I think your darkest days
Should have some light this year
I think you should stay right here
With your fire, with your soul
You shouldn't have to go
.

Shauna welcomed me to New York at eleven pm sunday with a pitcher of margaritas. It was a long night.

I spent a brilliant day in New York with Darling Dorothy. We wandered around the city and were generally directionless. Stopped here and there for bites, sips and browsing. Even though I've been back in the country for almost three weeks she was the first to make me feel like I was welcomed home. Like, "this is familiar. I remember being with you and this is how it's always felt."

We met up with John, then Maria, then Bill and together terrorized the streets, trying to break into closed buildings, seeing a movie about killer lesbians, screaming in the streets and laughing and laughing and laughing. It was absolute therapy.

I also got to see Karolyn, which I have been dreaming about for months. It was the best hug I've had in ages. She is as gorgeous, insightful and funny as ever and I wished I could spend the week with her!

Right now I'm helping Fritha move. We are making huge progress and it's a unique way to spend new year's eve. It is definitely making a transition.

Hope everyone is well.

no one knows that it's like
to be a dustbin
in shaftsbury
with hooligans

Gwill and I spent yesterday Christmas shopping all around NH. Well, I basically just nodded or groaned at his selections and was a bit of an assistant. On the drives we listened to Pink Floyd and Radiohead (during a brief radio interlude Gwill even tolerated my Justin Timberlake indulgence with gentlemanly grace) and talked about families, travelling, the morphic field and synchronicity. Even though there are new developments all around the area things here are familiar in a way no other land will be. That's what I like to escape from, I think. But there is something comfortable about knowing the next bend in the road.

There's nothing for you here
Where the guests like souvenirs
They play with you till you're all worn out.

We drove down to Brighton today. Pranced around town like hysterical reindeer and dodged shoppers and double decker buses. Then we drove to the sea and all alongside the misted coast, green grass crunched down to grey, the ivory cliffs, the wind-twisted trees. We stopped so Kip and Paul could fly their kites. Now, I'm not talking about any Mary-Poppins-kite-flying here. These are no paper bags on the end of a string. These are more like hang gliders that lift you off the ground when a gust grabs them, drag you across the grass, wrench your wrists. Of course this was all a spectator's view and mostly from the car as it was bloody freezing! Let me say, these two are hard core kite flyers. Don't laugh.

I won't be writing from Iceland, for which I depart on the morrow. I am anticipating that it will be too bloody expensive and that I will be consumed with the beauty of the viking city. So the next time you hear from me I will be at home. Or rather, New England, as it feels there is no home for me. I have a collection of familiar spaces and faces to return to, but not a home. We'll have to work on that.

It's been indescribable this past year. Thanks to everyone who made it better than it could have been whether from thousands of miles away or only inches. Let's catch up.

we both deserve to be happy, he said turning the cigarette in his fingers

gwill, the heavenly boy that he is, was there to meet me at heathrow airport. through a herculean effort we managed to haul my massive collection of things to his flat in nw london, where he generously let me have his comfy bed all to myself. what a change from my windowless, worn room in bangkok.

i spent almost a week in london, around the museums, landmarks and streets undergoing a hostile takeover by father christmas. i also saw eight movies in the span of three days. it was raining a lot. i did manage to get down to st. katherine's dock, where my dad lived for awhile and where we visited him on one of our trips. ah nostalgia. then i was stopped for directions by a frenchman at the tower, who tried to take me for coffee. when i tried to back out of it, using the useless excuse "i don't drink coffee" he chimed in with "then i'll take you to dinner". it took the better part of an hour to escape.

i left gwill yesterday and headed south. paul and kip picked me up at gatwick. last night we saw lord of the rings (the first one) and waited through the entire end credits hoping for a return of the king trailer. but there wasn't one! harsh.

i have a raging cold/flu-like illness, which needs to leave my body promptly.

I suppose I should write something.

I'm feeling a tad lethargic and just want to die, basically. But FYI I made it safely out of Cambodia. I took a minibus that was meant to arrive at the border in 4-5 hours, but took 7. When we did arrive in the shadows of the afternoon we were completely saturated in red dust. Now I know, it doesn't sound like something that's possible; to be saturated in DUST. But I have showered twice since I got to Bangkok and my pores retain the earth. I have cleaned my ears with two dozen cotton swabs, but they still come out covered in a rouge clay-like dirt. If I run my hands through my hair there is dirt under my fingernails. Pray for my skin, it may be too late for the clothes (Yes, Kip, it was THAT shirt. We shall see) I was wearing that day, but let's hope I do not hold this ruddy complexion.

So, back in Bangkok. The worst place to arrive feeling dirty, because it excels at making you feel nasty whatever your state. Hopefully Ross will get back from Ayutthaya today and I will get to see him one more time before I fly out to London tomorrow. He has knicked my Thai Airways blanket and I do intend to retrieve it.

I am out of money and surviving on cantaloupe chewing gum and water. It's a good life.

Still in Sihanoukville on detox from stressful tourism.

you, how many kilograms?

I want to catch everyone up, because I've been zooming about and not getting online too much.

I really can't even describe Angkor. It's not something you can't put into words. It's one of the seven wonders of the modern world. There's good reason for that. Speeding on the back of a motorbike into the temple's domain at sunrise, rosy mist hanging above the calm moat waters. Making your way carefully over the broken stones that make up a 500 meter walkway to the inner wall of the complex. Finding your personal viewing space amidst the crowds. Watching as the sillhouette of the wat becomes more and more defined, until the day has truly begun. It's magic.

I'm concerned about the land and temples being preserved. It seems inevitable that the area will be marketed until each stone is worn into the ground. Go there.

