“Three bars! Three bars!” I whooped with glee as we approached Esperance, the first proper town we’d drive through in nearly three days. Alex grabbed his iPhone and feverishly checked messages while maintaining control of the steering wheel in his other hand.
For the rest of my life, I’ll be waxing poetic about “the time I spent two months living in Bondi Beach”. It’s like the lifelong dream I never knew I had.
I won’t deny my tendency to over-plan my days and trips. That’s why it was rather out of character for me to hardly plan a thing for my Tasmania trip this past January.
In the 2+ months I’ve been in Australia, I’ve been asked an inordinate number of times whether I miss home. Honestly? No, I don’t really miss my life in New York.
Most sensible people treat a beach holiday as an opportunity to relax on the beach – i.e. *a* beach, singular. One beach, max relaxation.
But, since the Eagles basically wrote the song “Learn To Be Still” for me without knowing it, it almost goes without saying that this is not how I do a beach vacation.
It took just a few hours of pacing around Airlie Beach before I decided: I have to get out of here.
Don’t get me wrong, you could do far worse than a town blessed with an endless summer.
93.6% of all tourists in Australia come to see the Great Barrier Reef.
Ok I totally made that stat up. Surely there are people who only stop in Sydney or Melbourne on their Aussie trip, or head straight to the Outback to get their bushwalk on.
Is it just me, or is everyone hitting up Greece these days? This summer I must have seen a large handful of travel bloggers blow up every social media channel with photos of idyllic white buildings on a hill overlooking deep blue water.
I don’t know about you, but the trips I take tend to be planned around one particular thing I’ve been aching to see or do. In the case of my 2012 road trip around the Big Island of Hawaii, the one thing I just HAD to do was the Waimanu Valley hike, on the Muliwai Trail.