The Lost Girls RTW Budget: A Look Inside

When it comes to The Lost Girls’ RTW trip, there are definitely certain questions that tend to pop up time and time again from family, friends, fellow travel enthusiasts and, well, pretty much everyone. Are the countries we’re visiting safe? (Statistically most of our destinations are much safer than my hometown city of Washington D.C. Sad, but true!). How did we pack everything for an entire year in one backpack? (Simple! We ditched most of our girlie gear, like high heels and cute clothes, and resigned ourselves to wearing the same 4-5 outfits for 365 days straight!). Do we ever fight? (Only when we’re very hungry!).

But what tends to stoke people’s curiosity, above anything else, is:
“How the heck did we afford to hit the road for so long and how much did we spend?”

As you may have gathered from our previous entries, there’s not much that The Lost Girls aren’t willing to share with our blog readers (Umm, remember that time we described getting ‘samples’ taken at a Kenyan hospital to make sure we didn’t have a parasite? Or admitted to sliding face first in the mud during a trek in Sapa, Vietnam?). So, in keeping with the spirit of honesty, we’re going to let you in on our biggest ‘secret’ of all...(drum roll, please)…“Our trip was probably not as expensive as you’d think!”

Blog Readers: “We’re not convinced”
The Lost Girls: “Seriously! We’re telling the truth”
Blog Readers: “Umm, still not sure we believe you”
The Lost Girls: “Really, we swear on our dirty backpacks that we’re being honest”
Blog Readers: “OK, proof it”
The Lost Girls: “Our pleasure…”

A while back, we actually did post a “How We Paid For Everything” blog (currently on our sidebar), which offered a glimpse into our personal finances and how we secured enough ‘Benjamins’ to take a spin around the entire globe for a year. However, as we near the end of our trip (sniff, sniff!), we feel like it’d be a greater service to you, the readers, if we took this seemingly popular topic a step further and gave you exactly what you probably wanted in the first place – a detailed breakdown of our RTW budget.

As the designated Lost Girls’ math geek (Holly and Amanda make fun of all my Excel spreadsheets, but I know there really just jealous! :)), I actually got a bit of an adrenaline rush from crunching our travel data and compiling the below statistics (thanks LG fans for giving me an excuse to do all this!). So grab a comfy seat and a bowl of popcorn and get ready to be dazzled as we reveal our down and dirty figures for everything from visas, flights, vaccines and gear to food, entertainment, intra-country transport and accommodations. For your reading pleasure, I’ve also included a few behind-the-scenes secrets as well as bonus features (can you tell that I’m a film geek too?) like: Savvy Savings Tips and A Week at Disney World vs. A Week in the Life of a Lost Girl

Now, sit back, relax and enjoy the show!!

- - - Jen

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“The Lost Girls’ RTW Budget”
Presented by: www.lostgirlsworld.com

Made possible in part by: Jen, Holly and Amanda’s credit card receipts, bank statements and uncanny ability to blow through cash

Production Notes: Since the below budget is unique to our RTW adventure – one that covered four continents/a dozen + countries and spanned an entire year – we understand that certain sections aren’t relevant to all travelers. However, it is our sincere hope that spilling our (bank accounts’) guts and divulging all of our spending habits (the good, the bad and the ugly!) will inspire other travelers to crack open their piggy banks, pack their bags and finally take that one special trip they’d only ever dreamed about - - until now!

Act 1: Showin’ You The Money!

Although we try to keep track of every dollar that floats out of our money belts, the girls and I do occasionally misplace a bill or forget a few figures. I mean, if we claim to be lost ourselves, we certainly can’t be expected to find all of our receipts! So that said, the following figures are average, estimated costs per person for our entire RTW trip:

Flights: $5000
Travel Gear: $500
Visas: $375
Vaccines: $450
Accommodations: $2786
Meals and Snacks: $3803
Intra-Country Transportation: $1490
Entertainment & Extras: $2872
Miscellaneous: $715

And the moment you’ve all been waiting for…

The Grand Total:
$17,991 per person

Whether this amount seems shockingly low, pretty reasonable or absolutely exorbitant, really depends on who you ask. Hey, on any given day, even our answers could change a thousand times. But even though we occasionally freak out about how much we’ve spent or the fact that we’re now broke and unemployed, there’s one thing that Holly, Amanda and I know for sure…
We managed to take a year-long trip around the world with our best girlfriends for about the same price as our rent in NYC!

Blog Readers: “But still, you’re not suffering at all from buyer’s remorse??”
The Lost Girls: “Oh God, no. Nothing like that!” – Sorry, can’t help it. When a Clueless line calls, an LG answers.
Blog Readers: “Umm. OK. So I guess you wouldn’t take the trip back, huh?”
The Lost Girls: “Not for all the money in the world!”

