I'm 31 with no job and no place to live but at least I'm going travelling for a while.
Saying goodbye
Wednesday 3rd December, 2025
There were a lot of goodbyes over the last two weeks. I’ve said goodbye to my friends, my job and colleagues, my flatmates, landlord and my family. And whilst I know I’ll be back in the UK soon it’s been a tough couple of weeks, each set of goodbyes felt like a mini sucker punch to the stomach.
At times, it felt a little self-indulgent, but I really felt the love from my pals during a goodbye meal at Sugo82 in Netil Market, Hackney (pictured). A suitably intimate set-up where we were served homemade Italian food and tried to drink limoncello shots with no hands (see video).
A few days prior to this, I had some goodbye leaving drinks with my colleagues, some of whom I’d known for over five years. I felt very special when our nominated social sec (spot the guy in the hat) told me that he had reserved a private area in All Bar One - a cornerstone establishment of British after work drinking. Christmas tunes blaring on a Thursday evening at 5 pm and 2-for-1 cocktails until 8pm, what’s not to like? It felt like a suitable homage to all of the trashy after work drinks venues we’d frequented in the city.
However, despite being able to see as many of my close friends, family and colleagues as possible, there was still an overwhelming sense of denial that I was even going on this trip. Specifically, the fact that I’m flying to the other side of the world and not knowing exactly when I’ll be back or see everyone again.
I’ve always found the idea of processing (or not processing) emotions interesting, and how people process them differently. For me, unless I literally write something on my forehead and look in the mirror every day, these sorts of big life moments don’t hit me until the last minute and with that often comes a tidal wave of emotion.
For me that moment arrived, oddly enough, when I was walking towards my gate in London Heathrow Airport and I looked up at a picture of an RAF man on the grimy walls of a connecting tunnel. He seemed to be waving goodbye at me and me alone. This is what really brought it on. There was something definitive, almost smug, in the way he was waving at me.
Suddenly, the months of thinking about my trip, or trying not to think about it, boiled down to a few steps as I handed over my passport and boarding pass. And before I knew it, I was twiddling my thumbs waiting for my boarding call.
Reflections on leaving London (aboard flight QR112)
Thursday 4th December, 2025
Now that I am safely aboard my 8 am flight to Doha from LHR, my trip is starting to feel a little more real. And with just enough elbow room to operate my keyboard, I thought now would be the perfect time to reflect on my time in London which I am leaving behind (at least for a while!)
I’ve spent just under 9 years in London. It was always part of my plan. My parents met in London and loved their time living in shared houses from Maida Vale to Finchley and Ealing. Whenever they have the opportunity to visit my sisters and me in the capital they’re keen to take a trip down memory lane and revisit the stomping grounds of their youth.
I think you could quite easily make a case for London being the best city in the world. Occasionally I would make the most of this by visiting the museums, restaurants and walking among the 2,000+ years of history layered into its streets.
Yet most evenings were spent meeting friends in an East London pub that existed somewhere at the intersection of trendy-looking people, dark mahogany interiors, and cheap-ish Guinness.
This was normally followed by jumping on a lime bike a little inebriated (sorry mum) back to my flat where I’d be praying that I got home before my phone died, or that I’d swerve out of the way of a three-legged fox that had just scampered across the road. Or both. This was all part of the charm of course.
However, in recent years, I started to find that the more time I spent in London the more I felt myself turning to my flat as a place of refuge, burrowing away from the chaos and noise. And other than bumping into my neighbours in the lift, I never felt a real sense of community. I guess this partly explains the general exodus from London at the 30+ age mark - and that’s before we even get to how expensive it is.
My Hackney flat was in a new-build (pictured), but even the deep-insulated walls couldn’t keep out the sirens and guffawing uni students from across the road. And in the last year or so I found myself buying things to ‘keep London out’: black-out-blinds, noise-cancelling ear buds, a white noise machine and so on.
Perhaps this is a slightly privileged complaint as many people live in London all their lives but having grown up in fairly suburban areas of Nottingham and Manchester for most of my life, I felt myself yearning for a bit more quiet.
The word ‘London’ hints at another challenge too, ‘lon-eliness’. (Granted that was a little clumsy but the point stands)
In a city of eight million people, where you often feel you’re living on top of each other, it can be surprisingly isolating. The city is so tight you feel like you know the people in the apartment building right across the street - but you don’t really.
Every day I would steal small glances into the kitchens and bedrooms, other people’s lives. TVs illuminate living room walls. Someone leaning on the kitchen counter waiting for the kettle to boil. Then all of a sudden the people you’ve been seeing every day are not there anymore. New people have moved in. There was something intensely lonely about that for me.
So, as I begin my journey to Australia, I am going to do my best to appreciate the new noises of Melbourne, a new city; meet some fun people and make a conscious effort not to look into people’s kitchens as much.
A conversation with passenger 22J
On my flight over to Australia, I wanted to strike up a conversation with whoever ended up sitting next to me, and find out where they were going, and why.
I was the first person to reach row 22 on my flight to Doha but I had been dealt the middle seat. So, I patiently waited to see which two unsuspecting passengers were going to join either side of me.
A middle-aged man who had a striking resemblance to Mike from Breaking Bad (pictured) but who was far less intimidating, and decidedly English, scooched past me to get to the window seat. When he was making his way down the aisle he made a passing joke to the person behind him about the fact that due to their cabin layout, Qatar Airways always made economy passengers walk through business class on their way to their seats. Essentially, the riffraff get a sneak peek into the high life of individual booths, TV sets and prosecco on arrival. There’s a funny awkwardness about it. The people in business class stare straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with the economy passengers walking past. After seeing ‘Mike’ openly mock the situation, I knew he would definitely be up for a good chat.
Before I spoke with Mike, however, another middle-aged man pulled up alongside me to sit in the aisle seat. He was a small-ish Pakistani man who was travelling with friends from London to Lahore to visit family. He was a little quieter and spent most of his time trying to use the Wi-Fi on the plane (there’s Wi-FI now?!) to watch the Ashes via a sports platform he’d downloaded on his phone.
Turns out he was a big cricket fan. We chatted a little about our time playing cricket when we were younger and how sad he was that his son isn’t interested in the sport at all. I was keen to tell him about my recent debut performance for Broken Wanderers (a local London-based team) where I got 62 runs, not out, but the chat was cut short due to a seatbelt announcement from the cockpit.
About ten minutes later he noticed that I was eyeing his phone in an attempt to watch the cricket. I think he felt sorry for me and said ‘Take it - honestly I think you’re more invested than I am’. I was surprised but thanked him and took it. Following this, when he saw that I was struggling to prop up the phone to watch it Mike on the other side of me gave me his headphone case (pictured). It might not look like much but these small gestures put me right at home. Maybe being in the middle isn’t so bad after all.
Friday 5th December, 2025
But back to Mike. I asked him where he was headed and he explained he was going to see his daughter. She had given up a teaching position at a local school in the UK to become a full-time nanny for a wealthy family. The family were Swiss billionaires and she travelled the world with them. He showed me pictures of a yacht they had just bought. He was keen to tell me about this situation but added that he often felt awkward and out of place whenever he got invited to an event or dinner at the family’s expense. I asked him if he was visiting anyone else and he told me that he was going to visit his birth mother.
The phrase ‘birth mother’ led me to ask a few more questions. Turns out Mike’s birth mother was a ‘ten pound pom’. This term was coined during a programme by the British Commonwealth from 1945-1972 where around one million Britons were encouraged to migrate to Australia. Mike told me that he’d paid £900 for his flight to Brisbane last month, whereas in 1960 his mum had spent £10 (hence ‘ten pound pom’).
