God knows the world doesn’t need another blog. Or a would-be blogger.

Just another person to flog free stuff all over Instagram, tell you how every meal should include kale and quinoa, and pose on an inflatable swan in a bikini, in the middle of an obnoxious beach party. *

While I won’t do any of the above (not from lack of trying though, wish I’d got the free stuff memo when I started writing in detail about how I once almost got taken by a dodgy old Italian man), I will thrust upon you another blog by a would-be blogger; albeit one who uses correct spelling and grammar (most of the time). Because, journalism.

Too long has the travel dialogue been dominated by the taut and toned, the bold and beautiful, the young and the restless… et al. I want to bring something decidedly more average to the table: Me.

I’m a travel writer. I’m a journalist. I’m a backpacker. I’m a hitchhiker. I’m a lone female traveler. I also now sound like I’m trying to write myself into an Alanis Morissette song.

However, I’m not in this to up sticks with my Mac and sit in a hotel lobby for the rest of my life, sipping mojitos and taking photos of my back in front of gorgeous scenery. I’ve never wanted to be a digital nomad; I travel because it’s a way to see the world. I have no desire to be paid for it – and I’ve always paid my way throughout. It’s fairly obvious I’m not living the life of luxury being an ‘influencer’ can give you.

As much as I want to share my experiences with the whole freaking world (I promise I won’t share what I ate for breakfast. Apart from this time. And this one. Okay, I’ll really try to stop), the truth is that everyone out there is a blogger nowadays – or a journalist, or a travel expert.

I’m going to try real hard to not join the masses of the ‘travellers’ whose every photo is looking waywardly into the distance as I pretend not to notice the camera inches from my face, touting all the real adventurous food I’m eating before I inevitably end up doubled over a toilet, and fritter my university degree away not doing the thing I spent four years studying.

Come to think of it, I’ll probably end up doing the university bit and the toilet bit. I do have the distance-gazing photos too sometimes, but it’s mostly genuinely because I’m thinking about what I’m going to have for lunch and haven’t seen the dodgy prick who’s taking photos of my backside. Or there’s food located in which ever direction I’m facing.

I’ve traveled to 50-ish countries and hitchhiked my way through Europe as a lone female – but I’m willing to bet others out there have done it faster, better and cheaper. Probably twice.

But this ain’t for them. Or anyone really. This is more for when I’m old and withered and losing it, and need reminding that one day I did leave that armchair with my butt groove in the rest home (please give me more than five years). 

But for those silly enough to have read this far: my site is organised into two main themes – tips, and tales.

The tips side of things is where I haphazardly try to help others scrounge their way through some of the most noteable places in the world. Yes I am that person who haggles over just about anything. No I’m not sorry that I wasted an hour on the internet getting a deal $40 cheaper than you that’s not even worth the time I wasted. Come to think of it, all those 45 minutes and $40 probably bought me a house actually.

The tales part is where I tell you how I picked mussels in Uruguay to feed myself for two days after running out of money, or about the time I accidentally hitched across two borders for a free lunch and got stranded in no man’s land at midnight in torrential rain, or about the time I was eight hours late to Italy to meet my boyfriend whom I hadn’t seen in six months because a driver had to stop and ‘please himself’ in front of me. Basically, I’ll make you question why you’re reading this website at all.

To repeat: I am not trying to influence.  Nor am I really trying to blog. I don’t actually know what the hell I’m doing.

I’m just a girl, standing in front of a computer, asking it to tolerate me just for a bit. And not send me hate mail.

* Okay, confession time: I once did try pose for my Insta boyfriend on an inflatable swan at an obnoxious beach party. But I did it ironically. And I ended up looking much more Dawn Tinsley’s Day At The Pool than Taylor Swift.

** I thought of a really cool self-deprecating blog name right after I’d already haphazardly drawn up a took-me-five-times-longer-than-what-it-looks-logo and bought the domain name. For nine more months, you get airy fairy self-indulgent instead.

*** Then I attempted to go all Eat, Pray, Love – but got the syllable count wrong.