Here I am, writing on my blog after long … really long time, because when you live your life travelling, days and months last longer, I guess last time I wrote it was last June or last july, in a normal life would be around 3 years ago!
Last time I was writing from the deck of “The Northern Greenhouse”, my home in Cairns, in this moment I am writing from an empty 6 bed dorm of unknown hostel in Hobart: the capital of Tasmania.
I came here to conclude my experience in the State Isle, a place far away from the continent that I would compare to the Italian Sardinia just because the Tassies call Australia “The Mainland” as Sardinians call the Italian peninsula “Il continente” (The continent).
Many Tassies have never been to the Mainland and they don’t care at all to go there, for them Tasmania it’s just Tasmania and not part of Australia; I don’t take any position about this matter, the only I can say is that I spent 3 wonderful months here.
I had a good time in Tasmania also because of these “rough” people, descentants of the worst criminals of England; but above all because my “last family”: my backpacker family!
I ended here just by accident or because sometimes I don’t think too much and just act!
It was the beginning of December, when I just got to Sydney after my 30 days road trip along the East Coast while I spent in a month 4000 dollars earnt in 4 months of hard work as “Pizza Chef” in Trinity beach.
In a rainy morning, I woke up and after one month thinking where to start again working to fill again my bank account I decided buy a ticket, fly to Tasmania 6 days later and finally move to a small town on the Northern Coast called Devonport.
A few months ago an italian guy talked me about a nice Working Hostel in Devonport where in few days they find you a farm job so you are able to complete the 88 days necessary to extend your Working Holiday Visa for another year and save some money for the next trips.
I arrived in Devonport on 6th of December really not excited, because the idea of spending New Year’s Eve in a hostel that the “Lonley Planet” calls Gulag and in the past it used to be a hospital and not in Sydney watching the spectacular fireworks, frustrated me!
My first impressions are always wrong!
Today I am writing because I already miss that place. The place to which, saturday night, I said bye as a crazy.
What can you find interesting in a hostel located in a suburb of a really small town that itself looks like a suburb of a sleepy Northern Italian city?
The answer is: the people who were living there.
We human beings make relationships with people and then identify ourself in places.
“The Tasman backpacker” is full of backpackers who spent from 10 to 24 hours together, people who share the kitchen, the toilets, food, joy, pain, disappointments, days of hard work, day of easy work (like mine) and then at the end of the day you see them all together talking about how many bin they have filled with apples or how many hours they have worked lifting 20 kg bags of carrots.
During the night you can also have the pleasure to taste a bit of “Japanese chicken” or “Chinese fish” and then finish with a big plate of Mum’s Italian Lasagne.
This is a backpacker’s life, a life lived day by by that doesn’t worry about the future because, as a little friend reminded me, the only and real thing that belongs to us is the Present and we have to live for that!
In Devonport I have learnt a bit of everything, I’ve learnt how to say “Good Morning”, “Thanks” and “You’re welcome” in 10 languages, I’ve learnt that waking up everymorning with a smile helps you and the person that you meet in the kitchen while making coffee, to have a good day, I’ve learnt to sing like no one is listening.
I have also learnt to take the life easy, even easier than I take it now, I’ve learnt to make my first Curry, I’ve learnt (more or less) to work in a nursery, I have discovered that I can still have the blues for a girl that is not interesting in me, finally I have learnt that in spite how I old I am, I still have to learn a lot.
I have shared this time with italians, japaneses, chineses, frenchs, germans, canadians, etc… people with a name that because of the little time I got I can not mention.
To them I gave I piece of me but from them I got more.
Because the only important thing when you travel is being generous as meanness doesn’t pay.
Now it has got the moment to keep this short but intense time of my like and move on to “A New Start” (cit. Toni Lee alias Montana) under the auspicies of keeping to Live the Life intensly!