THE END!

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Just Kidding! There’s still more exciting stuff to come. Much, much more! I’ve painstakingly analyzed our spending categories and broken each one down in great detail – covering everything from the price of pumping vaccines into our bodies and stuffing our backpacks full of supplies, to the cost of food, clothing and shelter by country and the unexpected extras that infiltrated our bank accounts and threatened to deplete them.

So, if you’re just dying to know exactly what we spent our money on, are planning a trip of your own or love facts and figures as much as I do (hell, even if you’re just bored at work), stay tuned for Act 2 of my budget blog which will be delivered over the next week in separate installments.

Coming Soon!
Act 2: A Categorical Breakdown
Scene 1: Flights, Travel Gear, Visas, Vaccines and Accommodations

Finding our Mojo

ADP: Even before Jen, Holly and I had set foot on Australian soil, we figured we had a pretty solid grasp on life "Down Under." Thanks to some quality American television shows, classic 80s movies and even a few cool advertising campaigns, we'd already gleaned several critical bits of information and pop culture knowledge sure to help us fit in with the locals once we reached the land of Oz. For example:

1. When Aussies really want to tie one on, they tap a keg of Fosters (hey, its Australian for beer, right?)
2. When Aussies get hungry, they throw a shrimp on the barbie and fry up a bloomin’ onion.
3. When Aussies want to play with their pets, they head out back and wrestle the family crocodile, Dundee-style.
4. When Aussies need to head to town, they saddle up their pet kangaroo and get hopping (it’s a long way from the Outback into Sydney).
5. When Aussies want to take advantage of the incredible waves crashing right on their doorstep, they slap on a pair of board shorts and go surfing.

Color us sunburned and call us tourists...as we quickly learned from our Sydney-based hostess Simone, these stereotypes are patently untrue! Well, all except for that last one. From Bondi to Byron Bay--and, indeed, along 34,000+ kilometers of Australian coastline--you'll find no shortage of local surfie chicks and dudes who absolutely live to catch waves. And, as luck would have it, no shortage of instructors willing to explain how to get up on a "stick" and "shoot a curl" all the way back to the beach.

Having watched watched Point Break so many times that we could literally embody the soul and spirit of Johnny Utah ("Can't I just walk with this board under my arm and look stoned?") and his guru pal Bodhi ("If you want the ultimate rush, you've gotta be willing to pay the ultimate price"), Jen and I were dying hit the surf.

Holly, who'd already learned how to "shred" in Costa Rica the previous year, was just as pumped to continue her education and told us about a school she'd heard of called Mojo Surf, which offered organized surf camps just a few hours north of Sydney. Since Hol's little sister Kate would be arriving from Syracuse the following week, we figured a little road-trip was in order and booked a three-day, two-night adventure at a secluded coastal area known only as "Secret Spot X."

Well, in the end, the "short little drive" actually took us about eight hours (stereotype alert: Like Texans, Aussie's are notoriously bad about estimating distances), and we had to find this top-secret beach in a cloak of darkness. Waking with the sun the next morning (not voluntarily, of course), we realized that our long drive had been well worth the trouble. Secret Spot X lived up to its name--we were perched along the far end of a wide crescent of sand that curved around the rugged coast for miles. Squinting into the distance, I couldn't spot a single resort, trendy cafe, sandwich shop or souvenir stand. Only sand, sun and perfectly breaking waves.

If there was better place to learn to surf, I couldn't imagine it.

The first part of our lesson took part on dry land, where we met with our quirky-but-kinda-hot instructor Dan and learned a little terminology (rails = the side of the surfboard), a little theory (waves are caused by squalls that form way out at sea) and a few random rules (if you pee in your wetsuit, you'll be forced to streak naked through the camp). Mental note: "wettie warmers" are only okay in scuba diving, not surfing!

Working together to lift the heavy, ultra-long beginner boards (made of a sturdy foam rather than hard fiberglass), the five students in our little class marched down to the beach and got a thorough lesson in getting up on the board....a procedure that I noted was a bit different from what Tyler had taught Johnny Utah in Point Break. Trying to keep an open mind, I listened to Dan's instructions as we repeated the drill over and over again. Finally, he deemed our little group ready to hit the waves.



I'd love to tell you how the other ladies looked when they succeeding in riding their first wave, but I must admit I was totally, completely consumed with catching my own. After paddling out past the break, I turned the board around towards the shore and looked behind me to spot a wave that would be big enough to provide some forward momentum (but not so big that I'd get clobbered!). After several failed attempts to stand up, I managed to get the hang of the momentum. Paddling hard just in front of a two-foot swell, I felt the board rise up beneath me...time to move! I slowly brought my right foot up into a lunge and carefully (don't fall!) brought brought the othe foot up to meet it, shifting into a bent-kneed, arms-out, crouching-tiger-hidden-dragon kind of position.

