Balinese Dance

Note: I have intermittent, slow internet access here in Ubud, so I’m not sure when I’ll be able to upload pictures to an album. I’ll make sure to note when I do, though!

• Tuesday, 21 Mar: Lazy morning, sudden rain, then sunshine; called a taxi (taksi here) and went to the Bali Museum; went with a guide who overcharged me and tried hard to get me to buy many things; saw museum and next door temple, Pura Agung Jagatnata; then meandered around until I found Pasar Badung; there a lady first asked if I wanted to buy spices from her aunt, then guided me to a lunch booth, hung out, asked me for a tip; huge market!; wandered back to museum area and caught a ride back to Dwi’s; took a nap, relaxed; out with Dwi and friends for dinner and motoring around town, stopping at McDonald’s and Starbucks.
• Wednesday, 22 Mar: Took taksi to Kuta bombing memorial; walked around Kuta, found a quiet lunch place with grilled calamari; topped up phone credit; went to Kuta Beach and walked north to get to Double 6, recommended by Dwi; ended up far north of that, paid for a chair and umbrella, pedicure with flowers and foot scrub; relaxed and internetted for a few hours; caught a taksi to Dwi’s, then we drove back to Kuta to hang out a cool lounge, Aganata (?), which looks out over the beach; had two martinis; then went for dinner at a satay place Dwi likes; then met her friends for karaoke at Discovery Mall.
• Thursday, 23 Mar: Packed, repacked, then met Wayan, my driver to Ubud, out front of Dwi’s apartment; Wayan was recommended by my uncle; on the way to Ubud, we stopped at a batik center (bought one small thing), a silver shop and a wood carving shop belonging to Wayan’s uncle; in Ubud, settled into accommodations fairly luxurious, but no A/C; wandered around on foot; went to see Kecak dance in the evening after going to cheap dinner place.

“Chacka chacka chacka chacka…”

Over fifty men of varying ages but same costume – checkered sari around the waist, red flower behind one ear – chant in rhythm, producing an a capella style of music. They do this, with some variations and accompanying upper body movements, for forty-five minutes straight. They are seated in concentric circles around a pillar that is lit in various places, flames swinging back and forth with the wind, or perhaps with the breath of the men who chant. At times their voices create an echo effect, at others it sounds like a single voice with a thousand nuances and tones. Inside the innermost circle of men, there is a small space where the dancers come to tell the story of Ramayana, a favorite and central one to the Hindu religion.

This is the Kecak fire dance, a Balinese style dance which confounds, amazes and delights, or at least it does me. The chanting keeps the pace of the story, and heightens the drama or quiets the scene for the dancers, but the circles of men are not just a chorus or an orchestra: they are the ebb and flow of the storytelling. The dancers are two or three women and their arms display more angles than I imagine possible. Their dance consists of flatfooted yet fluid movement inside that innermost circle, passive expressions on their faces for the most part, and movements of the arms that make you wonder how many extra joints they have. In fact, they have been trained since a young age to be able to make extreme angles with fingers, wrist, elbow and shoulders. They’re not contortionists, but it’s nothing I can do with my arms. The dancers portray both male and female characters as far as I can tell, some with their hair bound up and others wearing it down. Their costumes are gorgeous, with torsos tightly wrapped with gold-trimmed cloth, bright blue or red sari’s covering them from the waist down. Elaborate head dress, sparkling in the flames and casting strange shadows, adorn all of them.

In addition to the dancers, there are characters who are heavily costumed, some with masks or with faces posed to look like masks. Some have bells and jingles that they keep ringing with heavy stomps and jumps that somehow seem fluid and blend perfectly with the sound of the chanting circle of men and arms-akimbo dancers. Battles are depicted with characters shaking dried palm leaves over the chanters, who continue their vocal music while at the same time performing upper body movements that would exhaust me to keep up for the length of time they went. Shoulders shaking, arms and fingers undulating, at times laying back and other times swaying side to side, it’s a living, liquid and haunting chorus.

The Ramayana is a story of that perpetual battle between good and evil and there is drama in all the aspects of the show. It is night time and the audience is fairly small. We are outdoors, in the courtyard of a temple. The stone statues and impressive mask features of the surrounding buildings adds to the ambiance. Some of the audience leans forward, some frown, and others just soak it in. A few people glance in confusion at their program, which outlines the story’s parts. Local children, who at the end of the show will rush in to blow out the flames on the central pillar, alternately fidget, stare and eye the audience.

And all the time, the dancers and costumed characters move, stomp and grunt along with the fifty seated men chanting around them.

“Chacka chacka chacka chacka…aaaaah.”

--Z

A Return to the Unfamiliar

Note: When I find a decent connection, I will be adding pictures from Coolangatta and Cairns to the “Australia: Up the East Coast” album; I will also create two new albums, “Australia: Darwin Adventures” and “Indonesia: Three Weeks in Bali.” Captions forthcoming…

• Saturday, 19 March: Wandered around Darwin, walking around and viewing historical buildings, pedestrian pathways and the waterfront; nice Indian lunch at the waterfront; wandered back to Chilli’s backpackers and booked a trip to Litchfield National Park on Sunday, $120; helped roommate dye her hair; internetted; got a new used book to read; kebab from next door for dinner with lime and bitters soda.
• Sunday, 20 March: Up very early for tour bus and breakfast; first part of tour after a long drive was a boat cruise up the Adelaide River to see the jumping crocodiles and whistling kites; another bit of driving and then we were in Litchfield, viewing the termite mounds and spear grasses; magnetic termine mounds were cool and strange; we reached first waterfalls amidst lots of rain; I swam in second falls, which was exhausting but awesome, warm water; final swimming hole was flooded too much to swim, but very pretty; finally, watched sunset over champagne and prawns and crackers and cheese; went out afterwards with Philippino girls; checked out, took 11pm shuttle to the airport, napped at airport until flight left at 4:45am.
• Monday, 21 March: Arrived Bali 30 min early; caught taxi to Dwi’s before she left for work; napped, walked around, napped again, walked around again; bought an umbrella, a SIM card and baby powder; went out to dinner with Dwi to a seafood place on the beach: fabulous and cheap!

