Informal Scribble

Six countries. Twelve months. One backpack.
By Caroline O’Driscoll

As much as everyone felt the need to advise and direct me on my big adventure I had other ideas. I left Ireland on a rainy October morning with a couple of grand in the bank, saved up from a summers worth of slave labour, a round-the-world ticket and a hunger for the unknown that would be my only guide through the year that lay ahead.
First stop, Los Angeles. The city of angels. I was immediately engulfed by the overwhelming hustle and bustle of a pretentious nation that insists on supersizing everything. Nothing seemed real, from the man-made texture of the food to the amateur hip hop artists lining Venice beach. It felt a bit like being an extra in an unknown film.
Onwards and upwards to stylish San Francisco, taking advantage of the cheap and reliable Greyhound bus service, where I had the privilege of experiencing a thunder storm in the middle of the Californian desert. A rarity which brought a wave of excitement to even the most unexcitable of travelling companions. Much more impressed with this metropolis and satisfied with my city experience, I was ready to venture to humid Honolulu where I was due to start work in a Polynesian hostel.
My time in Oahu was divided between painting and decorating, cleaning, being a tour guide to the more recent backpackers and drinking Mai Tais. In my spare time I availed of the crystal clear waters of the North Shore whilst attempting to surf, unsuccessfully, on several occasions.
The summer season ended as did my time on the island, so I journeyed on with some hostel workers and found myself actively participating in a group cruise around Fiji. It was amongst the coconut trees of the South Island that my tan finally came to fruition, ordaining me the backpacker I had wanted so eagerly to be and less of the pale Paddy I had become known as.
I followed the sun from Fiji to Australia where I learnt to snorkel, scuba dive and barbeque almost anything. It was with sunny Sydney that I fell in love. A city so diverse and tasteful, it has the ability to entice even the most timid traveller into staying longer than expected. My planned three months quickly turned into nine and for the first time in my life I cried on departing a country.
As much as I had great expectations about Asia, my time was cut short by financial difficulties so after a brief flight to Bali I realised the inevitable was near and I was unfortunately homeward bound. My dream of spending my birthday in Thailand faded with the ever increasing reality of a long haul flight back to Ireland. Forty eight hours, three flights and a missing backpack later I arrived in Dublin, where for the first time in eleven months I had to use a map to find my way around!