Hey, wait...I'm surfing!

I think I was so surprised by this realization that I actually jumped off the board, but something had clicked into place. Catching the next wave was a lot easier, and by the end of day two, I'd figured out how to ride those puppies for five and six seconds at a time. Who's the surf diva now, Cameron Diaz?!

Turning in our boards for the night (and hanging up our pristine, non-peed-in wetsuits to dry), we got changed and prepared for the other great joy of (surf) camping--beers and a bonfire! Here's a few more shots from our days at surf camp...

Lost Boy de Jour: Justin "Bugsy" Sailor

Several weeks ago, The Lost Girls got a shout-out email from one of our favorite blog crushes...Justin "Bugsy" Sailor, the dude who's traveling all over the US to "stay with a different family in each state, documenting hometown life through photography, interviews, and journal writing." So far he's visited big cities, small towns and several blink-and-you'll-miss-'em hamlets, all in an effort to get to know the "real" America and to give a voice to citizens so often overlooked by the mainstream media. Pretty noble quest, no?

Since starting his Hometown Invasion Tour in September 2006, he's posted over 300 blog entries about his intra-country travels and has appeared in just about every small-town newspaper in the States (not to mention some pretty big radio and television news programs).



After reading about his exploits and misadventures on the Hometown Invasion blog, we knew that we had to make Justin our Lost Boy de Jour. Along with this great honor comes great responsiblity....namely to answer any and all questions we had for him. The following is a guest post/interview with Justin...if you have any additional queries for him (even totally inappropriate ones!), just click here to share your thoughts.

-ADP

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Thank you Lost Girls, for having me as a guest blogger, your trip is an inspiration. And for those of you reading, just who am I? In September 2006 I set out on a trip of my own. The plan: road trip to all 50 states (well, fly to two) in a year and stay with people I have never met. In the last 9 months I've visited 36 states, stayed with over 80 hosts (~250 people), driven over 20,000 miles, post 300+ blog entries, and over 1600 photos. It's my honor to share a few experiences to inspire and encourage travel across the globe, wherever you may be.

LGs: Which item that you've packed or picked up along the way could you absolutely not live without? Which items that you've packed have been completely unnecessary?

Justin: Rice, I cannot live without Rice. He's my friend, my companion, and he's #1. Rice is the first squirrel to travel to all 50 states. Not only has he become a great story alone, my mascot, and the subject of many photos, but he has become a connection point with children I meet on my trip especially when talking about my trip to an elementary class. Though there are a few unnecessary items I've packed, mostly too many Rubik's Cubes and too many books that I never have a chance to read. And I've picked up way too many flyers, brochures, and info pamphlets that I will never look at again.

LGs: What was the worst or weirdest meal you've had on the road so far?

Justin: Have you ever heard of "Rocky Mountain oysters"? Let me tell youone thing, it's not an oyster. Do you really want to know what it is, I mean, really? Alright, I'll tell you. It's a bull testicle. If you ever make it to Roseburg, Oregon, stop in at the Anderson Place Market where Rocky Mountain oysters aren't a gross food, they're a delicacy. I know you're curious, and no, it doesn't taste that bad. The texture is a little strange, but you just have to forget what
you're eating.

LGs: Which town will you never, ever return to again, and why? Which city or cities would you move to in a heartbeat, and why?

Justin: There has never been a town I wouldn't return to. I've seen just about every kind of town you can have in this country, and there are a lot! Teenagers will often ask, "Why would you want to come to this town, it's boring?" Well, for every teenager saying that, there is someone else saying, "This town is paradise, these are the nicest people in the world, I wouldn't live anywhere else." And as for boring, my take on it is that boring is a characteristic of movies and people, not of towns. Every town has unique character and as a writer and photographer, I have never seen a town that's not photogenic and that's not full of stories.

LGs: What's one of the wackiest stories of meeting people?

Justin: In San Luis Obispo, California there is a famous hotel called the Madonna Inn. It's pink, all pink, everything is pink, pink, pink! And in this pink hotel there is the world's most famous urinal. It's an elegant waterfall where men can just walk up and do their thing. Both men and women are always walking in and out taking photos of this, even teenage girls walking into the men's restroom there and walk out giggling.

So there I was, next to the urinal taking a photo of this with my big camera around my neck. A tall, lanky, guy walks in. He's dressed very strange and in a deep, slow, smooth, monotonous voice he asks, "Hey, what kind of camera is that?" So we talked cameras. Then he proceeded to tell me that he's a paparazzi photographer. So he invites me to photograph Lindsay Lohan with him in Los Angeles. Sadly, he never did call, but when's the last time someone met a paparazzi photographer at the famous urinal in the Madonna Inn?