 

Today I arrived in Denpasar, Bali, Indonesia. It was not a bad flight, although the timing of it was awful: 4:45am and I could choose between two shuttles to the airport: 11pm or 2:30am. The latter seemed to be cutting things a bit close, plus Darwin was not a hopping place on a Sunday night, so I took the 11pm shuttle and hung out at the airport. This was not, as you may suspect, and exciting time. I managed to snooze a bit here and there, checked in and got my ticket, then snoozed a bit more. By the time the plane boarded, I was exhausted and blinking furiously in the airport glow of fluorescent lighting.

Two hours later, I was in Bali, almost half an hour ahead of schedule. The adventures began: for a Visa on Arrival, I had to pay $25 USD, which I didn’t have, or $27 AUD, which is odd because the Australian dollar is stronger than the US dollar. Also, I only had $25 AUD in paper money and they didn’t accept coins for the additional $2. This put me in an awkward position and I ended up giving a grumpy immigration officer my passport while I wandered beyond the immigration booths to find a working ATM. Luckily, there was another guy wandering about doing the same thing, so together we figured things out. Eventually, I paid for the visa and got through immigration and customs fairly easily.

This put me outside the airport in the wall of humidity already coalescing at 6am. I had been instructed by my Couchsurfing hostess, along with some travelers I’d met during a tour of Litchfield Park the previous day, not to buy anything at the airport: SIM card for my phone, taxi ride, etc. Apparently the overcharging and tourist-abuse is fairly severe. So I walked around until I found a Starbucks my hostess had mentioned, then caught a Bali Taxi (they’re bright blue) to Dwi’s place.

Dwi, pronounced, as she told me, like dweeb without the ‘b,’ is a thirty year old Muslim dentist. (I’m not sure if this made you blink, but it sure did me.) She’s funny and energetic and terribly kind. She is sharing her tiny studio apartment with me and has already given me some great advice. Also, she gave me a spare key and let me crash when she left for work this morning. I waved good-bye to her as she went, admiring the rising sun glowing golden red beyond the clouds (and pollution?), before going inside, locking the door and letting my head hit the pillow.

After a two and a half hour nap, I was completely disoriented, but it was time to venture out. Off I went, wandering down the main street outside Dwi’s apartment complex. It felt oddly comfortable walking along the street buzzing with an equal number of cars and motorbikes, sweating profusely and carefully navigating the broken sidewalks and dirty lanes. I admit to feeling a bit of apprehension and taking hold of one of my day pack’s straps, but nothing untoward happened. Not that it couldn’t, but to be honest, the people I passed were all absorbed in their own lives. It’s funny how self-centered a traveler can be, paranoid that everyone is out to get their stuff.

Anyway, I found an empty stall with a nice-looking woman serving food, and we communicated with broken English and pointing well enough to get me a good lunch. She taught me “suksimo,” which means thank you in Balinese. I’ve used it at least thirty times since lunchtime. Practice makes perfect and people get a kick out of hearing the foreigner say her one local word.

Crossing the street was an interesting affair. I waited for ten minutes as traffic zoomed back and forth, frowning with concentration and wondering if the Hanoi shuffle would work here. Luckily, another foreigner passed me on his motorbike and pointed up the street, shouting, “Crosswalk!” Sadly, it didn’t occur to me to use the crosswalk, since in other Asian countries it was merely a line, painted on the pavement and completely ignored by all drivers. Here it seems to mean “lighten up on the accelerator,” which allows pedestrians to cross, if they’re cagey (dodging the motorbikes) and quick (running in front of the slightly slowed cars).

As I wandered back down the street to Dwi’s building, I smiled. It was nice to be back in a non-English speaking, dirty, poor, scary-traffic filled foreign country. A young man passing me on his motorbike hollered, “Hello!” and seemed gratified that I responded with a smile, a wave and a “Hi!” in return.

My first day in Bali, while hot and disconcerting and new, has changed my general attitude. It’s good to be feeling like a traveler again!

--Z

Just a Few Days ‘til Bali

 

Today I had a good think down by the Darwin waterfront, which is not a terribly impressive place but it is one that was quiet. In fact, I wasn’t by the part of the waterfront that is frequented, the Wave Lagoon or tiny sectioned off beach area, surrounded by little restaurants and chatchki shops. I was on a lovely little footpath that honored women of Darwin. This footpath led to The Deckchair, an open air movie theater that is closed, understandably, for the wet season. Behind that, though, is a border of large rocks, beyond which is water. Again, not a pretty beach or anything, but it was quiet and only a few straggling wanderers like myself were around.

I pondered, looking out at the water, beyond the murky and littered mudflats closest to me. I’ve been feeling restless, which most likely has to do with the fact that I’ve been sick and lacking in energy. But this restlessness made me want to stop and think, and here’s what I came up with.

