The East Coast Road Trip

by Steve Deeks

  I was, though, if truth be told, tired of the rough living and of the constant battle to feed and wash myself in cockroach infested buildings and of starting out from scratch time and time again, due to the high turnover of people who would come and go. My liver needed a break, too, from the constant alcohol abuse it was forced to handle by way of the social environment I inhabited.

  While this had to go down as undoubtedly one of my most entertaining years, it was also easily my most unhealthiest. I longed for a normal diet of home cooked food and looked forward to getting back in shape and to getting out of the clothes which I had worn day in day out for the past year, which I now couldn’t wait to burn. Many of my boxer shorts, for example, now resembled nothing more than a piece of cloth that several giant moths had attacked, such was the gaping nature of the holes, offering little in the way of support and coverage, which was not ideal in a hostel with flocks of strangers around.

  I had, against all the odds, enjoyed the Australian experience immensely with its easy, outdoors way of life and the friendly, dry sense of humoured people that made up this vast and varied place with their honest straight forward attitude, whose endearing quirkiness was well complimented by the insanely dangerous wildlife and stunning landscape the country has. It was just a shame the place had to be so far away. But I suppose that was my forefathers fault for sending convicts to the other side of the world. In any event, it really was time to go and I was sure I would be back to visit some time in the future.

  I collected my stuff from the hostel and stood incredulous for a few seconds that I had survived the whole year, having thought I would only last a month when I arrived all that time ago. Then, like a seasoned backpacker, I picked up my broken and knackered old backpack and for the last time threw it suffocatingly over my back and neck, before struggling my way to Central station, where I caught the tube to the airport ready for the long flight home.

  As I looked up at the airport I afforded myself a wry smile as I remembered my arrival where I wondered what the hell I was doing in this far away land and what the adventure would bring. Well, it had brought me a lot, a lot more than I had ever expected. But for one thing, despite my wealth of travelling experience, it was fair to say I still hated backpacking.

  Ends

  Other books by Steve Deeks

  Baring All Down Under: Hilarious Confessions of a Bewildered Backpacker