no tent, and no where to sleep? Simple! Why, you wander over to the nearest campground, find a high school group chaperoned by several teachers, chat with them for a while, and then sleep on their campsite, of course! The teachers thought our predicament was hilarious, and welcomed us readily.
The above picture is a lie, actually. We didn’t get any sleep at all. Between the intermittent drizzle and my own paranoia about the security patrol catching on to us, I ended up awake the entire night and Glen only caught snatches of sleep here and there. After the third bout of drizzle, we went inside the campsite’s covered barbecue area, and Glen snoozed while I read my book. Security did drive past, but I believe they assumed we were part of the high school group.
One of the teachers was up early the next morning, so she took us for a walk around the beaches, which she knew quite well, and talked about the local flora and fauna. It made for a lovely morning, despite our exhaustion, as the teacher was very nice and was a good conversationalist.
At about 7:30 we left the campsite and started to walk around the town itself. Our first stop was back at the hostel, to see if they had any newly-vacant beds that night. No such luck, the place was booked solid throughout the weekend. Then we went back to the hotel that closes at 2:00 pm every day. They only had a room available for that evening (it was a Thursday), and it would be about $175 for the room. We decided not to take it because we knew full well we would spend the entire day sleeping, and would then have to leave the next day, probably without seeing much of the area or the island. The receptionist there called around to some other resorts, but there was nary a vacancy anywhere.
Finally, we went back to the reception building for the campsite where we illicitly stayed the previous night. There were no campsites - much less any cabins - available at all – in fact, there wasn’t a single campsite anywhere on the whole blasted island. We finally found out that we had managed to find our way to North Stradbroke Island on the one busy weekend outside of peak season. That weekend the island was playing host to both a surfing competition and a folk music festival, so every surfer and hippy in Queensland had invaded the island and snapped up any available space.
So we said, in the words of Eric Cartman, "Screw you guys, I’m going home."
Or, in our case, back to Brisbane. We found ourselves back at our trusty YHA where we again secured a twin room, and proceeded to fall asleep for a good 5 hours. Then we got up, had our first meal of the day (at this point it was around six o’clock in the evening), and went back to bed.
That’ll learn us not to call in advance.
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