First, I’m ready to leave Australia. For whatever reasons, it just hasn’t struck me like other countries I’ve visited. Perhaps it’s just that I’m ready to go back to “foreign” places; or that I am tiring of travel; or that this cold thing has drained me for long enough that I couldn’t enjoy anyplace. I know the cost of things has kept my mood down a bit, especially here in Darwin. Doing a guided trip to Kakadu National Park, the “must-see” here, would be slightly less than $200 AUD per day. I just can’t make myself spend that. I did splurge for a one day tour to Lichfield, though, which will hopefully be worth the $120. That will be how I spend my last day in Australia!

The one experience I’ve thoroughly enjoyed in Darwin was a visit to a local art gallery. The owner came to talk to me about the Aboriginal art he was showing and selling, which was primarily northern and central Australian tribe artwork. He professed himself to be a lover of Aboriginal art and told me about his history with it: growing up an area where he could mix freely with Aboriginals; choosing to remain there when the rest of his family moved away, at age 17; and learning about traditions and beliefs and thought patterns. He showed me how he saw some of the art on his walls, how they reflected ceremonies he’d seen, or how lines were used a specific way. There were downsides to his spiel as well, including how awful his competitors were compared to him and a rather unsatisfactory response, given his history, to my question of why no Aboriginals seemed to own or work in any of the galleries. I’ve been to several and they’re all owned by white people, possibly well-intentioned and doing good for the community, but absolutely no Aboriginals in sight. It was a great learning experience, however, and I felt like I got a tiny glimpse into some of the meanings and representations of the Aboriginal art shown in this guy’s shop.

The second subject with which I racked my brain was my future. No, I wasn’t worrying or fretting about it. But coming across various cultures and universal world issues – poverty, natural disasters, unequal living/working conditions for those of various degrees of society or background – has made me realize that I want to be involved in helping, somehow. I know that I need more education on a variety of issues. And I need to determine my own stance and opinions on many things as well. On the other hand, I know that the next thing I would like to do with myself is to help people. Today, at least, the idea that most appealed was to learn to be part of an emergency response team. You know, like organizations that go out and help at natural disaster sites. I am good at organizing and leading and physical work. I think that this would be ideal for me. I just don’t know how, exactly, to get started.

It’s funny how timing works out. Just the other night, I was talking to a dorm-mate from England, and she thought I should check with the Red Cross and see what job opportunities they would have for me. Duh! That’s a simple answer, isn’t it? Another idea we talked about was perhaps teaching English somewhere that I would also like to volunteer. Somewhere like Cambodia, where I could probably find many places to volunteer (orphanages, NGOs, etc) and where I know I could teach English as well. As a side note, later that night our room was broken into and the English girl’s bags were stolen. I spent three hours helping her figure out how to handle it, from going to the police, reviewing the backpacker’s video footage, canceling her credit cards and figuring out how to get cash to sustain her. Talk about emergency response!

And the third thing that I philosophized upon this afternoon was whether I was tired of traveling. Can’t say I came up with an answer, really, but in general, I think not. It’s just time to move on and change my surroundings. I’m really looking forward to Bali, where I have a Couchsurfer ready to host me for my first few days. It struck me that I haven’t taken many pictures in the last week or so… none in Darwin, although my Lichfield trip tomorrow should change that. Also, my dirty laundry bag is getting bigger than my clean clothes bag. Lastly, and perhaps most telling, I’ve finished the last part of one book along with two other (notably easy reading) books, in the last four days. I’m experiencing the mid-year-travel weariness, all right!

Before writing this blog entry, I double-checked my next several flight bookings. So I can’t be too tired of travel, because I’m looking forward to what’s next: Bali, Singapore and Nepal! I also spent some time reading e-mails from some good friends, which were wonderful to get. Sometimes hearing the news in other people’s lives is a good way to relax and get away from my current situation, whether it’s good, bad or indifferent. So keep the e-mails coming, people! I want to hear from YOU!

--Z

The Unexpected

• Saturday, 12 March: Woke up early, snoozed; had free breakfast, went to beach, took surfing lesson with four others on nine foot softy boards, managed to stand a few times!; had lunch at the room, swam in the pool, computed, read book; went back to the beach, swam, sunned; grocery shopped for healthy dinner, got lots of fruit; hung out with English roommate for the evening.
• Sunday, 13 March: Up early, packed, breakfast; caught a cab with another girl heading to the airport; easy flight to Cairns; got a ride from Gilligan’s backpacker van from airport to the backpacker; got cheapest dorm room; walked around with Hina, Japanese girl I met on the bus; grocery shopped; to bed around 11pm, with music thumping; still thumping, but louder, at 2:30am.
• Monday, 14 March: Up early to pack and head to the piers; got on Osprey V and met two German girls who I hung out with much of the day; did intro dive, then certified dive with a guide; lots of snorkeling; great day on the boat and Great Barrier Reef; made myself dinner back at Gilligan’s; no thumpy music but a loud interruption at 1:30am by security.
• Tuesday, 15 March: Woke up feeling a cold attacking; went on Captain Matty’s Barefoot Tours Tabletop waterfall tour; gray day but many pretty waterfalls; very tired and feeling poorly most of the day; switched backpackers when we got back late in the evening; two nice English girls, Amy and Haley, in my $10, four-bed, quiet room.
• Wednesday, 16 March: Forced myself to stay in bed most of the day; went out only twice, to use free internet and find a new book to read at a used book store, and to eat free dinner at a nearby restaurant; to bed fairly early.
• Thursday, 17 March: Got up, packed and ate breakfast fairly early; checked out; used internet; caught airport shuttle to the airport, caught flight to Darwin, everything went smoothly; checked in to Chilli’s backpacker; wandered a bit around town and had a quiet evening, not feeling so hot; exchanged books at another hostel.
• Friday, 18 March: Skyped with parents; visited two Aboriginal art galleries; had a nice vegetarian lunch out; napped in the afternoon; helped roommate color her hair; soaked in the “spa,” a cool water jet tub at Chilli’s; another quiet day and evening.

