Ghent

Ever since I completed my degree and travel guide four years ago, it’s been a dream of mine to travel for work. Covid put that on hold for a while but this year I finally got to start my career in the travel editorial industry, and a major perk of that is getting paid to see incredible places.

In November, I got to do my first work trip. Off I went to beautiful Ghent, Belgium’s picture-perfect city. Often overlooked by big brother Brussels and chocolate-box Bruges, Ghent sits pretty in between them. It was once upon a time one of Europe’s most important ports, but is now a university town, full of intimidatingly cool bike-riding students zipping along canals and past original Flemish design. A mix of old and new, medieval and modern; a combination that shouldn’t work as seamlessly as it does. The young energy and cool vibe breathes vibrancy and vitality into the historic city, preventing it from feeling stale, while the preserved architecture honours the heritage and maturity of Ghent.

This juxtaposition was successfully mirrored in the 4-star B&B that I was here to provide some personal opinions on. A 17th Century mansion with a history so rich and significant it is classed as a listed monument, naturally I was the girl for the job… I was eating (and reviewing) breakfast in a room adorned with original 18th Century murals, in baggy jeans and second-hand reeboks. But even though I probably stood out like a sore thumb - that 25 year old woman staying on her own, furiously making notes and tasting all the jams just to make sure no detail is missed - it was hard to feel like I was working. A surreal realisation hit me more than once while here, that I had achieved what I had been working and pushing towards for so many years, and it was just as great as I always imagined.

The B&B is owned by a pair of interior designers, who use their love of art to bring personality to their stately home. Quirky pieces of modern art have been smartly paired with antique furnishings, which helped to make the grand house feel less like a museum and more like a contemporary city escape. I got to sleep in a room that was once two interconnected rooms, known as ‘Le Chambres des Amoureux’. That second bedroom is now a massive bathroom, big enough for a royal or two. And the bedroom featured a four-poster bed with actual drapes and satin sheets. Safe to say I slept well after my days wandering through Ghent.

And that is mostly what I did. I don’t think there’s a huge amount to do in Ghent; there’s definitely a lot of history to learn and architecture to admire, but I found it’s one of those places where all you need to enjoy it is to simply absorb the atmosphere. I was there mid-week and the evenings were still bustling, and even though the temperatures were pretty firmly set in single figures people were still embracing the alfresco drinking/dining scene (something I love about mainland Europe, and wish we placed more emphasis on here in the UK) well into the night. Simply walking down the cobbled lanes and having a beer or mulled wine beside the canal was enough entertainment, watching the world go by as normal.

I went on my own this time, something that I came away with mixed feelings about. I love travelling solo; anyone who knows me knows I think it’s the best thing you can do, for your self-esteem, for meeting people, for seeing places on your own terms. It’s really incredible. I haven’t been able to do any trips alone since I returned from New Zealand in 2019 (again, thank you Covid) so I was itching to get going again. And as soon as I got on that first tube to St Pancras that sense of excitement and anticipation hit. Tinged with nerves because I was there in a professional capacity for the first time, so I didn’t exactly know what to expect, or rather how much of my time would be expected by the hoteliers, but I was finally getting away to somewhere totally new again, a feeling I and my itchy feet live for.

I fairly quickly felt the downside to travelling alone in this context, though, something I knew would happen - you don’t really meet people in hotels, especially 20-somethings in fancy B&Bs, so the fact you’re there on your own is somewhat magnified. Part of the joy of solo travel, as I’ve said above, is meeting so many like-minded, travel-mad people who are so open to getting to know everyone they come across. In a hotel, people tend to be there to have peace and do their own thing. And for two days in beautiful Ghent I was fine with that; being forced to have time on my own, really on my own, felt like a bit of a mental reset. The last few months, ever since the summer, had felt hectic and non-stop (all good things, but draining nonetheless), so to be able to physically step away from that into a quiet bubble, away from everything and everyone I know, and just be with myself felt like the flick of a switch in my brain. A sigh of relief. Any longer than a couple of days and I think I would have started to miss that human interaction, but maybe I would have found it when I needed to, who knows. And there is something special about discovering somewhere new with someone else, a shared experience that can’t be relived or repeated.

There are swings and roundabouts to it all, but in a nutshell I had a total pinch-me time in Belgium, and I’m glad I did it alone on my first ever work trip. Maybe I’ll let a lucky pal tag along for the next one, just need to consult the list…

Edinburgh

Late last year I finally got to visit Scotland, heading to Edinburgh to spend some time with some old friends. This city has long been on my travel bucket list, as its medieval architecture, haunting history and deep rooted passion for the arts tick a lot of my boxes.

I went up at the start of December, meaning the Christmas festivities were in full swing. It proved to be a perfect time to visit Edinburgh, which looks its best when dressed in snow and glittering fairy lights. The Christmas markets were full of cheer and something I was particularly keen to check out - I’m unashamedly a sucker for mulled wine, the scent of hot dogs and stalls packed with overpriced souvenirs, determined to become a connoisseur of sorts. There are walking tours of every flavour in this city that bursts with stories, but I didn’t need to partake as I had my own guides to share with me their (sometimes questionable) local knowledge. Like how the city’s treasured dog, Greyfriar’s Bobby, isn’t buried next to his beloved master as commonly believed, but actually only a few metres from his statue, below a paving slab that looks slightly different to the rest… a somewhat unlikely and underwhelming end to one of Edinburgh’s most famed fables, but an interesting insight into the local rumour-mill.

Scotland’s capital is characterised by its nooks and crannies, each with a story of its own; some spooky, some heartwarming, and always told with feeling. That’s why the arts thrive here, there’s an appetite for storytelling in Edinburgh unlike any place I’ve ever been. Literary greats are honoured in the abundance of book shops; there are galleries galore, big and small, home to world-renowned masterpieces and upcoming classics; and it’s the home of the Fringe Festival, the biggest celebration of art and culture on the planet that brings together global talent in comedy, theatre, spoken word and more in a showcase that draws in millions of people each year. To put that into perspective, only the Olympics and the World Cup pulls a bigger audience.

Most of my time was spent wandering the old streets, dipping into cute stores and cosy cafes. Stockbridge is a prime spot for this sort of thing, with a wealthy village vibe akin to that of Clifton in Bristol or Richmond, London. Nearby is Dean Village and the Waters of Leith, plucked straight out of a Hans Christian Anderson fairytale. Following a beautiful stretch of river along a woodland walk and under looming arches you’ll find a chocolate-box village, curved around a gentle stream. The buildings are an eclectic mix, some recognisably British by design, others more reminiscent of Bavarian lodges. This quiet bubble (likely because of off-season timing - it is a tourist hotspot) in the centre of a bustling city is almost like a film set, absurd amongst the wider surroundings, but the beauty is undeniable, and the pull is felt by locals and visitors alike.

As I was there to visit friends I spent much of my visit catching up on lost time, and just simply being. And with their guidance I was able to a lot of the typical touristy bits, but no trip to Edinburgh would be complete without seeing the mighty Arthur’s Seat up close. I didn’t scale it on this occasion (not a natural born hiker and will find any excuse not to engage in it - this particular day was a bit icy…) but I was quite happy to walk along the foot of the imposing hill during a cool winter’s evening, which turned out to be the perfect place to watch the sunset over the city. Calton Hill was another spectacular sunset spot I found during the week, with incredible panoramas across the skyline.

This was meant to round up my trip, but the weather had other ideas. A late (and eye-rollingly light) sprinkling of snow overnight put a halt on all transport out of Scotland the following morning, which meant my amazing hosts had to put up with me for another night. But even the chaos of rearranging tickets and missed shifts at work couldn’t dampen my week spent exploring Edinburgh, a city that fully deserves its reputation as one of the greatest in the world. I’m already planning my next visit…

Devon

Like a lot of people, I made some of my closest friends at university. While this comes with endless joys, there is one major downside: once university is over, you go back to your separate corners of the country, and what used to take one simple message, ‘want to do something tomorrow?’, now takes weeks of planning to find the one date in the year that everyone is free. The Covid-19 pandemic has made this process even more strenuous, but last September my friends and I achieved the impossible and went away for a week in gorgeous Slapton, south Devon.

