Arriving in Australia for my working holiday, I thought that 12 months was plenty of time to see most of what the country has to offer. After six months, I realized that I was going to need a lot longer and so began my quest to extend my visa. It was either that or marry a random Aussie! At the time, you could get another 12 months on a working holiday visa if you did three months of agricultural work, namely fruit picking in rural Australia. I am probably as far removed from your average fruit picker as you can possibly get. However, I was a girl on a mission.

I had been living and working in Perth and so I packed up my little Holden Barina and headed south to Donnybrook in search of fruit to pick. Donnybrook is a quaint little country town, surrounded by apple trees and lots of forest.I thought I had it all planned! Having decided that living in a hostel and getting up at the crack of dawn to spend 9 hours doing manual labour, was probably not my idea of fun, I had searched the net and found affordable accommodation to rent just outside the town.

I was assured by the friendly woman on the phone that the “apartment” had most mod cons and was located right next to her house on her property. She also said she could find me work with a local farmer. It sounded too good to be true…and there´s a lesson to be learnt in that!

After a four hour drive, I got out of the car at the small service station where we had arranged to meet and spotted my new land lady. I then followed her in my car as we drove up a series of winding roads further and further into the dense forest. Eventually, we turned off the main road and down a long, bumpy track leading to the middle of no where. Through a rusty old gate, I spotted what can only be described as a car cemetery, not unlike the one in “Wolf Creek” where the backpackers get tortured and subsequently murdered. Hardly reassuring!

By this point, I was feeling a little uneasy, until I saw my “apartment” and then panic set in. In the middle of a field at the edge of the forest, far from the main house, stood a big, tin shed. There was no lock on the front door, the place had clearly not been lived in for several decades and when I asked about mobile phone reception, I was regarded with a look that could only mean I was speaking a different language. I had wanted a bit of privacy, an escape from the crowded, noisy hostel bedrooms and had landed myself in total isolation.

As it was already late in the afternoon, I thought I had better at least give it a go and stay the night. Finding several very big spiders in the bed didn´t help the situation and when I finally decided to try and sleep, wearing all the clothes I had, as it was freezing, I was kept awake by the scuttling of mice and rats in the bedroom, the strange bangs and creeks of the shed and the howling and scratching of wild animals just outside the door! With my imagination running wild, I spent the entire night sitting bolt upright armed with a heavy doorstop as a weapon.

When dawn finally arrived, I packed up my belongings and got the hell out of there! I fleetingly enjoyed the views or the herds of kangaroos in the fields around me, as I sped down the bumpy road and back towards civilization. Needless to say, I crammed the rest of my travelling into the 6 months I had left.