The last few weeks have been a real mix of good and not so great, of sunny days and rainy days, and of experiences both exciting and dull. There are two particular “Oh!” moments that stand out, though, and that is what I’ll write about today.

THUMPS IN THE NIGHT

Gilligan’s, a backpacker in Cairns, had been mentioned to me by a girl I stayed with in Coolangatta, so it was where I went first thing upon arriving. I was able to snag a $17 per night ten-bed dorm, the cheapest they had, so I was happy. Having gotten up fairly early that morning, I decided to turn in early and was in bed by 10:30pm. Gilligan’s is not just a backpacker, but a club and a restaurant and a tour organizer. So I wasn’t surprised, then, when I could feel the bass from the club music reverberating through the floor. It was a bit shocking that, on the top bunk, I could feel the metal bars of my bed vibrating, but I was able to fall asleep around 11pm.

At two thirty in the morning, I woke up abruptly, sucking in my breath as some shock I couldn’t quite place. It took me several seconds of my brain repeating, “What the…?”, but then I understood what had awoken me: they’d turned up the volume, and the the bass, in the club, which turned out to be directly underneath this room. As I lay there somewhat dazed, I could feel my legs shaking in time with the beat. I had a bottle of water in the corner of my bed and I watched as it rippled constantly. Still half asleep, I thought, “Oh! Who needs that much bass?!” It may or may not surprise some of you to know that I fell back asleep after a few minutes.

BATS

Sometimes just walking around a neighborhood can be a fun way to explore. As I ambled towards the public library in Cairns’ downtown area, I came across a lovely huge tree, whose trunk seemed to made of twining and twisting roots. It was huge and turned out to really be two trees of the same kind of trunk, whose canopies had mixed and tangled, creating a huge umbrella of leaves. As I admired it, I became aware of the chirping and screeching of what I took to be birds, a huge cacophony of noise going on and on. As I followed the path of the trunk with my eyes, though, I realized that there were several large things hanging from the branches. No, not several: dozens, maybe hundreds! All of the sudden, I realized what they were and said out loud, “Oh! They’re bats!” And they were. Huge bats. Creepy, vampire-like bats. All these bundles of bodies, wings tightly wrapped about them, hung upside-down from the various branches of this huge, twisty tree. In the late afternoon light, they were clearly defined shapes once I knew what they were. I got the chills just watching them twitch and realizing that the shrill shrieks were theirs.

Just two hours later, as I was walking back to Gilligan’s, I looked up and saw a trail of bats flying by, their dark, hooked wings, furry big bodies and little feet trailing after all visible against the darkening sky. On and on the stream went, with chitterings and shrieks accompanying the creepy sight. I hurried on my way, feeling slightly apprehensive as I glanced occasionally up at the sky to see the gliding bodies soaring past. I gave a good dramatic shudder.

--Z

Eighth Floor Ruminations

Note: No new pictures yet… but check back in the “Australia: Up the East Coast” album periodically because that’s where I’ll put pictures until I get to Cairns (Sunday).

• Thursday, 10 March: Went to the beach and alternately swam and tanned for a few hours; did 3.8km loop hike around peninsula head up to Byron Bay Lighthouse, stopping to watch dolphins and surfers along the way; lunch at the lighthouse, met Canadian and Australian couples and chatted; ventured back to Aquarius backpacker and showered, rested, ate lunch; wandered around town; realized that I’d lost my spare 4-Gig camera memory card; retraced previous day’s steps to see if I could find it, no luck; mood turned sour; had “free” dinner at backpacker and met a few girls to play trivia with, which cheered me up; flirted with a couple stupid Australian boys; went to bed feeling mildly better.
• Friday, 11 March: Had breakfast out, poached eggs and toast, fruit salad with yoghurt and muesli, yum!; checked out, bought cheap bus ticket and waited around until the bus came; two hour trip to Tweed Heads, which is just a few minutes walk from Coolangatta, where a travel organizer at Aquarius recommended a slightly upscale backpacker; after wandering a bit, I found it and was pleasantly surprised; all-girl’s six-bed dorm room very nice, huge balcony looking out on clear blue ocean beach; met a few roommates, ate lunch, went to the beach with one of them; a few hours later we came back and spent the evening chilling out in the common area, computing and chatting. Mood much improved.

Amazing how a little distance can help improve one’s mood, isn’t it? This morning, I was disgruntled still at the loss of a few items in Byron Bay: my sunglasses, which I’d managed to forget about wearing when swimming in the ocean; and a four Gig spare memory card for my camera, which I’ve been carrying around in my pocket for months and planned to put somewhere safe… soon. As I' did yesterday, I retraced my steps from the past few days and asked at every establishment I’d been in whether they’d found it. No luck.