Kip and I had our last meal together at Chhouk Rath (chook wrath!), a restaurant we'd been frequenting with such diligence that they knew how Kip took her spaghetti. The next day we would be separating. She, heading back to Bangkok, I, to Phnom Pehn. She was an awesome travelling companion and made my trip that much more enjoyable. Plus she's funny as and kept me smiling even when I was vomiting and bleeding. What more can you ask for? Our goodbyes in the morning weren't too sad, as we'll be seeing each other in a week!

I took the speed boat to Phnom Pehn. It takes 10 hours on a bus but only four on the boat, so I couldn't really refuse the speediness due to former bus rides from Hades. The "Friendship", as the vessel was called, was rather frightening. It was just a tin can, but luckily it floated. The scenery was astounding. I had been to the floating village before, but as we got out onto the lake and rode near the shore you could see that people live on these rafts, floating houses and boats all the way around the lake.

I settled into a guesthouse on Boeng Kak lake once in Phnom Pehn and went on a little walk. That turned into a big walk, all the way to Tuol Sleng Museum. I had been planning to go there on my second day, but there was just so much time left in the day I thought, why not.

On the 15th April 1975 Pol Pot, the leader of the Khmer Rouge, invaded Phnom Pehn. He took control of a local high school and turned it into a detainment center called Security Camp 21 (or S-21). He divided some classrooms into small cells, barely big enough to squeeze into. Others were kept as large multi-prisoner cells. 1000's of prisoners came in and out of those doors. 17000. He detained former Cambodian army leaders and anti-Khmer Rouge revolutionaries. But he did not just capture the men he thought were against him. He took their wives, their children, newborn babies. They were all kept under horrible conditions, tortured, beaten and ultimately brought to a patch of land 15 km away to be killed. They were mostly all bludgeoned to death, to avoid wasting ammunition. This happened over the course of about four years. When the Vietnamese army stormed in to liberate Phnom Pehn, remaining prisoners at the camp were beaten to death. Seven people were alive when the Vietnamese arrived. They were the only detainees out of the 17,000 to survive their stay at Tuol Sleng.

The grounds of the museum are dotted with frangipani trees. The rooms are full of sunlight. The lawns are tidy and green. Children play at the back of the buildings with balls and nets. You can hear them laughing as you walk from room to room, looking at the meticulously documented photographs of the people who were held here. Row upon row of young men, elderly monks, young girls, toddlers, babies in their mothers arms. Black and white faces with modern designs on their t-shirts and bewildered, battered looks. Ín another building you can see the rooms containing nothing more than beds where people were brought to be tortured and where the final victims were found after their hurried and horrific deaths. A picture hangs on each wall of the body as it was found; mouths open, skulls crushed, chests bloody, arms dangling. It was a terrifying place to visit on my own. And after careful consideration of my state upon completing the tour, I opted to skip the killing fields (where the detainees were brought to be beaten to death en masse) and head out of Phnom Pehn the next morning.

I took a bus south, to the ocean. We tangled ourselves in the mountains and untangled again at the sea. I'm in Sihanoukville; a pretty, undeveloped seaside community that I'm lucky to see before the high-rises and resorts arrive. I got in with time to see the sunset last night and it made me silently cry.

Yes, this dirt on the feet suits us fairly,
Yes, this crunch on the teeth suits us just,
And we trample it nightly and daily --
This unmixed and non-structural dust.
But we lay into it and become it alone,
And therefore call this earth so freely -- my own .

We woke up late as we are failures at getting an early start to the day. After a breakfast of pasta (breakfast of champions) we took a bumpy tuk tuk ride to the Landmine Museum. Since I was there last year the government has come and stolen a truck load of weapons and mines from his display. They give Aki Ra (to whom the museum and history belongs) a small commision to bring people through the Siem Reap War Museum, but it is next to nothing. He fears that soon they will come back with a bigger truck and take what is left. He has some new stories, articles and histories of his orphans posted to fill blank spaces left by the government's theft. There are about eight orphans living in his already small huts. All of them have lost parents due to landmine or UXO explosions or from a Khmer Rouge attack on a village. It was an amazing experience, even having been there before. The museum could be gone at any moment and I'm glad to have seen it.

While we were there a monkey jumped on Kip.

For sunset we rode out to Tonle Sap. With a German couple we chartered a boat and rode through the rafts, houses, schools, boats, churches and markets to the lake. I just love everything about this trip and know that I will do it again and again each time I return to Siem Reap. As the brilliant sun blazes towards the horizon the water sends willowy beams of light into the boat, illuminating the splintering ceiling and everyone's face. The cloth tied around the roof is thin and the sun shines through it with brilliant force. Children row by in their own small boats or perhaps a tin bucket. They are all naked and golden and smiling like they know no other way to hold themselves. They wave even if it breaks their rhythm and their vessel is beaten by the sloshing of our giant boat.

Menu Items

Eggs with Another Thing's Inside
Prawn Dance
Tiger Cry
Crap Soup
Scrabble Eggs
Mixed vegetables with Oyster Sauce (though still "okay for vegetarian")
Furry Whiskey
(Birdie)

There were lots of reasons to cry while we were in Laos, but I'd prefer to remember all the menu items that made us laugh. Now a brief game of catch-up:

Luang Prabang was a gorgeous city tucked into the surrounding mountains and cut into a peninsula by the rivers that formed its border. The food was good, the people were lovely; we did not realize how good we had it.

Ahead to our exit from Luang Prabang: Vinyl deathtrap-rocket. Sitting in a mobile sauna. Blasting off on the road from Luang Prabang to Vientiene. Spewing bolts and spraying dust. We skidded along the edge of the cliffs, dodging motorbikes and honking enthusiastically at anything with movement.