But when he was born, his mother put him up for adoption and he was brought to the UK by his adopted parents. He was told about this when he was ten. Obviously an incredibly hard bit of news to try and grasp at such a young age. And then, when he turned forty, Mike made the decision to contact his birth mum. After learning his ‘real’ second name, he found a Yellow Pages book and saw that there were only six people registered with the same name. He rang all six until his mum answered. After some difficult conversations, he decided that he wanted to visit her where she was living in a borough not too far from Brisbane. During his visit he found out that he had two brothers. He met them in a pub where they told him, ‘There are parts of you that really remind me of Mum’. Whilst he was happy that he had two brothers, he was conflicted by the fact he was the only one given up for adoption.
The truly heartbreaking episode of Mike’s story came when he described how his adoptive mother felt about all of this back in the U.K. When he told her he was going to make the journey to Australia, she said, ‘You should go to her - she’s your real Mum, not me’. He spent a long time trying to convince her that this wasn’t true and that she was indeed his real mother. She was the one who fed, clothed, and put him through school (where he misbehaved a lot). It’s a uniquely painful situation. From what I can tell, Mike still carried a tremendous sense of guilt - guilt, even all these years later, that he had somehow betrayed his adopted parents.
First impressions of Melbourne
Wednesday 10th December, 2025
I’ve now spent the last five days exploring Melbourne in all its glory. It’s been exciting - at times I felt giddiness bubbling up inside me as I ventured down new streets - but also daunting, as often being in a new city can be. Thoughts pinballed around my head - will I meet some nice people? Do my clothes make me look English? How do the self-checkout tills work?!
One thing was for sure, however: having travelled to the other side of the world to the ‘sunburnt country’, I was not expecting to be met with rain at Melbourne Airport on my first day. Feeling more like Manchester than Melbourne, I suddenly felt the clothes I’d packed for this trip were hopelessly wrong. Turns out Melbourne weather is rather temperamental, even during the summer months. My rain jacket got some early action.
However, as the rain subsided, I jumped in an Uber from Terminal 2 to Ol’s house in Brunswick East, a quirky suburb in the north of the city. And as I pulled up to his house, it was as if the clouds themselves had decided to part and the sun poured down to celebrate this momentous reunion. Having not seen him in over a year, it was a bizarre feeling walking straight into his house as the door was left open and peeping round the corner to announce my arrival. It was great to see him again after so long and to see him happy in his new Aussie life. It was also great to see Maggie, a lovely girl that Ol is seeing out here. Maggie works at the Northcote Bakeshop (which you must try if you’re ever in Melbourne), and who, having learnt I can’t resist a sweet treat, presented me with a box of cookies with a sweet message inscribed (see pictured).
After dinner I headed to Collingwood to check into my hotel for the first night. On the way over, a couple of things struck me straight away. Firstly, how easy it was to gain entry to Ollie’s house - apparently the locals often leave doors and windows ajar and unlocked. There’s a real feeling of trust which was a shock to the system having been in London for so long. Secondly, in the suburbs, most of the houses are bungalows and the commercial buildings are no more than two storeys high. The streets are wide and telephone cables dangle across storefronts. As soon as you stray outside of Melbourne’s CBD it feels a lot less developed than a typical urban city. The only way I could comprehend it was to imagine a fusion between a city like London with a slightly less developed city in Indonesia.
Zoom in a little more and you start to notice how incredibly varied the architecture is. Every street is different, with a real hodgepodge of cute houses boasting Victorian verandas (pictured), wooden bungalows and punchy street art. The art murals, in particular, are widely celebrated and you’ll see one on every street corner, adding a splash of colour as you go.
One thing that definitely preceded its reputation was Melbourne’s pub culture, so I was eager to check it out. Having braved a gym class on Sunday, I met a guy who had just relocated to Melbourne. After working out that we were staying in the same neighbourhood, he suggested we grab a pint at Goldy’s tavern in Collingwood, a five-minute walk from where I was staying in Fitzroy. The pubs here take their hospitality very seriously and most of them will have a weekly agenda (see picture). They try to tempt locals with chicken parms on ‘Parma Nite’ or with ‘meat raffles’ - yes you read that right. But if you’re like me and you like organised fun, Melbourne pubs are definitely for you.
It’s like they’ve used London pubs as a template and made all the right tweaks. One thing I really like is that you can an either order a pint, a ‘schooner’, or a ‘middy’ (also known as a ‘pot’). Essentially, beer is served in three different sizes to avoid it getting warm. This attention to detail, alongside a free game of pool and a beer garden with dependable sun coverage, means there really is no competition. It also helps that people who work in hospitality, or ‘hospo’, are incredibly friendly. Everyone greets each other like they know each other. Rather than feeling like an annoyance, the whole interaction caters to conversation and possibility. This may be due to the fact that hospo jobs pay well out here, sometimes up to around $35-$40 per hour before tips.
Later that night, I met up with Ollie ahead of our first night out in Melbourne. He had arranged for us to go to Miscellania - a cool venue tucked away in the CBD. It had a great rooftop bar (pictured), where the light-speckled skyscrapers loomed above us. It was a great setting for us to not really pay attention to the music and catch-up on any drama/nonsense that we’d experienced over the last year.
I was worried that, after not seeing each other for a year, we’d have to build things back up, but as the photo clearly shows it didn’t take long for our usual dynamic of winding each other up to resume.
Later today we’ll be starting our road trip in our rented 2014 Volkswagen Golf - not exactly a road-ranging jeep made for conquest, but I’m sure it’ll be a trusty companion for the next nine days.
There and back again: a tale of two muppets
Sunday 21st December, 2025
With the odometer clocking in at 1,015 km, our road trip down the Victorian coast came to an end yesterday, and we returned our Volkswagen Golf a little dustier and a little more worn to its rightful owner. Now back in Melbourne, having showered without flip flops on and having slept on a mattress that doesn’t deflate when I roll over, I’m in a much better place to sit down and unpack the last few days.
The first thing to say is I’m going to attempt to condense nine days into one short-ish blog and that would be unfair to the absolute pleasure that was experiencing it all with Ol. Just being in the car together for all those hours - spent in our little Golf - was arguably where we had the most fun. From playing each other new albums we’d recently heard, shouting at the Ashes scoreline on the radio to ridiculous ‘would you rather’ questions, it was a joy to be cooped in a car for that long together. And with only one minor scare on the way back to Melbourne where I took a corner too fast and went off the road (just for a second!).
It probably comes as no surprise that we arrived at our first campsite in Wilson’s Promontory, Australia’s largest coastal park, later than planned. After circling our campsite trying to find our spot to pitch our tent for about 45 minutes, we unloaded the car and began to assemble the tents in near-darkness, before celebrating with some rather sad but overly-buttered sandwiches in complete darkness (pictured). But thanks to one head torch between the two of us we made it work and managed a laugh too. On the right-hand side of the table you’ll see a ‘chicken in a bag’, an absolute staple in all Australian supermarkets, typically designed with men in mind who literally can’t wait to eat their food until they get home - aptly named a ‘bachelor’s handbag’. The Aussies really are great at naming things.
The next day, we decided to explore the coastline around Wilson’s Prom and just over the line of hedges that surrounded our campsite we were met with a truly stunning beach, which looked as impressive in the morning as it did in the evening when the sun went down (see pictures). The Aussies are completely spoiled for beaches over here and I’m sure this would be considered a very typical beach for them. White sand, blue sea and nobody for miles. Even the jellyfish in the sea didn’t put a dampener on things.
