I spent a little over six months in Edinburgh, and after five months of continuous travel, it was comforting to have a place to call home. For my last four months there, I worked hard but also enjoyed myself. After I’d finished at the restaurant, I travelled around Britain, but Edinburgh called me back after less than two weeks. I found love and did not want to be apart from it.

I have made wonderful new friends. I’ve experienced a range of new cultures, Asian and European. I’ve eaten (and cooked) adventurously, from insects in Thailand to lye-pickled herring in Norway. I’ve ridden on and in planes, trains, motorbikes, mopeds, tuk-tuks, rafts, ocean liners, minibuses, elephants and the occasional funicular carriage. I’ve learned not to doubt my own endurance, having climbed mountains in the Arctic Circle (making friends for life in the process). Months in a professional kitchen honed my skills, and certainly increased my cooking speed. I’ve travelled thousands of kilometres and criss-crossed a continent by land and sea. I let the world and its travellers change me, and I feel the better for it.

I’m in Brisbane. I am determined to get a degree in nursing, and ever thereafter lead the life nomadic. However, this is a travelogue, and as I am no longer travelling, it does not seem right to continue here.

I’m in Brisbane. I think this is home. Two days ago I flew from Townsville; tonight I fly to Bangkok.

It’s funny how my bacon consumption increases by about 3700% when I’m having a good time. Sunday morning, breakfast with the night’s survivors – a Les Miserables last supper, if you will. Monday morning, Breakfast At Fat Boys, a meal so good that it deserves capitalization. Tuesday morning, full cooked breakfast. Tuesday night, carbonara. Wednesday morning, cold carbonara. I think that brings us up to speed.

If the rest of this trip is as happy as the start, I’m going to come back a relaxed person (assuming the cholesterol doesn’t kill me).