Vientiene=nightmare. Walked around dreading a night in our stuffy cubicle. Tried to find some restaurants with more to offer our vegetarian than "mixed vegetables with oyster sauce". Found a bar offering "eggs with another thing's inside". Decided against that bewildering option and finally ate Indian for the third night in a row. It was Ross' birthday so I gave him the bone carving necklace I made in Rangitukia, New Zealand. Tears and sad speeches ensued. Next morning Kip and I rose before dawn to venture out to Pha That Luang, a large temple at which a yearly festival is held. 200,000+ monks waiting for alms from about twice as many people. Something to behold. We waited about an hour and a half for the chants and praying to begin then we started to leave as the alms-giving commenced as it was obviously going to become chaotic. I tried to snap some photos, but nothing could possibly capture the scale on which this celebration took place.

As we walked back to our guesthouse I started feeling nauseas which I read as hungry. I rented two double rooms in a posh guesthouse as a present to Ross and an escape for Kip and I from the miseries of the grey, lifeless city. After settling in, we grabbed some lunch at a harmless looking cafe. I felt sick immediately. I spent the whole remainder of the day in bed, sending Ross and Yoko to buy bus tickets to Pakse for 7am the next day. Unfortunately that night, well 4am actually, I passed out in the bathroom. I woke up under the sink, which greatly disturbed me. My lip was bleeding, my nose sore and my head aching. I started to cry loudly. I think it was more to assure myself that I was still alive than to get attention. I tried to sit up and fell backwards blacking out again though still wailing. Kip came in and I managed to sit up and ask her to get Ross. We would have to postpone the departure.

It took another day to recover. We set out for the bus with low expectations. They were not met or exceeded. It was an uncomfortable 11 hour ride, with about 10000000000000 stops for food. It seemed that we would barely pull away from a road side vendor when the brakes would screech us to a halt and we'd be waiting for the masses to purchase more sticky rice, birds-on-sticks, frogs-on-sticks, furry whiskey, egg with chicken fetus inside, on and on. The food stops extended the trip a good 2-3 hours. No exaggeration.

After a night in Pakse we headed off on a bus to Don Khong, the largest island in an archipelago in the Mekong, Southern Laos. It was a quaint, friendly area and we felt great relief to be in a hospitable place. We rented bikes for a leisurely ride one day and took a boat trip to spot the irrawaddy dolphins another. Kip and I managed to see five dolphins dipping in and out of the water. It was a poorly executed boat trip in a vessel loud enough to deafen the earless, but just to see them was exciting. There are only around 100 left in this river because of "explosive fishing" in Cambodia (basically a charge is detonated underwater which kills everything within range) so it felt special to see five. It was Ross' turn to feel ill that day, so he missed that part of the trip unfortunately. Hopefully we will go back there one day when we can see Laos in a more relaxed and optimistic way. Overall I believe the country has a lot to offer, we just happened upon some unfortunate people and occasions. I do want to see more of the north and perhaps return to 4,000 islands for more exploration.

It was so good to cross the border back into Thailand. We were embarrassed, but overjoyed to see a 7-11. Just the thought of all that "safe" food made us giddy. We took an overnight train from Ubon Ratchathani but they only had 3rd class seats which meant sitting up the entire 11 hour journey. Agony! But we survived. Ross went straight to an ATM when we arrived into Bangkok's Hualumphong station and figured out that he had more money than he originally thought, but less than he really needed. He and Yoko opted to stay in Thailand and spend some time in the islands.

Kip and I wasted no time getting to the bus station and hopping on bus for Aranyaprathet. From there we crossed the border into Poipet, Cambodia. This border just gives me the creeps. You feel like something bad could happen at any second. There are massive casinos that loom above you with dangerous distraction, children begging and, if you let them, pocket-pinching, men trying to shout at you, touts trying to bargain with you, dogs trying to infect you. Lonely Planet says simply "it's a hole". I think it's worse than that, but that's a good way to sum up. We rented a Toyota Camry and driver to take us the 3.5 hours to Siem Reap. We are here now, well-fed and grinning. It is lovely to be here. It's a blessing to be healthy. I adore Cambodia and can't wait to tell you all about Angkor Take Two!

Alive

More later.

`It was the best butter,' the March Hare meekly replied.

This is a time when keeping a food journal would prove most useful. I have become violently ill, most likely due to something I ate. I won't go into the gross details, but last night whilst in the bathroom I fainted and fell under the sink, bloodying my lip and knocking my head. When I awoke I started to wail and passed out again, this time falling backwards into the shower. I asked Kip to go upstairs and get Ross. It was four in the morning and we were meant to be leaving in a few hours to catch a 13 hour bus to Pakse. I told him there was no way I would be able to get on a bus and survive that kind of journey. So we're in Vientiene for another night. There is a lot to catch up on, I just can't do it right now.