We found a cute little cabin on AirBnB, surrounded by nature and complete with a private hot tub, and knew we’d hit the jackpot. What we didn’t entirely realise until we arrived was just how out in the sticks it was; after a few miles of single track farm roads winding like a maze through huge fields we could tell we were getting close, then the SatNav decided to give up before delivering us to our final destination. After a brief moment of panic we used the one phone out of five that had any signal to navigate our way down to an old farmhouse, next to which we finally laid eyes on our cabin. It was worth the struggle; we found ourselves at the bottom of a lush green valley, nestled amongst towering trees growing up the steep hill sides, with a stream running smoothly beside us. We really wanted an escape from reality, especially as the last holiday we had all together was before the pandemic began, and boy did we get what we asked for.

Being so isolated does have its downsides; there’s no popping down the road for an extra bottle of wine or spontaneous evenings out, and when Natalie, the driver of our group, fell ill she had to muster the strength to take herself to the nearest pharmacy - a 20 minute drive each way, back through the myriad of unmarked roads. However, the pros of being away from it all did outweigh the cons. It encouraged us to be more thoughtful about what we were going to do everyday, which probably meant we ended up being more adventurous with our time than if we had been based somewhere that had all we needed on our doorstep. It also gave us the rare opportunity to spend real quality time together, without the distractions of the hustle and bustle.

The nearest town to us was Dartmouth, a picture perfect coastal hub, complete with all the quintessential sights: an eclectic mix of boats strung up in the harbour; narrow streets that wound tightly around higgledy piggledy buildings and inevitably ended at a pub; and the chorus of seagulls which provide the soundtrack to any British seaside escape. I particularly enjoyed strolling along the waters edge, looking out to neighbouring Kingswear across the harbour, then breaking away from the busy centre to wander the quieter back streets. I was surprised by the beauty of these unassuming pathways; the houses we passed were all so individual in design, yet perfectly complimented each other and their seaside setting. Round every corner came a new discovery, be that a view that cut through the staggered rooftops and out to the watery blue line of the horizon, or the pretty front of a shop, restaurant or pub secretly tucked away in the heart of the community, a treasure that only the curious have the pleasure of discovering. It was this sense of discovery and excitement that made me feel as though I’d ventured much further than two counties south. Not to mention we were blessed with a burst of late summer sunshine, which definitely helped us to forget we were still in (typically) rainy old England.

We maintained a fairly slow pace all week, taking the time to absorb all the details of nearby towns, our surrounding valley, and local beaches. Blackpool Sands was a favourite for all of us; not to be confused with it’s northern namesake, this golden curve of coastline sits between Slapton and Dartmouth, with very slight headlands protruding either side that make you feel comfortably cocooned on the beach. Despite being situated in front of a road, the wide stretch of sand meant we could distance ourselves from the sounds of reality whizzing by, and instead tune into the soft lapping of the tide. September is the best time to swim in UK waters as they have had all summer to absorb the Sun’s rays, reaching comfortable (I’d like to say warm, but who am I trying to kid) temperatures. Lian and I were in our element, whereas the others took some encouragement to submerge more than their feet, but eventually we were all in and bathing in the serenity of the sea. I have said it before: I love living in Bristol, it has everything I could possibly want for the place I call home, except this one tiny element. I miss all the smells and sounds and feelings that can only be experienced by the coast, so any chance I get I’m straight back in the water, baltic temperatures or not.

Back at our cabin we spent our evenings playing games, eating and drinking like it was Christmas Day, and, of course, making use of our luxurious hot tub. Our holiday was the perfect balance of exploration and relaxation, the exact antidote to more than a year of restrictions and trepidation. I can only hope we won’t have to wait so long until the next one.

The Gower

With lockdown in the United Kingdom easing, but the threat of Covid still lingering on, I decided to celebrate my birthday and soothe my itch to travel with a short staycation with a couple of friends. We hopped the border into Wales, travelling a couple of hours from Bristol to Gower, a peninsula of South Wales that has the reputation of being one of the most breathtaking corners of the country.

We were staying at Hill End Camping Park, a pristine site in the picturesque Llangennith, boasting panoramic views across undulating sand dunes and lush green countryside, rows of tents and campervans set so close to the sea you could hear it in your sleep. After a fairly dramatic start to the trip, featuring a blown out tyre just metres from the park’s entrance, then a barely inflated replacement that allowed us to crawl in but rendered one car unusable for the rest of the weekend, we decided to keep our first evening low-key. Thankfully, one of my friends is local to the area, and she had been kind enough to set up the tent earlier that day; this meant we could simply unpack the car and skip straight to holiday mode. Soon enough the BBQ was lit, drinks were flowing and the birthday festivities were in full swing as the Sun slipped below our impressive backdrop of dunes.

The main concern of any trip taken in the UK, especially when camping, is the ever-so unpredictable weather. Go almost anywhere in Europe at the end of August and you can be guaranteed to return home with a tan. In Wales, you can only hope it stays dry. But not this time. I don’t know how we got so lucky, but we managed to choose the best weekend of the summer, blessed with sunshine and blue skies every day of our stay. So, naturally, the next day we headed straight for the beach - taking us all of 5 minutes! Clambering over the towering dunes made up of soft, silky sand was certainly a challenge, but made the subsequent few hours spent lounging in the sun all the more sweeter. With two out of three of us living in Bristol, and therefore deprived of vitamin sea, we eagerly (with perhaps a touch of trepidation) braved the cool waters. Although it was cold enough to catch the breath at first, there are few feelings I enjoy more than being suspended in the sea. Saying this, we lasted about 10 minutes before heading back to the beach to bask like cold-blooded creatures; the cooler summer days we’d been enduring hadn’t quite warmed the water enough to meet our new city-goer standards.

Later in the day we drove round to Worm’s Head, a distinctive headland protruding from the coastline that’s far more beautiful than its name would suggest. Despite lying at the end of the beach that backs onto our campsite, it still took a half hour drive through winding country lanes to get there. Luckily, we had the local to drive us around, navigating the narrow roads with ease. Driving around Gower, although at times a nail-biting experience, is a site-seeing activity in itself. Possibly more so for passengers - it is definitely advised that drivers focus on the task at hand - but those who can afford to gaze out the window will be treated to tiny farmer’s villages with weathered but charming stone cottages; free-roaming sheep, cows and the occasional wild horse that think they own the roads (and probably do); along routes that take you past fields, across moors and through dense wooded valleys, all in the time it takes to get from A to B. In an area of only 70 square miles, how easy it is to be transported to so many miniature worlds.

Up on the headland it became clear why the Gower was the first area of the UK to be named an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty; from here I could see the vast reach of Rhossili Bay, stretching endlessly into the horizon. The sand had an almost pink hue to it, contrasting beautifully with the light blue water rippling back and forth over it. It was clear as glass and a soft turquoise colour - always a treat to see in the British Isles - and we could stare right down to the sandy sea floor from all the way up on the cliff top. Looking out on this scene, with the dazzling sun beating down, we could’ve been fooled into believing we’d driven all the way to the Mediterranean. This is the joy of staycations: the reminder of how much is on offer right on our doorstep, the places we so often overlook in the search for something more exotic. We spent a while just soaking in the scenery, then made our way back for another tasty BBQ. This time we took it to the beach, wrapped in all the layers to fend off the cool Welsh evening. After dinner, as we huddled around a pitiful self-contained log fire from Asda, barely radiating enough heat to make our cheeks rosy, a sly fox managed to find us and attempted to steal our leftovers! This definitely would’ve been a lot funnier if it hadn’t been pitch black, with our only source of light to spot the thief being this glorified tealight. Still, it added a touch of drama to an otherwise extremely mellow evening.

We were up bright and early the following morning to make the most of our last full day of the holiday, paying a visit to Mumbles. As cute as it sounds and about as urban as Gower gets, this is a tiny seaside town on the east coast of the peninsula, looking out to the far more industrial Swansea and Port Talbot across Swansea Bay. We didn’t do much other than eat ice cream, wander along the seafront and watch paddle boarders glide along the still surface, but the serene pace of the day, and of the whole weekend, was just what the three of us craved after a year of being locked up inside. Being out in the real world still felt like a novelty, and I was loving every second of watching a very ordinary day unfold.

