Booking a one way ticket to Australia and moving to the other side of the world wasn’t my first ‘delulu’ act after divorce.
I started this series with a slightly shorter spontanious trip…
I went to Ibiza.
For 24 hours.
Becuase when one door closes (my marriage & ten year relationship), another one opens on a Jet2 flight to Ibiza.
Girl Maths.
You could say divorce made me do it. You could also blame the bottle of wine consumed on a Thursday afternoon…
It all started with a very normal suggestion: “shall we go out this weekend?“
Somewhere after the second glass of wine we’d somehow talked our selves into a little city break for the night. Then came the adding up of expenses to take into consideration. Trains. Hotels. Ubers. Dinner. Drinks. Suddenly, our “girls’ night” was looking like it required a financial adviser.
And then, the third glass of wine was poured…
“How funny would it be if we just went to Ibiza?”
Obviously, we laughed. Then, we checked the flights.
Turned out, Ibiza was cheaper than a city break.
And so, at this point, there was only one responsible thing to do.
Book it!
POA: OurIrresponsible? Ibiza Itinerary.
Our Plan Of Action was simple:
Get a flight to Ibiza. Go to the club. Get a flight home.
No hotel. No suitcase. No sensible explanation.
It sounded like it could either be terrifc… or tragic… right?
The logistics were questionable. The only thing we planned on taking with us was a small handbag each; for a bit of makeup, a bikini, and tooth brush, oh, and the unwavering belief that this was somehow a bargain.
Looking back, it was probably the first glimpse of the version of me that was about to emerge…
Less concerned with whether something was sensible and more interested in whether it would make a good story.
And this one definitely did!
We spent the entire flight in disbelief that we were actually doing this. Most people getting off our flight were more than likely heading towards a beautiful villa, a boutique hotel or at the very least, a bed.
There was something surreal about stepping onto a plane to go to Ibiza for the night knowing that we had nothing booked once we landed.
Well, I suppose we did. We had tickets to the club. Der.
Hello. Hï. It’s me.
We landed at around 10pm but Hï Ibiza doesn’t open until 11pm, which gave us plenty of time for a few ‘pres’ before our boogie.
Disclaimer: technically we’d been having ‘pres’ since 6pm at the Weatherspoons in the airport. I know, classy.
If you’ve been to Ibiza before, you’ll know that alcohol in clubs, in fact, any drink in a club in Ibiza, is boarderline day light robbery. Or night time robbery in this case. A bottle of water will set you back at least 20 euros. And two vodka sodas costs around 50 euros (and the rest!). So our girl maths had calcualted that getting tipsy before we landed was frugal financial planning.
After all, I had a divorce to pay for.
Once we got to the club, there was only one thing left to do: dance. And we kept dancing. And dancing. And somehow, suddenly, it was 7am and I’d done a weeks worth of cardio in 7 hours powered by red bull and having absolutley no regets.
Sunrise & Sore Heads.
But before we knew it, the club was closing.
Now, it’s at this point that the sense of achievement for staying up all night starts to split into two; spectacular or stupid. The adrenaline was still high at this point, so it was too soon to tell.
I’d spent so much of my twenties doing what I thought I was supposed to do; building a career, buying a house, getting married and generally being a responsible adult.
And then, at 28, I was standing outside a nightclub in Ibiza at 7am with a toothbrush in my handbag and absolutely no idea where I was sleeping.
Character development, I suppose.
For most people, once the club starts coordinating everyone out the venue, this is where the night draws to an end. The lines of taxis take over the strip with people ready to take cover in their beds in the disbelief that the following day has in fact already begun.
But we weren’t going to bed.
Largely because we didn’t have one.
And so, we headed to the beach.
The sun was coming up over the water, the sky had turned this ridiculous shade of pink and, after hours of music and flashing lights, everything was suddenly peaceful.
We’d come to Ibiza for one night out, but this ended up being one of those completely unexpected travel moments that you couldn’t have planned if you’d tried.
No itinerary. No reservation. No carefully researched sunrise spot.
It was completely spontaneous, completely ridiculous and somehow completely perfect.
Then, it hit us.