After spending two nights at Wilson’s Prom, we started to make our venture west towards Sorrento, where we would board a ferry to cross the bay and head out towards the Great Ocean Road. Before we reached Sorrento, however, we stayed a night in the Mornington Peninsula so we could visit the famous Peninsula Hot Springs (see picture). Drifting between the geothermal pools was a treat that felt surprisingly well-earned after three days of driving, pitching tents, and living off beef jerky and squeezy yoghurts. The visit also got off to a nice start as the receptionist forgot to charge us the $50 entrance fee after handing us our towels. Ollie thought this was due to our ‘English charm’, whereas I thought it was more likely due to the pressure of the large queue behind us. What do you think?
Following this stop-off, we drove over to Sorrento for what we had planned to be a full day. Sorrento is a sweet port town but it has been slightly overrun by bougie designer shops and posh hotels. After quickly coming to this conclusion over an unsurprisingly expensive pint at the Sorrento Hotel, we made the decision to jump on a ferry to cross the bay to Lorne that day. This included driving the wrong way down a one-way street to make sure we made the ferry departure. With a couple of hours to kill crossing Port Phillip Bay we turned to a pack of Stars Wars Top Trumps - you’re never too old for a game of top trumps. Ollie quietly dispatched me 2-1. There’s something more irritating about a winner who stays completely silent afterwards rather than rubbing it in your face - like the win was always in the script.
Now, I think this is where I have to come clean. After disembarking from the ferry, and after three days of camping in a tent, I put forward a strong case for staying in a motel for the night in Lorne. Wasn’t the point of this road trip to drive around and pitch your tent as you go I hear you ask? Well, yes, you’d be right - and don’t get me the wrong, there is something magical about waking up, unzipping your tent and stepping out into nature - but, on the other hand, one has to contend with sleeping diagonally on a thin mattress so your toes don’t poke out of your tent and suffering incredibly loud birdsong at 5am and that’s before we get to being hungover. So after some convincing, I directed Ol towards a cheap motel and a single queen-sized bed for two it was.
I pushed for the one motel in town that was attached to a lawn bowls club (naturally) which became the site of my first victory of the road trip, claiming my top trumps revenge by pipping Ollie in the last round (see video). Whereas Ol is more of a graceful winner, I like to hold post-match press conferences…
Exploring Lorne didn’t take long. Like most seaside towns on the Victorian coast, they largely consist of one tourist information centre giving advice about one local attraction (normally a waterfall). Perhaps this is me being cynical but we were really hoping for a decent pub by now. In Lorne’s defence, they were not short of great fish and chips shops, where we tried a local delicacy - a scallop pie. The jury was out on that one for both of us.
On Monday, we put the small seaside town of Lorne behind us as we started our venture West along the Great Ocean Road and it did not disappoint. The photo of the waves crashing against the roadside doesn’t do it justice. Over the course of the next two days we navigated the increasingly winding roads from Lorne to the Otway National Park to Port Campbell. Granted Ollie was holding onto the grab handle some of the time, but it felt like driving in a video game. It’s a bit of road where you have to just stop checking google maps or the music as every turn seemed to deliver a better view than the last.
We decided to set up shop at the Port Campbell Hotel for the final two days of the trip as it was a twenty-minute drive to the main attraction in those parts - the Twelve Apostles. The Twelve Apostles (pictured) are an incredible rock formation that rises out of the Southern Ocean. One can observe these from the skies via helicopter ride for a meagre $500 each or you can look at them from a cliff-edge, take a photo and go home knowing you’ll be able to pay for food for the next three months.
They were incredible to witness, something I had never seen before and it makes you wonder how many millions of years they took to form. However, they really should come with a warning - beware the heat and beware the flies! We did a fantastic job at exposing ourselves as the true tourists that we are by deciding to visit them at 1pm - the hottest part of the day. The roads were clear and the queues were short, but turns out that’s because the locals aren’t fools and everything shuts down for a couple of hours due to the heat and the flies. I’ll let a picture of my back and video of Ollie capture our overall sentiments. It’s also worth adding that there aren’t twelve apostles (rock formations) anymore - more like seven - as a handful have crumbled into the sea over time. I guess you can’t change the name every time one disintegrates.
The sunsets in Port Campbell deserve a quick mention. The sky would often turn deep red and orange, and the locals would meander down to the shoreline to try and capture the sun as it sunk into the sea, and everyone would go quiet for a bit. A friend told me that when you watch a sunset in Australia everyone back home in the UK is watching the sun rise on the other side of the world. I liked this idea too much to check whether or not it’s actually true.
Running with the theme of the trip of not being able to find many good pubs or clubs, we spent most of our time in the beer garden attached to our hotel. This was where we ate sub-par ‘chicken parms’ and had boozy conversations with the other guests. This included Elisa and Marius (not their real names) who were a couple from The Hague (see photo). By complete coincidence we were sat on the table next to them when stopping off at a restaurant in a town called Apollo Bay a few days before. I had nodded at them so Ollie would see what I see I was seeing - Marius getting increasingly frustrated that the other diners kept leaving the door slightly ajar, allowing the cold air to come in. It must have happened six times and Elisa just rolled her eyes at Marius’ frustration. I found the whole thing hilarious and approached them in the beer garden of the hotel to explain I had seen this. They couldn’t believe it and joined our table, explaining that they were celebrating Marius’ retirement with a big trip around Australia and parts of South East Asia. We were the same age as their kids but it didn’t stop us from talking about the secrets of a long marraige or from laughing at the contrasting experiences of our separate trips. They were incredibly lovely, and we’ve stayed in touch since.
A hot Christmas & a silly new year
Sunday 4th January 2026
It’s been a little while since my last blog post - I’d like to apologise to my fans - essentially, the two people who asked me if this site was still working. My excuse is that I’ve been having a great time and the blog went on the back-burner.
Before I touch on the drunken merrymaking that dominated the Christmas Day to New Years Day period - ‘silly season’ as it’s affectionately known by the Aussies - I would like you to know that I did manage to squeeze some ‘culture’ in on Christmas Eve during my return to Melbourne. I tagged along with the Ol, Josh and Gabs (mum to the Ainley boys) to go to the Heide Museum of Modern Art, a sculpture park nestled in North East Melbourne that attempts to blend subversive contemporary art with heritage gardens. We unanimously agreed it did not come close to Yorkshire Sculpture park back in the UK. We strolled through the grounds and were not massively impressed with what we saw - we often couldn’t work out if an object was an art display or had just been left there and forgotten about. Thankfully, Josh was happy to play muse and really brought some of the sculptures to life (see pics). The highlight of this little excursion was Josh’s homemade reuben sandwich which we tucked into (from that colourful picnic bag) less than 20 minutes after arriving at the park. You know that situation where you bring a picnic to a park, beach or just on a general adventure, and everybody wants to eat the picnic as soon as you get there but everybody is too tentative to suggest starting it in case you come across as a bit of a heathen? Yeah, we had no problems there.
It was undoubtedly a strange feeling to wake up on Christmas day at 9 am to near silence apart from the buzz of my ceiling fan in my Airbnb in Richmond, East Melbourne. It left me reminiscing about being woken up to the usual wrap of knuckles on my bedroom door or calls of ‘Tom, get up!’ from downstairs back at my mum’s house in Nottingham. However, knowing full-well that I had imposed this ‘orphan Christmas’ upon myself, I mustered the energy to get out of bed and flick the fan off (I felt a tinge of guilt about keeping it on all night). I was very fortunate in that I had been invited to spend Christmas Day with the Ainleys over in Fitzroy, thanks to the generosity of Gabs and the fact that they weren’t sick of me yet (as far as I knew). The whole day really hit the mark of a ‘hot Aussie Christmas’ as it featured Hawaiian shirts, makeshift party hats and spicy margaritas (see pics). It was also great to be able to put on specifically ‘non-Christmasy’ music. Naturally, before bodies started to drop towards midnight, following the amazing roast dinner that Josh and Gabs had prepared and the strong margaritas Ol and I had mixed, I managed to get another game of Top Trumps in with Ol. This time it was the ‘Kings and Queens’ edition, and, safe to say, I can’t remember who won but I guess that’s rather convenient.