This was only my second stay in Wales, the first being a family trip when I was about 8 years old, and I fell in love with the untouched perfection of the Gower peninsula. Granted, we had the elements on our side, which can famously make or break a British holiday, but I struggle to imagine ever seeing this gem in any other light. I’ll be sure to visit again soon, and with only a couple of hours between my home in Bristol and beauty of this calibre, I’m feeling luckier than ever to be living in the UK - temperamental weather and all.

Travelling Solo

Travelling solo can be exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure. Some are thrilled by the idea of boarding a plane on their own and heading into the unknown, whereas for others this is just the first hurdle to overcome. But the unrivalled sense of freedom makes it all worthwhile, I promise.

My first experience of venturing abroad on my own was for a week-long trip to Venice, to visit my friend who lived there. This was a great introduction to the idea of travelling solo, because I had to do ‘the hard part’, i.e. the journey, on my own, safe in the knowledge I had someone meeting me on the other side. Although still slightly nerve-wracking, it definitely made the experience more manageable, and instilled the confidence in me that navigating an airport is something well within my capabilities. That might sound silly, but taking baby steps can be just the solution you need to overcoming the anxiety that is holding you back.

As I write this I realise my next solo trip was quite a leap from flying to and from Italy alone. Early in 2019 I decided it was time to stop dreaming and start doing, so, pretty much on a whim, I booked flights for a two-month trip around Australia and New Zealand the following autumn. I had just come out of a relationship and wasn’t in the best place mentally, and felt like I needed to do something entirely selfish, something that would restore the faith and confidence in myself that had been shaken since the start of the year. I knew I wasn’t going to wait for anyone else to decide whether or not to join me; too many times plans had changed or been delayed in order to fit other people into them, and I wasn’t going to let it happen this time. It was a decision I made purely with me in mind, and that alone was incredibly liberating and did wonders for my mind-set. And what better way of leaving your troubles behind than flying half way across the world?

The way I travelled around each country was quite different. I can’t drive - although I wouldn’t have wanted to road trip it on my own, that would be so lonely - so the first challenge was figuring out how to get from A to B. I went to STA Travel (RIP) to book my flights, and they had loads of information about how to get around, the best places to stay, the most popular trips etc. Obviously, they worked based on commission so I knew they had to tell me about a lot of these operators, but as a first time solo traveller it was a huge help to have a rough guideline laid out for me. I didn’t actually book any trips until I got out there, but I did sort out all my travel arrangements before jetting off. Almost all backpackers get the Greyhound when travelling the East Coast of Australia, which was the route I was doing. This is a public bus service, much like the National Express or Megabus here in the UK, but I rarely saw anyone on it who wasn’t wielding a heavy rucksack and a slightly lost expression, so I was always amongst my own kind. In New Zealand, however, there isn’t really an equivalent - certainly not one with such an extensive network. Of course there is public transport, so it is possible to do it that way, but I was advised that most young travellers in NZ go for either a campervan (not an option for me, cry) or a tour bus like Kiwi or Stray if travelling solo, so I booked my spot on the Kiwi Experience bus and have absolutely no regrets.

So, let’s address the elephant in the room. How did I feel travelling around these foreign places on my own, particularly as a young woman? Before I delve into answering this, I want to make it clear that, bearing in mind everyone’s experiences are unique to them, I always felt incredibly safe in both Australia and New Zealand. One of the reasons I chose them as the destinations for my first big solo adventure was because they weren’t too dissimilar from home: I could speak the language, the customs and societal framework were familiar, they even drove on the same side of the road… All likely factors in me feeling safe and secure (ok, which side they happen to drive on had nothing to do with it but I’m painting a picture). I wanted to push myself out of my comfort zone, learn the ropes of travelling and achieve a lifelong dream, but I had to start somewhere manageable to make sure I wasn’t out of my depth. You have to walk before you can run.

I did have one sketchy experience, only a few days after landing in Australia. I was wandering through the botanical gardens in Cairns when I passed by a man, not much older than me, on a bridge across a beautiful duck pond. He was going one way, I was going another. It’s strange looking back now, because I realise that I knew, from the brief moment I made eye contact with him, something wasn’t right. I was on edge immediately. He had a bike with him, and I remember the sound of the wheels on the bridge, and how they stopped shortly after I went past him. My stomach jolted as I sensed him watching me, and as I moved on a bit further ahead I peered over my shoulder to see him turn and start following me. This made me extremely nervous, as I didn’t know my surroundings at all, nor was I with anyone else, or even know anyone else at that point that I could contact who’d be nearby. To make matters worse, there weren’t many other people in that area of the park to give me a sense of safety in numbers. I felt totally alone for the first time since touching down, and it was really scary.

My saving grace came in the form of a woman working on a picnic bench. I hesitated for a while, trying to weigh up my options, but I knew he wouldn’t bother me if I was with someone else, so I asked to sit with her. She was so lovely and understanding as I explained the situation to her, clearly seeing that I was shaken by the experience and calmly making conversation with me so as to take my mind off it and settle my anxiety. I’m not sure how long I was sat with her, maybe 15 minutes or more, but she never made me feel rushed, reassuring me I could stay as long as I needed. The man did continue to watch me for a short while, but fairly quickly made a move when he realised I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Without this lady I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done, which makes me feel a mixture of emotions to this day; I’m both sad and angry that it happened, and that I needed someone else there to protect me in the first place, but also overwhelmingly grateful that I could trust her when I felt most vulnerable. I just wish I still knew her name, so my thanks could feel more personal, but I’ll never forget her kindness. After a while, once I felt as sure as possible that he wasn’t nearby, I said my goodbyes to this wonderful woman and made my way back to the hostel. I’m pleased to say this was the only incident of its kind that I experienced during the whole two months I was away, so I haven’t let it affect my view of Australia, or of travelling alone.

The majority of my time in Australia was spent with the same group of people, particularly from The Whitsundays down to Byron Bay. We happened to all be on a similar schedule, staying in the same hostels and going on many of the same trips together, which gave us plenty of time to really bond and get to know one another. I didn’t realise how much that impacted my experience until we separated after Byron. Some stayed on there, whereas those with a bit more time to spare went on to less travelled places like Yamba and Coffs Harbour, but I was off to Sydney. I spent most of my time in Sydney, and to less of an extent Melbourne, on my own, the scale of the cities exaggerating the feelings of being alone and starting again from scratch. It was alright though. I genuinely enjoy time on my own, having the freedom to explore at my own pace and do exactly what I want to do. It was the evenings that felt more lonely, but I don’t remember ever feeling down about it. My hectic schedule in Sydney probably served as a good distraction! Without a doubt I found it harder to meet and connect with people in the city hostels, Sydney especially, but again this could be due to how much I wanted to squeeze into such a short amount of time, not leaving me with much spare for socialising. To enjoy travelling on your own, particularly for long periods, you do have to feel comfortable spending time with yourself. Personally, I think it’s brilliant; taking yourself to amazing places, eating great food, it’s like going on the best dates - just with yourself, so no awkward small talk! If this is something you’re still learning to love, I’d suggest starting small. Begin with going out for lunch on your own, then treat yourself to a weekend away, and so on. Diving straight in at the deep end with months of travelling on your own might be too intense because, though you will definitely meet plenty of like-minded people, there will be times you’ll be left to your own devices.

The initial plan was that I’d travel the whole of New Zealand on the Kiwi bus, but whilst in Australia my boyfriend decided he wanted to fly out and join me for the South Island. He could drive and offered to hire a car so that we could do it the best way: camping! This change in plans meant I only travelled through the North Island on the bus and, other than my first couple of days spent in Auckland, I was with (pretty much) the same bunch of people for the whole week. It was a very different experience to my time in Australia, being much more structured and group-focused, so even though I was still travelling alone it didn’t feel so self-engineered. I’m not usually drawn to the idea of tour groups; there’s something instinctively unappealing about being shepherded along from one attraction to another and adhering to a strict schedule created by someone else. However, it was my only feasible option and was no doubt the best way I would meet other people, so I embraced it and ended up having such a brilliant time. We went to truly stunning locations, got treated to some exclusive experiences because we were with Kiwi, and now we get to share the memories with each other forever.