We now had the small matter of an entire day (and a slight hangover) to get through before our flight back home.
Saved By The Buffet.
At this point, hanger was kicking in and the lack of a hotel had gone from hilarious to humourless.
We were tired.
We were hungry.
And we had absolutely nowhere to lie down.
We were starting to question our delutional decision making. But we refused to accept defeat.
“If we had booked a hotel, where would we eat breakfast?”
The Hard Rock Hotel entered the chat.
Given the shortness of our trip, we weren’t wanting to mess around with Ubers back and forth across the island. The Hard Rock Hotel is just a short walk away from the main strip of Playa d’en Bossa, round the corner from Hï Ibiza.
We didn’t know if we’d be able or allowed to eat at their restaurant as non-staying guests, but we were women on a mission, still carrying some of that blind optimism in our handbag from the night before.
40 euros (each) later and the deal was done. Breakfast was served and we could finally sit down.
Yes, ok, it was a little pricey. But after dancing all night for the last 7 hours, you best believe we ate our moneys worth!
Once the food coma kicked in, it was time to tackle our final task of the trip: find somewhere to sleep.
We wondered down to the hotels sunloungers on the beach front and were offered two day beds and some clean towels. We could finally relax. We spent the rest of the day doing absolutely nothing; we slept, sunbathed, swam in the sea, ate some food, and sunbathed some more.
Snap Back To Reality. Ope. There Goes Gravity.
Before we knew it, it was 6pm and it was time to catch our flight home.
Back to reality. Sort of.
For so long, I’d thought starting over meant having some grand plan for what came next. A new career. A new home. A five-year plan. Something that made sense on paper.
But starting over doesn’t always have to be that serious.
Sometimes it just starts by saying: “fuck it, let’s go to Ibiza” .
Last year, I had a corporate career. A house. A respectable LinkedIn profile. Then life changed, and I realised I didn’t actually know what I wanted the next chapter of my life to look like. And so, I decided that if I was going to start again, I might as well start somewhere sunny.
I went from being a solicitor with a mortgage and a relatively respectable grasp on adulthood, to living out of a backpack and sharing a bedroom with seven strangers. The transition was surprisingly seamless.
There was something mildly humbling about backpacking in my later twenties. I was surrounded by people at the very beginning of their adult lives, while I was figuring out how to start mine again.
I shared hostel dorms with complete strangers, accidentally became the older sister of every 21 year old backpacker, made plans with people I’d known for approximately five minutes and got surprisingly comfortable with not knowing what was happening next.
The east coast gave me some of the best memories of my life. It also gave me questionable tan lines, approximately 38 versions of the same hostel conversation and a newfound appreciation for privacy curtains.
Some places completely stole my heart.
Some I wouldn’t rush back to.
And some of my favourite memories had very little to do with where I was and everything to do with who I was with.
Somewhere between the bunk beds and beaches, I was discovering a new version of myself. Along side a whole new dictionary used by Gen Z.
A slightly unfiltered guide to Australia’s east coast: A month of heat, hostels, and hippies
This isn’t a list of ‘must-sees’.
It’s an honest account of where I stayed, what I did, what I loved and what I probably wouldn’t bother doing again. Because when you’ve sold your house, moved to the other side of the world and carrying your entire life in a backpack, you quickly learn that time and money are too precious to waste.
So, if you’re looking for a perfectly curated travel guide, this isn’t it.
This is the good, the bad, the beautiful and the occasionally chaotic reality of travelling Australia’s east coast from someone who arrived with a backpack, a camera and absolutely no idea what she was doing.
Cairns
I could have skipped Cairns.
Where I stayed:
I stayed at Little Drifter, right in the heart of Cairns. It was clean, modern and well furnished, and I was in an eight bed mixed dorm. The beds had privacy curtains, which was something I later realised I’d taken for granted; after sleeping in enough open plan dorms to know everyone’s bedtime routine, those curtains would become something I genuinely mourned.
The hostel wasn’t particularly social. The communal areas were pretty quiet, so making friends wasn’t especially easy which, in hindsight, I probably could have anticipated had I read the reviews rather than simply looking at the photos.
