Out: stralia

I hate sayings like “What doesn’t kill you makes you tougher” Or “True friends are recognised in adversity”. Why? Because they’re always true. I just don’t like sayings that are always true. Life is much more complicated than that. But for a few things: perfectly clear and simple. Do I have to be grateful for that now?

In a few situations, there are no options. Where otherwise you have a hundred options, there is often only one way left in extreme situations. And it’s usually hard. So the aftermath must be great because it’s wonderfully fluffy and soft. Oh yes, and bright. With red light bulbs and blue flowers on both sides and all that. People afterwards will be different. Better ones.

Number 1: Getting tougher. I can carry everything again. 43kg 2km to the bus station. Then to the hostel in Cairns. Then to the bus to the airport. And Saturday night, probably without public transport, once across Melbourne. Without knowing where to go. The people on the way who I pitied when they said: “We live on €20 a day” are now my brothers.

Number 2: True friends. A nice greeting to all the friends I have ever helped. To whom I said: give it back when you can or when I need it. So many friends couldn’t for so long. I need my money and your words now more than ever. No friend can use it anymore. I beg you: give back. And I’m looking forward to recognising who is a friend soon.

What remains? Every ending is a beginning. Once again, I don’t like this one at all. On the other hand, Australia has disappointed and bored me to no end so far. Nothing is worse than boredom. Well, maybe boredom when travelling the world. So, dear future, give them a spanking!

Last night takes me straight to the only pub in Cardwell. The crowd is old and very drunk. No problem, I can be old and drunk too.

A group at the next table is talking about me. In a way I’ve never experienced before. They know my entire story here without me having said a word. They go from Idaho to Depression to Spare Engine. The slang is fierce, but that I understand so little and am so deaf no one can believe. Except for gossip fetishists, perhaps.

A trucker and a peeping Tom join me at my table. The trucker is 30 and looks 40, the peeper is not and is called Spanna. I give in until I’m three-feet tall, then I want to go to bed. Spanna wants to go on. “Meeting people” he says. I follow him to the last hostel I don’t know yet. The chief’s look is sad, just like his voice when he tells Spanna: “No, ye godda go.”.

The rebuff doesn’t make me sad. I’m only sad that the person offering me a lift to Cairns, who has an ex-wife and children there, can’t accept this rebuff. Gosh, it’s so easy to waste your time in places where you’re not welcome! Why won’t you understand that? There are so many places.

The next day, the mechanic can’t find a scrapper who wants the car. He gives me $100. The nice people at the hostel in Cardwell let me do some work on their website for $50. Spanna is out of reach, I have to take the bus again. A real arse of a bus driver rips off a 60% kiteboard surcharge for the journey to Cairns.

There I get really lost for another night. A girl takes pictures of me and presents the results while slurring her words. My face looks exactly how I feel.