A Change Has Come

The past twenty-four hours have been pretty eventful. It's going to take a while for me to explain all the details so those of you who would prefer the shorter version please see below:

HahahahahahahahahahAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

sold myself like a good prostitute.

For those of you whose attention I've still managed to grasp - I was awoken this morning at half past four, through a combination of people moving around the room getting ready for work, the almost apocalyptic rain fall outside and the front door being left open so I could hear a bunch of idiots being loud and obnoxious....at half four in the morning! Twats.

Once the reception was open, I went in and requested that they send my second VISA application form off to the farms I've been working at. The same dude, who yesterday informed me like some sort of vague space alien about the mandarin farm being finished, also got to tell me today that they don't provide the service of faxing the farms our VISA forms. I was slightly annoyed. The day we arrived here, the woman at reception told us the hostel DID fax the farms whenever we needed it done. I wonder if that was the reason her fat arse was later sacked?

The vague space alien went on to tell me that the farms I've worked at the longest, the macadamia nut and mandarin farms, were nothing to do with this hostel and I would have to go over to the City Center Backpackers to see what they could do.

Great. Wonderful. Fish flapping fantastic. It's good to know that after having been here nearly three months, providing them with around $2400 in rent money in that time, they can't even send a couple of faxes. In a way, I wasn't surprised. I mean this is Bundaberg after all; a working hostel in Bundaberg. As long as you're filling their back pockets with your cash, why should they give a shit?

What with the rain and my total and complete dissolution at these so called human beings, I started to look into alternatives. I really wasn't expecting to get any more decent work here and in all honesty think I finally had enough of the way these places treat me and my fellow backpackers. I began researching prices of trains and flights etc. My plan was to contact a few Wwoofing farms in the Victoria area (near Melbourne) to see if they would be willing to take on a fed up Englishman. Wwoof stands for Willing Workers On Organic Farms; it's basically places that take on backpackers and provide room and board in exchange for the work you do. Again it's rural stuff. It also counts towards your second VISA. Anyway, I e-mailed a ton of these farms and sold myself like a good prostitute.

After doing this I headed over to the City Centre Backpackers hostel and was amazed to discover that the reception staff here were not only FRIENDLY but also HELPFUL. I think my  jaw hit the floor. They said they would fax my form off straight away, only I didn't have it on me. With a bright smile I said I would return indefinitely with the form and went on my merryway.

Whilst walking back, I happened to walk past a window that was advertising bus prices. Thinking it couldn't do any harm, I popped in and inquired about tickets to Melbourne. The old fella did some calculations and quoted me $200! That's about $150 cheaper than doing it the way we came (two trains and a plane). After pottering around the town a little longer, doing various things (such as getting pizza and ice cream) I concluded 'what the Hell!' and went back to the shop and booked my ticket out of here. That's right, you are now reading the blog of a soon to be ex-Bundabergen! I told my hostel I would be leaving and delivered my VISA form to City Center, all with a spring in my step and a massive grin across my chops!

My bus leaves here on Saturday morning at three thirty in the morning and gets into Brisbane at midday. It's a half an hour wait for my connecting bus which gets me into Sydney at six in the morning the next day! I have a nine hour stop over in Sydney before embarking on the final leg of my journey, a seventeen hour drive straight into my spiritual home of Melbourne, where I shall be arriving Monday morning at eight am. This doesn't qualify as 'minor leagues' in regards to bus travel. I'll be shattered, uncomfortable and that much more claustrophobic, I may even be stained in my own urine but I will continue to be so, so happy. To be out of this place, to be going back to Melbourne even if just for a few days has lifted my spirits above a level I never thought they could reach whilst still being in Bundaberg.

I've had a good response to the e-mails I sent out to the Wwoofing farms too. Already a couple of e-mailed back and expressed an interest in securing my services. With just over three weeks to go before I complete the necessary sentence required to apply for that second VISA, I should be able to finish it quite easily and in peace. It's going to be ace.

Of course, as much as this is a cause for celebration, there is also one downside; I will be going alone, flying solo for the first time in these adventures. Due to financial restraints and various other factors, MC will be staying in Bundaberg. We've spoken before about going our separate ways during our travels, not out of a  deep and secret loathing for one another (even if he does smell) but out of a desire to both prove ourselves within this world as being our own man, proving we can stand alone. We've spent a great amount of time together in our seven year history and have hardly spent a moment apart during our time in Australia. Amazingly, we've still to this day yet to have a falling out or squabble or even a heateddisagreement. In many, scary ways we're almost one entity and finally the time has come when we must part ways for a while. I'm not sure when we'll be reacquainted, it could be months down the line, and while attempting adventures on our lonesomes can only be a good thing for the both of us, I am going to miss my best friend very much. It's certainly going to be strange not having anyone to make disgusting rape jokes with, to scream in unison with or create new forms of sexual deviance with that belong in some form of Karma Sutra written by Satan himself. Saying that, it really wouldn't surprise me if we ended up talking on the phone every single night like two pubescent teenage girls, complete with the cotton dressing gowns and bunny rabbit slippers.