Undoubtedly, the most daunting part of travelling solo is arriving in a new place for the first time, full of the fear that you won’t make any friends. Basically, the first day of school all over again. However, the vast majority of people who travel do so on their own, so everyone is super open and ready to get to know each person that walks through the door. Go with an open mind and a willingness for adventure and you will have the best time! And yes, you will meet people you like, you may even make friends for life. It was the most liberating and fulfilling thing I have ever done, leaving me with a lasting sense of freedom and self-confidence that has influenced every decision I’ve made since. It did wonders for me when I needed it the most, and I know it can, and will, do the same for you, if you just take the leap.

Top Tips for Solo Travel

• Get a local sim - this will make it so much easier to connect with the people around you, loved ones back home, and navigate your new surroundings. It will make the whole experience feel less intimidating.

• Be confident! Don’t be afraid to put yourself out there early on by asking your roommates, or the guys you get talking to at dinner, if they want to join you when you go to A or B - 99% of the time they will say yes, and the very worst thing they can say is no. Pretty good odds if you ask me.

• 1st time travelling solo? Make it easier on yourself by eliminating big obstacles at the planning stage. For example, choose a destination that speaks a language you are confident in, and/or somewhere with a solid reputation for young, solo travellers. This way, if any issues do arise, it will be easier to tackle them.

• Have all your important contact information (your number, a parent’s number, tour company’s number if using one, etc) written down on paper, as well as in your phone. This is both a safety measure and just a simple precaution. Keep it in your main backpack/suitcase; this way, if the bag gets lost, or (god forbid) you do, whoever finds it will have all the information they need to help. A scary thought, I know, but always best to be prepared.

• Stay in hostels! I know they don’t have a great reputation, and often you will get what you pay for. But I was (usually) pleasantly surprised by them, and they’re designed for solo travellers, so this is where you’ll meet everyone. There are usually ‘popular’ hostels that most of the travellers you meet will be staying in. This rule didn’t apply to every place I stayed, but most. In Australia that was either Nomads or Base. Staying in one of these increases your chances of staying with people you’ve met on trips or in other locations, plus you can usually book said trips from the front desk. It goes full circle!

• Be flexible - making a plan is great, essential in many ways because it will mean you’ll make the most of your time. But if you can, leave some wiggle room so you don’t feel restricted by your schedule. You’ll probably end up meeting someone who’s staying an extra day in Town A, and you want to stay with them. If you keep your dates fairly flexible, you’ll be able to adjust them as and when you like. The best way to achieve this is by booking hostels as you go, and only booking a few trips ahead of time so you have the skeleton of an itinerary, but it’s not yet fully formed. Provided you stay on top of it, this can transform your trip.

South Island, New Zealand

Bright and early, my boyfriend James and I boarded the ferry in Wellington, ready to embark on the final chapter of my big adventure. Some people choose to fly from island to island, as it’s quicker, more comfortable and will take you straight to a major city. But these people are seriously missing out. The ferry ride from Wellington to Picton is just as much a highlight of a trip to New Zealand as seeing Mount Cook or learning about Maori culture, specifically the very last stretch through the Marlborough Sounds. 1500km of winding waterways through sunken valleys provide a most impressive welcome to the South Island, and we got especially lucky with the weather. As with all coastal regions, the weather can turn in an instant, and we started our journey in pretty overcast conditions. With a stroke of luck, however, sunlight burst through the clouds as we neared the spectacle, and though the cold and blustery winds persisted they couldn’t take away from the views: the cool blue water hugged tightly the soft edges of the islands and inlets that surrounded us, the ripples of their outlines mirroring those trailing behind us as we came into the dock. Back on dry land, we grabbed our luggage, packed up our rental car and set off to find our first campsite for the night.

Somehow we managed to discover a tiny spot somewhere between Picton and Nelson, so obscure I can’t find it on a map. There weren’t any signs for it, bar one humble wooden post signalling free camping on the edge of the road. We parked up and trusted a footpath that was just about visible to lead us away from the road and down to our home for the night. And what a find. It was a very small inlet, with water and beaches on both sides, closed off by islands just like the ones we had sailed through only a couple of hours before. Best of all, we had it completely to ourselves. Our private slice of paradise was the perfect precursor of what we were to experience throughout our road trip; solitude, serenity, and sandflies. Soon to become my mortal enemy, it would seem these little terrors have a love for beautiful, waterside locations too. They are small, silent bloodsuckers, whose bites are insanely sharp and itchy, and stuck around far longer than any mosquito bite I’ve ever had. I still bore the marks of their attacks weeks after I touched back down in England. We resigned ourselves to the fact that, to camp in the picturesque places we wanted, they were simply going to be part of the package, and bathing in insect repellent would be our best shot against their insatiable appetite.

The South Island is a glorious geographical mish-mash. After spending a couple of days in Abel Tasman National Park, feeling like we’d landed on a tropical island as we wandered through jungle-like terrain and lounged on sun-kissed sand, we headed down the west coast to Franz Josef to see the 12km glacier of the same name, cascading like a frozen wave through a gap in the snowcapped mountains. Driving along the largely deserted roads was genuinely a highlight of the trip because around every unassuming corner lay a new epic landscape. What wonder would it be this time, we asked ourselves. A glistening lake? Rich green fields? Imposing and frosty mountains? Usually it was a combination of these delights, with perhaps a scattering of houses here and there but more often than not we were the only ones around to appreciate it. Bliss is a word that came to mind pretty frequently.

Oh, we found some beauties, and none more so than Wanaka. Now as I’ve just said, beauty lies in wait all over New Zealand, and it is possible the impeccable weather played a hand in making this town so special to us, but Wanaka really was a breathtaking stay, swiftly becoming our favourite. As the town is surrounded on all sides by the Southern Alps, it gets taken over in the winter by snow sports fans, and in the summer it’s a haven for hikers. We arrived fairly late in the afternoon, so that would have to wait for the next day, but I got to spend a few hours catching up with Jazz, an old friend who had relocated to this special corner of the world roughly a year previously. As well as filling me in with all the important life updates, she gave us some top tips on what not to miss, to make the most of our short time here. The next day was picture-perfect from start to finish. The sun was shining down on us, igniting all the colours around us and making the place feel so alive. It was easily the best weather we’d had since arriving on the South Island, so we were determined to make the most of it.

In truth, I’m not the best hiker. I can walk for miles so long as it’s flat, but scaling a mountain is a different ball game for me and my little legs, so we decided on the Diamond Lake and Rocky Mountain path, one of the more leisurely routes that still provides panoramic views at the summit. James did the right thing and ignored my complaining, practically pushing me all the way to the top as I moaned about sore limbs. The scenery was incredible as soon as we got above ground level, and one of the best parts of this hike in particular is that you get an unobscured outlook over Lake Wanaka and the town for most of the route, but that view from the summit really was something else. We saw higher peaks rising to the west of us, dusted in snow that didn’t make it as low as Rocky. These were replaced by smaller, more gentle hills to the east, out-shone by the glassy waters of Lake Wanaka, dressed in its boldest blue as it wound itself around small, scattered islands. It was simply breathtaking, a masterpiece of nature, and definitely worth those extra steps that, out of sheer laziness, I was foolishly willing to skip . We could’ve sat up there for hours, soaking in the warm sunshine and gorgeous scenes, but we had to hot foot it back down to make our booking for a free wine tasting at Rippon Winery. Yes, free. A word that’s music to any young traveller’s ears. We sampled six delicious wines, set in a beautiful traditional vineyard in a prime location right beside the lake; it was an idyllic afternoon pretending to be sophisticated, and we loved every second of it. After leaving the vineyard, we found a quiet spot down by the water to string up the hammock, where we whiled away the last of the light, and headed back to our campsite just before dark. It felt like a textbook ‘New Zealand’ day; a hike, wine tasting, stunning scenery all round, and a mellow energy running all the way through it. Like I said, picture-perfect.