Once on the $11 bus to Tweed Heads, however, I felt like I could breathe. Byron Bay was just not the right place for me and whatever dark clouds I’d gathered around me from the beginnings of my trip north just wouldn’t be scattered while I was there. Amongst the young party crowd at the Aquarius (the backpacker I stayed at) and the trendy surfer crowd streaming through the rest of town, I couldn’t seem to feel comfortable. I stuck my nose into the pages of my book and rarely came up for air. Even the beach didn’t cheer me up, which is saying quite a bit!

Having chosen the bus to Tweed Heads was just the first of several decisions I made today that improved my situation and mood. The travel desk lady at Aquarius had told me that the best bus for me would be a $24 bus to Coolangatta, which is the town where my flight leaves from on Sunday. Luckily, I recalled that at the travel information center in town, there had been a sign for an $11 bus to Tweed Heads. I looked at a map and found that the two were walking distance from each other, so I ignored the Aquarius lady. Ding, point for me!

Another decision that turned out to be a very good one was to, oddly, listen to the Aquarius lady when it came to backpacker recommendations in Coolangatta. Brochure in hand, I toted all my gear plus a bag of food up one street and, when I realized that the street I wanted was parallel, back down the correct street. I was about to give up on the Kommune Beach Resort and Club when suddenly, there it was in front of me. It looked a bit posh and doubtfully I went inside, asked the price, and decided to splurge by paying $5 more per night than usual. The decision to look for, and then pay for, a spot in a six-bed girl’s dorm at Kommune parted those dark clouds. I got a room on the eighth floor, facing the beautiful beach just meters from the back door of the place. Although three bunk beds are crammed into what should be a small guest bedroom, the rest of the place is great. Basically, it’s a converted hotel room, complete with a kitchen (but weirdly incomplete because there’s no stove, microwave or toaster; there is a fridge, though), bathroom, washer and living room area. Oh, and a lovely balcony on which I can (and did) sit and gaze out at the water.

While not a decision, a third factor which has helped me blow those dark clouds into oblivion is that my roommates are mature, friendly and NOT partiers… at least, not for the time being. So far I have met an English girl, a French girl and a Canadian girl. I think that’s all of us, though I could be wrong.

Anyway, I’m feeling immensely better than when I last wrote, which is such a relief. Reflecting, I can find many reasons for my funk which lasted for quite awhile, although there were brief reprieves:

1. Traveling might be wearing me out. I list this one first not because I think it’s most likely, but because it scares me the most. Honestly, I’m not ready to go home yet. But I always keep in mind that this “year of travel” doesn’t have to be a year. It can end whenever I want… and stretch as long as I have the desire (and funds) to continue. There’s so much more I want to see: Bali is beckoning, a cultural and exotic island paradise; Nepal with its treks and complete change of atmosphere, food and locale; Israel where I’ll meet my parents; Turkey with its beauty and mysteriousness; and beyond. Anyway, in my heart I don’t want this adventure to be over yet. Sometimes I worry, though, that mentally and maybe even physically, I won’t be able to last.

2. Restlessness from not having any responsibilities. To some, this will sound silly, but given the fact that I’ve had a job and mission for the past eight years to throw myself into, and that for the past five months I’ve had absolutely no responsibilities besides ensuring the correct visas for whatever country I was in or going to, well… I think it’s understandable. Also, at various times throughout my travels different mediums have made me realize that I could do so much to help people if I just found the right field to throw myself into. The poverty and corruption in Cambodia; the natural disasters in Thailand and New Zealand; even the badly made film about land disputes in Latin America made me feel mad and then confused as to how I could contribute. So part of this restlessness, I’m sure, stems from the fact that I want to find my next purpose, or calling, or drive in life. Teaching English as a foreign language in some foreign country would be great for me; but I want to feel like what I do next is great for other people.

3. Budget concerns. Australia ain’t cheap, at least not for me, at the moment. The US dollar is worth less than the Australian dollar and to me, Australia’s prices for everyday things is incredibly high: two eggs and toast, $12; fresh bananas, $9.99 per kilogram; books, $28 for paperbacks; and so on. Of course, I’m running through touristy towns. But even traveling up the east coast has emptied my bank account a bit. I figure for my three weeks on mainland Australia I will have spent as much as my six weeks on both islands in New Zealand. And while overall, I’m still staying below my planned budget for this trip, it hurts when I spend over $600 purely on internal travel in Australia (airline tickets, bus tickets, petrol, etc).

4. Realization of bad planning, weather-wise. Originally I’d envisioned getting to Eastern Europe around June/July timeframe, spending two weeks apiece in several countries before heading to Western Europe. I now realize that two weeks per country is ridiculous, but am reluctant to delete any countries from my list. This would be all right, if autumn and then winter didn’t follow summer. As it stands, my itinerary is fairly fixed for the next few months: end of March to mid-April, Bali; mid-April to mid-May, Nepal; mid-May to mid- or end of June, Israel. I have struck Egypt from the itinerary for obvious reasons. So after Israel, I’ll head to Turkey, assuming I’ll spend the month of July there. Next up were Romania, Hungary, Austria and the Netherlands, but if I give each a month, that takes me well into winter (November). Even if I plan only three weeks apiece, that’s October. And I’m not interested in spending winter in someplace cold. What to do? I’m considering possibilities like southern Italy, where I may be able to visit and stay with Maria, whom I met in New Zealand. Or perhaps head directly to Spain and stay in Andalusia, the southern part, which reputedly stays warm. I’ve even toyed with the idea of heading back to Asia and visiting Laos and spending more time in Thailand. In any case, I anticipate that my travels will last later than originally anticipated (Oct 2011).

