About 5 years ago, when I was in a dead end job that thankfully gave me a computer screen which faced a wall, I’d spend about 93% of my workday fucking around watching YouTube videos. While I was all for wasting this particular company’s time, mama Speed raised an honest boy, so I did eventually feel as though I should do something productive. That something productive was hitting the Random Article button on Wikipedia, because EDUCATION.
Death is coming for us all. This song and dance we call life is fleeting, and the curtain could close on any of us at any time.
This is the thought train that leaves my mental station whenever I find myself seated between four or more wheels here in Africa.
Africa is what my Nana might’ve called fuller figured, and what I’d call fucking massive. The fact that I want to see a lot of it necessitates a lot of transportation, and this transportation is what my Nana might’ve called interesting, and what I’d call fucking horrifying.
It’s been a while between shit hikes for this shit hiker. Hiking badly is an addiction for me, and the skin was starting to feel itchy. But where? Where on earth should I hike shittily next?
Experts consider South Africa to be the cradle of humanity; it has the earliest evidence of humans as we know them today. It’s likely where we as a species came down from the trees, straightened our spines into an upright position, and first strutted across grassy plains. It’s the motherfucking home of shit hiking. My mate Sharky* was keen to see what this part of the world was all about, so we made plans to hit it up, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other style.
South Africa’s Garden Route winds through the mountainous coast between Cape Town and Port Elizabeth. Excusing my French, it is fucking beautiful. It’s called the Garden Route after its discoverer, Gordon ‘Garden’ Route. That’s not true at all.
So we’ve just torn through this lovely part of the world after realising we spent approximately heaps too long in Cape Town. But that didn’t mean that we were too rushed to smell the roses. Oh, you want a story? Here’s your bloody story.
So after a year of working from the comfort of my own couch in the comfort of my own jocks, I’ve finally decided to tog up and hit the road again. It was a big decision – will the thrill of adventure even come close to matching the thrill of never really having to put pants on? Only time will tell.
I just arrived in Africa, and for a trip that has so far consisted of an hour long drive from the airport to a house, it’s already been eventful. I’m still in the clothes that I sported on the plane and haven’t worn underwear in 24 hours, as Singapore Airlines thought that my backpack looked good enough to keep. I can’t blame them, it’s a nice backpack. But they have agreed to give me custody in the (hopefully) not too distant future.
Having run a blog for a while, my senses have become deadened to a lot of the material produced by other blogs. Specifically, blogs that serve up clickbait.
Titling an article ‘You won’t BELIEVE what Don Burke wore to the Hawker races’ or ‘7 mind-blowing tips to freshen your knee pits‘ is the go-to strategy to get people to look at your shitty, shitty content.
MEDICAL QUESTION: what is the term for the armpit of your leg?
So we’re back at home base. Settled in to little old Adelaide, South Australia, as if nothing ever happened. And judging by the state of affairs that we have come back to, nothing has.
Adelaide, consistency is both your blessing and your curse.
‘So what did you like best?’ – an understandable question, but one that I’ve had to repeat the answer of about 38 times now. So to shut you guys up, I thought I’d throw down what I felt were the very best bits of South America through this funky guy’s junky eyes.