Whilst both of my activities in Cairns were great experiences, the city itself didn’t do much for me. Personally, I found the place a little dull and dirty. Unless you have access to a car and are planning to use Cairns as a base for exploring, I wouldn’t personally spend too long here.
What I did:
The Great Barrier Reef
My first activity was snorkelling the Great Barrier Reef with Silverswift Barrier Reef Cruises. It was a standard day trip operator open to everyone, rather than a tour specifically aimed at backpackers, so I found it a little harder to naturally strike up conversations. That said, spending eight hours on a boat means you eventually start noticing who else is travelling alone. You gravitate towards each other, and before you know it, you’ve made a temporary friend-ship (excuse the pun).
The snorkelling itself was beautiful, of course, it’s the Great Barrier Reef. But personally, I found the overall experience a little underwhelming. If you’re travelling the east coast and planning to visit the Whitsundays, I’d personally save your money and snorkel there instead.
The Daintree Rainforest
My second activity in Cairns was a day trip to the Daintree Rainforest with Uncle Brian’s Cape Tribulation Tours. This was a completely different experience, and one I would highly recommend. The tour has some of the best reviews and they live up to their reputation.
There was around fifteen of us on the tour. A mix of solo travellers and couples, all roughly around the same age. Within minutes, strangers were chatting like they’d known each other for weeks. Which, as a solo traveller arriving in Australia and quietly hoping I hadn’t made (another) terrible life decision, was exactly what I needed.
We stopped at Thornton Beach on the way, and somehow, we were the only people there. Just fifteen of us, an empty beach, tropical rainforest and absolutely no reason whatsoever to check my phone. It was one of those moments where you stop taking photos for a second because you’re too busy looking at what’s actually in front of you.
And yes, obviously I then took about 47 photos.
Magnetic Island
“Maggie” is a must do!
Where I stayed:
For my first night on Maggie, I stayed at Bounce Hostel on the north side of the island, around a five minute walk from Horseshoe Bay. I then moved to Nomads on the south side, where I stayed for another two nights. The eight bed dorms at Nomads were these cute, triangular-shaped huts right on the beachfront.
The only catch? No privacy curtains.
Having had them in Cairns, I suddenly realised I’d become quite attached to my little fabric barrier between me and the rest of the dorm. But after a while, you stop caring. Or perhaps you just become so accustomed to hostel life that your standards quietly disappear.
Luckily, the hostel itself more than made up for it. After the slightly antisocial start I had in Cairns, this was exactly the kind of hostel atmosphere I’d been hoping for.
What I did:
Magnetic Island is famous for its koalas and wallabies, so naturally, I set off expecting to come face-to-face with at least 50 koalas. However, despite spending the morning walking the Forts Walk (a 4km return trail that takes around 2 hours) in nearly 40 degree sweltering heat, there wasn’t a koala in sight. Not one.
The wallabies, however, were much more cooperative. You can spot wild rock wallabies around the Nelly Bay helipad area, near the main ferry terminal. I sat down on the grass with some carrots and, eventually, became surrounded by these incredibly cute little creatures. They were adorable. And far more reliable than the koalas.
Airlie Beach & Whitsundays boat trip
Sailboats, sunsets and skydives
Head in the clouds (literally)
Where I stayed:
I stayed at Nomads in Airlie Beach for one night before my two day Whitsundays sailing trip, then returned for another two nights afterwards.
Airlie itself is small, but the main strip is busy. The place felt like one giant backpacker waiting room for the Whitsundays. You could barely walk five minutes without hearing someone discussing which boat they were on, where they were staying or whether they had managed to get a decent cabin.
What I did:
Two days sailing the Whitsundays
I was booked onto the SV Summer Jo for a two day sailing trip around the Whitsundays. Happy Travels had given me three boat options, ranging from full-send party boat to luxury floating hotel. I went somewhere in the middle.
I wanted a few drinks, good music, beautiful sunsets and people to actually talk to. I didn’t want to spend two days at sea with a hangover surrounded by 18-year-olds filmimg tik toks. Equally, I wasn’t looking to spend the trip quietly sipping on herbal tea. I wanted the fun, just with a little less chaos.