5. Things getting lost or broken. I’ve been quite bad about this lately. Since New Zealand, I’ve lost about a dozen things and broken at least two. I have a habit of rushing and whenever that happens, I forget something. Time to slow down, think about things and take stock. And actually, this probably isn’t a reason for my mood… it’s probably a result. In any case, hopefully I can take things a little more slowly and keep my mind clear so that I don’t have to buy new things (which leads to worries in #3).

Anyway, regarding the dark clouds, I’m sure they’ll visit me again for these or new reasons. Hopefully I’ll have the sense and the ability to simply move, or sleep, or treat myself to something nice, in order to help dispel them and remember that I AM on an adventure of my own choosing. And therefore, I should do whatever I need to in order to enjoy my time and not fret.

Someone remind me of that next time I write glum posts, ok?!

--Z

Out of Place in Byron Bay

Note: I have captioned the pictures in “Australia: Sydney and Surrounds,” and uploaded and captioned the pictures in “Australia: Up the East Coast.”

• Wednesday, 9 March: Borrowed a boogie board and went to beach in the morning; spent a few hours alternately sunbathing, reading and swimming; dark clouds sent me back to hostel; showered, had lunch, drank a hard cider, read; wandered around town; attended afternoon session of Byron Bay Film Festival, viewing three Latin American pieces, 2 shorts and one hour-long; bought Great Barrier Reef day trip; had “free” dinner at backpacker; chilled out for the evening.

Byron Bay is a party and surf scene. While the people at my backpacker are nice, with several Japanese girls in my dorm room, I know that it’s not really the right place for me. I’ve heard there’s an artsy place nearby, where they have didgeridoo lessons amongst other perks, and even though it’ll be $14 more expensive I may check it out for tomorrow night.

Today was a lazy day for me. I think I’m fighting something off, maybe the cold which started creeping up on me in Sydney. I feel tired and lackadaisical, with a slight headache threatening a various parts of the day. The bar downstairs is blaring music and the DJ is screaming bingo numbers into his microphone. I’m going to be that annoying girl who goes to bed at 9pm in a ten bed dorm, but oh well.

One of the things I managed to get myself to today was an afternoon session of the Byron Bay Film Festival. I saw four Latin American films, of which the first three were cute and enjoyable, and the fourth serious. First there was "Manual Practico Del Amigo Imaginario,” a twenty-minute film about a twenty-something guy who has an imaginary friend. It was well done, including bits where his imaginary friend Captain Kiloton speaks at a convention of unemployed imaginary friends.

The second film was a little too cutesy for me, about a guy who sees a mermaid and becomes enraptured by her, turning from being a failed drug runner to a world champion swimmer. The ending was very predictable. The third, “El Cortejo,” was a lovely love story about a gravedigger and the flower-bringing widower. Very sweet.

Finally, there was the hour long film, “Land,” about the land development of Nicaragua. The Americans portrayed were greedy and evil, or cow-pokey, or a bit crazy. I would have enjoyed the film if it had been more chronological. It tried to be a documentary but, like Michael Moore’s “Capitalism: A Love Story,” it never coalesced and seemed to follow a string of thoughts linear only in the mind of the authors and directors.

I realize that this blog entry is a bit scattered. It’s a bit indicative of my mood (varied, but tired), I suppose… perhaps tomorrow will bring better weather, better health and possibly a surfing lesson, if I decide to splurge!

--Z

Cackling Madmen

Note: When I can upload them, the photos from Sydney will be found in the album to the right titled, “Australia: Sydney and Surrounds.” Photos from my trip north to (and including) Byron Bay will be found in “Australia: Up to Byron Bay.” Warning: They won’t be captioned yet!

• Wednesday, 2 March: Slept in, yay! Had a slow morning showering, eating breakfast, computing, separating dirty laundry from clean; went to the Chatswood mall with Maya, got a few essentials from Target, including a bikini and some licorice; back to Maya’s place; relaxed the evening away on my own; met Maya’s mother and watched Millionaire Matchmaker with her.
• Thursday, 3 March: Hitched a ride with Maya on her way to work; walked from her bar (just north of bridge) through Clarke Park’s gardens and met strange but helpful guy to find my way out; meandered to the Sydney Bridge, aka “The Coathanger”; met Joan there and walked with her through The Rocks and the Sydney Opera House; went to Sydney library for internet and lunch; visited NSW Art Museum; wandered back towards bridge via the Royal Botanical Gardens; met Maya at a rooftop bar in The Rocks; went to Argyle Bar for amazing cocktails; had seafood mixer and pizza dinner out; briefly visited historic building with below-floor city model; took train back to Maya’s.
•   Friday, 4 March: Got a ride with Maya to Balmoral, got coffee and sat on beach and chatted for awhile; then she dropped me at another beach and I hiked along to Manly beach, stopping at various deserted beaches along the way; made it to Manly, crowded but fun feel; had Turkish wrap for a mid-day meal; eventually caught ferry back to Sydney Harbour; met Maya and went with her and her busker earnings to a bank; wandered across town and another harbour to the Sydney CS gathering; met many interesting and fun people; took bus back to Maya’s around 1am.
• Saturday, 5 March: Gray day; went to Italian neighborhood with Maya; wandered on my own; had a canoli and tea for breakfast; expensive risotto, so-so, with wine that made my cold come back; caught a bus to Glebe, visited bookstore and bought “Alaska,” and went to a “funk market",” bought two wallets; eventually made my way back to Maya’s; lazed away the evening, missing Mardi Gras because of cold/flu feeling overwhelming my energy.
• Sunday, 6 March: Woke up grumpy; too gray to do Bondi to Coogee walk as planned; went to the mall; spent entire day in Chatswood being grumpy; ended evening feeling better when I bought plane tickets, made plans and got a call from needaride.com.au guy.
• Monday, 7 March: Said good-bye to Maya and parents; visited Chatswood mall again, dropped hard drive at techie’s, bought USB storage drive, and a few essentials; took broken drive back to Maya’s and computed until Pascal called to meet me at the mall; packed up and walked; got in van with Pascal and motored all day; got pulled over and breathalyzed; parked in free parking area for the night.
• Tuesday, 8 March: Quick breakfast at nearby cafe, then motored all the way up to Byron Bay; gray day, not very beach-y but hot when we got to Byron; checked in to Aquarius; went to beach and read book; got “free” dinner at backpacker; chilled out.