On Boxing day, the 4th test match of the 2025 Ashes series between England and Australia commenced in Melbourne at the Melbourne Cricket Ground (otherwise known as the MCG - the 11th biggest stadium in the world by the way). Thanks to Ol dutifully staying up until 3am on some day mid-June earlier this year, he had managed to secure tickets to Day 2 (27th) and Day 3 (28th) of this test. Unfortunately, by this stage in the series, England had already lost the Ashes as Australia had won all three of the previous tests in Perth, Brisbane and Adelaide. England were playing for the moral victory.
Despite this, the importance of this 4th test should not be underestimated. England had not won a test on Australian soil in 15 years. A victory would end an 18-match, 5,468-day drought since their last win in Australia back in 2010.
It’s safe to say that in the five-week build-up to this fourth test at the MCG, I had become completely consumed in the cricket jargon - the run rates of England batters, the injuries to Australia’s bowling attack and whether the secret to Australian Travis Head’s batting form was his glorious moustache.
So, at 10.30 am on the 27th December, we strolled through the grounds and settled into our seats at the MCG and we were incredibly close to the action (see vid). We held our breath as England’s Gus Atkinson delivered the first ball of the day to Travis Head with England desperately needing quick wickets, as Australia had started the day (and the second innings) 46 runs ahead. After the first over (which normally takes 5-10 mins), Josh announced he was going to buy the first few schooners (beers) of the day. A little aggressive I thought but looking around the 95000 seat stadium, basking in the sun, listening to the murmuring crowd and with some (early) beers on the way, I started to understand why people get hooked on this sport. The sport is played at a leisurely pace, encouraging conversation, analysis and quick bets between the onlookers, but the momentum swings of the match keep you enthralled for the whole eight hours - yes, that’s right, eight hours, (sometimes on five continuous days if the wickets don’t fall quickly enough).
This time the wickets did fall quickly enough and the game was being played at a fierce pace. After some fine bowling by Captain Ben Stokes as well as Brydon Carse, propped up by England’s best batting performance of the series where their aggressive ‘bazball’ hitting actually came good, all four innings were complete by the end of day two and England had won with 178 runs and four wickets remaining. Twelve schooners deep, supported by one lunch time beverage with some of the UK crew who had travelled to Aus for Christmas (Becky, Aimee, Dom and Oli from left to right), and we couldn’t help but join in with ‘ole’s’ from the Barmy Army as Harry Brook and Jamie Smith, our final two batters, exited the field. In some ways we felt a little robbed because we only got one day of cricket but had paid for two. However, the much bigger losers were Cricket Australia who are reported to have lost $10 million due to refunds as well as lost sales in merchandise, food and drinks for days 3-5. It’s all about the little victories!
New Years Eve never really goes to plan does it? Or at least it misses the inevitably high expectations that we place upon it…I had booked tickets (well I thought I had) to NY@thebowl, a one-day music festival at Sidney Myer Music Bowl which is situated aloft a hill in the Royal Botanical Gardens. There were some amazing artists on the bill including Berlioz, Confidence Man, two of my favourite DJs in Prosumer and Alex Kassian, and Underworld, a pioneering electronic music duo (you’d recognise their track ‘Born Slippy’ if you’ve not heard of them). However, when I walked up to the gate it turns out there was an error with my ticket and I was swiftly denied entry.
I begrudgingly trudged back through Melbourne’s CBD to my flat in Carlton and scrambled for a plan B. A serious lowlight of my trip so far! Thankfully, Kate, a friend of a friend through Ol, who I had met a few weeks ago, was having dinner in Collingwood so I cheekily asked for an invite. I joined her and a friend for a set menu at an Italian restaurant called Orlo (not quite what I was expecting for NYE).
After a mediocre meal with good company (including a rather flirty gay waiter who was enjoying our vibe), we jumped into a taxi to Northcote Bridge to watch the fireworks. Granted we were a bit far away in Northcote, about 5km from the CBD, but even still Melbourne’s fireworks were a bit like party poppers in comparison to London’s display (see video). If you listen closely you can hear a slightly slurred outburst from me: ‘you can barely see ‘em!’. Feeling a little underwhelmed we headed to Northcote Theatre where we saw Bradley Zero, a good DJ who flipped flopped between underground house vibes and soulful mixes, he put some energy back into our evening for sure. At 3 am we all parted ways and I left feeling slightly less bruised after my ticket mix-up.
The Blue Mountains - overrated or bad planning?
Wednesday, 14 January
I got so desperate I put my only podcast I had downloaded on Spotify. Unfortunately, that meant I had the voice of Stephen Bartlett in my ears for the journey back. That’s how desperate I was. A trick to a good hike, is to have a well-planned route, not being hungover and to not be so distraught when you walk into a spider’s web.
I also listened to classical music
What really helped was that I had taken out all of the spiders webs on the way down so there was a clear route for
I could have quite happily have gone to the lookout, taken in the view, taken a photo and then taken the car keys out my pocket and driven home
No need to plunge myself into the valley below with all its crevices and lurky thingies.
For the last day in Sydney I decided to go to the Blue Mountains. After hearing from a close friend (Mike) that it was a real highlight when he was studying in Australia, and that another friend (Georgie) had got a tattoo of one of the mountain ranges, I felt compelled to go. Admittedly, I was definitely not feeling 100%
When I had reached the bottom of the mountain and was surrounded by dense forest and a disappointingly small pond, it suddenly dawned on me that I hadn’t seen a single person on this trek
A wave of anxiety hit me - maybe I’d missed announcement on the news: ‘Keep away from forests’. Naturally, I turned to check on my phone and the AI summary read ‘ down into the valley and began my trek to the ponds, it suddenly dawned
Now that I’m six weeks and half way into my trip and, having stayed in 14 different rooms from Airbnbs and hotels, to pretty grimy motels and Ol’s bedroom (not as grimy), I thought I would take a stock check. Like my mum’s car keys which seem to remain persistently out of reach in the ether somewhere, I’ve always struggled to keep track of my belongings. It’s a bad habit. So far, I’ve managed to lose a few things along the way including: earbuds, goggles, swimming shorts, a towel, a pair of socks, a hotel room key, Ol’s house key. This won’t come as a surprise to many but yeah not bad for six weeks! But as Marie Kondo once said, ‘The best way to find out what we really need is to get rid of what we don't’. That applies here right?
Exclusive Interview:
Oliver Ainley - Another Brit in Australia, but why?
Wednesday, 21 January
Before you read this interview, I thought I would provide a little context to my subject matter for this blog. I’ve always wanted to be an interviewer of sorts, I like asking questions and trying to dig a little deeper into someone or something. And who better to try this with than Oliver Ainley aka Ollie aka Big Ol. This is for a couple of reasons - one I’m genuinely interested to understand why Ol upended his life in London and moved to Melbourne (which in part remains a mystery to me and maybe others too). Two - it meant I got to spend 45 minutes chatting nonsense with Ol who is just great company and it's something I will never get bored of.