This was where I finally got the Great Barrier Reef experience I’d been hoping for. The days were spent sailing, snorkelling and sunbathing.
The cabins however, were microscopic, so most people ended up sleeping on deck. You could grab a hammock or a beanbag, wrap yourself in a blanket and sleep underneath the stars. It was stunning. Waking up to a view of the sea and the sunrise was surreal.
Seeing the Whitsundays from above
From sea to sky, my next adventure was a helicopter flight over Whitehaven Beach, Hill Inlet, the Great Barrier Reef and Heart Reef. If you want to appreciate the sheer scale of the Whitsundays, seeing them from above is an absolute must. The 60 minute scenic flight was breathtaking. There are some places you photograph because you want to remember them. And then there are places where you put your camera down because, for a moment, you just want to look. This was one of those places.
Freefalling
And for my final mode of transport… Freefalling. My tandem skydive was probably one of the scariest things I’ve ever done (apart from moving to the other side of the world on my own). I did mine through SKYDIVE Australia. They were quick to put me at ease, which I definitely appreciated when I was about to voluntarily throw myself out of a perfectly functioning plane. If you’re not afraid of a little adrenaline, I would absolutely recommend it.
Noosa & K’gari
Fun, fun and more fun on Fraser Island
Where I stayed:
I stayed at Nomads in Noosa for one night before and one night after my K’gari trip. Pretty much everyone in the hostel was either heading out on the same trip the next morning or had just returned from it. So, within minutes, you already had something to talk about.
What I did:
K’gari: Island Expeditions
The Island Expeditions camping trip on Fraser Island was easily my favourite trip of the entire east coast. Eight people. Three days. One 4WD. And absolutely no escape from each other’s music taste. We took turns driving, cooking lunch and dinner, washing up and helping set up camp, essentially becoming a very small, slightly dysfunctional family. Everyone ate together, played games and once the sun went down, headed to the beach to stargaze and watch shooting stars.
My group unexpectedly became part of my wider travel story. We continued bumping into each other along the east coast, meeting up again in Byron Bay at Christmas and Sydney for New Years Eve.
Kangarooms Noosa Everglades
I spent one night at Kangarooms Noosa Everglades. The advertising promises the possibility of seeing kangaroos hopping along the beach at sunrise. Sadly, on my visit, they didn’t get the memo. The campsite itself, however, was absolutely full of them. So, whilst I may not have got my cinematic sunrise beach moment, I definitely got my fill of kangaroos.
Brisbane
Where I stayed:
I stayed at BUNK for my two nights in Brisbane.
The hostel was a good base for exploring the city. However, the hostel wasn’t very social, not for my short stop over anyway.
What I did:
Brisbane wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t for me.
I know plenty of people absolutely love the city, but personally, the busy atmosphere isn’t really my thing. After spending so much time surrounded by beaches, islands, rainforests and open space, I think I was craving something a little further away from city life.
I didn’t pack my two days with activities or feel the need to tick off every tourist attraction. I wandered around, took in a little of the city and, if I’m honest, mostly used Brisbane as a stopover before continuing further south.
I think that’s one of the most important things I’ve learnt from travelling. You don’t have to love somewhere just because everyone else does. Some places become the highlights of your trip. Some are simply a stop along the way. And that’s okay.
Byron Bay
A bubble that never burst.
Where I stayed:
Wake Up!
I stayed at Wake Up! in Byron Bay, which was probably one of my favourite hostels of the whole trip. There were activities happening every day, which made it really easy to meet people. Whether it was doing one of the free morning yoga classes, the pub quiz or simply grabbing a drink with people you’d met that morning around the pool, there was always something going on.
Drifter
I also stayed at Drifter in Byron Bay. It was super modern and had a great location, making it easy to get around and explore. My only complaint was the kitchen. It was tiny. When an entire hostel is trying to cook dinner at roughly the same time, finding a spare chopping board, let alone a bit of counter space, becomes a competitive sport.