After a quick morning coffee to say a sad goodbye to Jazz and our new favourite place, we left Wanaka for backpacker favourite Queenstown. I was really excited to get to this vibrant little town, after hearing so many positive things from friends who’d visited before. There are no camping sites within Queenstown, and I was particularly keen to stay close to the action, so we decided to book into a hostel; we just so happened to stay in the same hostel, at the same time, as most of my Kiwi Bus pals that I’d left back in Wellington. So, after spending the day peacefully wandering around the town centre, whilst admiring the backdrop of the Southern Alps and views across Lake Wakatipu, it was finally time to let our hair down and have a proper night out - the first since arriving on the South Island - with my old bus buddies. As much as I was loving the subdued nature of staying out in the wild, it felt great to ramp up the energy and excitement for the night, and remind myself of the other side of travelling as a 20-something.

As always with us, no sooner had we arrived and started to make ourselves comfortable than the bags were back in the car and we set off to Te Anau to explore a lesser populated part of the Fiordland National Park, before our early start at nearby Milford Sound the following day. From looking at the map of the area, we thought we’d be able to find a picturesque camping spot with ease, maybe even looking out to the fiords. Sadly, though, we couldn’t have been more wrong. We drove for what felt like hours in search of a site suitable for a tent, but to no avail. This was a bit of reoccurring issue; New Zealand is definitely better suited to campervans than traditional camping, but this particular evening was an extreme example. Eventually we came across a site that would just have to do. It was dark, wet and well past dinner time. The pair of us were getting hungrier and more miserable as the minutes ticked by, and as we pulled into a clearing and I looked out the window to see the wind whipping through the trees beside the car, the floor glistening with what little moonlight was breaking through the clouds because of how sodden it was, I turned to James and demanded we sleep in the car. There was no way, I assured him, that I am going to sleep in that. He took some convincing, but gave in once he realised he’d be in the tent on his own if he persevered. So a dinner of cold snacks and a makeshift camper-car was how we ended the day - not our finest hour, and definitely the worst night of our trip. A stark reminder that everyday is different when you’re travelling, but looking back I don’t think I would change it. It was a challenge, yes, but with hindsight I can see the ridiculousness about the whole debacle, and now it’s one hell of a memory.

I’d love to say the next morning was a breeze in comparison, but our misfortune continued for a little bit longer. Although we slept surprisingly well in our temporary abode, we had to get on the road painfully early if we were to make our sunrise kayak trip through the Milford Sound. Blurry eyed and groggy we made it to our meeting point on time, only to be told it had been cancelled due to poor visibility. What a punch to the gut after going through all of those ordeals the previous night purely to make this trip. I don’t know if we were just so exhausted, physically and emotionally, but neither of us were that disappointed. It was a shame, of course, because it would’ve been a really special experience, but I think we were both happy enough to get back in the car to sleep for a few more hours, then board a ferry to see the Sound that way. And it turned out to be a lovely day. Not weather-wise, it was still very overcast with sporadic downpours, which would have made kayaking pretty miserable. But seeing Milford Sound had been one of the reasons I came to New Zealand in the first place, and it didn’t disappoint. Sailing through soaring peaks and low hanging clouds, and getting inches away from waterfalls towering so high above us, was awesome in every sense of the word. Plus, being on a boat that I didn’t need to steer myself meant I could take photos, something I would’ve been gutted to miss out on on this once-in-a-lifetime trip. Yes, the sun making an appearance would have been the best outcome, but there was something very atmospheric about the grey, gloomy sky above the imposing mountain ridges, and even the rain couldn’t dampen our spirits as we gazed in awe at this most extraordinary place. Seeing nature’s finest work lifted our moods immensely, and we stepped back onto dry land with our old excitable energy back in full swing. With pretty much the full day still ahead of us (one perk of being up so obscenely early), we headed back to Queenstown to delve into more of its offerings. This included riding the cable car up to Bob’s Peak, giving us incredible views of the lakeside town from 450 metres up, and a chance to play around at Luge, which is like hillside go-karting with gravity doing all the work. After a rocky interlude it was great to see off our time in Queenstown in a lighthearted way, full of fun and laughter; exactly the remedy we needed.

Our next destination was Lake Pukaki. Although often overshadowed by nearby Lake Tekapo, they both share the same shocking turquoise water and serene mountainous backdrop, but to Pukaki’s advantage it has a campervan site right by the waters edge, and a camping site (for those of us roughing it in a tent) a short drive away. Somewhat bitter that we couldn’t set up camp overlooking the lake, we decided to spend the evening there anyway. Armed with our camp chairs and gas cooker, we (ok, James) cooked dinner and watched the sunset transform the sky from a soft blue to a gorgeous pink and purple medley, before disappearing behind the mountains opposite us, leaving a clear, starry blanket above our heads. We sipped away at the wine we had bought after our tasting in Wanaka, and enjoyed an evening of pure peace. Not even sandflies could ruin this one - it was one of those moments you go travelling in search of, simultaneously effortless yet impactful.

aThere was a slight sombre mood between us the next morning, because we had reached the last day of our journey together. After a slow start, packing up the tent for the very last time, we set off for Christchurch. For our last day together we treated ourselves to a bit of luxury, in the form of a private room in a hostel (still on a budget, you know). I don’t remember why exactly but we lost the whole day on the journey, maybe the morning was much slower than I recall, so by the time we arrived and unloaded our bags it was the evening again. We got dressed up and headed out for dinner at a proper restaurant, a treat I’d rarely indulged in since first landing in Australia almost two months prior, then randomly stumbled across a Christmas festival on our way back to the hostel. There was a huge crowd of people gathered in front of a stage, boldly lit and occupied by an array of performers, most of whom were dressed in Christmas-themed costumes. With absolutely zero context for this it was quite surreal, kind of like Alice finding Wonderland, but we dived in with enthusiasm. Honestly, I don’t know if you had to get a ticket. No one stopped us, and there was a distinct lack of security for a private event, so I’m going to go with… no? But either way I feel no shame about gatecrashing, seeing as to this day where we were, or what this gig was in aid of, remains a mystery. It almost feels like a dream; watching a young singer belt out pop songs while Santa danced behind her with various other festive folk and, I assume, some famous faces too. It was a weird and wonderful discovery for our final night together, and felt like an oddly fitting way to wrap up our rollercoaster of a road trip.

Before I knew it, we were saying our goodbyes and I was back on the big green bus, this time with a whole new bunch of people. It felt quite daunting, going from travelling with just one other person, pretty much isolated from others for two weeks, to being surrounded by my loud, excitable peers again without any familiar faces to lean back on. But I don’t mean this in a negative way; I loved how crazy and fast-paced my time in the North Island had been, not to mention the weeks I spent doing the same in Australia, just as much as I revelled in the tranquility of camping in the wild, just the two of us. I actually feel incredibly lucky to have had the chance to experience New Zealand both ways, as it opened me up to so many more opportunities for adventure, learning and meeting likeminded people.

The final stop on my Kiwi journey was Kaikoura, a town on the east coast of the island. There are large populations of whales, dolphins and seals that reside around the coast here, making it a hub for encounters with marine mammals in particular. A lifelong dream of mine has been to swim with dolphins and whales, an aspiration I’ve held onto since childhood. As a kid I used to look at pictures of people playing with dolphins in those ‘amusement’ parks and wish my parents would take me to one, but as I grew older I quickly understood this was not the way to treat, let alone interact with, wild animals. I knew if I was ever going to achieve my dream, it was going to be in the animals’ natural habitat, completely on their terms. So, after hearing a bit more about the tour company offering this trip to swim with wild dolphins, I signed myself up, assured that they were going about this the right way. The pre-trip talk that we were given before boarding the boat put my mind even more at ease; our guides reminded us that there was always the possibility that we wouldn’t see any dolphins, let alone have a close encounter with one, as well as informing us that they don’t encourage the animals in any way to interact with us, with food for example. They spoke of wildlife with so much respect and gave me no indication that the company saw these animals as money-making machines, which was a real weight off my mind. I knew I was in the hands of a team with the same outlook on this sensitive subject as me. Aboard the little boat, kitted up from head to toe in neoprene and flippers, myself and the rest of the group were restless with anticipation. After a short and slightly uncomfortable ride out of the bay, we got past the choppy waves and out onto calmer open waters. And it wasn’t long before the alarm started blaring to let us know a pod had been sighted. The boat came to a halt and the guides herded us into water.