For those of you who don’t know him, Ol is a 6’5 curly-haired man from South Manchester. He often gets likened to Matthew McConaughey - I don’t see it. In fact, a slightly tipsy woman at the Australian Open asked for a photo of him because of this ‘likeness’ (see pic). He is into music and films and likes to tell you about it too. He was the guy at house parties (when we were back at school) who would drink and dance (well ‘ish’) until 5am. Yet, miraculously, he would then get up at 7am to tidy away the beer bottles and wipe the cheap prosecco off the floor. A sign of good breeding I always thought.
He’s also got a lot of love to give, something I wasn’t used to in my male friendships. One example was when we lived together in our dilapidated Hackney house and I had headed home to Nottingham to see my family. When I came back to Hackney on the Sunday evening and dragged my suitcase up the stairs and into my bedroom, I spotted a postcard lying on my bed. It was from Ollie and all that was inscribed on the other side was a single message ‘missed you this weekend mate’. I still have that postcard. He’s been a close friend of mine since I moved to Manchester at 15 years old.
Interview
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Tom: So, before we get started can you describe where we are right now, in as little or as much detail as you would like?
Ollie: Yeah, so we’re sitting in a beer garden at the London Tavern, in Richmond, Melbourne. There are TVs everywhere, all showing different sports: ice hockey, tennis, cricket, horse racing. It’s not exactly where I’d imagine we’d be doing this interview.
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Tom: It’s Friday today, so what’s been going on in the last week?
Ollie: The week started off with a bang for sure. I had a flexible cystoscopy which is where a health professional puts a camera up your ‘you know what’ to have a look at your bladder which was one of the wildest experiences I’ve had for a long time.
Tom: I can’t believe we’ve not spoken about that yet! Do you want to talk about that now?
Ollie: Yeah can do. I arrived at 8am, but didn’t actually get into the room until about 10:30am. So I was sitting there for two and a half hours just thinking about it. When I finally went in, I wondered whether it would be a male or female doctor. It ended up being a female doctor, plus a female nurse and then there were three or four other female doctors just coming in and out. It felt like a real thoroughfare.
Tom: They didn’t warn you that multiple people might be watching? It reminds me of a Friends episode where Ross gets a mole checked by a doctor who needs a second opinion and it flashes forward to a whole room of doctors examining him with his pants down, feeling exposed.
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Ollie: I’m getting back into the swing of things after a month off work. When I came back from Sydney last week, I definitely had the blues from missing family and friends (who came over for Christmas) and I found myself wishing I could rewind and do it all over again. But now I’m back into a routine which has been good: gym, cooking at home, cinema, early nights during the week. There’s something really grounding about doing small, normal things again - knowing what day it is, having places I go regularly.
Tom: Structure helps?
Ollie: Massively. I feel more at ease when I know what my day and week will look like.
Tom: It’s been a big month, a lot of socialising and a lot of drinking too.
Ollie: Yeah, I’m backing off on the alcohol for sure. I’ve got a festival in early March, which I’ll probably drink at, but until then I want to do a dry period - maybe ‘Dry Feb’.
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Ollie: I’d wake up (always a good start) and go to my favourite coffee shop - Juanito’s in Brunswick East. The guy who owns it is a legend. Then I’d go to the gym, have a good workout, cycle home - probably all done by 10 or 11. Then I’d get changed into something sexy.
Tom: At 11am? Already?
Ollie: 11am is sexy time! Then I’d go to a day music event with friends, or to a pub, have some pints, bit of food. It’s nice and sunny on this day too obviously.
Tom: Who would be there?
Ollie: I’m in a Facebook chat from a music festival I went to last year. It includes about seven or eight people I’m really close with. I’d want them there, plus maybe a few others I’ve met on nights out. Around ten or eleven people total.
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Ollie: At first, yes. The first few weeks were great because I had to consciously put myself out there. Most people move countries with someone or meet people through a job they have lined up. I didn’t know anyone and only had a couple of loose connections. Angela, the sister of one of my London mates and another guy I met at a Japanese hostel, that was it.
I wanted to do something by myself and start again and be friends with people on my own terms. However, on the flip side, about three months in I got a bit anxious because I realised I’m someone who needs a few really close friends rather than lots of acquaintances. It felt a bit like freshers week at university where you’re not quite sure how much you click with people. So yeah I missed that depth to my friendships that I had back in the U.K. Of course it’s unrealistic to expect deep friendships after a month or two. But at the time, it really got to me.
Tom: How are you at putting yourself out there to establish these relationships?
Ollie: I think I’m pretty good at that. I understand how important it is to make the first step sometimes. My first Saturday night, I went to a music event alone and got chatting to a guy called Connor. He introduced me to his friends, invited me to a house party the next weekend. I don’t see them anymore, but it helped me feel like I’d got started.
But going back to that festival I mentioned earlier, that was the game-changer as I met people who I genuinely found funny and they found me funny(!). That weekend was huge, it made me feel part of something.
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Tom: I definitely felt a welcoming vibe when I got to Melbourne - people are genuinely interested in you and where you’ve come from.
Ollie: Yeah I agree. I went on a date with an Irish girl a while back who felt Australians were cold, but I don’t think so - I’ve found them all pretty friendly.
Tom: Obviously there’s a lot of expats too, particularly from the UK and Ireland I’ve found. What’s the complexion of your friendship group?
Ollie: My group now is probably 55% Australian/New Zealand, 35% English, and 10% international.
Tom: That’s interesting because our friendship group back home is 100% English.
Ollie: This is the thing. When’s the last time you made a new friend back in the UK? In the UK, you might have a great night with someone and never see them again. It feels like people make an effort to continue the relationship here.
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Ollie: It wasn’t always going to be Australia but I did want to live and work abroad before turning 30. Initially I looked at Amsterdam and Berlin, but Europe became difficult post‑Brexit, so I looked further afield. I’d met someone in Japan who was from Melbourne and reached out to him online about whether I should move here - all he said was ‘it’s sick mate’ and that was enough for me. I bought a ticket the next week. The visa was easy and there’s no language barrier. Melbourne was the only Australian city I really considered. Now that I’m here, I’m even more sure it was the right choice.
Tom: What does Melbourne offer compared to a city like Sydney or Brisbane?
Ollie: It’s more liberal, left‑leaning and progressive than other Australian cities - and has a lot going on culturally. It’s a bit like how they call Austin the jewel in the Texas crown, Melbourne is similar - a progressive bubble. I do recognise that it’s a bit of an echo-chamber though and does not reflect wider Australia.
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Tom: Sometimes we want to try something new because we’re not happy with the way things are - does that resonate with how you felt at the time?
Ollie: In all honesty, towards the end of my time in London I got really anxious walking around, especially where we lived. Everywhere felt loaded with memories of past connections or regret from serious and more fleeting relationships. I was walking through streets, pubs, even random corners where something had happened at some one point that I didn’t want to be reminded of. It sounds dramatic, but it genuinely wore me down over time.
Tom: What else was London not giving you?
Ollie: London’s also tough if you’re not well paid. I was constantly juggling creative work and odd jobs. I was either writing, painting or working as a Deliveroo driver. It’s fun, but it’s hard. I’d be very surprised if I ever move back to London to be honest.
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Tom: You’ve been out here for a year now. Do you feel like you’re more yourself here or are you a slightly different version of yourself out here?
Ollie: I think I’m a better version of myself. Obviously I’m a bit older and wiser (well I think at least) but the whole experience of moving out here challenged me in a good way as I didn’t have the comfort blanket of leaning on other people due to timezones and being so far away. I have been forced to work a lot of problems out on my own.
I’ve also been working on my relationship with alcohol and it’s better than it was before. I’m not drinking as much at the moment and I’ve established a good habit with going to the gym which has really helped.
Tom: How has the move changed the way you view your relationships?
