Christ, I make plaid pajamas look good in that video.
So we just completed a 3-day sailing extravaganza around the Whitsunday Islands, filled with amazing sights, dives, and interesting backpackers from all over the world, and here’s the thing about seasickness: it reduces you to a huddled mass of misfiring neurons concerned only with the blazing zone of agony formerly known as your stomach.
El scene: You wake up on day 2 after a first day of sailing that was fun, sunny, and totally free of crippling pain, only to eat breakfast and, 30 minutes later, experience a disquieting pang of…motion?…in your stomach. Within 5 minutes, this sensation has ballooned into a horde of nausea that is adventuring through your innocent digestive organs.
You’ve made it above-deck. The ocean is frigid and beautiful, stretching for leagues in every direction. A cluster of islands have glided into view - towering rainforest monoliths who stood watch for eons, as the oceans rose and innumerable ships passed through their corridors. But who cares? You’re barely aware of your extremities, let alone immediate surroundings.
Staring vacantly at the rocking horizon while lying, prone, in the fetal position, on the deck of the boat, with a lone trail of drool dribbling off your cheek, you realize: this is the lowest form of human existence.
Why are you mentally reciting Gordon Gekko’s speech from ‘Wall Street’? Why aren’t you instead berating yourself for not paying more attention to that episode of Mythbusters where they talked about seasickness cures? You don’t know. You no longer have any control over the thoughts spontaneously apparating into your brain.
I never figured out why the torment abated; it went as spontaneously as it came, halfway through day 2, after we hit Whitsunday beach. Also never conclusively determined whether beer helps or hinders in terms of prevention. More research is required.
You know the worst thing? Before the trip, Cam and I were like, to Rich, dude, don’t be an idiot, you should consider the possibility you might get sick, and he was like Fuck That, I won’t get sick, and then on the boat Cam and I were reduced to the physical state of octogenarians who needed Rich’s assistance to complete even the simplest of manual tasks. Meanwhile Rich spent the entire trip skipping around above-board and pretending he was starring in Titanic with Leonardo Dicaprio. Thanks for that one, Universe.
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Brief Place Updates
Noosa: Surf town. Kind of the poor man’s Byron but still real nice; more boutique stores, fewer new-age healing gurus. May be coloured by the fact that we weren’t awesome enough surfers to handle the sweetest waves. Oh, and ‘Le Monde’ is great great food.
Australia Zoo: Man, animals are cool. I would have enjoyed this even if I didn’t get to hand things to an elephant via its trunk, which, I discovered, is an activity that is capable of entertaining me indefinitely. Also, note to self: if I ever get really rich, I am putting a giant aquarium in the middle of my living room and filling it with a pair of sea otters, who will dwell in sea otter heaven and serve as a constant, living embodiment of joy.
(btw did you know that koalas are the only marsupials whose mating rituals include inflicting severe violence on their partners? Seriously, they’re not only the cutest animals alive, they’re also into S&M. How could god make one animal so unfairly awesome?) 
Rainbow Beach: Optimistically named. Only reason to come is that it’s the jumping-off point for Fraser. Great fun at hostels, though, esp. the post-island party with your Fraser crew.
Mackay: A desolate wasteland filled with brothels and drunk old guys who want to play guitar with Cam. Never, ever go here.
Airlie Beach: Deceptively named. Actually a town. The jumping-off point for Whitsunday cruises. We had a Sunday bar night righteously devoted to pint-glass philosophizing; place is a bit touristy but way more accommodating than Rainbow.
Whitsunday Beach: Accurately named. Actually a beach. Purest sand in the world, whatever that means. Very beautiful; it was flooded when we visited so we were basically traversing an unending field of turquoise ocean that hit about knee-height. The twenty-five of us waded around stingrays and schools of fish amidst sheets of torrential rain and a mountainous skyline straight out of Fiji. …Well, anyway, as I imagine Fiji to be.
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Lessons
A. Bring Ginger On Extended Sailing Experiences. Oh, and pajama pants. Seriously. They’re like the ideal sub-torso garment.
B. When dealing with boilerplate contracts, always always have both parties write in and initial the amendments made at the time of agreement. This saved us $$$ in bullshit ‘administrative fee’ losses from our travel agency.
a. Corollary: don’t agree to pay bullshit administrative fees.
C. Use specific times and specific meeting places. Avoid the ‘I waited a while then went to look for you then you went to look for me and now we’re 30 minutes late’ classic travel fuckup, and ensure that Cam doesn’t almost ruin your sailing trip by wandering off after nearby French accents.
-max
PS here is a mummified head 