Just a few stories of the hundreds form The Hometown Invasion Tour. I hope to hear from you and I wish you happy travels of adventure, excitement, and experience.

Best regards,
Justin
www.hometowninvasion.com

Head for the Hills: Part Two

HCC: Marshmallows + cheap wine + your best girlfriends= recipe for the perfect camping trip. After constructing a kick ass campfire (if we do say so ourselves), we settled into our foldout chairs with the mission of toasting the perfect marshmallow and catching up—since we don’t see each other enough already!

Our girl talk was quickly interrupted by a “bogan,” which is the Aussie equivalent to a “redneck.” (Hey, we’re just sharing the slang we’ve learned from the Aussies themselves). Some dude named Troy materialized out of the darkness. He sported shaggy blond hair, a beer belly and held a “stubby” (bottle of brewskie). Troy announced that he lived in a nearby trailer without electricity and cut wood for a living. Then he kindly invited us to crash with him at his place rather than sleep in our camper van. Negative, Ghost rider!

The Lost Girls tried to bring the topic of conversation into safer territory by talking about the 18 km hike we planned on doing in the national park the following morning. Troy wasn’t as slow as we thought, and quickly found another “in” by offering to come pick us up in the a.m. and drive us to the trailhead. He’d even come get us when we were done with the big trek. Um, as if we’d willingly hop into a truck with a strange man and allow him to bring us to some secluded spot where no one else knows where we are. Though it was a tempting proposition, we had no choice but to turn it down before feigning exhaustion.

The following morning our exhaustion was not an act--we were legitimately wiped out after Jen and I were awoken in terror by Amanda’s blood-curdling screams during the dead of the night. She was having nightmares that an axe-murderer was trying to break into the van in an effort to dismember defenseless foreigners. Good thing we never saw the Australian slasher cult classic “Wolf Creek,” or else we’d all be letting out imaginations run as wild as the Outback.

Here’s a quick clip of us hanging around the campfire pre-Troy invasion. Warning: The girl talk is not all that exciting, but we wanted to show off our pyrotechnic handiwork.



--Holly

Head for the Hills!: Part One

HCC: Since the Lost Girls scored an awesome camper World Nomads camper van, we decided to take it—where else?—camping. Our premiere girlfriends getaway in the Blue Monster (as we affectionately named our new set of wheels) takes place in Barrington Tops National Park. I chose our destination in my usual last-minute fashion by flipping through The Lonely Planet for a quiet wilderness spot that didn’t require days of traveling. This World Heritage site is not actually a hill, but a 1600-meter plateau covered in mossy Antarctic beech forest and vivid green rainforest. The book said it was only about a three-and-a-half hour drive from Sydney. Our mission? To stay at a secluded campsite, test drive the van’s cool features and not crash the vehicle while doing it.

So far, mission accomplished. After going over the river and through the woods (we literally had to drive across ‘fords,’ which are shallow streams of running water) on a windy dirt road, we came across the perfect place to set up camp for the night: The Scooby Doo caravan park. Okay, it’s not really called that, but the random Scooby Doo billboard pointed towards the promised land: A park equipped with hot showers, laundry and (the best part!) a kiosk open until the late-night hour of 8 p.m. Hey, sleeping in the woods still counts as roughing it even if you’ve got access to goodies such as marshmallows and $10 bottles of Riesling. Score!

We love our little home on wheels. It saves us serious cash because we can store food in the fridge and heat up beans and coffee on the stove. And staying at powered sites where we can hook up to electricity costs just nine bucks a person (as opposed to a $28 hostel dorm room), shedding some light so we can read all those novels that have been weighing down our backpacks all year. The seats fold out into a bed big enough to fit all three of us, but there’s also a single bed up top. It may not be the Ritz, but we’re definitely sleeping in style. Check out this quick video for a tour of the Blue Monster. --Holly

Oil Changes: Our Road Trip Near-Miss

ADP: I should probably be more embarrassed to admit this, but during the six years I held both a valid driver’s licences and a working vehicle (affectionately named White Fire, in case you care), I never actually checked, changed or gave more than a passing thought to the oil. I had some vague awareness that a dipstick was involved and my engine could potentially explode if I ran low on the stuff, but I always counted on the fact that if anything truly devastating was about to occur, a light on my instrument panel would flash and I could hasten to the nearest service station to rectify the problem.

Fast forward from my teens to circa right now, trade my trusty Chrysler La Baron for the van we scored from World Nomads (our travel insurance company) and switch the location from sprawling suburban America to the pleasant but rather unpopulated stretch of rolling woodland known as Barrington Tops National Park (about four hours Northwest of Sydney).

That’s where Holly, Jen and I were the first time a little red oil lamp on our dash started lighting up, flickering at first, then glowing steadily and rather ominously.