Ollie: If anything it’s just clarified who really matters in my life. My siblings and cousins especially - I miss them a lot. To be honest, in the long term, I don’t think I could live permanently this far away from them, especially if my brothers or sister were to have kids at some point down the line. I would need to be a part of that.
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Ollie: I’m definitely not on the move or passing through right now. I like routine, my coffee shop, my favourite club, my gym, and my friends. I’ll travel again in the future to New Zealand and Korea I’m sure but I don’t want to be constantly moving.
Tom: How do you envisage the next few years then?
Ollie: That said, I don’t see myself here (Melbourne) in ten years. Five? Maybe as long as things line up with work and I get sponsorship for a job I like.
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Ollie: It’s hard for me to answer this question. I’m very methodical, always have been. For instance, I’ll get my visa and flights sorted well in advance, and a house to stay in but I don’t actually think what it’s going to be like when I get there. My grandma asked me the day before I left “what do you think it’s going to be like?’” And I was like “I have absolutely no idea”.
Tom: It’s interesting because you seem to like to have control over some things and not others. But getting back to some advice…
Ollie: It sounds generic but be open‑minded and do things outside of your comfort zone. Especially socially. It doesn’t come super naturally to me but it’s good to know I can still make friends on the other side of the world where I didn’t really know anybody at first.
And try to live where you are and be present rather than constantly reporting back home. Obviously it’s really nice to hear from people back home but it can feel like you’re living two lives sometimes.
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Tom: I know you’re a big fan of postcards. If you could send a postcard to your past self still in London, what would it say?
Ollie: Get out of there. ASAP. Follow your gut. I think it was the right decision. The only thing I would prepare myself for is that my career stalled by the fact that I’m working in a pub and shop and one day a week at a radio station. I’ve applied for more creative jobs and it often starts with a really positive interaction and genuine interest but then we get to the ‘visa question' and I’m almost automatically taken out of the recruitment process. I feel like I’m hitting my head on this a lot unfortunately.
Tom: Wait, so staying for five years is dependent on your work visa then?
Ollie: That’s right but I could also get a partnership visa. My friend Maddie has offered to do this with me which sounds a bit weird but it's quite common here. Essentially we’d have to prove our relationship and provide evidence we’re in a serious relationship, photos etc. Maybe I should get cracking with that actually.
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Tom: So there are some logistical hurdles on the horizon that might take the choice away from you. That must be frustrating?
Ollie: Yeah of course, there are always going to be challenges. This is the other thing I’m conscious about is when you talk to people about how things are going you often tell people the highlights. But there have been challenges along the way from not enjoying work, drinking a bit too much, feeling a little lonely at times - or at least concerned about the amount of depth to some of my relationships out here and so on. The automatic response is to tell people it’s all good when it’s way more complicated than that. Life’s more complicated than that.
But look, it's been an amazing experience so far and I’m so glad I’ve come out here, met some amazing people and, in a way, started again on my own terms. I know I said I expect to be back in 5 years but honestly who knows how things will pan out.
When I listened back to this conversation (I won’t call it an interview that feels like a push), I wondered whether, on a sub-conscious level, this was just a ruse for me to try and have a deep conversation with Ol or at least find out what his big life plans are. When we’re together we quickly turn to stupid, humorous and inconsequential chats on subjects such as the best-dressed professional tennis players or the best flavour of beef jerky. However, as you can probably tell we took this discussion fairly seriously; I had written down questions and Ol took his time answering them. Maybe this format is what it takes for two men to have a serious conversation about their feelings.
Second & final impressions of Melbourne
Saturday 24 January
What do you think about Melbourne? Are you going to stay here? How does it compare to London? From uber drivers to friends of friends in pub gardens, these are the questions I was peppered with over the last month and a half. That may come across as ungrateful; I always appreciated people asking and having a chit chat but I often disappointed them with my answer - I don’t know! If I had to fumble for one I’d say I’ve been gently pondering living here over the last couple of weeks but ultimately I think I’d miss my life back in the U.K too much.
Yet, the real question underneath it all was a lot more pertinent - what do I want this next part of my life (post corporate job) to look like? I’ve been very back and forth but I think I’ve gotten a little closer. I was chatting to friend of a friend of friend in a glorious sun-trap of a pub called the Royal Oak Hotel in North Melbourne. Sidenote: I was often confused why pubs are called ‘hotels’ in Australia and apparently it’s because in order to obtain a liquor license in the 80s pubs were required to be functioning hotels and provide accommodation for the drunkards bent double over the bar.
Anyway, I was chatting to this interior architect and we were talking about the different periods of housing we’d like to live in - Victorian, Modern etc. In Melbourne, she explained, that for a house to be considered ‘heritage listed’ (essentially where you can’t knock it down without getting challenged by the local authorities) the building only needs to be older than 100 years, dating back to the Victorian gold rush boom. You compare this to London and it’s a whole different kettle of fish. When we think of heritage listed housing we think of a Georgian house from the 1700s, well at least I do. And that’s before you get to the grade-listing housing. This sounds like a bit of a tangent granted, but it represents what I was struggling to put my finger on. When you walk through Melbourne, if you close your eyes to the colonial style buildings (see photo), you feel like the city was born yesterday rather than 2000 years ago. Some London houses were built before Melbourne even existed, at least as a European settlement.
What doesn’t lack depth is the people. Now, I need to preface this of course with the fact that I’ve been mixing with young-ish people in the pubs and cafes of North Melbourne, the fact I have been here for one month and whether or not one really ever ‘knows’ a city. I’ve met some lovely fascinating people but what I’ve been inspired by the most is how many people have creative pursuits once you dig a little deeper. Many of them are working in cafes and pubs alongside photography, writing music, painting and so on. Some have plugged away at it long enough to make it the sole source of their income. I found this inspiring and challenging to the way I thought about a 9-5 at the same time.
Beyond this, I think the fact that I was able to find these things out about people is indicative of a general friendliness in the city. It made me think about how British people, often out of stubbornness or anxiety or both refuse to ask for directions, claiming they want to find their own way in a new city. On many occasions I’ve seen this strife, often between couples, typically its a heterosexual male who wants to soldier on trying to find a spot to park a car or find a restaurant down an alleyway, despite his partner’s protests of ‘let’s just ask someone’. Admittedly, I struggled to do this for the first two weeks. Yet when I pushed past this and starting to regularly initiate conversations I found that the locals after hearing my accent help me out and want to have a chat, it’s great. So always ask for directions, people like to help, are interested and you walk away feeling like you’ve connected with someone!
I think the creativity and welcoming vibe more generally is reflected in the very design of the city. I spotted murals that took over the walls of fire departments and apartment blocks, they were imposing and often subversive and they are normally always condoned by local councils. The parks are incredibly floral and tropical and they exist in harmony with the city. Often the paths felt like they were gently guiding you to the city rather than creating a little enclave away from it. The parks are super clean too; visitors are respectful and quiet, so much so you can quite easily fall asleep on a grassy hilltop reading a book (which I did on New Year’s Day in Fitzroy gardens - pictured). Not only did I feel relaxed in Melbourne I also just enjoyed walking around a city where its residents seem to care for their environment - does that sound old and snooty of me? Maybe.
To poke this point a little further, and granted this is a bit of a weird thing to focus on but there is literally no litter in the streets! Dom, a friend who was one of the six of our road trip crew, mentioned how clean the streets are in Melbourne and then I really started to notice it. In Australia more generally there’s a real respect for the land. There’s a deep irony here of course as it’s not actually a land that ‘belongs’ to the white settling population. It was stolen, a familiar tale in commonwealth countries. In fact, what does separate Australia from the rest of the commonwealth countries is that it is the only nation not to have a treaty with its original people. So I talk about ‘respect’ with a healthy dose of salt, but I have to admire how the Aussies take care of the place they live in.