Love, the world
Suddenly turns, turns color.

we crossed into laos without incident. after weighing our options (a slow boat that takes two days to luang prabang or a fast boat that only takes six hours but has a fatal accident several times a month) we decided to skip both and take a flight. no planes flying from huay xai to luang prabang today, but we bought seats leaving tomorrow morning. lao aviation has a brilliant safety record, but i'm not sure if that's because they are actually safe or because they have so few flights. anyway, the guidebook says not to be alarmed if there are missing seat belts and broken seats on the plane. oh, i'm sure we won't be... kip will be taking valium and i'll just be laughing.

we can see chiang khong, thailand across the river but already things are different. laos' currency is the kip. their highest note is a 5000 note which amounts to less than $US.50. things are inexpensive here, but they could do with a 10000 or 20000 note. i changed the equivalant to $US50 and have a serious stack of bills (over 500,000 kip). bling bling.

the children constantly smile here and are all anxious to shout "sabadee" (hello) and play waving games. gorgeous people and we are only at the border. i have a feeling this country will be easily adored.

knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor

You think it's annoying here? At least you can scroll down, ignore it if you choose. At least you're not trying to sleep through a dozen stupified, opium-smoking, freakishly-AWAKE-after-four-hours-of-trekking-straight-uphill-into-the-mountains people who are inches away from your head and separated only through a bamboo wall.

Yesterday, Kip and I began a two day trek into the mountains of northern Thailand, beyond Chiang Mai. It started off poorly as the truck picked us up for the first leg of the trip and we circled town gathering trekkers. First there was the dreaded party-Pom, who is starting to age and therefore must drink and smoke and sleep with as many people as possible before they become too decrepit to move. He would not shut up about his Thai whiskey. How it wasted him. How good it was. How he wanted to pick some up to bring into the mountains. It's colour. It's taste. It's superiority to whiskey elsewhere in the world. As we drove from one guesthouse to the next picking people up the truck became really crowded. When everyone was loaded in, there were people standing on the back of the bed, outside.

We wound our way through the countryside and into the hills where we stopped for lunch. Then we grabbed our bags and went to climb onto our transportation up the first part of the hill: elephants. I adore these creatures. They are massive, but somehow possess grace. And though they are grey and wrinkly and have spiky little hairs all over, somehow they are beautiful. Must all be in their sweet eyes. I had mixed feelings about being up there. It was a really unique experience. Kip kept saying "I can't believe where we are" and it was truly special to be trapsing through the jungle on the back of an elephant. But everytime he slowed down or went off to grab a quick snack of bamboo, the guide would swat his legs with a switch!

We reached the end of the riding and put on our packs for the acsent into the hills. Oh. My. God. The heat was oppressive. I don't know if I've used these words before to describe my experiences in the heat, but there is no better word. In seconds we were dripping with sweat, labouring and gasping for breath. Our guide was sprinting up the muddy slopes and I could barely convince my legs to lift themselves. Finally, after about an hour, I gave in and had one of the guides carry my pack. I felt so ashamed, but I didn't think I could make myself go any further with the oddly shaped rucksack pulling on my shoulders. Even still it was torturous. The bugs, the heat, the humidity, the slippery track, the prickly vines that stuck tiny thorns in your skin if you brushed them. Once we were in the home stretch and had the tribal village in sight it grew a little easier. My spirit brightened.

Our accomodation for the night was a bamboo hut with three rooms. We climbed a bit of a wooden ramp and to the right was our sleeping room, with mats laid out on the floor and mossie nets hanging from the ceiling. Passing that room you came to a deck, with views of the hills, village and surrounding mountains. To the left was the room used as a kitchen (though there was no eletricity) and another room that seemed to have no purpose until later that evening.

We all lined up to use the shower (a hose with a shower nozzle on it) and, once clean, amused ourselves. For some that meant cracking open their beers. For others it meant strumming the guitar gently. For Kip and I it meant wandering from viewpoint to viewpoint, snapping photographs of the village and the mountains of Burma, drenched in purple and blue by the fading light and draped in heavy clouds. We were dying to eat dinner and head straight to sleep. Dinner took forever. Finally it arrived, completely vegetarian, much to Kip's relief. Afterwards children from the village came, dressed in native costumes. They danced and sang to us in their our language (which is not Thai, as they have migrated from Burma and speak their own dialect). I snapped photographs and afterwards many of the children crowded around as I displayed the pictures on my camera's LCD.

We got changed and laid down, hoping to fall asleep instantly. This was definitely wishful thinking. We were in one of the most serene places on earth. But these fools had no idea where they were. They may as well have been back in Bangkok at a pub. They drank. They peed off the deck. They talked as loudly as possible, though everyone could have heard a whisper up there. They went into the next room to smoke large amounts of opium, like it was some kind of amusement park ride and you just had to smoke this local plant or you wouldn't experience the whole occasion. Worst of all, they sang. Unfortunately there was a very limited catalogue for these people to choose from. They seemed to know very few songs between them. No one really knew how to play guitar, they were just all taking turns strumming out dribble. And since no one knew any one song all the way through most songs consisted of many la las or na nas, followed by a belting roar of the chorus:

HEY JUDE la la na na na na na na na na na na na na na REMEMBER la na na na na na na na na na na na na MAKE IT BETTER!

knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor knock knock knockin on heaven's dooooooor (this went on and on, just this fragment of the song)

desperado la la la la la la la la SENSES you've been na na na na na na

buffalo soldier in la na na na nAmerica brana na na la na na

let me be let me be let me be let me be speaking words la na na let me be

WELCOME TO THE HOTEL CALIFORNIA such a na na na na na la la la

No woman no cry no woman no cry do you remember la la la na na

After a short period we wanted to kill ourselves. It was so obnoxious. It was embarrassing. I was completely mortified to be with these people. We slept very little.

Today there was a trecherous hike down a hill was just one muddy slip to the next. Our machete-wielding guide made us bamboo walking sticks which just went flailing each time we slipped. Eventually we came out to a waterfall where we were given a generous ten minute break before heading out again. When we finally reached the bottom we hopped into rubber rafts and did some white water rafting down the river. It was pretty tame rafting, but was still quite enjoyable. Then we switched for bamboo rafts and continued down a lazy, calm stretch.