“Um, maybe we really should have been checking the oil and water every day like the book said,” Holly reflected, referring to the small bound pamphlet of instructions we’d been given when we picked up the van at Autobarn a few weeks prior. The guys who’d explained the features of the vehicle had take the time to show us how to lift the seat and check the oil and coolant, and we’d taken it all in as if we were watching a cooking demonstration rather than serious instructions for the care and feeding of our only method of transport.

“Of course not,” I said with conviction, certain that something must be wrong with the light rather than with our oil levels. “In my whole life, I’ve never added oil to the car so we’ll just take care of this after we get back from camping.”

We all fell into a rare silence, contemplating the wisdom of my statement, and proceed deeper into the woods. A few minutes passed as we bumped along and splashed through ford after ford which separated us from primary civilization.

In the end, we decided to risk the consequences (can an engine really blow up if there’s not enough lubricant? what incredibly an incredibly poor design feature) and continue with our planned weekend camping trip.

The gripping narrative detailing our outdoor adventures is still to come, but I’ll fast forward to Monday morning when we coaxed our van out of Barrington Tops and back down the hill toward the Pacific Highway.

Finally rolling into a 7-11 with a few gas pumps out front, we figured out how pop up the passenger’s seat and open the hatch that exposed the inner workings of our engine.

We all stared at the twisted metal guts and waited expectantly for one of us to the lead. When it became apparent that neither Holly nor I were exactly leaping to the task, Jen volunteered to check the oil. As I watched her burning her fingers trying to open up the wrong valve, I gingerly pointed out the dipstick and suggested that she give it a tug instead.

Merging what all three of knew about engine maintenance—which you may have gathered at this point is about nil—we managed to clean the dipstick, lower it again and determine….that we had no idea what we were looking at.

In the end, we ended up enlisting the help of a very kindly Indian man who managed the 7-11 and thankfully, he wasn’t too harsh when he informed us that we’d basically run out of the slick stuff that prevented our car from grinding to halt.

Together, we grabbed a nice bottle of GRX from the back of the store and took turns pouring it into our very thirsty engine. Not a drop was left when we were finished.

All topped off and ready to go, we thanked yet another great Australian who helped save us from almost certain catastrophe and got on the road again.

More soon about the actual camping part of the adventure!

Kangaroo Invasion

HCC: After living in the concrete jungle of New York City, the girls and I have encoutered wild life ranging from rats to cockroaches to drunken men. So when we heard that the hazy Blue Mountains (just 90 minutes outside of Sydney) were home to critters of a different kind—kangaroos—we hopped in the van and hit highway N4 in search of the furry marsupials. Not knowing where to find 'roos on our own, we were lucky enough to have a local firefighter named Adam, whom I'd met on the plane to Sydney, offer to be our tour guide.

Here's a clip of our adventure. It's not exactly "Animal Planet," but we were stoked to get close enough to reach out and touch creatures we'd only ever before seen in National Geographic. Who knows? Maybe we'll even spot a koala on our roadtrip through Oz.



Holly



Photo Credit for 'roos: www.theglobalguy.com

Sydney Harbor Bridge: The Climb of Our Lives!

Jen: It was a beautiful, sunny morning in Sydney and Amanda, Holly and I were spending it in typical fashion - - a teensy bit hung over from the night before and running late, OK really late, for our scheduled activity du jour. Normally, we were happy to adopt the customary Australian “no-worries” philosophy and arrive at our destination whenever we could get there, but today was a different matter all together. As we raced frantically through the Sydney streets, flying off buses, dashing underground and dramatically flinging ourselves through closing train doors, we realized our tardiness could cost us dearly. In T-minus 20 minutes and counting, we were scheduled to experience one of the most notable and amazing adventures that Sydney had to offer – The Harbor Bridge Climb – yet we were at least a half hour away and not exactly sure where we were going (we take our title of Lost Girls very seriously!).

Fortunately for us, we also tend to excel in another “L” category – luck! While sprinting up the stairs of the Wynard station, simultaneously punching numbers on our mobile phone, we were fortunate enough to connect with a bridge climb coordinator and bump our departure time forward an hour. Whew! That was a close one! We grabbed a Starbucks latte to celebrate our small success – and to ease our pounding heads – then made a collective beeline for the harbor to get our climbing party started.

For once, we arrived at our destination ahead of schedule (based on our revised climb time anyway), which gave us a chance to explore the office lobby and chat with the employees about what to expect. After browsing the extensive Wall of Fame – one that housed snapshots of such famous faces as Nicole Kidman, Will Smith, Jodi Foster, Hugh Jackson, the Olson Twins and Brendan Fraser – Holly, Amanda and I were directed to a back room to get suited up for our big ascent. But a funny thing happened on the way to the equipment station. We were “pulled over” by an employee and asked to submit to a breathalyzer test to make sure we weren’t planning to climb under the influence. Uh Oh! Would last night’s cocktails come back to haunt us or had we burned them all off on our race to get here? Luckily, we registered 0.0% (anything under 0.05% is passing) and were approved to proceed. Whew! Another close one! OK, on to our fittings.