Finally, I have to give serious kudos for how Melbourne approaches sport. There’s a deeply ingrained cultural passion for sports which is propped up by the Victorian Government’s ambition for Melbourne to be the sporting capital of the world. I was lucky enough to watch England vs Australia in the Ashes Cricket Tests at the colossal Melbourne Cricket Ground and later went to Day One at the Australian Open. The Open is a major tennis tournament which could give Wimbledon a run for its money; perhaps not in terms of prestige and tradition but in terms of infrastructure, investment and passionate atmosphere. Ol and I paid $50 and the calibre of players we got to see from Norrie and Cobolli to Tiafoe was genuinely impressive and we weren’t stuck in the back of the stands either!
Ultimately, if Melbourne wasn’t so god damn far away its creativity, welcoming vibe, approach to work and appreciation for sport puts it right up there as one of the most attractive and liveable places i’ve ever been.
My first impressions of New Zealand
Friday, 30 January
The Māori population is particularly concentrated in the upper and central North Island but it still sits at less than 20% of the island’s total population, with European the majority at 63%. Despite this, during my first 24 hours in Auckland, it felt to me that Māori culture is pretty well integrated and respected in society. As it should be of course but how often do we see indigenous peoples having to fight to keep their culture alive: Native Americans, Aboriginals, Gaels to name a few. Instead, I noticed how people of all ethnicities here tend to use the Māori greeting of ‘Kia ora’ which translates to ‘be well’ or ‘be healthy’ and which sounds a lot more poetic than ‘How you goin’ mate’ which is what my ears were use to after six weeks in Australia.
Māori is spoken first on trains and buses when announcing stops, and it’s written at the top of road signs with the English translation below it. These are small things and the real picture is a lot more nuanced but as a tourist I couldn’t help but think it puts Australia to shame as a great example of how to try and recognise indigenous culture.
I hope my next few blogs will be a little more structured. I’m aiming to share the names of towns and favourite spots throughout which hopefully gives you (and me once I read this back) a sense of the path I took to explore this amazing country.
Firstly, let me get a little moan out of my system. My very first impression of New Zealand was before I had left Melbourne airport. I was already under the cosh as I had forgotten to apply for a visitor visa. I am not sure I can blame anyone for that but they do cost $127 (Aussie dollars that is). This is 4x as much as an Australian visa and it takes twice as long to process. At a time when I had started to become increasingly conscious of my dwindling budget I had put it to the back of my mind until the last minute. Thankfully, the visa arrived 5 hours before my flight was due to take off.
Feeling a little relieved (but only as relieved as one can be heading into an airport), I strode up to the check-in desk and threw my rucksack on to the conveyor belt. I was handed my passport back and was about to head to security when the airline agent called me back. He told me that I had to show him my booking for my return flight. Feeling a little bemused, I told him I hadn’t booked one because I hadn’t decided when was going to head back to the UK yet. He replied, sardonically, ‘you can try and get through security but they’ll probably just send you back here’. So, apparently, you have to book a flight out of NZ in order to get into NZ?! I’m not sure how I feel about this policy. It’s like they’re saying ‘Oh hey, yes, please come and enjoy our beautiful country, but only for a specific amount of time and just make sure that you clear out soon right?’ Well, fine, maybe I didn’t want to stay here anyway!
It’s like they’re saying ‘Oh hey, yes, please come and enjoy our beautiful country, but only for a specific amount of time and just make sure that you clear out soon right?’ Well, fine, maybe I didn’t want to stay here anyway!
On a different but related note, I learnt that the only citizens that can buy houses here are those from New Zealand, Australia and Singapore. As a foreign citizen from a different country you can only buy land/new-builds with special permission. It’s another example of NZ being particularly protective of its borders. This definitely worked during the Covid-19 pandemic with the state declaring one of the lowest health losses across the globe. Yet, I can’t help but feel these sorts of policies contribute to its poorly performing economy and slightly insular culture which I will talk about in a later blog.
A few days in Auckland, New Zealand’s biggest city
Tuesday, 2 February
I arrived at my first Airbnb in Auckland pretty late into Saturday evening. So late in fact it was too dark to find the lockbox and I ended up jumping a fence to get into the backyard. With mud and some sort of green mossy substance all down my front, I decided to retire to bed as soon as possible. I had chosen a small guesthouse in a suburb called Royal Oak in South Auckland. It often takes me a few days to work out which areas have the most ‘vibe’ in a city. I can firmly say I did not find it on my first try. Royal Oak is known for a particularly busy roundabout and a small and rather tired looking shopping mall. Thankfully, I had booked tickets to Hobbiton for the Wednesday but this meant I was presented with three days in Royal Oak and Auckland which is about two and half too many.
When I woke up on the Sunday, my first proper day in Auckland, it was a beautifully sunny day which felt like a good omen. But before I could take advantage of this, I thought I better get some life admin out the way. Specifically, a clothes wash was overdue so off to the launderette I went. One thing I will not miss from this trip is having to go to a launderette. This is because it usually entails a very bored employee explaining how these specific machines work before I set up shop for an hour waiting for my clothes to wash and dry in a dusty, dank room. When I had ticked that off my list, however, I took a stroll through Cornwall Park (first pic) and then nipped over to Mount Eden for sunset (second pic). One thing I really loved about Auckland was seeing its green hills rise up through the middle of the city. Mount Eden is the tallest of 53 dormant volcanoes in the area. Standing at 196m, it was once a fortified Maori settlement dating back to the 13th Century. It has a huge crater (now with a viewing platform running around it) where Moari legend tells of a deity called Mataaho who lived there and who was the guardian of the secrets hidden in the earth.
I was once told that the best way to start a holiday is to get up high so you can get your bearings. Auckland’s Sky Tower offers that opportunity. Standing at 328 metres it is the 28th tallest man-made building in the world and 28m taller than the Eiffel Tower. It offers a 360 degree of the metropolis below. It’s a popular attraction for tourists but that might also be because there’s not much else to do. Despite being fully aware of my fear of heights, I decided to join the tourists on day two in Auckland. I bought my ticket and got in the lift that takes you up 45 floors to its observation deck. When I stepped out onto the deck I was immediately struck with a sense of vertigo. Rather embarrassingly, a couple of people had to side step around me as I reached for a railing just round the corner from the lift. I slowly inched my way round the circular ‘skydeck’, hugging tight to the inner wall. I squeezed the railing so hard my knuckles went white and I could feel myself starting to perspire. I managed to let go of the railing long enough to get photo of a young girl fearlessly peering through the perspex window on the floor completely unfazed and impervious to the fear that had so strongly gripped me. It left me wondering at what age I had developed this fear of heights. After ten minutes I decided I had had enough and took the lift back down to the ground floor where I worked out that it had cost me £2 a minute to be up there.
Regaining my composure I wandered the streets in the CBD for a while, stopping in a coffee shop and Victoria park, named after Queen Victoria of course and a reminder of the British Crown’s influence here. As I walked a few blocks I picked up on a peculiar vibe to the city. Looking around, specifically everyone seemed to be dressed down in plain clothes, almost out of respect; the cars were old or simple and it was quiet for a Saturday as people kept to themselves. I wondered what it was that had struck me. Later that evening, when I out for a beer, I spoke to someone who offered up one explanation. She had just moved to Auckland and explained this concept in NZ called ‘tall poppy syndrome’. An interesting concept where where a successful or arrogant individual is ‘cut down’ by a societal pressure that encourages humility and conformity above all else.