Well, when I tell you I was shocked by what I saw… in my mind I was thinking, if we even get to see a pod there may be 10, give or take? To my delight there had to be at least 50 dolphins, probably more, making a beeline straight towards us. In the water they were swimming circles around us, their natural curiosity drawing them closer and closer. We were told on the boat that they would respond best to sound, so we were all trying our best to make as much noise as we could, snorkels permitting. They also loved looking into our eyes, and mimicking our movements. It was so surreal to be making these strange, fluid movements with my body and watching a dolphin, no more than a metre from me, do the very same. It honestly seemed like the dolphins were getting just as much enjoyment out of the event as we were; they were so playful and energetic, and knowing they were there, partaking in this wonderful experience, of their own free will, able to leave any time they wanted, made the whole experience infinitely more special. I found myself laughing at times, so blown away by what was happening around me, and back on the boat it seemed everyone else was experiencing the same loss for words or intelligent thought. But every single one of us was wearing a childish grin, the kind you only get when you’re feeling such a pure, exuberant happiness that you can’t quite believe. We moved onto another location, where we were treated with the same numbers, and same level of intrigue, from these incredible creatures. They wouldn’t even leave our side as we made our way back to land, chasing each other and propelling themselves out of the water, and racing the boat on its way back to shore. My final day on the South Island couldn’t have been spent in a more perfect way, but Kaikoura had one final surprise that evening: the most electric sunset I’ve ever seen, a gradient ranging from the last of the golden light touching the horizon, through intense hues of orange, pink and purple, to a deep violet at the top to signal the oncoming dusk. What a send off from this most beautiful corner of the world, and one I am certain to cherish for the rest of my life.

Over the next few days I made my way back up to Auckland for my flights home, stopping in a few towns I’d been to before, like Rotorua and Taupo. It was nice to see these places again, and I’ll never complain about getting a second chance to explore further, but the romantic in me would’ve liked my day in Kaikoura to have been the last of my trip. It just felt so poignant, with all that I saw, as well as it being the last ‘new’ destination along my journey, so it made for a pretty impeccable closing note to my adventure of a lifetime. And what an adventure it was. Writing this now, far too long after returning to the UK (sorry to keep you waiting for so long), I’m filled with nostalgia and warmth thinking back to my time in New Zealand and Australia. All the incredible places I saw, the brilliant people that I met along the way, and the stories and memories I have collected, will stay with me forever, and are definitely fuelling my wanderlust for whenever we’re allowed to venture to new parts of the world again. We can only hope that that day comes very soon. Until then, I need to come up with some more blog content… wish me luck!

Stay tuned, next stop: TBC.

North Island, New Zealand

Here we go, half way through my adventure and I find myself in a new country - New Zealand, in fact! The journey from Melbourne to Auckland was smooth enough, however my first night was anything but! A combination of no (affordable) means to get into the city so early in the morning, and U2 choosing the same weekend to put on two sell out gigs in the city, causing every hostel and hotel to get completely booked up, designated the cold floor of Auckland Airport as my bed for the best part of 6 hours, until the first bus into town turned up. I never thought Bono would be disrupting my travel plans, but here we are. On the bright side, though, I did get to witness a group of boys, who can’t have been much younger than myself, performing the haka to a friend coming into arrivals. It was such a passionate display that captivated everyone in the vicinity and clearly meant a lot to their friend. A wonderful welcome back to him, and a big New Zealand ‘Kia Ora’ to me.

After what felt like a lifetime spent in the arrivals lounge, I made it into the city. A quick nap in the hostel to reboot myself, then I was out exploring what Auckland had to offer. What I found was a fairly typical metropolis - tall, uninspiring buildings housing big-name brands, restaurants and bars lined the streets, whilst people rushed by with a sense of purpose and impatience. A handful of characterful side streets sat tucked away from the main centres of activity, which seemed to be where all the independent cafes, boutiques etc. were hiding. I treated myself to a ridiculously luxurious ice cream from Giapo, an artisan parlour with the most innovative gelato creations anyone’s ever seen, then headed up the Sky Tower to see Auckland from 220 metres above. The 360 degree viewing platform certainly helped me grapple with the scale of the place, and I could see right out to the ocean where a network of islands lay close to the city’s edge. This was where I was headed to the following day. A short ferry ride took me to Waiheke, the largest and most populated of the accessible islands. Vineyards draped the rolling hills that span from coast to coast, and the beaches were so perfect in their untouched, raw forms. If this was the most built up of all the islands, the others must be as close to paradise as imaginable. I figured it would’ve been rude not to sample some locally produced wine whilst I was there, so I found a vineyard that had a bar on site. As I perched in a garden overlooking rows upon rows of sun-soaked vines, sipping slowly on the most expensive mouthful of wine I’ve ever indulged in, it finally felt like I’d arrived. This was the country that people made such a fuss about, I could totally see it now.

The following morning, I was bundled onto the big green Kiwi bus with a bunch of other travellers to begin our whistle-stop tour of the North Island. Our first destination was the Coromandel, a region known for spectacular beaches, including Cathedral Cove. A pretty easy hike along cliff tops and down steep, winding footpaths led us to the cove, where we found striking rock formations uniquely weathered over time by the movements of the ocean. There was a tunnel carved out of a headland, forming a gateway through to an even more secluded stretch of shoreline, which was only accessible at low tide. Its beauty was staggering, and I can only imagine how breathtaking it must be to experience it alone or with only a handful of other people around. The downside of travelling in a tour group to hidden gems such as this, however, is that there’s always going to be a crowd. I didn’t get the serenity of Cathedral Cove at sunrise this time round, but it’s a reason to go back! Before the day was through, we stopped at Hot Water Beach, famous for (you guessed it) hot water under the sand. People dig holes in the sand that fill with water, heated by geothermal energy, to form warm pools to relax in while enjoying the views. Sounds idyllic, that’s the idea anyway. Sadly, when we got there it looked like bombs had gone off along the beach, with mounds of sand built up around the craters that visitors before us had created. Seemed like they’d used up the all the hot water too, because it felt pretty cold to us! Not quite the natural thermal spa we had envisioned, but oh well!

The amount we crammed in to just over a week was pretty staggering: we visited ancient caves in Waitomo, illuminated by glowworms; spent a morning white-water rafting in the secluded River Valley; dined on pizza and beer as we sailed around Lake Taupo; and hiked over misty moors and around towering waterfalls in Tongariro, New Zealand’s oldest national park. Whilst in Rotorua, we were scheduled for a stay at the Tamaki Maori Village. I was apprehensive about going here, worried that it might feel like a typical tourist trap. But before I left the UK, a friend had told me what a highlight it had been for him, so I went with an open mind and I’m so glad I did. It was a brilliantly immersive way of learning about Maori culture and traditions, through music, performances, storytelling and even food. Being on the Kiwi Experience tour meant we were allowed to stay there overnight, giving us the opportunity to talk with our guides in more depth about their culture, history and values. It was such an insightful experience, and an education that I could never have received from a book or a museum. On our way out of Rotorua we stopped by Te Puia, a geothermic hotspot of geysers and mud pools, and an institute for traditional Maori arts such as carving and weaving. It also happens to be a Kiwi bird conservation centre, where we got to see real kiwi birds and a glimpse of the work that goes on to preserve and protect this vulnerable species. Very much an all-encompassing Kiwi experience.

Gazing out the window between naps made the early starts and long bus rides all the more worthwhile. We journeyed through stunning scenery on the way to our destinations, never more so than en route to River Valley. There’s nothing really in River Valley, it’s a textbook ‘middle of nowhere’ location, but boy was it scenic. The hills undulated around us, rolling like waves, dressed in the most vivid green grass I’ve ever laid eyes on. We stayed in a lodge beside the river, the steep sides of the valley closing us off from the rest of the world, and it was magical. Most of our time was spent recharging and enjoying the peace and utter stillness of our surroundings, a feeling that’s hard to come by on a Kiwi tour. But before we knew it we were off once again, to our final destination on our North Island adventure.

