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 →