Adelaide I awake to my last full day in Adelaide and the realisation that I am more than half way through the Australian leg of my voyage. I also wake up to a small crisis of confidence about my pilgrimage to reach Uluru, the red heart of the country.
I chose to stay in youth hostels and backpack for two reasons. The first was the cost. Youth hostels offer incredibly good value for money and are usually situated in a central location. The second was the need to prove to myself that I could travel across a continent solo, without the support of a Tuna or a Jay Jay.
Australia proved to be more expensive than I had expected, due mainly to the falling value of the pound. I judge a country’s cost of living by the price of its beer. In Australia this tended to be between four and five pounds a pint. A lot more than I would expect to pay at home. Obviously it was cheaper to buy cans and bottles but these proved extraordinarily hard to find.
I walked into numerous convenience stores in Sydney in search of a four pack and the only remotely alcoholic items on sale were red wine cook-in sauces. Realising that a pattern was emerging I eventually asked a shop keeper:
‘Excuse me. Do you sell beer?’
‘No mate. You need a Bottle-O.’
‘A what?’
‘A Bottle-O. You know, a bottle shop. That’s the only place you can buy booze.’
I was pointed in the right direction and after a bit of searching I eventually found a shop that would allow me to buy a bottle of wine or a few cans of beer. From that point on I made a point of discovering the nearest Bottle-O wherever I went. It was surprisingly difficult.
Aside from beer supply difficulties, the whole solo traveller thing wasn’t working out very well either. Emails from my daughter told of difficulties with my father’s will, which still hadn’t gone through probate. I’d tried hard to ensure that I’d resolved everything before I came away, but my useless solicitor let me down. I’d never been apart from my children for so long and the distance and time difference made me feel inadequate in my efforts to protect them. I felt that I was letting them down.
You may recall the whale of a time I had with my eldest son in Munich as I lurched from beer hall to beer hall clutching an inflatable vagina. I met so many young people that night, many of them backpackers. I enjoyed their company and they enjoyed mine, even calling me a ‘cool dad’.
I had assumed that on the back of that success the word would be out and young backpackers throughout the world would welcome me as the fun loving, karaoke singing, young at heart father everyone should have. But somehow communication had broken down and no one recognised me. There were even times when I appeared to be completely invisible. On one occasion I walked into my dormitory, greeted an unknown male with a rousing ‘Hi there’ and was totally ignored. It was a far cry from the raucous pub crawls I had envisaged, not that I could have afforded them anyway. I never did get to discover the price of disposable sex toys in Australia.
It wasn’t a Tuna or a Jay Jay I needed. I wanted to share this trip with the fantastic people who had journeyed around Turkey and Africa with me. The disappointment of not swimming with dolphins would have been more bearable if I could have cried laughing about it with Angelina and Lynn over a few bottles of wine.
To make matters worse, I was badly sunburned.
I am one of life’s mongrels. A curious mixture of English, Irish, Indian and goodness knows what else. Although I’m Caucasian in appearance I do have the added advantage of tanning easily. No Factor 30 for me, thank you very much. Unfortunately, whilst dozing on the deck of the dolphin boat, I had not applied any factor at all. The wet suit had protected most of my body, but my face was red and sore, my eyes very swollen and I had lips that Angelina Jolie would die for. I looked like I’d been in a fight with a madman wielding a flame thrower.
Looking back, what I should have done at this point was break out my credit card and turn my back on the whole backpacker-on-a-budget thing. Adelaide zoo had recently become home to two giant pandas, on loan from China. I could have gone there, oo-ah’d at the cute black and white celebrities then eaten well and toured the bars and clubs in search of fun and someone to have a laugh with.
Instead, I opted for a very quiet, low spending day out of the sun. This meant visits to the art gallery, the museum and time in the park reading Round Ireland with a Fridge in a shady bower.
It wasn’t the most exciting day of my trip. The only notable portrait in the art gallery was one painted in 1836 of an Aborigine named Woureddy, the Chief of Van Diemen’s Land. Proof of the everlasting link between the Aborigines and Geordies.
By late afternoon I was sick of culture, even if it was free and Tony Hawks was triumphantly marching into Dublin, fridge in tow, at the end of his trek. The lucky sod even got to shag a beauty from New Zealand in a dog kennel along the way. Apart from good looks, money and a wicked sense of humour, what’s he got that I haven’t? With another 24 hour train journey looming I needed another book to read.
The central shopping area of Adelaide could be any English city, apart from the weather, of course. I locate Bookers and step inside for an orgy of book browsing. The shop is the same as the English version but the prices definitely aren’t. Over twenty quid for the new Dan Brown! Even a modest paperback costs a tenner and most are around fifteen pounds.
I walk away in disgust and decide to invoke my last resort. A rare piece of magic.
A few years ago the idea of the Cosmic Ordering Service (COS) came to the fore of the public conscience and like many others I bought Barbel Mohr’s bestselling book. The book itself is evidence of the power of the COS. I imagine that at some point Barbel must have placed an order that said: ‘Dear Cosmic Ordering Service please let me make a very thin book out of stating the bleeding obvious and make a shit load of money.’
If nothing else, the book encourages a positive outlook on life and a forgiving state of mind, so I applaud it for that. On the basis that you should be careful what you wish for I have rarely bothered the cosmos with requests. When I have it has usually been to find my next girlfriend and it always has. Well, I’ve only asked it twice, but twice it has delivered. Unfortunately they found out about each other and it all got very nasty. I reckon Tony Hawks uses it too. But being a better writer than me, he goes into exquisite details that seemingly involve dog kennels and New Zealander’s.
If it works for finding female companions then surely a book will be a piece of piss? I decide to try.