We finished the journey in the capital city, Wellington. All I have to say is they don’t call it Windy Welly for nothing; on my way to Te Papa, a museum for culture and arts, I very nearly fell flat on my face as a violent gust of wind threw itself against me. I managed to stay standing, just about, but noticed a couple of smirks on the faces of passers-by, who I have to assume were locals because they didn’t seem to be struggling at all. Te Papa was fascinating, featuring some really engaging exhibitions on a whole host of topics, from the volcanic landscape of New Zealand to the country’s involvement during WW2. However, I don’t think I saw the best of Wellington; one full day to explore won’t even scratch the surface of a city that size. If I’m being honest, though, it didn’t bother me too much because my mind was already busy anticipating the next instalment of my journey. I reunited with my boyfriend that evening, and we were going to do the South Island the proper way: camping!

Stay tuned, next stop: the South Island.

Melbourne

My time in Melbourne feels like a blur - potentially because over half a year has passed since being there - but the days weren’t particularly distinct. I had been warned along the way that Melbourne’s weather was, to say the least, unpredictable. This proved true to a degree, it certainly was hit and miss. Although this made some activities, like visiting Phillip Island, difficult or unappealing, I managed to cover a few of Melbourne’s major attractions.

The best weather offering came on my first day there, so I met up with a friend who I hadn’t seen since Byron Bay and we took a trip to Brighton beach, getting accustomed to the extensive tramline along the way. We walked the length of the beach, which was flocked with locals and tourists alike, and lined with picture-perfect beach huts. For my friend, a German, seeing these was such a novelty. And from the lines of people forming in front of those with the most elaborate or ‘insta-worthy’ designs, cameras at the ready, I’m guessing he’s not alone. I, however, am used to seeing beach huts, as they’re not only common in the UK but pretty synonymous with the British seaside. Still, it was a lovely scene, watching the admiration of these quirky little boxes which brightened up the whole beach.

The following day, my roommate and I ventured out to the Botanical Gardens (yes, another one. They seem to be a consistent feature throughout my travels). We spent a couple of hours here, navigating our way through the labyrinthine layout of pathways, trying to tick off as many of the highlights as possible but no doubt missing a few. It really is a beautiful garden, packed with native and exotic plants, stunning water features and an abundance of wildlife. A haven in the centre of the city. We’d been enjoying some unexpected sunshine, but the weather took a turn for the worse, so we headed to the Immigration Museum. We both had a keen interest in the native and early history of Australia, expecting to learn all about this here. After about half an hour we realised this wasn’t going to happen; barely touching upon aboriginal history or culture, or the impact of British colonisation on native communities, the exhibitions gave a very white-washed and moderate account of early settlement, then swiftly moved on. We agreed that it felt like the whole thing had been put on by the tourist board, with a tone almost like propaganda, to sugarcoat immigration to Australia and appeal to visitors who could be tempted to stay. It was very weird, unlike any other museum I’ve ever been to, and despite finding a photography exhibit that somewhat revived our interest, we left disappointed.

I spent the following day sheltering from the rain in the cinema, then took the tram that evening to St Kilda, hoping I’d spot some penguins at sunset. Although the rain had eased, the wind coming off the sea was so strong I swear I almost took off, and it had an icy chill to it. I had a beer and a burger overlooking the stormy waters, but sadly had no luck finding any penguins. I managed to squeeze in a wander through the vibrant Queen Victoria Market the following morning before my flight, which nicely wrapped up my time in Melbourne, and Australia.

Like Sydney, I don’t think I saw the best of Melbourne, nor saw it in its best light. The dodgy weather meant I had to miss out on certain activities, and my lack of planning once again came back to bite me, causing confusion as opposed to the intended spontaneity. I also didn’t meet very many people, only my roommate who left halfway through my time here, so I didn’t get to experience the nightlife on offer. So many people had told me how fun Melbourne could be, so I know the potential is there, but unfortunately I didn’t get to sample that this time round. All the more reason to come back! Overall, I had the most amazing time travelling the east coast of Australia, meeting awesome people, and seeing incredible sights that I’ll never forget. The lesson learnt after 5 weeks on the road is: make a plan for cities, they’re too big to wing it! Oh, and get a local sim, because having nothing but a hostel’s iffy-at-best wifi is stressful. With this in mind, New Zealand I’m coming for you!

Stay tuned, next stop: Auckland.

Sydney

12 long hours on the night bus took me from Byron Bay to Sydney. I knew I would be too early to check in to my hostel, but thankfully I was able to leave my bags in the reception whilst I popped across the road for breakfast in a roadside cafe. Tiny, with only a handful of tables inside, I ordered through the window in the wall and took a seat outside to soak in my new surroundings. With alfresco dining and such petite interiors it felt quite European, like I had suddenly appeared on a street in Paris. Once I’d eaten, and made use of the best internet connection I’d had in weeks to contact home, I went to check in to my room. The lady at reception seemed quite flustered, and she informed me that they had accidentally overbooked. She said luckily there was a bed available for me, and led me upstairs to the long-term residents room. It turned out that the ‘free’ bed actually belonged to a guest who had just gone away for the weekend, and some of his belongings still lay scattered across it - including a few pairs of pants that I refused to look too closely at. This really annoyed me, as not only is it unprofessional (and pretty gross), but they were now being paid twice for this bed. When I brought this up with the woman she said he would be refunded for that night, but I remain sceptical that he ever knew I was there. It was only for one night, though, so I shrugged it off and made plans that would keep me out for as long as possible.

Because of the extra day spent in Byron I only had three days to explore the city, so I knew I had a lot to cram in. Day 1 was for all the typical tourist attractions. I wandered down back roads and quiet residential streets in Kings Cross and Woolloomooloo, where I found Finger Wharf, an old cargo dock with an attractive blue exterior that has been converted into a hub for fine dining, right on the water’s edge. From there it was a short walk to the gorgeous Botanic Gardens, sprinkled with sunbathers and home to The Art Gallery of New South Wales. I spent a few hours there, engrossed in an exhibition that had opened that day called ‘Japan Supernatural’, an exciting curation of imaginative pieces based on ancient Japanese folklore and ghost stories. Featuring work by artists past and present, it was fascinating to learn of the characters that have been passed down through generations. I even got to see artist Kentaro Yoshida at work, creating epic wall murals in the main entrance. Once I’d had my fill of Japanese culture, I went to find something a little more synonymous with Sydney: the Opera House. A serene stroll through the gardens and beside the harbour took me straight to the iconic building, its unique curves dominating the skyline and gripping the attention of passersby. It was so surreal to see it in person. I had, of course, seen countless images of it throughout my life, being Australia’s most recognisable landmark. But being up close, observing the strange architecture from all angles, becoming one of the indistinguishable figures that look like mere specks hovering around it in photographs - it felt like I was seeing it for the very first time. I realised then that, as powerful as photos can be, they can never do justice to the feeling of experiencing something, anything, first hand. This is the feeling we’re searching for when we travel.

Evening was setting in and so was my hunger. I passed the busy, and pricey, restaurants in Circular Quay in search of something a little more within my budget. With no internet to guide me, I began roaming the myriad of streets, but I struggled to find anywhere that was open. It was so weird; Saturday evening in the largest city in the country, and the streets felt deserted. I checked my calendar - it wasn’t a holiday of any kind, nor was there a major event taking place that would draw people away from the restaurants and bars, only the rugby world cup final later that night which would, if anything, make the city more lively. I eventually found a Nando’s, which wasn’t exactly thriving either, but I decided it would have to do. I couldn’t keep wandering around aimlessly, not with my increasingly hangry mood. After a fairly unsatisfying dinner I headed back to the hostel. I joined a group in the TV room to watch the match, then crashed into bed with sore muscles and aching feet, ready for another early start the next day.

The following morning felt like de ja vu, as I boarded the train, headed to my new hostel, and was once again too early to access my room. Squeezing my bags into the overcrowded luggage room, I left to do some window shopping and familiarise myself with my new, slightly more central, location. Browsing the stores was nice for an hour or so, and generally I have no issue with exploring without purpose, but I wasn’t particularly interested in anything around me. Nothing was jumping out as unique to Sydney, or even Australia; similarly to my time in Brisbane, I felt like I could have been back in the UK, as so many of the shops and restaurants, and the general atmosphere, around me were the same as those in the likes of London and Manchester. That’s not a bad thing per se, it’s just underwhelming after having travelled half way round the world to see it. Having said this, one thing that made the morning memorable was seeing the first Christmas decorations of the year. Coming across a glistening tree in a shopping mall, with festive songs lingering in the air singing of snow and reindeer, whilst I was dressed in summer clothes and stinking of suncream, was such a juxtaposing moment it was impossible not to crack a smile.

