Sydney to London Without a Plane by Lorna_North

Goodbye Farm, Hello Open Road

The windows were down, the music was up, the tank was full and we were on our way to Queensland.

I was travelling with farm colleagues, Francien from Holland and Patrick from fellow Blighty.

The day before we’d picked our very last courgette, put our knives away, hung up our buckets and said goodbye to the beautiful farm that had provided us with employment and a gruelling physical routine for the last 3 months.

We swapped the old rusty ute for a rented white Nissan Micra and we were heading North, to a new state to see what other adventures we could find.

On the first night we made it as far as Bellingen, a small town just inland from the coast.

Full of the optimism that comes with the first day of a road trip, we decided we would conserve our costs and sleep in the car.

Bearing in mind the car is called a ‘Micra’ it was hardly going to be a roomy abode and being vertically challenged, I was nominated for the back seat chamber (along with all the luggage) whereas Francien and Patrick  were designated the East and West wings at the front.

Earlier that day when we’d stopped in Tamworth, I thought I’d done the sensible thing by planning ahead and buying a pillow for a mere $2.

Later that night when I released the ‘pillow’ from its packaging I realised that the reason it was only $2 was because it was actually just pillow stuffing that disintegrated as soon as I lay my weary head on it.

Needless to say, none of us had a peaceful sleep, despite the futile attempt to knock ourselves out with several swigs from the vodka bottle.

I think I woke up 97 times during the night with the seat belt fastener places it just shouldn’t be, my legs dangling out of the door as an offering to the carnivorous mosquitos and bits of pillow stuffing stuck to my face like an imitation santa beard.

The following day, somewhat dazed, we got to the nearest point on the coast which was Coffs Harbour.

This time we checked into a hostel and went straight to bed for a siesta.  Considering we nearly forgot Patrick at the petrol station, we thought we could use a rest.

The hostel at Coffs Harbour was my first introduction to life on the Australian backpacker circuit.  Up until that point I’d only really lived in Australia, I’ve had proper bases and routines, I’ve only just begun backpacking.

I must say, east coast travelling lacks the wholesomeness of the backpacking I’ve done in the past. 

You can’t walk one metre without a sign spoonfeeding you instructions on how and where to do your laundry, go on the internet, get a brazilian…

I’m used to having to use sign language to get by, drawing stick men illustrations to find out my answers and as for laundry and internet, I’d be lucky if I got a bucket and a carrier pigeon.

So here it’s all a bit too easy and you don’t really feel like you overcome any great feat in travelling around here.

Anyway, when the three of us awoke from our slumber, we went down to the communal area for a game of cards and a glass of goon (goon is a travelling wine that comes in a bag and contains fish extracts.  When you’ve finished it you can blow the bag up and use it as a pillow).

Within moments, Francien’s long, tanned, European legs had caught the eyes of two Canadian boys who insisted we join them for cards.

Patrick and I were somewhat on the periphery of the game.  Patrick because he was male and me because what I thought was good old dry English humour was apparently considered offensive.  Tough crowd but I still found myself amusing.

Inevitably drinking game rules were applied.  One of the forfeits was having to wear the ‘goon hat’ which was basically a cardboard wine box with two eyeholes cut out of it, making the wearer look like a budget Ned Kelly impersonator.

Due to a number of bad choices in her game, Francien ended up having to wear the hat for most of the evening making her look far from cool.

The Canadian, however, insisted she looked gorgeous in this ridiculous hat which launched Patrick and I into fits of laughter at his desperate attempt to compliment her.

Perhaps that was the type of relentless mockery they found offensive in us Brits?

The next day, we were in the hippy chique town of Byron where we checked into a place called ‘The Arts Factory’.

Despite being relatively artistic myself, I felt horribly conventional in that little compound.  Most people were walking around in floaty curtains and had thick dreads cascading down their tattooed backs.

People sat at tables weaving twine, making some kind of bush jewellery and had cool names like ‘Cloud’ and ‘Cockatoo Paul’.

So seemingly the place oozed art and creatively but the longer I looked around the more conventional everyone became.

I soon learnt that Byron comes under great scrutiny for its ‘faux-hippy’ vibe.

Back in the day it was a hippy sanctuary but over the years, with its rise in popularity, its become more commercial with designer shops and classy boutiques- so now people are wearing designer curtains instead of the old drapes out of the caravan.

Therefore, Byron is now a style and that’s why the Arts Factory, despite its murals and carrot juice, didn’t actually give off the real artist commune kind of vibe.

The penultimate stop of the trip was the little town of Nimbin.

Nimbin is not a place for the motivated.  Not somewhere Obama needed to go when he was trying to write his speech or indeed a travel writer with a back log of work she needs to rustle up.

You enter through a misty haze and for some reason, you start to move really slowly, you find everything really amusing and you want to eat everything in sight.

I just couldn’t work it out.  Those cookies were good though, and that purple dragon that made me a dandelion necklace.

So that concludes out little road trip up to Queensland. 

Patrick and Francien dropped me off at Bond University near the neon glare of Surfer’s Paradise where I finally got my long anticipated reunion with my boyfriend Stokesy after two months separation.