What I did:
Byron was one of the few places where I didn’t feel like I needed to constantly be doing something to make the most of my time there. I could spend the morning at the beach, wander around the markets, grab a coffee, meet someone new and somehow find myself sitting on the sand watching the sunset by the end of the day. No itinerary. No plans. Just seeing where the day took me.
There is plenty to do in Byron. You can learn to surf. Go to the markets. See live music. Explore the beaches. Find a yoga class. Eat good food. Drink great coffee. Or walk to watch the sunrise and/or sunset from the lighthouse – I know I said this isn’t a list of ‘must-sees’… but this one you have to do!
One of my favourite unofficial Byron traditions was grabbing some sushi and a few cold beers, heading down to the beach for sunset and watching some barefoot, slightly hippy-looking guy playing guitar whilst everyone danced along.
It was everything I wanted Austrlia to be, and more.
Gold Coast
Surfers, yes. Paradise, not so much.
Where I stayed:
I stayed at Tequila Sunrise in Surfers Paradise. It was a 130 bed hostel dorm in the heart of the Gold Coast. Yes. 130 beds.
After weeks of beaches, islands, rainforest and relatively low-rise coastal towns, suddenly there were skyscrapers, neon lights, huge hotels and enough bars and restaurants to make me wonder if I’d accidentally taken a wrong turn and ended up in Benidorm.
What I did:
It was busy, loud and unapologetically touristy. Was it my favourite place on the east coast? No. Did I have a good time? Yes.
And perhaps that’s an important distinction. Travelling isn’t about falling in love with every destination. Sometimes somewhere can be completely not your vibe and still make for a good chapter.
Sydney
The final chapter
Where I stayed:
I stayed at The Pacific House for a few nights in Sydney over New Years. It felt slightly more grown-up than some of the backpacker hostels I’d stayed in along the east coast, which, by this point, I wasn’t complaining about.
What I did:
New Years Eve Fireworks
After a month of travelling down the east coast, I finally arrived in Sydney. This was the destination I’d been working towards from the moment I landed in Cairns. Not just because Sydney is one of Australia’s most iconic cities, but because I had planned my entire east coast adventure around being there for the New Year’s Eve fireworks.
It was a pretty spectacular way to end my first month of solo travelling.
But I’ll be honest… Sydney didn’t steal my heart.
I think the timing played a huge part. Everything was so busy and touristy that it was difficult to get a real feel for the city. After weeks of smaller coastal towns, islands and places where you could walk barefoot into a café without anyone batting an eyelid, Sydney was hard to settle into.
Would I go back? Absolutely. I’d like to see Sydney when it’s not hosting one of the worlds biggest New Year’s Eve celebrations, and preferably when I don’t have to queue for twenty minutes to walk approximately seven metres.
My East Coast Highlights
I had arrived in Australia with no real plan. And somehow, a month later, I’d made it all the way down the east coast, alone. I snorkelled the Great Barrier Reef, sailed through the Whitsundays, jumped out of a plane, camped on K’gari and made friends from all over the world.
Most importantly, I’d learnt that travelling alone doesn’t mean being lonely. In fact, sometimes it means the opposite. You just have to be brave enough to walk into a room where you don’t know anyone. To sit down next to a stranger. To start a conversation with the person next to you in the hostel. But those small moments become the beginning of friendships, adventures and memories you never could have planned. Which, I suppose, is the whole point.
Every good story has a plot twist. Mine just happened to involve a divorce, a one-way ticket and a backpack.
I wish I could tell you moving to Australia was part of some beautifully thought-out life plan. It wasn’t. It was more of a “well… everything else has gone to shit, so why not?” kind of decision. I came because my life had fallen apart and booking a one-way flight somehow felt like the most sensible decision available. Because nothing says “emotionally processing” quite like sleeping in an eight-bed hostel dorm with a German gap year student who snores.
I’d spent most of my twenties believing life was something you carefully planned. Study hard. Build a career. Buy the house. Get married. I genuinely thought I was nailing adulthood.
Looking back, blowing up my entire life was probably definatley the best thing that ever happened to me. I just didn’t know it yet.
I wouldn’t necessarily recommend getting divorced as a travel planning strategy… But I also can’t deny it’s how I ended up here.