Decompression time in Sydney was massively productive. I did many (but not all) of the touristy things to do there: hike to Manly (superb, although Manly was too crowded for me), check. Walk across the Sydney Bridge, check. View the Sydney Opera House from many viewpoints, check. Visit the New South Wales Museum of Art, check. Explore the Royal Botanical Gardens, check. Take a ferry to Sydney Harbor, check. Sleep, eat, drink, do laundry, socialize and even party a little, check. Have good days and bad, double check.

Maya was a wonderful host, just as I’d remembered her from the Tongariro Crossing, and subsequent adventures, in New Zealand.

Maya: 24-year-old Australian slightly shorter than me; trombone busker by day, bartender cum Bingo-caller by… well, night and other days. Funky, funny, loves to tell stories of her travels adventuring around the world. Personable and self-proclaimed late bloomer just recently interested in being a girl. All around awesome chick.

When she could, she showed me around and told me some of the Australian or Sydney lore she knew about. Her parents were friendly and helpful and very welcoming. This was a comfortable and easy Couchsurf where I could relax and totally waste away a day or two if I wanted. And I did. My five days in Sydney were just lazy enough and just touristy enough to give me a break!

Next up, my first try at hitching a ride via the Internet.

Have you ever heard the sound of a kookaburra? It’s a kind of bird in Australia which is utterly maddening to hear, especially when there are a lot of them talking to each other. At times they sound like small shrieking children, at times like cackling madmen. When Pascal and I pulled over to enjoy a beach view and some pasta for dinner, we parked under some beautiful trees and set out the camp chairs. As we waited for the water to boil, birds swooped into the branches over our heads and began … cackling like madmen. There were at least four or five going at once and it made me laugh and then cringe, then laugh again. The raucous noise is truly disturbing!

Pascal Kern: 22-year-old Australian-Swiss party boy. Short, stocky smoker with longish hair pushed back. Both ears pierced and studded with thick black rings, wonderful eyes girls everywhere swoon for. Most of the way through a visit to his birth country in which he has driven the east coast north then south three times. Recently single. Posted an ad on www.needaride.com.au for people to join him and help defray costs of a drive up to Byron Bay.

The last two days did not go at all as I had envisioned. From one e-mail and one phone conversation with Pascal, I foresaw a four to five day, leisurely drive up the east coast, stopping at beaches, sunning, relaxing. I expected cheap, as I understood that Pascal just wanted help with petrol. Oh, and I’d expected a campervan. In the end, we arrived at Byron Bay approximately twenty-seven hours after we’d left Sydney. In the end, I spent $160 Australian and less than two days in the van. We got along all right, but Pascal’s plans changed hours after we left Sydney and I didn’t see a single place on the way that I’d hoped to see. The campervan? A cleared out Ford van with a mattress in the back.

My own fault, really. I should learn from this to clarify, specify and confirm expectations and plans before getting into a van. We parted on decent terms, and he even gave me a sleeping bag and all the food we had shared the cost for.

Now I’m in Byron Bay and not really sure what’s next. I expect to stay here for a few days and nights, maybe do a short hike up to the lighthouse, enjoy the beautiful beach, and possibly take a surfing lesson or two. Then it’ll take a bus ride up to Surfer’s Paradise, where I’ll catch a plane on Sunday to Cairns. I’m sending out Couch requests now…

--Z

Tastes of Tasmania

Note: I’ve added the last of my Tasmania pictures to the album, “Australia: Tastes of Tasmania” and am working on captioning all the pictures there.

