About

This journal was compiled like most others - a mismash of thoughts and descriptions of sights and experiences roughly scribbled into a hardback notebook before they were tainted by the imperfections of memory. The original prose (interpreting the word broadly) is made up of untidy passages scratched by a dozen different pens (the bastards kept disappearing or blocking up) and later, a single pencil (I upgraded) in buses, cafes, tents, dormitories and countless other places. At times I kept the record diligently; more often I fell behind. I had never attempted to keep a journal before, and found it difficult trying to keep it up to date and filled with content more substantial than a list of placenames, dates and single-line weather reports. Sometimes the journal was easy to write, with words pouring easily onto the page from a mind still excited after a recent sight or remarkable experience; occasionally, however, I would wake from an uncomfortable doze to find drool blurring a half-finished sentence. Somehow I managed to end up with a reasonably detailed chronicle of our Australian travels.

But what to do with it? I could stick it in a drawer, browse distractedly through it for a couple of minutes every ten years when searching for something else, and trigger a few good memories. Alternatively, I could rework it, fill in the gaps, prune the deadwood, combine it with some photographs and make it into an account worthy of more than a dusty drawer. I was thinking more in terms of a prominent shelf. Maybe even a coffee table.

Somerset Maugham, one of the most successful writers of all time, said it better than I ever could in Moon and Sixpence:

"It is a salutary discipline to consider the vast number of books that are written, the fair hopes with which their authors see them published, and the fate which awaits them. What chance is there that any book will make its way among that multitude? And the successful books are but the successes of a season. Heaven knows what pains the author has been at, what bitter experiences he has endured and what heartache suffered, to give some chance reader a few hours' relaxation or to while away the tedium of a journey. And if I may judge from the reviews, many of these books are well and carefully written; much thought has gone to their composition; to some even has been given the anxious labour of a lifetime. The moral I draw is that the writer should seek his reward in the pleasure of his work and in release from the burden of his thought; and, indifferent to aught else, care nothing for praise or censure, failure or success"

In accordance with Maugham's rather selfish motives for writing, these entries were originally scrawled on paper for a readership of one: me. I later added to much of the On The Beaten Track so that others might grasp what I was talking about, but while I was doing so I never quite decided if the completed account should be a thorough and accurate record of our travels, (describing all events no matter how boring), or a compelling travelogue detailing just the interesting bits (for those readers who don't particularly care where or when I did my laundry). As a result, what is presented here fails to be either one. There is also, in my opinion, a big difference (i.e. improvement) in writing style between the beginning and end of the journal, as I did the editing over the course of a year, but unless you plan to do some serious bedtime reading I don't think you need worry about it.

On The Beaten Track is mostly fact, but beware, there may be some dubious entries. If you come across an account or description that you find suspiciously interesting, you're probably reading one of the ficticious bits, added to plug in a gap in my memory or notes and to intentionally deceive the reader into believing that I have an exciting life.

The photographs are of two types. The first type are quick snapshots (not necessarily taken by me) that are far from perfect photographically, but that I decided to include because they tell a story or well-illustrate an account in the text.
The second type are those that I composed with deliberate effort in the hope that they would be interesting and nice to look at.
Hopefully you will be able to tell some of these apart.

This journal is dedicated to my girlfriend, travelling partner, and favourite navigator Denise, whose patience and understanding helped make it possible. Her companionship made every sight brighter and every experience fresher. She also laughed at my jokes for free.

I continued on to New Zealand and Fiji after leaving Australia, and kept up my journal while travelling there. The entries are still in untouched notebooks. Someday they may be edited, but not today.