On my way back from the city I was caught in torrential rain and was taught another lesson about New Zealand - it doesn’t matter what the weather looks like in the morning, always pack a raincoat. The main cities in NZ are subject to extremely temperamental weather as they are all exposed to a blustery and wet coastline. I was drenched to the bone wearing nothing but a white t shirt and shorts, and stayed trapped under a cafe veranda for a good twenty minutes (see video).
I got up slowly the next day, not feeling particularly motivated after ticking off the biggest park, mountain and tourist attraction in the first two days. I was keen for a day that felt more on my terms and less about ticking things off a list. My Airbnb host suggested I go to Lido cinema, a boutique picture house dating back to the 1920s that was only one suburb across from me. Since I didn’t have my rental car yet I jumped on the bus again and when I arrived I bought a ticket for Marty Supreme. I thought the film was good, yet it is a film about ping pong so you’ve kinda limited yourself there already Mr. Safdie. A core theme running through the film is how Marty (the protagnoist played by Timothee Chalamet) has an unwavering determination to become the best player in the world propped up by a willingness to sacrifice everything and everyone along the way. This resonated with me, in a way, as it dawned on me that I was in New Zealand alone, able to choose exactly what I wanted to do, where to go and when. The freedom to totally and unequivocally focus on myself was exciting. When the film had ended and night had fallen I hopped on a lime scooter instead of the bus and took a detour through some suburban streets. I put my earphones in and let ‘Marilyn’, a song by Caribou, ring through my ears. I sang it all the way back to the house hardly feeling the drizzle of rain that began to patter on my face.
Hobbiton
Wednesday, 3 February
The day for visiting Hobbiton had arrived. I picked up my little Ford Puma at 9am sharp and sped down State Highway 1. To say I was excited was an understatement. To get a little closer to the truth, you could say I was in NZ because of The Lord of the Rings films. I’ve watched them religiously and would fancy my chances at a LOTR pub quiz. In fact, I’d say a month hasn’t gone by in the last 15 years where I haven’t watched one of them. I just don’t get bored and I’m not sure why.
The amazing thing about Hobbiton is that it’s a live movie set built into a farm, so once you come off the motorway it’s a really idyllic drive winding through green pastures and rolling hills. I parked up and made my way over to the front office, where they told me I had an hour wait until my tour started. I think this was the first time I’d been early to anything. The tour itself is ninety minutes long and it takes a 15-minute bus ride to get to the set. Once my group was on the bus and the tour guide swiftly declared it was a ‘nerd-friendly’ zone, I couldn’t help but get a little emotional as the soundtrack began to play and she started to share a couple of stories about the set and how it came to be.
With a fantasy novel or film I find it’s sometimes good not to get behind the scenes in case it crushes the world you’ve created in your mind. But I have to say, as I stepped off the bus and took in the surroundings, it exceeded my already embarrassingly high expectations. The attention to detail was incredible, from the 30+ hobbit holes (homes) all with gardens and hobbit-sized scale props. In one of them, this included an entire newspaper called ‘The Shire Reckoning’ which had 7 pages of local news articles from this imaginary hobbit community.
Twenty years after the first film was made, they continue to maintain and re-build parts of the set, employing nearly 300 people, from gardeners and landscapers to bar staff in a functioning pub used in the film called The Green Dragon. So it really has become a world of its own and they know how much it means to the 3,000+ daily tourists who walk through the grounds.
On our walk around the hobbit houses, our tour guide stopped and asked whether anyone hadn’t seen the films. One lady put her hand up and slowly lowered her hand following the eye-rolling and tutting from the rest of us. I mean, why come if you’ve not seen the films, really?
The awkward thing about travelling alone is that you sometimes have to bite the bullet and ask people to take a photo of you. And sometimes you also have to ask if they can take a photo of you whilst you pretend to be a little hobbit writing a letter.
Towards the end of the tour I edged my way to the front of the crowd and thought I’d strike up a conversation with the tour guide. We discussed our favourite scenes in the films but I was disappointed to learn that she was unaware of the new film Hunt for Gollum which is being filmed later this year - amateur hour! Then, after a complimentary half-pint of ale from The Green Dragon, I was back on the bus which, naturally, dropped us at the gift shop. Managing to resist most of the merchandise (other than a small keyring), I returned to my car a little dazed but with a wry smile on my face that I wore all the way back to Auckland.
Making my way south, but first to Coromandel
Wednesday, 12 February
This was when a French man approached me. He was travelling with his family and talking sweetly to his daughter after she had tripped over a rock in the car park. He seemed very interested in my trip, almost ardently so. I may have been wrong but I think there was a slight longing after seeing me so content (and maybe a little smug) after a long drive and a succesful beach trip.
After packing up and jumping into the front seat I made my way down to Rotorua, which was 200km south. This was another big drive but what is so great about NZ is that every 5km the scenery changes and every 30km you stumble across a little natural wonder. About half way through the journey I spotted a couple of cars parked up on the side of the road under a sign saying ‘Owharoa Falls’. A little impromptu, I slammed on the brakes and pulled over to check it out. After a two minute walk down a mud path I came out to this stunning waterfall (see 5th pic) where I jumped in the pool and swam right under the waterfall, feeling totally revitalised as the water cascaded down around me.
In order to access the beach it was a 25 minute trek over rocky terrain and through mangroves which mad it all the more worth it when I finally git there. I feel like I’m perpetually chasing the moment in the film ‘The Beach’ where, on a Thai Island, Leonardo Dicaprio’s character emerges through the palm trees and falls to his knees on this perfect stretch of sand, overlooking this turquoise lagoon and tropical limestone cliffs. In the film, the euphoric moment is accompanied by the song ‘Porcelain’ by Moby and I still think about it.
But yes this beach came close. The sand was hot and white slightly burning my toes and blue-green sea was so clear I could see right to the bottom where my burnt toes were cooling off. I nestled myself under the shade of a Nikau palm tree for a couple of hours and soaked it all in. On my way back I climbed an 80m rocky lookout to take the snap in the 4th photo. When I returned to my van I hung my towel out, grabbed a camping chair and made some lunch.
In order to make my way south, I headed north (naturally) to a region called Coromandel. This was a very intentional detour as it was a recommendation from James, a school friend who had explored New Zealand with his girlfriend Anna about a year prior to my trip. Now that I had picked up my campervan (first pic) I felt like my trip could really start and after driving about 100km I arrived in a small town called Thames. From that point onwards, I turned North and headed up the West Coast of the Coromandel Peninsula. I was not prepared for how joyous the scenery would be as I twisted up and down the mountains bordering Coromandel Forest Park. Every 20 minutes I pulled up on the side of the road and had to take a picture of the view that stretched over the hills and into the Hauraki coastline (see second pic).
My only minor concern was the campervan itself. Navigating the van down windy roads and along bumpy terrain reminded me of the night bus in the third Harry Potter film. Behind me the kitchen drawers were opening and closing, and cutlery and plates were rattling.
Every now and then I would also be forced up a dirt road and would wince a little when stones and debris from the mountains would flick up against the van’s underbelly. I prayed that the van would stay in one piece and not get me stranded half way up a mountain.
When it comes to campsites in NZ, you can book them on the day and they will only set you back 30–40 NZ bucks per night. For this you’d get access to a power cable, water hose, kitchen and showers (with good showers often making the difference). My first campsite was Tasman Holiday Park which was incredibly green and idyllic; I mean my camping spot backed onto a stream which was genuinely a home to a family of ducks.
The site was also the perfect base for me to get across to New Chums Beach which I’d had my eye on. I have always been a beach person and could quite happily spend the day getting tanned and sandy. I’ve been to some amazing beaches, the best of them in Sardinia, but this beach (see 4th pic) would really give them a run for their money.