By the time I was able to move my belongings to my room, and bag myself a bottom bunk, it was mid afternoon and the day felt like it was rapidly slipping away from me. It was my only chance to get to Bondi, so I bolted to the station. A fairly lengthy train and bus ride later, I had my toes in the sand of one of the most iconic beaches in the world. It was actually smaller than I imagined, and more ‘man-made’, but it felt so good to be out of the concrete jungle and by the sea again. I wanted to walk from there to Coogee, as I’d been told the path along the coast is incredibly scenic, but the weather had other ideas. It had been overcast all day, and it wasn’t long before the gloomy grey clouds that had been lingering over the ocean when I arrived moved overhead and gave way to thunderous downpours. I got pretty soaked just running the short distance from the beach to the picnic shelters behind, so I decided it wasn’t worth the risk getting myself or my camera drenched halfway down the coast path, or having to return in darkness. So, feeling a little deflated, I got back on the bus and returned to the city earlier than expected. My mood picked up that evening, however, when I met a friend for a couple of drinks whom I’d travelled on-and-off with for the last few weeks. I had felt quite lonely since arriving in Sydney, the first time I’d truly felt that way since my trip started. I suppose I hadn’t really been travelling on my own since The Whitsundays, but the group that had formed along the way dispersed after Byron Bay, so I was left to start from scratch. Sydney was also by far the biggest and most daunting place I’d been, which was only going to emphasise this sense of isolation.

I was up early (again) for a day trip to the Blue Mountains, a national park about an hour and a half inland from the city. It boasts dramatic scenery, consisting of dense eucalyptus forests, towering waterfalls and steep cliff faces. Our guide was Billy, a Brit who had settled in Australia several years ago, but his knowledge of the area’s geography, history and wildlife was seriously impressive. He recounted the fascinating stories told of the mountains, including how the distinct rock formation ‘The Three Sisters’ came to be, according to Indigenous folklore. It’s a shame to admit that he was the first tour guide I’d had that not only acknowledged the significance of the park to native communities, but openly embraced the deep-rooted, varied history of the area, and emphasised the importance of showing respect whilst there. After taking in the full expanse of the mountain range, ever-so-slightly tinged with blue (hence the name, although we didn’t get to see them at their most vivid) from Echo Point, Billy led us down into the forest. He spent time showing us exposed walls of the mountains that looked like faces, and educating us on how caves and overhangs were once used for shelter and communication by Indigenous people. He pointed out the nests of funnel web spiders, and explained in meticulous detail the fate of anyone who goes near one, which meant I, of course, saw them everywhere we went. Finally, we ended up at the foot of a waterfall, soaring hundreds of feet above us. We spent a while taking photos and admiring the raw beauty of the nature surrounding us, then began to head back up. I could’ve taken the train - the steepest in the world for any railway fans out there - but saved the dollars and put my legs to good use instead. Despite some lethal steps right at the beginning, it was a scenic and surprisingly short hike back to the van. Once we arrived back in the city, I had just enough time to hop on the ferry to Manly for a quick wander by the beach and a well-earned ice cream break. Then I was on the water once again, just in time to catch the sun setting behind Sydney’s skyline, illuminating the Opera House and Harbour Bridge as the boat headed into the quay. A beautifully calm ending to my whistle-stop weekend.

I’d like to revisit Sydney, as three days just wasn’t enough to fully experience it at its best. There were so many things I didn’t get to try: the walk to Coogee, or just seeing Bondi on a good day; a show at the Opera House; or a proper meal in what’s swiftly becoming known as a favourite destination for foodies. Due to early mornings every day of my stay, I wasn’t able to sample the nightlife that the city is renowned for, and I barely touched the sides when it comes to exploring the diverse neighbourhoods that give any city its unique sense of character. I ticked off all the major highlights, and managed to cram A LOT into the few days I had, but I left wanting more, and feeling like my time there was incomplete. But I suppose this is the sign of a special place, that people can leave knowing they’ll return, one day.

Stay tuned, next stop: Melbourne.

Byron Bay

After skipping swiftly through the Gold Coast, a city I found so dull I wonder how it was granted such an alluring name, I arrived in Byron Bay. I had been looking forward to this location ever since I booked my trip six months prior, a surfer town known for its long, golden-sand beaches and laid-back way of life.

I spent around five days here, the longest I stayed in any single destination, and what I spent those days doing… I couldn’t precisely tell you. The slow pace and mellow vibes synonymous with Byron seem to draw out time into a hazy blur, making this the perfect place to do nothing. Here, being lazy isn’t something to feel guilty for; instead, you are savouring moments and appreciating the small things, like the sun that endlessly shines and the buskers’ music drifting in the air. The atmosphere is somehow simultaneously relaxing and energising, which lingers on as day turns to night, the town still very much alive and buzzing with activity after the sun goes down. Pubs and bars fill with people, locals and travellers seamlessly mixing together to form one cohesive community.

As nice as it was to take it easy after a few weeks of fairly full-on adventure, I didn’t spend all my time lounging by the pool (although, one stand-out moment was a morning spent doing just that, whilst listening to a group of extremely talented musicians jam together in the hostel garden. I thought it would last an hour perhaps, but it just kept going and going… they were still playing when I sat down to eat dinner that evening. Such a special experience, to have your whole day soundtracked). When in Byron, you have to surf. My roommate and I hired a board and headed to the beach for a few hours, where we tried our hardest to make the most of the waves we were given. With approximately one and a half surf lessons between us, the small waves that we arrived to were a blessing, however after an hour or two the sea fell pretty flat, forcing us to reside to the beach for the rest of the morning. Not a bad outcome in the grand scheme of things, and at least we could say we tried. The fresh smoothie we treated ourselves to on the way back to the hostel was just what we deserved after a very demanding day out.

Byron’s most iconic feature is undeniably the lighthouse at Cape Byron, the most easterly point of mainland Australia. It’s supposedly an incredible spectacle at sunrise, but I’m really a night owl by nature, so I visited at sunset instead. I definitely took the ‘scenic route’ up, following a track through dense forest, surrounded by an eery silence that was only occasionally disrupted by a bush turkey digging through fallen leaves. I had no idea where I was or where I was going; this was the first time in my travels that I genuinely felt lost, and my rookie error in not having a local sim card meant I couldn’t use my GPS. After what felt like an eternity of hiking on my own, some joggers passed by me, reassuring my irrational mind that I am indeed near civilisation and not in an episode of Bear Grylls: Mission Survive. I eventually emerged into the open, rewarded with epic views over Cape Byron and Tallow Beach, then followed the road up to the lighthouse. I arrived in time to see the golden-orange light beginning to break through the clouds, casting a luminous glow on the surface of the water and the white walls of the impressive building. I joined the small crowd that had gathered to admire the serene setting with a 360 degree view across Byron Bay and out to sea. I didn’t stay much longer than 30 minutes, wanting to head back before the light disappeared completely, and this time I took the route more well-travelled. The Cape Byron Walking Track led me along the other side of the coastline, offering up spectacular views across the bay as the last light dipped below the mountainous horizon.

Finally, no trip to Byron Bay could be considered complete without a visit to the nearby village of Nimbin. It’s like stepping back in time to the era of the hippy, shops filled to bursting with psychedelic memorabilia, quirky characters congregating in cafes, and the strong presence of certain herbal treats that would raise a few eyebrows in a less liberal part of the world. The best word I can use to describe my time in Nimbin is random; nothing made much sense to be completely honest, but I suppose that’s the charm of it. It was memorable, and certainly made me smile, and that’s exactly what I came travelling for.

My days spent in Byron Bay were some of my favourites so far. It reminded me of my years spent in Falmouth, another small coastal town with a big heart and chilled vibes - although the weather here was a vast improvement on the horizontal rain in Cornwall. I probably could’ve stayed forever, but the time finally came to move on to somewhere new, and just a tad more fast-paced…

Stay tuned, next stop: Sydney.