Because therapy was expensive and Australia is sunny.
On the 1st December 2025, armed with a one-way ticket, a backpack and an unhealthy amount of optimism, I landed in Australia.
I had no plan. No pre-booked activities. No carefully colour-coded itinerary. Just my first few nights in a hostel in Cairns and the slightly delusional belief that I’d simply figure it out as I went.
In hindsight, moving to the other side of the world with no plan was… bold.
Was it sensible? No.
Did it make for a much better story? Absolutely.
I’d imagined myself effortlessly drifting down the east coast, making lifelong friends on every Greyhound bus, stumbling across hidden beaches and becoming one of those impossibly cool travellers who casually says things like, “I actually ended up staying another week…”. The reality?
I spent my first two days with my head buried in my phone, surrounded by approximately 47 open tabs, trying to work out where I was supposed to be, how to get there and whether I’d left it too late to book literally everything. Not quite the carefree backpacker I’d imagined.
It also didn’t help that this was my first time travelling solo, and I’d somehow managed to arrive during peak summer, when half the world seemed to have had exactly the same idea. Every hostel I wanted was filling up. The activities I’d flown across the world to do were booking out. And I was rapidly discovering that “I’ll sort it when I get there” is a lovely personality trait… right up until you’re the one trying to find a bed for the night.
After two days of scrolling, researching, second-guessing myself and achieving remarkably little, I admitted defeat.
Thankfully, Australia has built an entire industry around people like me. People who mistake spontaneous for wildly underprepared. Travel companies line the streets of Cairns, ready to rescue backpackers from their own questionable planning decisions.
I wandered into Happy Travels, explained that I wanted to spend a month making my way down the east coast before finishing in Sydney for the New Year’s Eve fireworks, and handed over my fate.
Less than ten minutes later, they had organised everything. Greyhound buses. Hostels. Tours. Activities. The lot. What had taken me days of overthinking and approximately 47 open tabs on my phone took them less time than it takes me to decide what to watch on Netflix.
I could finally put my phone away, stop trying to organise my entire life from the corner of a hostel dorm and actually start doing the thing I’d flown 14,000 kilometres to do. Experience Australia.
As it turns out, the best part of this trip wasn’t following a plan.
It was finally letting go of the idea that I needed one.
No Plus One Required
There are plenty of organised group tours running along Australia’s east coast, where you spend the entire trip travelling with the same thirty or so people.
For a lot of people, that’s the perfect way to do it. For me… not so much. I wanted to do this (somewhat) solo. Not because I didn’t want to meet people, quite the opposite. I wanted the freedom to decide where I went next, change my plans on a whim, say yes to something unexpected or stay somewhere an extra night simply because I wasn’t ready to leave.
For the first time in a very long time, I wanted my decisions to belong entirely to me. I’d also never travelled alone before. In fact, I’d never really done much alone before.
After spending ten years in a relationship, I’d become so used to making decisions as we that I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to make them as me.
And if I’m completely honest, that was terrifying.
There were moments before I left when I wondered whether I’d made a huge mistake. Would I make friends? Would I feel lonely? Would I spend every evening eating dinner by myself while pretending to be fascinated by my phone? Spoiler alert: occasionally… yes.
But those moments were massively outnumbered by the ones I never could have planned for. The conversations with strangers that somehow lasted for hours. The people who invited me to join them for dinner five minutes after we’d met. The friendships that started with, “Is anyone sitting here?” and somehow ended with plans to meet again three cities later along the east coast.
Because here’s the funny thing about solo travel… You arrive on your own. But you’re very rarely alone.
Australia’s east coast is full of people who have all, for one reason or another, found themselves on the same adventure. Some are taking a gap year. Some are escaping winter. Some are figuring out what comes next.
And then there was me… a 29 year old solicitor who’d somehow swapped boardrooms for bunk beds.
Turns out, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Hostels are cheaper than therapy.
One of the funniest things about travelling Australia’s east coast is that everyone thinks they’re off on their own unique adventure… yet somehow we’re all living slightly different versions of the same story.
