April 2009 saw the end of this particular short-lived global trek. But even now, 6 months later, I can't remove the magnetism, excitement, wonder and awe of my time spent running up the east coast of Australia. Oz, the first destination of my solo adventure. I didn't plan on flying half way around the world to a continent I knew little about. I figured I'd get to Australia at some point in life but not this early. And sadly, I now feel that I landed on the gorgeous eastern coast a little too late. Because a close friend travelled back to her home land of Sydney, I decided to follow her and step into that wild oasis.
As a beach and ocean lover, Australia proved to represent utopia. A culture that is no cares and all surf. First world destination with third world pride in community, family and just chillin the f out. 
And there is no extreme adventure devoid in Kangaroo heaven. Surfing, well, of course. Hiking in the mountains and over sand dunes where your feet burn and fat drops off like sweat. Done. Horseback riding in the sea. Done. Hang gliding off cliffs over the crashing ocean. Done. Swimming in a lake as clear as diamonds. Done. Camping near champagne pools. Done. Waking up at dawn on the deck of a sailboat. Done. Turning 11 shades darker on the color wheel and fearing that new freckle is sarcoma. Done.
Needless to say, or if you're still confused about my feelings for this country continent, I personally think Australia represents the bomb diggity.
If you are under the ripe young age of 30, Oz allows you to work and travel within its borders for several months. If the land of Oz was not so ageist, you would only see and feel my Tazmanian dust. No doubt I'd be fanning myself on the beaches of Bondi and Byron for months. 
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