I can't say that I regret the experience. I'm glad I went and saw what I did. The mountains are absolutely stunning, just hard to appreciate when you're whizzing by them to keep up with the group. In the few moments of muted noise we enjoyed as the sun set over Burma we were able to fleetingly appreciate the setting. The villages and their people seem so gracious and lovely. I just wish I could have enjoyed a night of peace in the far reaches of this country. As always, I am horrified by the lack of respect and decency some travellers have for the areas they are visiting. I can only say that the village we visited had been totally devastated by the countless trekkers that had passed through.

Heading to Laos tomorrow.

Where am I today, I wish that I knew

We are in Chiang Mai and I can not say how glad I am to be out of Bangkok. Our "VIP" bus ride was such a disappointment! It was not even comfortable and the treats were seriously lacking. We had been very badly sunburnt in the kayak and because we were sitting on the bus for so long our feet and ankles swelled up. We had hobbit feet. I kept having panic attacks that my legs would explode. I don't know if travel insurance covers exploding appendages. Have to look that one up.

The three of us took an overnight train to Chiang Mai and it was lovely. Being on the train is so relaxing for me. It was good to lay down fully to ease the swelling. The metrical flow of the tracks always lulls me. The rhythm is steady, like a certain lullaby and slowly, gently I drifted to sleep. A second train glided by like a secret. It rushed up unexpectedly, with seeming urgency, and left whispers on the tracks. Passing trains leave no trace and you feel that you couldn't explain what has happened to anyone who hasn't heard the secret too. When the sun rose I sat in my bunk and watched the northern hills roll by. Ross climbed down from his bunk and we sat together looking out the window into the jungles of Thailand.

Our first night here Kip and I went to the monk chat. We each had several monks to talk to and they were so pleased to sit and answer any mundane question you asked. Both of my monks were from Laos, so I even got travel tips from them! As we stood up to leave a passing monk said, "Why are you leaving? You got a hot date?" !!! Where do they learn this slang? That comment will keep coming up between Kip and I for a long time, I'm sure.

Yesterday we went to Doi Suthep. It is high in the hills with a panoramic view of the valley and a peaceful tiered temple. The bells hanging from the roof jingle when a breeze picks up. There are many open buildings with numerous buddhas whose feet are awash with lotus blossoms and incense. It's a place to comfortably sit for hours and focus your energy on productive thought.

We have moved on from our first guesthouse (Five Star House; just the name not the reputation). We were told we had to leave unless we booked a trek. It wasn't rough leaving as the place was pretty ordinary and they didn't even allow "lady joiners" (what?, indeed). There is a rumour going around town that Tinar, the hostess, is really a man.

It's our third day in Chiang Mai and we have bought too many things already. Our packs are begin to weigh us down like there is a 13 year old in a papoose on our backs. Must find a way to fix this...

roasty toasty

Congratulations are in order here, as Kip and I rented a sea kayak, paddled our sorry selves to an island about two kilometers away and lived to brag. About half way into it, we were moaning about our shoulders and swearing we'd never make it. But in just one hour we pulled the kayak up onto the shores of Poda island, just west of Rai Leh. After a brief cool down, we hopped in the boat again and rowed ourselves around to a hidden cove where we enjoyed some snorkelling on our own private beach. On the row back we pushed ourselves, rowing fiercely, fearing that the enormous grey cloud looming over Rai Leh beach would explode into a thunderstorm and we would be tossed from the kayak. We made it somehow.

Surprisingly we weren't sore when we woke up this morning. But our legs are badly sunburnt and that is making it miserable to walk around. There are some dangers in Thailand that you just don't account for. As we sat by the water eating our breakfast a fleshy, green nut, about the size of a walnut, fell from a tree and smashed on our table. It was obviously aiming for Kip, but luckily it missed. We had enough pain to deal with.

We are on our way to the bus station in Krabi to leave our blissful paradise. It was gorgeous weather for us and well worth the effort to get here. Tomorrow morning I'll be heading to Don Muang airport to collect Ross!

currently writing a biographical musical, starring zach (casting still in talks)

Three days alone in Bangkok is too much for any person to bare. Finally Kip arrived, but by that time I fear I had lost half of my lung capacity to pollution. We set off on a bus that was allegedly "air condition only" but was suspiciously VIP in nature. There were fancy pillows, snacks, meals, Thai suspense films and music blaring at every brief stop.

We pulled into Krabi while it was still dark and about four hours earlier than I had anticipated. After realizing we were in the right place we leapt off the bus, hoping to be rid of such torture for good. There was a good deal of time here while we tried to figure out where to head and were expectedly harrassed by touts offering the ultimate getaway. Eventually we took a pickup to Ao Nang where we caught a long tail boat to Rai Leh beach. (For reference see "The Beach" as they filmed many scenes on this peninsula and on a neighbouring beach). It's been a wonderful experience so far. There are a handful of bungalows and restaurants and not much else. Tomorrow we hope to go sea kayaking and explore the caves and islands in the area.

Kip is a great travelling companion and I may keep her. If she annoys me, though, I might try to sell her in Bangkok when we go to pick up Ross on the 28th. She would fetch a fair price. Will keep you all posted.

why does it always end like this?

my plane leaves in a few hours. of course i am panicked. i feel like i'm forgetting something. everything. my head is racing. i always feel like this until i get to the airport and then, when it's out of my hands, i relax. by tonight i'll be in thailand.

yesterday i went to rottnest island with dad. this is where his father was held as a pow in ww1 when he was fourteen. it is a gorgeous, reef bordered island and we spent all day just exploring the sand dunes and beaches, imagining my grandfather walking these sands 90 years ago. it was a beautiful day. it was surreal to be with him on that island, searching for a link that i knew almost nothing about just weeks ago. i think i learned things that i have been trying to learn for twenty years.

