I thought that leaving Canberra would mean escaping the smoke, but alas, Albury has its fair share of bushfires too. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose everything in a fire, or to have to decide in a few minutes what to take with you, what few things are most important to you. Around four hundred homes were destroyed in Canberra. At the hostel I was staying in, we were ready to evacuate at one point, but fortunately the wind changed direction and blew the fire around the other side of the mountain. Going from Canberra to Albury yesterday there was clear sky for about an hour, before we entered another huge cloud of smoke. And apparently there’s another fire outside Melbourne, where I’m going on Thursday. We need rain.

In other news, I kicked the ground a bit too hard and gashed a chunk out of my big toe, and in trying to stem the flow of blood before boarding the bus to Albury, I left my purse in the station in Canberra, along with all my credit and debit cards. All except the one which my mother had put in a separate part of my bag for emergencies, along with photocopies of all my cards and even of my YHA card, which was also in my purse. She insisted, depsite me assuring her that of course I wouldn’t do anything as stupid as to lose all my cards. So I phoned the Mastercard man, Tim, with my account number, who took over the organization of my life for me, noting that I was evidently incapable of organizing myself: “Would you like some emergency cash? An emergency card? Can I make you something for tea? Need a lift into work tomorrow?” He was great, and I told him so. I picked up my emergency cash today, and my card’s arriving on Thursday. Go Mastercard.

I’m re-reading Alain De Botton’s The Art of Travel at the moment. I love his books: he has a gift of making all these forbidding names - Baudelaire, Aristotle, Proust - instantly accessible and relevant. The Art of Travel, his latest, is probably my favourite so far, though How Proust Can Change Your Life is excellent too. De Botton is the kind of person that you’d hate if he wasn’t so good: 33, and he’s already published six books, the first when he was 24. Damn the man.

I didn’t get barbequed, after all. Though when I explained that I couldn’t eat the lovingly home-made pizzas because they were covered in bacon, I was probably lucky not to end up the main course. Instead, they generously made me some fish and chips. I don’t really have a satisfactory reason for being vegetarian, or for why fish doesn’t count as meat. It may be that I like being difficult. It worked in this case, at any rate. We went outside, after we’d eaten, to sit by the pool. It’s odd, how when you’re travelling you get so used to being in public space - there’s no privacy, no space of your own. Talking with these people I barely knew, it felt so comfortable, as if that’s what I’ve been missing. There was an odd feeling of belonging.

Matt, who’d invited me to the barbeque, had also suggested I stay overnight with his parents rather than spending another night at the hostel. (more…)

Damn, I was all set to write a long entry when the librarian came to tell me someone else has booked to use the computer at five. And I was in such a good writing mood, too. I booked for an hour but the internet only started working about fifteen minutes ago. Well, I’ve got two minutes left, and I’m going to make the most of them.

One minute.

Coffee and orange juice may be two of my favourite things on earth.

I’m trying to think of something more interesting to say than it’s hot, and there’s a pool at this hostel, and it’s just too hot to do anything other than swim in it. I’m proud of myself, though, because I managed to walk the 150 metres to this internet place, only stopping three times to rest along the way. I like hot, I even like 40°C hot, but it would be nice if it sometimes dipped below 30°C at night, so that I could do something boring like, ooh, sleep. Not that I’m doing anything very exciting while awake, mind you; switching the air conditioner on and off is as enthralling as it gets.

My fairly vague plans now are to travel until early January, then to return to Melbourne and pester the employment agencies I’ve signed up with for work, while simultaneously completing a TESL course (’Teaching English as a Second Language’). The teaching course seems like a good thing to do even if I don’t use it here, because it would mean I could teach in Italy or Spain over the UK summers, in between Masters and Phds and things like that. And it beats working for nasty temp agencies. I hate temping, did I mention that? The horrible agencies here have all said that leading up to Christmas there won’t be much work available, so I thought I might aswell travel a bit while I’ve got the chance.

I’m at Albury at the moment, on the Victoria-New South Wales border, and tomorrow I’m going to Sydney and probably to Northern New South Wales for Christmas and New Year. Being on the coast, it should be cooler than inland Victoria at any rate. Ooh and tonight, I’m going to a barbeque! I know, try to control your excitement. (’Barbeque’ looks wrong; I’m sure there should be a ‘c’ in it somewhere). One of the people working at the hostel invited me to his friend’s place where they’re having a family barbeque, which sounds a little suspicious now I’m writing it down. I think it should be OK, though; he seemed friendly rather than sleazy. I forgot to say I don’t eat meat, so it should be interesting. I’ll take some instant noodles just in case…