The same Greyhound buses. The same hostels. The same beaches. The same boat trips. Just in a slightly different order. You’re either travelling north or south, and before long, you realise Australia’s east coast is basically one giant game of backpacker bingo.
The girl you met in a hostel kitchen in Cairns suddenly appears in Airlie Beach. The Danish boys you shared a 4WD with on K’gari somehow end up in Byron Bay. The guy you met on a boat in the Whitsundays casually walks into your hostel three days later like you’ve planned it all along.
It’s a wonderfully weird little world.
And then there are the conversations… Within about five minutes of walking into any hostel dorm, everyone seems to instinctively know the script.
“Where are you from?”, “How long are you travelling for?”, “Are you going up or down?”, “Have you done K’gari yet?”, “You HAVE to do K’gari.”, “Where are you heading next?”, “How old are you?”
That last question always made me laugh.
At 29, I wasn’t exactly collecting my bus pass, but I do remember MSN…
The funny thing is, you end up having exactly the same conversation dozens of times. And somehow, it never gets boring. Because although the questions never change, the people always do. Some friendships last until the next bus stop. Some until the next city. Some until New Year’s Eve in Sydney. And some become the people you still send voice notes to long after you’ve all flown back to different corners of the world.
That’s the magic of solo travel. You set off hoping to discover a new place. You rarely expect to find your people there too.
A little family was formed in my 4WD on k’gari. Aged between 20 and 29, its fair to say I took on the role of granny in this group. Little did we know at the time we met, we’d end up spending Christmas together in Byron Bay & New Year Syndey… just by chance.
My East Coast Route
Over the course of a month, I made my way down the east coast, stopping at:
Cairns
Townsville/Magnetic Island
Airlie Beach
Noosa & K’gari (Fraser Island)
Brisbane
Sunshine Coast
Byron Bay
Syndey
One month. Eight stops. Countless hostel dorms. A questionable amount of luggage.
I arrived in Australia thinking I was simply solo travelling for a new adventure. What I didn’t realise was that, somewhere along the way, I was also starting a completely new chapter of my life.
I didn’t know where the story was going yet. I still don’t. But I knew I wanted to find out.
For my first ever blog post, as a travel story teller and aspiring travel blogger, I wanted to share my most life changing trip –
The last year of my twenties is without a doubt the biggest adventure I’ve ever been on. I checked into this year carrying baggage (mostly emotional, although I did go over my luggage allowance flying into Australia – whoops), but on the ground I’m traveling light.
Not everything that has happened to us in our lives needs to stay with us for the whole journey. Over time, you start to learn what’s essential to keep in your hand luggage – the lessons.
It’s a journey of self-discovery, after taking a detour from the life I had previously mapped out. I now have no direction and my destination is unknown. Curiosity is my new compass, following in the direction that my deepest desires take me in. Sometimes the wind blows me back and forth and I struggle to know which way to go, but turbulence means we’re moving forward. Not being able to see ahead, doesn’t mean we’re not going the right way. The clouds soon enough part ways for the sun and you start seeing the clear sky ahead.
Life is often compared to a journey. Because it is. I personally love the train station theory – it suggests that life is a ride with many stops and departures, many greetings and goodbyes.
The Train of Life poem by Vincent Moore puts it perfectly:
“The mystery to everyone is: We do not know at which station we ourselves will step down. So, we must live in the best way, love, forgive, and offer the best of who we are.
It is important to do this because when the time comes for us to step down and leave our seat empty
we should leave behind beautiful memories for those who will continue to travel on the train of life”.
I never thought that part of my journey would be me travelling alone, and certainly never expected my next stop to be living in Australia. The railroad switch has rerouted me to a new life, new experiences and with new passengers along for the ride.
I celebrated my 29th birthday living on the other side of the world to where I have spent my whole life growing up, and within only a few months of being in Australia, I was lucky enough to spend the day surrounded by all the new wonderful friends I’d made. My head was well and truly in the clouds (number nine obvs).
I’ve never felt so far away from the person I was last year, and so close to arriving at the person I’m destined to become.
You don’t always need to know where you’re going in life, the detours and delays are all part of the journey, because you’ll always end up exactly where you’re supposed to be.
LuLu Land 