For anyone travelling to Australia, let this be known: it's bloody expensive. I stared longingly at the processed white supermarket bread. $4, which is just under 3 pounds, and way over budget for someone living the backpacker life. I looked hopefully at the chocolate, but a mars bar cost an extravagant $2.50... and it wasn't even be a big one.
I spent four days in Sydney sitting on my arse doing pretty much nothing. The three days of planes had worn away at my enthusiasm, as had the bollock-freezing Australian winter. On the first day I grossly underestimated the cold, tramping around town in a t-shirt and cruisy cut-offs and regretting my decision on the arrival of a cold breeze and light tropical shower. Luckily a kind girl in my dorm bequeathed me an enourmous grey knitted jumper that her luggage allowance would not allow and I invested in some $30 skinny jeans to keep the cold off of my tropic-conditioned knees.
I wasn't having a great time in the hostel. A large group of the Englishman's natural enemy; the French, was routinely occupying the cluster of dinner tables in the courtyard, and I was starting to get fed up of the hostel staff trying to get in my pants.
As a now more seasoned traveler, I recognised that I had come down with a chronic case of 'the lazies' and needed to take action or risk becoming a part of the hostel furniture.
Dodging pissed backpackers and the occasional prostitute on Victoria Street I marched into Wicked Travel King's Cross and grilled the lazy agent as to the main East Coast sights, which include some very expensive trips to Cape Tribulation, the Whitsundays and Fraser Island. I fought the brief handing-over-cash heart attack and brandished my well-worn Mastercard for a $1000 workout, ensuring that my next two weeks would be action packed with fantastic un-lazy experiences.
Realising that with my tours and extra internal flights I'd pretty much spent twice my Australia budget already (about half of what I'd spent in my 3 months in Asia) I popped into the local Coles to stock up on 60c instant noodles, the staple sustenance for the poverty-stricken backpacker.
I spent four days in Sydney sitting on my arse doing pretty much nothing. The three days of planes had worn away at my enthusiasm, as had the bollock-freezing Australian winter. On the first day I grossly underestimated the cold, tramping around town in a t-shirt and cruisy cut-offs and regretting my decision on the arrival of a cold breeze and light tropical shower. Luckily a kind girl in my dorm bequeathed me an enourmous grey knitted jumper that her luggage allowance would not allow and I invested in some $30 skinny jeans to keep the cold off of my tropic-conditioned knees.
I wasn't having a great time in the hostel. A large group of the Englishman's natural enemy; the French, was routinely occupying the cluster of dinner tables in the courtyard, and I was starting to get fed up of the hostel staff trying to get in my pants.
As a now more seasoned traveler, I recognised that I had come down with a chronic case of 'the lazies' and needed to take action or risk becoming a part of the hostel furniture.
Dodging pissed backpackers and the occasional prostitute on Victoria Street I marched into Wicked Travel King's Cross and grilled the lazy agent as to the main East Coast sights, which include some very expensive trips to Cape Tribulation, the Whitsundays and Fraser Island. I fought the brief handing-over-cash heart attack and brandished my well-worn Mastercard for a $1000 workout, ensuring that my next two weeks would be action packed with fantastic un-lazy experiences.
Realising that with my tours and extra internal flights I'd pretty much spent twice my Australia budget already (about half of what I'd spent in my 3 months in Asia) I popped into the local Coles to stock up on 60c instant noodles, the staple sustenance for the poverty-stricken backpacker.
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