The East Coast of Tasmania is full of quiet ‘retreats’ – places to hide away from life, to get married on a beach, to escape one’s hordes of admirers in the endless bays of white sand and emerald seas.

So I also retreated into the Freycinet Peninsula: three days of total loneliness walking through snake-ridden bush and across deserted beaches of paradise. It was hot and there wasn’t a cloud in sight the first few days. The water was clear as glass, so transparent you could almost miss the waves until they knocked you under. In the calmer beaches, alone with the seagulls and oystercatchers, swimming became a kind of floating, drifting over ripples of white sand.

The first camping spot had posters up about disease-carrying mosquitoes, which made me somewhat concerned about the 30 bites on my left leg and massive swellings on my arms. Not much I could do though.

Just before sunset sunset I walked down to the southernmost beach and saw a few boats bobbing around. These beaches were clearly the preserve of filthy hikers and the filthy rich.

The following day was a 6 hour walk across the peninsula. It was hot and agonising, and my suncream dribbled down in dirty smears all day. The shade disappeared and the path turned into steep boulder scrambling. At the top of Mount Graham all I could do was lie with my back arched over a rock trying to breathe. On the way down I waited for a snake to pass (all you need to know here is that all snakes look the same, they’re all poisonous, and they all have the same antidote), and finally caught a glimpse of Wineglass Bay, the picture postcard shot of Tasmania – a perfectly curved beach enclosed by forested hills. I ran down (until I fell over), then at last dove into the water and floated fully clothed.

However… there was no drinking water. It was the first time I’ve ever had to worry about water: I only had a litre left to last the next day’s walk back up the hill. Following a coffee-coloured stagnant creek until I found a hint of running water, I boiled some for soup. A few plops of rain began so I left out my saucepan to catch some rainwater, but it was bone dry in the morning. I dreamed of streams and babbling brooks.

In the end it was alright, despite waking up with a throbbing ankle which was neither the colour nor shape it should be. I had the bay to myself and swam  in the crystal water until I was so cold there would be no chance of me sweating.

Back at the car park I started hitchhiking. The first lift I got was from a Chinese family in a people carrier. As I crammed myself in, I realised I was bleeding onto everything I touched and so surreptitiously began sucking my thumb. But when we got to the visitor centre my door wouldn’t open: my bag’s buckle strap was caught in the door. We all tried heaving and pushing and pulling but it wouldn’t budge. Eventually, after much collective heaving and huffing, we managed to free my bag and inspect the bent metal of their hire car. They were extremely kind and said it wasn’t a problem, but I walked away extremely embarrassed. A brilliant start.

Recounting this story to some fellow walkers got me my next lift, and then I was picked up by a motorcycle enthusiast in a ute, driving to manage his 24 holiday houses. First item lost: suncream.

The next lift was from a car of English pensioners from east London… We exchanged travel stories of Kyrgyzstan and the Trans-Siberian, and they tried to find me a career path. Our ways parted on a cliffhanger ending in my journey from Russia to Mongolia. I then got a bizarre lift in a completely silent car with two other hitchers. Passing the time blackberrying, I was then picked up by a seasoned, ex-hippy sort of traveller who was very concerned about my lack of suncream and made sure I bought some more. My final lift of the day came from a mother and daughter who not only drove out of their way to take me to the nicest campsite, but drove me around ‘the village’ until I’d found a spot. Second item lost: my big water bottle. Another night of semi-dehydration.

The Bay of Fires had even more beautiful beaches, with massive bright orange rocks. It took an hour’s walk to find a swimming spot, past another snake, but the people from whom I asked for directions lent me their snorkelling gear so I had a fabulous time looking at strange seaweed and shells – though I didn’t see a single fish!! It was horrible returning to dry land and felt all wrong.

It was easy and effortless travelling – perfect.