• Thursday, 24 Feb: Up at 8am; cooked breakfast and got out of the camping area by 10:30am; Joan did Mt. Amos walk while Jordi and I lazed at the van; drove to east coast to see a lighthouse; drove up to Apsley State Park and did a walk to the gorge, swimming in fresh, cold water; drove to St. Helen’s in the rainy dusk, passing the town and finding a campsite to hunker down at, heating up instant soups for dinner.
• Friday, 25 Feb: Up at 7:30am and fed and clothed and leaving by 9:30am; headed for the Bay of Fires and started the day with a beautiful meander around the Gardens lookout, which sported powder-white sand and gorgeous cerulean waters, boulders and orange algae; next stop was Cozy Corner campsite, which we’d heard mentioned several times; this led us to the beach area there, where we spent over an hour each wandering our own ways; I clambered over rocks, waded in crystal clear waters and daydreamed; then drove to another hiking point, but I only did a short walk before reading and taking a nap; took free hot showers in St. Helen’s; drove to Columba Falls, short twenty minute walk through rainforest; drove to Scotsdale and parked in free campervan lot; loud party nearby, shrieking karaoke.
• Saturday, 26 Feb: Drove to Launceston, found info center and library; internet for an hour (bought Melb-Syd ticket!) and then back to van to find a parking ticket (we hadn’t paid the meter); went to Cataract Gorge and hiked around; Jordie went swimmning, Joan and I had a cafe snack and wandered around; paid parking ticket, went grocery shopping, headed for Cradle Mountain; once there, did three quick hikes: Pencil Pine and Knyvet Falls, King Billy Walk and Enchanged Walk; parked near the tavern; had a drink and played trivia; eventually drove to visitor’s center and parked there for the night.
• Sunday, 27 Feb: Got up, fed ourselves, made lunches and took off for the free Cradle Mountain shuttle; condescending lady ranger advised against doing the summit hike; Jordie got off one stop early, which Joan and I discovered when we got off at the Dove Lake stop; decided to hike to Marion’s Lookout since clouds ringed Cradle summit; from there, hiked to summit and back; then did part of Face Track, skinny-dipped in Lake Willis; and did part of the Dove Lake walk back to the car park; met Jordie back at the van; decided to drive to Queenstown, where we parked in front of a church, cooked dinner and slept.
• Monday, 28 Feb: Drove to Lake St. Claire, stopping at Nelson Falls and the Gordon River suspension bridge on the way; hiked with Joan along the Larmairremener tabelti, an Aboriginal culture walk, as well as Platypus Bay (didn’t see any) before stopping to sun, read and eat lunch on a small beach; walked back to van to relax.
• Tuesday, 1 Mar: Drizzling when we woke up; drove to Wild Things Wildlife Sanctuary but it was closed; then to Hobart; went up to the top of Mt. Wellington, where it was snowing; halfway down, some gorgeous views; cleaned the campervan, dropped everyone off at their hostels and drove up to Sorrel to return it; went to library, internetted, got a ride to the airport; easy flight to Sydney; met Maya at the airport and stayed at her place.

 

For the past eight days, I’ve been motoring around Tasmania and taking in its landscapes, critters and beaches. It’s been an amazing time! The most awe-inspiring place for me was the Bay of Fires, where the beach behind Cozy Corner campsite made my jaw drop and my eyes tear up: Pure white sand beach with crystal clear waters crashing upon it in energy-filled waves. Huge smoothed boulders covered with fiery orange algae provided a place to scramble and seat oneself to better take in the paradise-blue waters. The sky was blue and the air was cool but not cold. And all around was silent save the wind, the waves and the birds. It was all so close, so accessible, that you couldn’t help but feel that you were in a dream. Seriously, it made my heart skip a few beats.

Cradle Mountain was pretty incredible as well, and while the ascent to its summit was slightly terrifying, since there was no path except for the occasionally placed pole as you clambered up the tumbledown boulders wedged one against the other, the three hundred sixty degree views at the top were well worth the fear and effort. Especially pleasing, for me, was Dove Lake, which glistened in the sun invitingly. Even so, it was Willis Lake that I swam in, and with no bathing suit in my bag it meant going in as nature intended. Luckily, no other hikers were about, so I enjoyed the freezing waters in all my glory. Nothing quite so refreshing and revitalizing after a hard day’s treck!

A few things really struck me as I traveled the highways from place to place. First, the amount of road kill was astounding. Now and then we’d see a wombat waddling across the road or into the bushes, or spot a wallaby or near-cousin bouncing along, but for the most part, the animals we saw were dead on the roadside. It was incredibly sad. While Tasmania exudes a wild and untouched feel, this display of human destruction is fairly saddening.

Second, the landscapes as you drive really do exude that wild Australian feel. Before I got to Tasmania, I could not have told you what I expected; however, driving through the mountains and along scrub-lined highways, I felt that it was exactly as I’d thought. It just felt rough and untamed and the landscape was full of dry trees, scrub bushes, fern-like shrubs and wind-blown grasses. Every time I took in the scenery going by, I felt satisfied and fulfilled with the Tasmanian aura. Yes, I actually thought to myself, This is feels Tasmanian, exactly how anyone who’s never seen it would expect.

Third, it’s a real pleasure to travel via campervan, although difficult when everyone is from a different country, has been traveling on their own for a long time and is fiercely independent. Jordie, Joan and I managed to get along, although on our last day, Jordie  wouldn’t speak to either of us for a long while, for reasons we couldn’t quite fathom. Perhaps it was just a bad day, but I took his stubborn silence to be displeasure at me insisting upon visiting a wildlife sanctuary that he wasn’t interested in seeing. It was closed, to my disappointment, meaning that I didn’t see a Tasmanian Devil, something I really hoped to see while I was here. In any case, the three of us continued to clash in small ways during the entire eight days, although for the most part we remained on speaking and joking terms. I suppose you can’t be bosom buddies with everyone you meet and travel with, but I wish that we’d all been able to communicate a bit better and make the trip a little easier. I do hope to try campervan travel again during my travels, or perhaps once I’m back in the United States. It’s nice to feel self-contained and sufficient, to be able to sleep or cook anywhere you can drive. And it sure did wonders for the budget! I figure that for my time in Tasmania, including two nights in a hostel in Hobart, I spent about $40 AUD per day, which includes absolutely everything: food, lodging, transportation (rental and gas), activities, internet time and drinks.

My small Taste of Tasmania tour was, ultimately, a success. I really got a feel for the island and could certainly see coming back. If that does happen, I can guarantee that I’ll be renting a campervan again!

--Z