‘Dear Cosmic Ordering Service please send me a free book to read on the train to Alice Springs tomorrow. Love and kisses, Bryan.’
I chose to stay in youth hostels and backpack for two reasons. The first was the cost. Youth hostels offer incredibly good value for money and are usually situated in a central location. The second was the need to prove to myself that I could travel across a continent solo, without the support of a Tuna or a Jay Jay.
Australia proved to be more expensive than I had expected, due mainly to the falling value of the pound. I judge a country’s cost of living by the price of its beer. In Australia this tended to be between four and five pounds a pint. A lot more than I would expect to pay at home. Obviously it was cheaper to buy cans and bottles but these proved extraordinarily hard to find.
I walked into numerous convenience stores in Sydney in search of a four pack and the only remotely alcoholic items on sale were red wine cook-in sauces. Realising that a pattern was emerging I eventually asked a shop keeper:
‘Excuse me. Do you sell beer?’
‘No mate. You need a Bottle-O.’
‘A what?’
‘A Bottle-O. You know, a bottle shop. That’s the only place you can buy booze.’
I was pointed in the right direction and after a bit of searching I eventually found a shop that would allow me to buy a bottle of wine or a few cans of beer. From that point on I made a point of discovering the nearest Bottle-O wherever I went. It was surprisingly difficult.
Aside from beer supply difficulties, the whole solo traveller thing wasn’t working out very well either. Emails from my daughter told of difficulties with my father’s will, which still hadn’t gone through probate. I’d tried hard to ensure that I’d resolved everything before I came away, but my useless solicitor let me down. I’d never been apart from my children for so long and the distance and time difference made me feel inadequate in my efforts to protect them. I felt that I was letting them down.
You may recall the whale of a time I had with my eldest son in Munich as I lurched from beer hall to beer hall clutching an inflatable vagina. I met so many young people that night, many of them backpackers. I enjoyed their company and they enjoyed mine, even calling me a ‘cool dad’.
I had assumed that on the back of that success the word would be out and young backpackers throughout the world would welcome me as the fun loving, karaoke singing, young at heart father everyone should have. But somehow communication had broken down and no one recognised me. There were even times when I appeared to be completely invisible. On one occasion I walked into my dormitory, greeted an unknown male with a rousing ‘Hi there’ and was totally ignored. It was a far cry from the raucous pub crawls I had envisaged, not that I could have afforded them anyway. I never did get to discover the price of disposable sex toys in Australia.
It wasn’t a Tuna or a Jay Jay I needed. I wanted to share this trip with the fantastic people who had journeyed around Turkey and Africa with me. The disappointment of not swimming with dolphins would have been more bearable if I could have cried laughing about it with Angelina and Lynn over a few bottles of wine.
To make matters worse, I was badly sunburned.
I am one of life’s mongrels. A curious mixture of English, Irish, Indian and goodness knows what else. Although I’m Caucasian in appearance I do have the added advantage of tanning easily. No Factor 30 for me, thank you very much. Unfortunately, whilst dozing on the deck of the dolphin boat, I had not applied any factor at all. The wet suit had protected most of my body, but my face was red and sore, my eyes very swollen and I had lips that Angelina Jolie would die for. I looked like I’d been in a fight with a madman wielding a flame thrower.
Looking back, what I should have done at this point was break out my credit card and turn my back on the whole backpacker-on-a-budget thing. Adelaide zoo had recently become home to two giant pandas, on loan from China. I could have gone there, oo-ah’d at the cute black and white celebrities then eaten well and toured the bars and clubs in search of fun and someone to have a laugh with.
Instead, I opted for a very quiet, low spending day out of the sun. This meant visits to the art gallery, the museum and time in the park reading Round Ireland with a Fridge in a shady bower.
It wasn’t the most exciting day of my trip. The only notable portrait in the art gallery was one painted in 1836 of an Aborigine named Woureddy, the Chief of Van Diemen’s Land. Proof of the everlasting link between the Aborigines and Geordies.
By late afternoon I was sick of culture, even if it was free and Tony Hawks was triumphantly marching into Dublin, fridge in tow, at the end of his trek. The lucky sod even got to shag a beauty from New Zealand in a dog kennel along the way. Apart from good looks, money and a wicked sense of humour, what’s he got that I haven’t? With another 24 hour train journey looming I needed another book to read.
The central shopping area of Adelaide could be any English city, apart from the weather, of course. I locate Bookers and step inside for an orgy of book browsing. The shop is the same as the English version but the prices definitely aren’t. Over twenty quid for the new Dan Brown! Even a modest paperback costs a tenner and most are around fifteen pounds.
I walk away in disgust and decide to invoke my last resort. A rare piece of magic.
A few years ago the idea of the Cosmic Ordering Service (COS) came to the fore of the public conscience and like many others I bought Barbel Mohr’s bestselling book. The book itself is evidence of the power of the COS. I imagine that at some point Barbel must have placed an order that said: ‘Dear Cosmic Ordering Service please let me make a very thin book out of stating the bleeding obvious and make a shit load of money.’
If nothing else, the book encourages a positive outlook on life and a forgiving state of mind, so I applaud it for that. On the basis that you should be careful what you wish for I have rarely bothered the cosmos with requests. When I have it has usually been to find my next girlfriend and it always has. Well, I’ve only asked it twice, but twice it has delivered. Unfortunately they found out about each other and it all got very nasty. I reckon Tony Hawks uses it too. But being a better writer than me, he goes into exquisite details that seemingly involve dog kennels and New Zealander’s.
If it works for finding female companions then surely a book will be a piece of piss? I decide to try.
‘Dear Cosmic Ordering Service please send me a free book to read on the train to Alice Springs tomorrow. Love and kisses, Bryan.’
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