I started travelling alone at the age of 60. I and my little hatchback, thermos and Esky in the boot, began the first of four road trips around the island of Tasmania, south of where I live in Melbourne, Australia. I planned to the ‘nth’ degree but nothing could prepare me for getting stuck on the side of a mountain, in the dark, my petrol tank on empty.
Nothing could prepare me for being on my own in a caravan park on the west coast in the middle of a violent storm, or forgetting I get sea-sick and spending a boat cruise around Tasman Island with my head in a bucket.
With my ‘Tassie’ experiences under my belt, I ventured further afield, across the Tasman Sea to New Zealand and, eventually, to the other side of the world – England.
They say if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans. He must have been rolling on the floor as I discovered that no matter how much research you do, at some stage you have to give up your set ideas and just wait to see what happens.
My travel series, Planning to the ‘Nth’, describes my adventures as I discover the world – at last.
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