It didn’t take us long to deduce that when it comes to gear, the bridge climb folks aren’t messin’ around! After slipping into a sexy one-piece jumpsuit that any self respecting Trekkie would travel light years to get their split-fingered hands on, we were issued a fuzzy fleece for cold and windy conditions, a baseball cap to keep the harbor sun out of our eyes, a cord to keep our sunglasses from blowing off the bridge and even a handkerchief to tuck into our sleeves for, well, you know! We politely refused the thick gray scrunchies provided to keep our hair back, cause, hey, even donned in space suits, a Lost Girl’s gotta draw the line somewhere! After a quick equipment check and safety review with our guide, Mike, we made our way outside, down the sidewalk, past snickering tourists to the base of the bridge and took our first of many steps leading us closer to Sydney’s powder blue sky.

Rather than take the traditional route, the girls and I decided to give the newer and apparently more adventurous Discovery Climb a shot. Instead of journeying over the top of the bridge to the summit, we were going to cut straight through the heart of the structure, winding through mazes of metal, across suspended catwalks and snaking over massive steel beams punctured with rivets before emerging at the top. Now when the girls and I first heard about the bridge climb, we envisioned ourselves dangling precariously over the water, lashed to the bridge with carabineers and forced to scale the walls like Spiderman. Needless to say, we were dramatizing the situation just a teeny bit, as so far, the seemingly death-defying act of climbing the bridge was more like a gentle stroll.


Secured to the side with a special harness linked to a static line, we walked gracefully up a series of iron planks and staircases as our guide enlightened us with a detailed history of the bridge and prominent Sydney sites. We took in the passing cars and crowds of tourist below, while getting a sneak peak at some of the surrounding landmarks like the Opera House, Darling Harbor, Manley Ferry, Luna Park and John Howard’s house (our guide insisted he knew which one it was). And while the climb was an exciting experience in and of itself, the real reward came at the top. As our heads popped up from beneath the center of the bridge, we couldn’t help but marvel at the spectacular bird’s eye view we had of the glistening harbor and vast cityscape that stretched endlessly below. We took our time navigating the steal summit, posing for the guide’s camera as he snapped dozens of photos of us at every turn and prominent look out point. As we noticed more groups rising above the beams behind us, we realized our time was up, so we slowly began to make our way back down to the base.

A mere 3 ½ hours, dozens of staircases and thousands of steps later, our feet finally hit solid ground. Happy, exhilarated and only a tad wind blown, we headed to the office to take a look at our photos and get the skinny from the staff on where to go for a celebratory beer in the neighborhood (They suggested we hit The Australian for a frosty Victoria Bitters and deep dish pizza topped with kangaroo, crocodile or emu). So, was the Harbor Bridge Climb all we expected and more, you ask? I mean, should scrunchies have remained in the 80s? Of course! Not only did we get to experience one of Sydney’s most signature events, we had dozens of pictures showcasing The Lost Girls’ silliest grins to show for it. Bridge Climb Wall of Fame here we come! And in a nod to the company’s tagline, which I borrowed for this blog title, like Baby and Johnny, we did in fact, have the time (and climb) of our lives!

Oh, yeah, we went there! And there’s much more cheesiness, fun times and sheer craziness where that came from. Stay tuned for tales from our upcoming adventures in Hunter Valley!

You Asked, We Answered! Lost Girl Q & A

Over the past few months, our fellow backpackers have sent us a ton of questions concerning all aspects of backpacking, vagabonding and round-the-world travel (as if we know more than the next Lost Girl!). Well, we're hardly experts but we figured that it might help to start responding to these great reader queries right here on the blog. This new section is meant to encourage group discussion, not provide hard and fast answers...feel free to tell us we're right, on the right track or on the wrong planet entirely (but don't forget to make a few suggestions of your own!)--TLG

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Q. My girlfriend and I are in the planning throes of a year-long trip to South America and I've just started to worry about the technical aspects...mostly to do with the laptop we'll need and how durable it has to be. Do you suggest we get aToughbook, or would a regular laptop with a good case have cut it? --Degan Beley

A: We actually brought two laptops on the road--a five-year old Mac iBook and the Panasonic Toughbook PC. Both computers held up really well, but towards the end, became SO stuffed with media files that they slowed down significantly. If you're shopping around for a new computer, don't settle for one with less than a 100 gigs of memory and an ultra fast processor speed. Nothing's more frustrating than getting the hourglass (PC) or the "pinwheel of death" (Mac) when you're trying to upload photos and type a blog entry at the same time!

