Stops 23 to 26

I would like to begin today's entry with a disclaimer: It is raining, I have a hangover, I have had my phone stolen and I just stayed three painful days in the backpacker equivalent of Auschwitz. I have the worst case of "pissedoff-itis" you can have without a small blood clot forming in your brain and killing you instantly. So be warned, you read on at your own risk.

Hmmm...where was I? Oh yes, Kalgoorlie.

The only upsides to that town were a giant open-cut mine and a super enthusiastic Japanese girl called Maki. We wandered aimlessly through town discussing Japan and I have decided that I must go there and decide whether it is an exciting steroid driven technological utopia, or a small island full of racist workaholics.

We travelled down to Esperance and sadly parted ways. She, off to the backpackers and myself, off to wwoof. If you consider sitting on your arse for five days and occasionally doing the dishes work then I worked dillligently. The 'winter rain' season has officially begun here and any attempts to work/sightsee/move around outside are proving difficult. Plus, the entire household endlessly drank red wine and could not understand my tendancy to trail off into philosophical rants after my glass had been refilled for hours on end.

Next stop was Albany, a lovely seaside town where the beaches almost rival those of Sydney if it weren't for the fact that you can barely stand on them for five minutes before the wind blows you horizontally and your legs snap off at the knee.

A lovely lady started chatting to me on an Albany bus and soon she had invited me for a day long bushwalk and a roast dinner - an offer only an idiot would refuse. 16km later both of us were lying on the loungeroom floor having a competition on who had the biggest and best toe blisters. This then inspired me to walk until Denmark (the town not the country) on a famous bushwalking track in Western Australia... 80km away.

I would try and explain what walking 80km with a 20kg backpack in the rain feels like but it would not do it justice. Essentially the concept of long distance walking and extreme activities such as mountain climbing is this - you do something mindlessly repetitive, difficult and exhausting for the rewarding six seconds of exhiliration that overcoming the physical obstacle provides. Then, you sleep. A thouroughly exhilirating adrenaline fix to be sure but not something I can do for more than about three days then I really really really want to hop in the bath and have a cold beer.

I reached the next town and of course, went walking. There is a 40m off the ground platform in a forest sorrounded by trees the size of skyscrapers and you walk around and look down, get dizzy and go home. Oh, and you pose in front of one of the trees with your arms out to prove that yes, they really are that big. You see the fifteen Korean tourists in front of you do it, pause and then decide 'Fuck it, I want to do that too.'

Denmark is a nice little place. One of those towns that hippies move to when they retire so it was no surprise that I ended up on the Wolery Ecological Commmunity's front door. 16 families all living on a 10 or so acre block - communal yoga lessons, lentil curry night and busy bee Sunday where everyone chops firewood was actually a lovely experience and I didn't even get the creepy cult-y vibe I was expecting. Some hippies are educated, pro-active and genuine. Who would have guessed?

Then, a little bored and terribly homesick I ventured up to bustling Perth. Big city lights? All night hilarity? Of course, from my introduction you know that is has been three days of well, yeah.... that will have to wait.

Go out and hug an indigenous Australian today, for goodness sake - make the world a better place.

Love and Kisses and funny faces

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