I’m an adventurer, thrill seeker, and life enthusiast with a shorter life expectancy than your mother’s cat - Follow my never-ending journey.
I had a tent, a sleeping bag, and 300 euros to my name.
I had spent the past four months traveling around the world, rolling from one adventure to the next, not worrying about money at all.
However, now that my wallet was almost depleted, the panic monster kicked in.
I was in Bali, Indonesia at the time. Staying at a hostel called Big Pineapple. One of the travelers there had just returned from Australia. He called the country a backpackers Mecca because all the long term travelers went there to replenish their travel funds.
He spoke of construction jobs that paid $30 an hour, mining jobs that paid up to $3000 a week, and tax laws that let foreigners claim back 100% of their tax.
I was sold.
I left Indonesia and traveled to Griffith, Australia. A town with a population of around 20,000 people. I spent the last of my money on a local sim card and a bunkbed in a hostel, and set out to find a job.
I registered at every employment agency in town, pinned notes on all the local notice boards, and told everyone I met that I was looking for work.
The next day I got a call from an Indian man named Somesh, he offered me a job cleaning supermarket floors at night.
Somesh was a short man, wore sandals, a white turban, and had a long patchy beard that he liked to stroke. Something was off about him, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
The drive to work was 45 minutes. Every night he’d pick me up at midnight, and talk my head off about India, Hinduism, and how his religion provided the eternal truth. One night, he suddenly stopped on the side of the road, stared at me intensely, and told me how he sometimes sacrificed animals on his way to work.
What!? I was creeped out.
He said it was part of his religion, and added that on his way back he often found the animal corpses mysteriously sucked dry of all blood.
I considered jumping out of the car, but it was dark and I had no idea where I was.
To my relief he eventually continued driving and rambled on about how he would one day return to India to care for his parents.
Needless to say; I didn’t show up for work the next day.
I found a new job on a garlic farm. Where I spent my days on hands and knees digging up remnant garlic cloves. Not much of a trade up, I know. The actual bulbs had been harvested the day before, but lots of single cloves remained hidden in the ground, and it was imperative to collect them, as they would be used for the next crop.
Enter the backpackers. Seven of us tirelessly scavenged the field for cloves while heat licked at our sunburnt necks. At the end of the day I felt a throbbing pain under my fingernails that kept pulsating deep into the night.
Needless to say; I didn’t show up for work the next day either.
I read online that good money could be earned by orange picking. So you can imagine my joy when a fellow backpacker told me his boss was looking for a new picker. I figured the job would be gone fast, so I got up early, and hitched a ride to the plantation.
I introduced myself with a broad smile and strong handshake, but the owner barely made eye contact and pushed a large basket in my arms.
“$4 dollars a basket, don’t skip the tops of the trees.”
I was hired.
It was still early, but sweat had already surfaced on my forehead. As I walked towards my assigned tree, passing by endless rows of juicy oranges, I noticed all the other pickers wore long sleeves. Luckily, I had checked the weather forecast and wore just a t-shirt. However, I soon discovered the joke was on me.
Orange trees have large thorns. Who knew?
These traitorous oranges lure you in with their brightly-covered coating and the promise of a healthy, sweet snack. But then, as you reach out to grab one, a large triangular thorn sinks into your skin like a falcon’s talon, leaving you looking like you’ve been whipped.
I tried to avoid them, but still; after a few hours, my basket was half full, and my arms red with scratches. I sat back against the tree, took an orange from my basket, and ate it. At least I got some vitamin C out of it.
In my noble quest to replenish my travel funds I ended up selling my own body. I was sitting in the hostel common room when I overheard a guy boast about making $50 dollars in 30 minutes by modelling naked.
My curiosity was peaked, so I walked over, listened to all his stories, laughed at most of his jokes, and eventually wheedled the phone number out of him.
I called the number, and spoke to Jim, the instructor of a life drawing class. He asked me a few questions concerning my figure, and after I convinced him I pretty much looked like a Greek Adonis he told me to come by for their next workshop.
A couple of days later I walked up to a classy house, rang the doorbell, and waited until an older man of about 50 opened. It was Jim. After giving me a once-over, he pushed a beer into my hands.
“For the nerves.” He said.
He introduced me to the other artists— including his husband Liam— and guided me to the study where I could undress. He handed me a bathrobe, and winked.
“Don’t worry.” He said. “All you have to do is sit naked and not think of anyone pretty.”
I smiled awkwardly, undressed and slipped into the bathrobe. I wasn’t afraid of standing naked in front of the artists. I was afraid my thoughts might slip and I’d suddenly get excited. Don’t think of anyone pretty seems like an easy enough task, but for those of you who have tried not to think of a pink elephant, know it's not.
Anyway, I knocked back the rest of the beer, and walked out confident. It was over before I knew it, and it turned out to be a very freeing experience. I imagine going to a naked beach will still be somewhat out of my comfort zone, but at least I know I can do it if need be.
In January it was vintage time. The wineries in Australia pay notoriously well, and together with at least a 100 other backpackers I managed to secure a job at a winery. Weekend shifts paid best. 12 hours of work on a Saturday or a Sunday paid close to $650 dollars.
Luckily, most of the other backpackers wanted to party on the weekend, so if I didn’t already have a weekend shift, I’d pay someone $300 to let me work their shift. This meant they could party for $300, and I still made an extra $350. A win-win situation if ever I’ve seen one.
In 3 months I saved up almost $20.000 dollars. Enough to keep me on the road for another year.
This was back in 2011. Laws changes, and so do wages, but from what I hear, Australia is still a great place to replenish your travel funds.