The greatest benefit of the Toughbook is its extremely light and slim--at 2.2 pounds, people pick it up and are amazed that it barely weighs everything! Since every single ounce counts when you're on the road, you may want to go with a newer, lighter PC rather than taking your old standby.

As far as durability, we think you'd be fine taking along any light laptop loaded up with ton of memory (80 gigs minimum!) and keeping yourelectonics safe from scatches and bumps with a neoprene laptop sleeve. Companies such as Body Glove and Case Logic make them in basic colors, but you can find ones in funky designs...we love this striped one from Built NY.

No matter what, be sure to lock up you computer and the rest of your electronics with a PacSafe whenever they're out of your sight. The smaller and lighter the compuer, the more motivated you'll be to take it with you!--The Lost Girls

Have a burning backpacker question? Need an opinion on wardrobe choice? Want to share your own travel tips? Send queries and comments to lostgirlsworld@gmail.com.

Which Way is the Beach?

HCC: A Lost Girl’s favorite way to see a new place is on foot, so the famous Coastal Walk from Bondi to Bronte Beach was just our speed. After reading about the five-kilometer, two-hour trail in our trusty Lonely Planet, we laced up our sneakers and set out to take a hike.

The rocky bluffs, gemstone-blue waves and Aboriginal rock engravings created a colorful backdrop to the well-marked path winding around the ocean. Other spectacular scenery encompassed bathing beauties and bronzed surfers dotting the landscape. Sprinkle in plenty of cafes to refuel in along the way, and you’ve got a recipe for the perfect walking tour.

The ladies and I started in the north by the Bondi Golf Course. Since our putting technique is not up to par, we preferred to admire the Aboriginal rock engravings. Turning left onto Ramsgate Ave, we found ourselves on Bondi Beach. Families were relaxing on grassy patches with picnic lunches and runners were doing laps on the sand. I was sweating just watching them.

To the right, there was a crowd of surfers bobbing up and down as they waited for the next big wave. I went to surf school in Costa Rica about a year ago, and got hooked on the adrenaline rush that catching the perfect swell and riding it all the way into shore triggers. Watching the surfers in the zone made me miss this feeling that’s somewhere between floating and flying so much that I vowed to sign up for a few more surf lessons. After all, when I am going to live just minutes away from the beach again?

At the edge of Bondi Beach were the baths, where a pool was carved right into the rocks. Filled with saltwater, it allows swimmers to do laps without the danger of getting caught in a riptide. We climbed the steep stairs past Bondi Icebergs, a trendy restaurant and bar with hanging chairs, cozy couches and, of course, a breathtaking view. Note to self: Head here for happy hour.

I was seriously craving a cocktail until I forgot all about it after seeing the view around the bend at Tamarama Beach. Plunging rocks and crashing waves faced us while the wind whipped our hair as we climbed down the stairs and past a Technicolor mural entitled “Wonderland.” Apparently, this beach used to be some kind of amusement park back in 1877—complete with roller coasters, tight-rope walkers and even a lone penguin. I told Amanda and Jen that they’d be fit for the circus if it was still happening, but they didn’t find the joke as funny as me for some reason.

Around the corner we found (you guessed it!) another beautiful beach known as Bronte. The area’s even got it’s own freshwater creek and another set of baths for swimmers who prefer to be protected from strong ocean currents. It was time for a cup of joe, so we grabbed a latte from a little café to tide us over for the rest of the hike. Now that we had our caffeine fix, we decided to extend the walk and find out what was around the bend.

The next turn in the road led not to another beach, but to a cemetery. Set on a high cliff, an enormous graveyard overlooked the ocean. It felt creepy to me to walk by Waverly Cemetery and examine the sun-bleached, weathered gravestones. Some dated as far back as the 1800s and were impossible to read, while we spied others freshly carved from the 1990s. Jen, on the other hand, finds cemeteries interesting because she likes to read the stories on the grave markers and be in a place where people are remembering loved ones. I guess reading about others’ deaths is a fast way to bring you down to earth.

We made our descent to our final destination, Coogee Beach. It was less crowded than Bondi and had lots of little restaurants and grassy patches lining the sand to give it a laid-back air. At the southern tip were Wylie’s Baths, where the bargain price of about $3 scores you the chance to cool off with a dip after your scenic walk. If only for a day, our scenic walk made us perfectly content to be beach bums.