I do not want much of a present, anyway, this year.
After all I am alive only by accident.
-Plath

I have less than one week left in Australia.

Currently I'm in Perth, staying with dad. This weekend we went to the Margaret River area, a few hours south of the city. It was a bit damp, but a lovely area brimming with vineyards, breweries, chocolate factories, cheese makers and, further out of the valley, bordering the divinely ultramarine waters of the Indian ocean.

The week feels like it's being let down a bathtub drain. Very slowly, but you have the low gurgling to remind you that soon it will be empty and you'll soon be uncovered and chilled. While it's nice to see dad after such a long time he always makes the experience so basic. To him, it seems as if I'm returning after a school term or holiday. As if I come and go often and not, as it is, that we see each other hardly ever. He has been uncovering information about his father, who died when Dad was five. He was fifteen when he sailed into Australian territory as crew of a German merchant ship. He was captured as a Prisoner of War, though the ship was unaware WWI had even begun. He was held in Australia, first near Perth on Rottnest Island and then near Sydney. Until recently I hadn't even known my grandfather's name. Not because it was hidden or kept as a secret, but only because his side of the family doesn't discuss the past. My father's family is darkly veiled for no particular reason. Losing your father so young must make it difficult to understand the true role a father plays to a child. How does your small mind piece together the equation of family when only half the puzzle exists?

Also, I wonder if parents who have separated see their children as the glimmers or blatent characters of their former partners. And because they have lost the love for one another does seeing that similarity in their children make them lose pieces of that love? I wonder if this happens, though no thoughtful parent would admit. I wonder if this happened with my parents.

maybe the dingo ate your baby

Adelaide has nothing to mention, except that they are a bit stuck up by the fact there were no convicts involved in their settlement. I spent one night here and caught the famous Ghan to Alice Springs. It's an overnight train and was surprisingly comfortable. I spent a good deal of the night awake in the lounge car, watching the Simpsons and Lord of the Rings DVDs with a couple who had brought a Playstation 2. What champions! When the sun finally rose in a burst of splendor only the desert can muster, I was up instantly. Back in the lounge car I watched the dry, flat land radiate mile after mile. The seemingly immutable characteristics of the vast desert are actually in constant transformation. I am fascinated by the countless colours; the greens, greys and golds of the spinifex grasses and shrubs, the striking blue of the sky, often cloudless, the blackened trunks of bush-fired trees and the rich, burnt umber of the mysteriously fertile earth.

I arrived into Alice Springs and the heat slapped me violently as I hopped off the train. The carriage had been deceptively cool but outside was nearing 38 degrees celsius. The airconditioned bed at the hostel was like a cradle and I was out as soon as I hit the pillow.

The next day I was off on a camping trip to the cherry-candy centre of Australia, Ayer's Rock. We drove off at 6:30, twenty clueless backpackers and our guide, Darren. I sat up front with an insane Chilean, who reckons there are more aliens living in Chile than anywhere on earth, a German interested in learning about the prostitution in Thailand and a sheep-loving Welshman (enough said there). Up first was a 5km walk through King's Canyon. Darren says this canyon is larger than the Grand Canyon, but I could never get out of him in which way. I think it may have just been an American/Australian-mine-is-bigger-than-yours. The canyon was a humbling spectacle. The wind at the summit almost pushed us over as we marvelled over the height of the drop.

That night we turned off the main road and plowed through some bush to get to our "camping site". I use this term loosely as it was just a clearing in the middle of NOWHERE. We unrolled our swags (a small mattress inside a body bag), opened our sleeping bags and laid down to sleep beneath the undisturbed mural of a billion stars. This would have been the most beautiful sight and the most peaceful sleep of my life if I hadn't been absolutely terrified about the spiders that live without care in the bush. I was awake with eyes wide for most of the night. We were up at 5am.

We spent the day exploring the Olgas (Kata Tjuta). This collection of massive sandstone globes lies a few miles from Ayer's Rock (Uluru). The colours, shapes and sheer size of these rocks was incredible. We climbed and hiked through a small portion of the Olgas, maybe a quarter of the total area, but it took us about four hours!

As sunset approached we pulled up to the carpark to cook our dinner and all gathered around for the best view. There were masses of people, so I slipped off and walked down the road until I was alone. I turned off the main road and into the bush. Then I was in solitude, Uluru before me. The rays of the sun illuminated the huge monolith and it melted from one red hue to the next. The sky was transformed behind it, like an infinite canvas. As the sun set it faded into silhouette and the stars began to descend.

On the way to camp, Darren turned on some disco music, a strobe light and put up a mirror ball. Oscar showed us his enigmatic way of dancing, which was mainly just a lot of hitting his ass. Around the campfire we sang, toasted marshmallows, listened to guitar strumming and watched the fire, trancelike. We awoke from another night of terror at 4am. Like prisoners we loaded ourselves onto the bus, filthy and tired. But as soon as we arrived back at the Uluru viewpoint all that misery disappeared. The sun crept up to our horizon, brightening the sky, and was suddenly upon us in a great flash. It was a spectacular sight. When we had all washed up as best we could in a rest area sink, we headed over to the rock itself. It is a 9.4 km walk around the base. I only hope I have the opportunity to do this walk again. It was phenomenal. When you see photos of Ayer's Rock it seems smooth and simple. But it's a complex of caves, rock piles, valleys and ridges. And you can not understand the enormity of the thing until you are beneath it. I took some photos, but I don't think they can be fully appreciated without the personal experience. I did not climb to the summit because it is viewed as disrespectful by the local people.

