Backpacking Australia: East Coast

Struggling to find a bed in Sydney at Christmas

Arriving in Sydney just a few days before Christmas with no accommodation booked isn’t one of the cleverest things I’ve done in my travelling years.

After phoning around for hours, I finally found a hostel near Bondi Beach – which upon arrival, turned out to be run by two miserable, overweight, old German guys who laid down so many rules it felt like a prison.

The price of $35 a night included breakfast and dinner, which only forced guests to spend even more time in the drab surroundings, queuing up for sloppy servings.

But fate deals itself in unusual ways, because it was in this hostel that I met Scott and Robin – two Scottish lads travelling together, a couple of years younger than me, on their own several‑month round‑the‑world trip.

We hit it off immediately and were soon making plans for me to join them on their campervan trip up Australia’s fun‑time east coast.

Sydney: Parties, Fireworks and a Campervan Called Sharon

After a couple of weeks of seriously heavy partying in Sydney, including witnessing one of the greatest New Year’s firework displays on the planet welcoming in 2001 – we headed out to some remote rough suburb to pick up the campervan.

Jon, the owner of Crap‑Rental‑Campervans, was a typical middle‑aged Aussie: beer in a stubbie holder, mullet that looked like a perm crossed with a flat‑top, and a heavy brash accent containing the f-word in every other sentence. Something told us the camper wasn’t gonna be a beauty, mate.

If only we could’ve actually seen it.

We waited around all day on Jon’s driveway while his thick‑as‑two-planks 16‑year‑old assistant (or maybe daughter… or maybe even wife) rang around trying to track down our van.

Eventually we had to travel back into the city to collect it from a couple of Israelis who’d just finished renting it. No change of sheets, no cleaning, and it needed repairs.

After several hours visiting repair garages, we finally made it out of Sydney alive and onto the open road.

Sharon – as the van was called – literally, the name blazed all down her side in fancy sticker-work, was…small.

A classic surf‑dude van with a tiny pump sink, a fold‑away kitchen area, a tiny gas stove, the odd knife or fork, and a stained smelly mattress stuffed in the back just big enough for the three of us squashed together.

For $37 a night it was a bargain, but it was going to test our newly formed friendship to the limit.

Life in Sharon: Chaos, Chunder and Crisp Sandwiches

Things got uncomfortable quickly.

A few days in, Scott chundered red wine inside the van.

I accidently smashed a window trying to open a window after forgetting the key.

Our stove packed up and turned itself into an inferno one supper.

Dirty underpants were spread across the bed, kitchen and driver’s footwell.

Our diet reduced to crisp sandwiches, cold tins of rice pudding and vodka.

We were deprived of sleep thanks to the humidity, the cramped mattress, noses in armpits and the smell of farts.

And we loved it.

Life in Sharon was what backpacking was all about – roughing it but having the time of our lives.

Bus madness - 64 hours out 88 hours on a bus

A week or so in, at Brisbane, I decided to head back to Sydney to look for work while the boys continued north to Cairns for some WWOOFing (voluntary farm work).

After a straight 16‑hour bus ride back, I went straight to my recruitment agent. The market was “quiet; work might take time”.

Sitting in a park, missing the fun of Sharon and the boys, and with my finances getting lower by the day, I made the best decision possible under the circumstances: I decided to catch a bus all the way back up to Cairns to meet them.

So, the next day – just 24 hours after finishing a 16‑hour bus ride – I hopped on a 48‑hour bus to Cairns, via Brisbane.

I must’ve gone insane.

Luckily, I had a decent stash of sleeping pills I’d blagged off my GP before leaving the UK, precisely for journeys like this. I spent 48 hours drifting in and out of consciousness, introducing myself to someone new every five hours, occasionally stumbling off at gas stations for a pie.

After the 2,800km mammoth journey, it was great to see the boys waiting at Cairns bus station.

Sharon had other ideas. She wouldn’t even start.

It was late at night, and we were due to start work on this organic farm at 7am the next morning.

After a call to Jon – and a few f-words later – we were sitting inside a similar piece of junk – this time called Tammy, our temporary substitute while Sharon got some TLC.

WWOOFing in Kuranda: Herbs, Heat and Hairy Spiders

WWOOFing (Willing Workers on Organic Farms) was tough.

Five hours a day on a family‑run herb farm in the sweltering humidity of the Aussie tropics.

Just us three, another WWOOFer, and the owners, Sandy and Steve, whose house we stayed in.

We spent a week digging, raking, cutting grass in snake‑infested reeds, building paths, weeding and packing herbs.

I had no idea which were herbs and which were weeds and probably pulled up half their profits.

Afternoons were for chilling out – although chilling out in tropical Oz is easier said than done when Atlas moths the size of dinner plates fly around and Huntsman spiders the size of adult hands stalk the walls.

After a tiring week, we were reunited with Sharon and back on the road.

Fraser Island: Sand, Sharks and Dingos

Fraser Island is the world’s largest sandbar – 120km long, 24km wide, covered in rainforest and stuffed with crystal‑clear freshwater lakes. A backpacker haven.

We headed over in a 4×4 jeep shared with six other backpackers. The island is stunning: one giant beach around the outside, lush bush inland, and lakes so clear you can drink the water while swimming.

Just as well, because the ocean is infested with tiger sharks.

We spent three days driving on beaches by day and drinking beer by campfire at night, always conscious of dingos wandering through the campsites.

They look cute, but a few weeks after our visit a 9‑year‑old boy was mauled to death by a pack of them right there on Fraser Island.

The Great Barrier Reef: Sharks, Colours and a Nervous Fart

The Great Barrier Reef is one of the world’s most stunning natural wonders.

Stretching almost 2,500km, visible from space, and home to an underwater world of colour.

On our snorkelling trip, within seconds of my first swim, I stuck my head under and spotted two sharks. Luckily, they were just reef sharks — harmless to humans, despite being a couple of metres long.

I let a little fart go though.

Queensland, NSW and Everything In Between

We spent another two weeks travelling through Queensland and back into New South Wales, stopping at awesome spots and doing great activities:

White‑water rafting on the Tully River – am awesome soaking
Partying hard in Surfers Paradise – what can I say about Surfers – party, party, party -the true Gold Coast playground
A two‑night boat trip to the Whitsundays, where the sand squeaked between our toes, we slept on a boat and camped in the bush
Chilling in Byron Bay among dreadlocks and spliffs
Sharon breaking down several more times and plenty more f-bombs from Jon

The Final Stretch to Melbourne

Eventually we made it past Sydney, through Canberra and onto Melbourne.

It had been a mammoth trip up and down the coast – and awesome fun.

Scott and Robin had been the best companions, and we’d lived it to the full over seven weeks together in Sharon – who to be fair, despite all her trials and tribulations, got us to Melbourne, where some other poor souls, were about to experience her unreliability.

After several more days of partying in Melbourne, it was time to say goodbye to the lads as I headed west, and they back up to Sydney.

New adventures, and a new travel crew, awaited me on Australia’s west coast.

Backpacking Australia: East Coast