All About the Anzac

ADP: The first time I'd heard the word "Anzac," it was used to describe a delicious, chewy cookie made from rolled oats, granulated sugar and shredded coconut. So, imagine my delight when I arrived in Sydney and learned that Australians have an entire holiday dedicated to Anzac, celebrated annually on April 25th. On every signpost from Bondi to the Harbor, the girls and I spotted posters announcing Anzac Day parades, demonstrations and events, and it appeared that the whole city was getting ready to shut down in order to celebrate.

I was incredibly psyched for the upcoming baked goods bonanza until I learned that ANZAC Day actually marks the anniversary of the first major military action fought by Australian and New Zealand forces during the First World War. It seemed that this holiday was the local version of Memorial Day, except that the parties are bigger and the drinking games far more lively!

Swept up by the excitement, we decided to join the millions of Aussies heading out to celebrate the might of their great nation--and a Wednesday off from work!--with Victoria Bitters and several rounds of "two-up," a dice game that so addictive that play is only permitted on Anzac Day.

We got to our watering hole of choice--The Beach Road Hotel--just after lunchtime so we could learn the rules of two-up before the place got too packed. Holly and I stationed ourselves around the edges of the game, which was already in screaming progress, and asked the guys around us to explain the rules. Fortunately, they seemed all too happy to help us get involved!

We watched as a player in the middle of a massive circle held a short paddle loaded up with three coins, all marked "X" on one side to indicate "tails." All around him, people waved their cash, shouting "2o on heads! 50 on heads!" hoping to find another spectator willing to bet the same amount on tails. Everyone cheered at the player in the middle flipped the paddle, trying to flip the coins high enough to constitute a good roll, but not so high that they hit the roof. Once the coins dropped to the floor, the spectators would either cheer or groan--at least two had to go their way, head or tails, to incidate a win. The player in the middle had to roll heads three times in a row in order to take home a large pot of cash--no easy feat!

Four hours, fifty bets and a few cocktails later, Hol and I were on a roll, screaming like crazy--losing our voices, but winning big.

Five hours, ten more bets and a few bottles of cheap beer later, we'd somehow lost all of our cash but made a zillion new Australian friends! Rather than try to explain the mayhem, I'm posting this clip from our Anzac Day Madness. Are we having fun yet??

Soaking Up Sydney

ADP: When the weather gods deliver a day as brilliant as the one we recently had in Sydney--the last major city on our RTW route--it would be foolish not to spring out of bed and make the most of it.

Well, the Lost Girls don’t exactly “spring,” but we did manage to zip out the door by 10:00 am to grab a long black at Speedos Café in Bondi Beach. The place was packed to the rafters with sun-worships clad in sundresses, board shorts and bikinis, and we were slightly scandalized to see less spandex covering up the guy’s bottoms than the women’s. We were also shocked to note that the lithe and gloriously toned chicks wandering down the street were housing huge portions of French fries (or “chips” or “wedges” depending on where you’re from), yet they all looked like finalists from Australia’s Next Top Model. Mental note to the LGs: Sign up for surfing lessons immediately and go running daily to neutralize calories from beer, cocktails and wine consumed nightly!

After breakfast, it was time to hit the beach.

Maybe it was our ultra-pale skin, loud American accents or unabashed gawking, but we somehow managed to attract the attention of two massive lifeguards who were naked save four inches of navy fabric stretched across their important parts. Distracted by eight-pack abs and shoulders as wide as a Texas linebacker, I totally forget what their first words were. I recovered quickly enough to ask about “Backpacker’s Rip”….something that I’d heard about while watching my first episode of Bondi Rescue. They pointed in the direction of a group of surfers paddling against the current and told us that on a busy day, they might have up to 100 "saves." No surprise to learn that the vast majority of people pulled from the water are tourists! I did find it intriguing, though, that rescuers are revered as highly in Australia as our own US fire fighters. In Sydney alone there are four Life Saving clubs, all founded in the early 1900s, dedicated to tremendous efforts of the men and women who jump in the water to save the flailing masses.

With the noontime sun beating down overhead (and no sunscreen in our bags), we decided to jump in our borrowed World Nomads Ambassador Van and head into the city. I'd first become aware of Sydney's iconic sites during my first job with NBC Sports in August 2000. My first assignment with the department had been to help assist with the Sydney Summer Olympics (rearranging the order of advertiser’s spots) and I probably watched 99.9 percent of the broadcast—including those incredible shots filmed of the Harbor Bridge, the Opera House and Circular Quay.

So, when I jumped out of the van and saw those images in living color for the first time, I got a teeny bit emotional. It suddenly hit me how far the girls and I had come since starting our journey last summer, and that we'd actually managed to reach our final destination in one piece!

We spent the rest of the day checking out area at The Rocks, one of Sydney's oldest and most historic districts, and polished off the downtown experience with a glass of champagne at the Opera Bar. Sure, a single flute set us back as much as our whole day's budget in Laos, but a priceless purchase nonetheless!