Tag Archives | a van named Walter

Tasmania, and disconnecting to reconnect

Koren and Alana at Mount William National Park, Tasmania

My bedroom window looks out over a sprawling concrete jungle, the chaotic collection of high-rises and pavement that makes up the bustling Spanish city of Alicante that I currently call home.

I love this boisterous, vivacious, disorganised city. But it’s easy to feel disconnected among it’s tangle of people and metal and asphalt. Disconnected from nature, especially. It’s a lament most city-dwellers probably share.

On the opposite side of the world, and entirely at the opposite end of the spectrum, lies the small southern Australian island of Tasmania.

Wild and isolated, battered by Roaring Forties winds and soaked by metres of rainfall each year, large swathes of Tasmania have become a sanctuary for protected old-growth forests, remote beaches and wide inland lakes.

When Alana quit her job in Brisbane this year, packed her life into Walter the Campervan and took up the life of a gypsy, she allowed me to tag along for a few weeks.

We headed directly south to Tasmania. Continue Reading →

A van named Walter, a bike named Rosie, and a girl named Alana

Walter the Campervan

“Let go of the outcome. Fall in love with the mystery of life.”

These were the words I scribbled down at a recent event hosted by Susana Frioni.

Letting go doesn’t come naturally to my inner control freak. She wants to know exactly what’s around the next corner. This is probably why, for most of my life, I made well-planned, “safe” decisions.

Of course, these kinds of decisions don’t necessarily make a happy life.

Have you ever had that feeling that your life isn’t quite right? You can’t quite put your finger on it but something just smells a little… off?

That was my life in a nutshell.

The job, the university degree, the relationships, even myself personally. They were all… wrong somehow.

On the surface it all looked fine. But underneath there was a stinky, stinky smell. Continue Reading →