A man who has got a plan. Find a great hole-up in your home country, by up a small backpackers, make it popular, find a manager to run the place and spend your life on the road on the proceeds.
10 years and many grey hairs later and Tim still isn’t there yet. Every time he leaves the place for short breaks, he complains that the system is all fucked and it does not survive economically in his absence. He gets excited with group bookings, parties, people spending a lot on food and booze, “legendary” parties, but most importantly his regular poker nights. BBQ nights are frequent, African drummers arranged and Graham is sometimes begged to “perform” his passion of fire-juggling. It can be pretty tribal on the Wild Coast.
Now with kiddies around, there are a mix of other kids, both permanent, regular returnees and passers-by with names like Ki, Dune and Tatiana – a new hippy generation is born.
Tim takes a shine to me immediately as he gets few independent backpackers that make it here without their own transport, tells me to make myself at home, buys me a red wine and we chat.
Close to three weeks later and i have been told that I am now “part of the furniture”. I don’t spend money on food, booze, parties or poker nights, but Tim remains the perfect host. I really hope he gets to “live the dream”. Meanwhile Tim rushes around, looking for the next buck, fixing gas leaks and mending the communal sink, whilst his partner Annie runs daily yoga classes, expecting another child, and generally pretty chilled.