I was born in Adelaide, South Australia, where I lived until the age of eighteen. Not soon after, I decided to leave and go explore the world. My journey started out in the United Kingdom, where I would be based for the first two years. While working in jobs that provided room and board, I was able to save enough money for a few side trips around Europe.
I then took one full year off to travel around the Asian continent, from India and Tibet in the west, China in the north, Vietnam to the east, Singapore in the south and all countries in between.
After returning to the United Kingdom for another two years and continuing to do various jobs in various industries, traveling more of Europe and visiting Australia, I left and went traveling around the mother continent of Africa for five months, where I would be in a situation which nearly claimed my life for the second time.
Next, fate had me end up in Canada, where I would spend the majority of the next four years. After landing with a little over $100, I ended up working in the kitchens of the oil fields in Alberta, where I would apply my cooking skills learnt in the UK. That was somewhat short lived, though, and I soon moved on to learning mechanics, where I would apply the trade to buy secondhand cars, fix them mechanically and then sell them for a profit (while, of course, traveling around North America and more of Europe). My time in Canada was to end when it all became too much, as I got caught up working for a business where the owners were drug dealers.
I left that situation and took a five-month trip around South America, where I would also get a chance to visit my seventh and final continent, Antarctica.
At a crossroads once again, I left and returned to Australia, where I would work in mining exploration for the next two years. I would work for seven months of the year and then use the other five to travel more of the world, including more of Europe and Scandinavia, Russia, the Caucasus and the Stans. For the second of those years, instead of working two to eight weeks every day for twelve hours a day before having a week off, I was able to work two weeks and then have one week off. For this week off, I would fly to Bali, Indonesia and live the dream of working in Australia and living in Indonesia. But the isolation and solitude that this sort of work brings became all too much, and as I finish the first of the three books about my travels, I have once again moved on and am now living in the United States.