After we left the park we prepared to leave Oscar and Andreas (Chilean and German, respectively) at the airport. After all their entertainment it was quite a sad farewell and we all slapped our asses at them through the window as we drove away. We made one stop on the way back to Alice Springs to ride camels. What sweet and comical creatures! It was a unique ride, the height and speed of the animals surprised me. It was a great way to end a remarkable journey to Australia's red centre.

I am beginning to empathize with those who crave the desert. When they are drowning in the world they crawl on dry knees to the hot, dusty, flat earth. It is level enough here to see in all directions. You are fooled into believing that you have a clear vision that gives you control of your environment. But the desert is brutal and always the one in control. Maybe there's the comfort. I'm still working it out, being an ocean-girl.

On to Perth 5th October.

It's Been Awhile

So I've been a long way since I wrote last. What I mean is a great distance has been covered. Also, I'm a year older. Funny how that all happens in a day here. No build up. No celebration. Just a passing. Just a calender mark off. Just a day closer to home.

I spent a lovely week in Melbourne with Ross and Yoko. We ate good food, met good people, danced. Ross and I walked to Middle Park and took photos outside the house where we were babies. It was a beautiful day. For all the reasons a day can be.

Today was the Great Ocean Road. It is all those things. The wind blows with amazing force along the Southern tip of this country. It's like being hit in the face with Antarctica. The shrubs are low and clustered. They all have a hard shell, but beneath it they are fragrant and soft plants. Very familiar. The combination of the salty, wet breeze, the unending expanse of ocean, the fierce vegetation, the screaming of the wind all made me think of Winter Harbor, a Northern Hemisphere mirror of this very shore.

they say it's your birthday

it's my birthday, too.

yeah.

I know what you Want the Magpies have come

This seems like an innocent enough lyric. But right now in the western suburbs of Sydney, Australia a strange magpie ritual is taking place. It is nesting season. This means that a protective magpie will swoop at anything it feels poses a threat to the nest and any subsequent baby magpies. Now I had the unfortunate opportunity to witness such an attack at the park last week when a nasty old bird dove towards the head of my two-year-old charge, Cassie. She was just standing there watching the bird calmly and still, when it swooped at her and then continued to swoop as the toddler ran screaming to me. Since this nesting period lasts more than a month and has just begun, I can only imagine the horror that is to transpire in this peaceful mountain town. Imagine me: trying to hang up laundry. Jumping with every magpie caw. Wearing a baseball cap backwards with sunglasses resting on the brim. Hoping that if a bird does dive bomb me it will go for the back and not the FACE! Has anyone seen that movie about THE BIRDS? I am living in that movie.

Spent the weekend in Sydney. Simone has a friend living in Mosman who, unfortunately, decided to go camping, but fortunately, agreed to lend me her keys and posh lifestyle for a few days. Staying in Mosman is like staying in a sun-drenched Hollywood condo. It's like living on Beacon St. Or on the Thames. It's like being in a room overlooking Central Park. It's like...I don't know. It's just great. Sydney is the most beautiful city in the world. Instead of trains, buses or taxis, you can explore the city on ferries. And amidst the beams of lemony sunlight you watch the picturesque harbor unfold as you hop from one wharf to the next. The illustrious opera house rises as you turn from the bay and then the harbor bridge looms above you. Insane, bridge-climbing tourists dot the summit with their silhouettes. And in front of you is circular quay where all ferries come and go and the city begins to breathe.

Sydney makes you feel beautiful by association.

And though I was tempted, in the envelope of this luxury, to just stay in my silk-sheeted bed eating chocolates and delivered Thai food, or listening to tragic/funky/popular/danceable music, or sitting on the veranda eavesdropping on nearby neighbours gossiping from the fifth storey window of their 3 million dollar hillside homes, I actually managed to DO quite a lot. There was the Taronga Zoo, which houses any kind of animal you could possibly imagine. As the sun started to set, just before I called it a day and left, the koalas woke up from their 22 hour nap and started to frolic. I took a starlit ferry back to the city where I went to a concert (Mum). I took a walk around Neutral Bay and Mosman to do some painful window shopping. Spent hours exploring Darling Harbor. Went to the aquarium where they have an understandable obsession with "Finding Nemo". Visited the Chinese Gardens (a tranquil oasis in surprising bloom). Wandered through Chinatown. Trudged over the bridge (on the footpath, not over the top). And even found the moments necessary to enjoy choc, Thai food, good music and nosy veranda relaxation. I'm pretty good at filling my day with all the productive activities required to balance my languid delights. I think travelling is my thing. I am the queen of voluntary exile. Now, how to generate income this way...?

In other news: Jordan and Simone are home from the hospital today. He is still sleepy, but absolutely gorgeous in his tiny ways and faces. Also, on an unrelated topic, my tickets have been changed yet again. I am flying from Perth to Bangkok on the 19th October and to London on the 22nd November. Mark your calendars and JOIN me, people. In addition to Thailand, I'm planning on hitting Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam and possibly Malaysia, Singapore and Indonesia (just the archipelago in the north).

Once there was a boy who came to stay

He had a formal, gold-stamped invitation but there were complications. First there was trouble with his transport and somehow the dates were mixed up and he arrived earlier than he had expected. The door opened expectantly and lovingly and he entered in his best, brilliant red suit. Quietly. Softly. Sleepily.

