A Pause in Semaphore
Finding Calm Before the Next Chapter
After dropping Janne off in Adelaide’s city center, I decided to drift a little further. I parked up in Semaphore, a coastal suburb known for its relaxed vibe, and allowed myself a few days of doing absolutely nothing. I walked the beach, wandered around the village, sat at small cafés, and let my thoughts slow down. My savings were low, but my lifestyle now was cheap—sleeping in my van, cooking my own meals, and moving just enough to not burn a hole in my fuel tank. For a brief moment, I savored this calm before plunging into the next challenge: finding a job.
I knew I needed a position that qualified for my 88 days of rural work—an essential step if I wanted to stay in Australia another year. So I tried the obvious routes: refreshing Facebook job groups, scrolling Seek and backpacker boards, firing off digital applications. On the first day, I dove in headfirst, sending out CVs like signals into the void. But the sheer volume of other job-seekers made it feel futile. After half a day, I realized I should limit myself—just an hour or so each morning—then let it go. Stressing endlessly wouldn’t help. I had my van, I had time, and I had simple needs.
My journal from that time was sparse, mostly reinforcing the plan:
“5-10 online applications each day.”
“Trust, go inside.”
“If all else fails, maybe I’ll head to farms in person.”
Meanwhile, I struck up a friendly rapport with the owners of a small café where I camped out most mornings. They’d chat while I sipped coffee, and when I finally got a lead on an apricot farm job, they cheered me on and even gave me a parting gift—a batch of homemade date-peanut bars I still remember as some of the best healthy snacks I’ve ever tasted.
The apricot job sounded promising but short-term. Still, it was a start. I packed up and left Semaphore, feeling relieved and grateful for the kindness I’d found there. On my final evening in town, I’d met another solo traveler at a park bench—she’d driven all the way from Alice Springs and was heading to Tasmania next. We compared notes, swapped encouragement, and she pulled out a deck of animal “oracle” cards. I drew the buffalo: grounded yet heavenly, practical yet spiritual. Given my ongoing struggle to balance direction and intuition—head and heart—it felt like a fitting symbol.
I followed the river eastward to Murray Bridge, where I’d be working on the apricot farm in a place called Mypolonga. I showed up a day early, nervous and excited. While idling in my van on a quiet street, a car pulled up beside me. The driver, a local woman, rolled down her window and asked if I was the delivery driver. I shook my head, explained I was just a traveler passing through. She noticed I didn’t know anyone in the area and, to my surprise, invited me to dinner later that week. She even suggested I could park in front of her practice for the night. Her name was Carol.
I remember thinking, “This is too kind—can this be real?” But I took a leap of faith. We swapped numbers, and I settled in, amazed at how things unfold when you stay open. I didn’t know then that Carol would become my host and a key figure in the next phase of my journey, anchoring me through the 88-day work challenge ahead.
Looking back, this lull in Semaphore and the uncertain job search in Adelaide were steps along the path. I learned that job-hunting, like everything else on the road, can’t be forced. Sometimes you apply, you wait, you trust—and a stranger pulls up, mistakes you for a delivery driver, and before you know it, you’ve found exactly what you need, just around the next bend.