Though his manner suggested otherwise, it was actually quite startling for him. He checked his map and directions. Surely this couldn't be right. He had spent the last few months tucked in a cushy suite in a posh location near Sydney and suddenly he realized how different this journey was going to be. He decided to rest. Just silently relax, regroup, maybe spend a few days at a spa, having all his needs tended to. Time rolled blissfully by. There were guests, of course. He was a very important person and his visit was greatly anticipated. But he just couldn't bare all the attention and slept on.

There were voices that he definitely knew from somewhere. Many whispers and queries "Is there anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable, Mr. Konemann?". And gentle caresses. Songs. Wishes blew about his bed furiously and often. He was beginning to think that with all this love and (strangely familiar) presence surrounding him it might be alright to wake up. Just maybe he would open his eyes and peek out at this new land. Harsh, noisy, bright, cool and foreign it was. He closed his eyes for just a moment more.

And we all waited patiently for him.

sounds like a personal problem

There is a man. He wears a set of paper bags and stands on his box. He says to beware; "The Portuguese fires are burning", "The Vegas strip is flooding", "The big apple is dark". He tells me to seek shelter in the arms of Jesus. Then he says that word: Armageddon. Certainly I am in the midst of a battle between my good and evil parts. I don't think this is what he means though.

People walk by and laugh at him. He is so different. He is mad in their eyes. Or maybe we are mad; trying so desperately to live our lives out of a catalogue, to be normal and straight and successful. So afraid to make a discovery that will lead us down a path we're not already on, we wander in disguise. Schizophrenics unable to vocalize our dreams. Left in our mad worlds with the appearance of utter normality. Pretending is the most subtle insanity. Ah well, as Simone says "sounds like a personal problem to me". Guess some will work through it and others will never realize it's an issue.

On a less morbid note, Simone is going into hospital this Wednesday to have the baby. It is becoming terribly exciting. But I am becoming increasingly aware that time is slipping past. It's almost my birthday! I only have two months left in Australia! I will be home in three months! I have been gone for nine months! It's all so incredible to me.

By the way, my dates for Thailand are the 24th October to the 25th November if anyone is interested in joining me.

"the tragedy of these people was that nothing in their lives had really bitten deep at all..." -Last Tycoon, F. Scott Fitzgerald

No, this is not at all a statement about the family I'm living with.

It just blows my mind that there are people out here, in a vast, dangerous, entrancing, gorgeous, exhilarating country such as Australia, and they have no idea that they are blessed. It completely escapes them that they are in the midst of an adventure, whether they're here to work, travel or remember. Whether they saved for three years to get here or meant to book a ticket to Melbourne, Florida and ended up in this red-brick oven. At every moment there is a choice to be free, even if chained to obligation. These children are half a WORLD away from everything they have grown amongst and into. As if possessing the particular demands of an orchid they refuse to bloom in unfamiliar territory.

Even though we're in a young country, you can feel the ancient past of the eucalypt trees, dusty soil, coral coast and rainbowed stones. The land should belong to the first people who existed here, in spirit before body. They call the moment in history before we needed bodies or farms or words The Dreamtime. If you want to believe, it's possible that this is all still a dream. Maybe we are living in a story, and when we close the book the Europeans will still only be socializing and lunching and parading in Europe. Maybe the bushwalkers are still the only ones on this continent, souls taking only what they need from this land. Looking up, into the stars that inspired the origin of questions, it seems natural to wonder.

In spite of all the negativity from fellow travellers, I feel like I'm sending roots through this ground, through the centre of the earth. When I come home I want to be international in a non-starlet sense. I want to grow anywhere.

Just a Spoonful of Sugar

I'm a nanny again.

Last night whilst I was wandering around the foyer of the YHA I spotted a handwritten want-ad. It requested IMMEDIATE assistance on the homefront. I grabbed it, called first thing in the morning, met with the family mid-day and left early afternoon with a job! There are two beautiful girls; Holly (4) and Cassie (1). Simone is also about 35 weeks pregnant with a third child. I'll be living with them in Leura, a charming village in the Blue Mountains next to Katoomba, for three to five weeks. I'm actually excited at the whole prospect. I'll be on a routine, making money, living with a lovely family, spending time with children, exploring the Blue Mountains at a leisurely pace, experiencing the real Australia. These are all good things.

Tonight I went to have a listen of Jodi Martin. She's a folk singer from Ceduna (one of the prime spots to witness the solar eclipse that happened earlier this year). I thought she was really talented. She plays a variety of stringed instruments and I was impressed with her skill. She's a wonderful songwriter, but her lyrics were sometimes lacking. You know that annoying habit Alanis has of mushing words into a line so brimming with syllables that thoughts are seeping out uncontrollably? Jodi does that sometimes. It always throws me off when a singer does that. It was so nice to be at a folk concert though. Comfortable. Familiar.

Learn Something New Everyday

Okay, let's get you up to speed. Bellingen was too beautiful to resist an extended stay. But after three nights, I was cold through to my BONES. Even still I enjoyed myself. Michael Hubbard, the young-slide-guitar-playing-genius, who performed at the Cool Creek Cafe, was gorgeously talented. After the show I walked down to the river where I attempted to cross over to Bat Island. It was pitch black, however, and impossible but the starlit walk was still invigorating. That night I went to stay in a community in the Thora valley. I slept in a caravan on the river's edge. Talk about getting back to nature. These people live in such peace. One woman lived in a house made out of the bamboo she collected from the forest topped off with a VINE ROOF. Amazing. I rode back into town with them for the markets. It was just such a great experience.

From Bellingen I travelled south to Seal Rocks. This is a transparent township on the coast, blink and you'll miss it. But it was the most stunning, pristine ocean scene I have ever witnessed. I stood on a snowy white sand dune above the bluest ocean, surrounded by red cliffs topped with velvety green vegetation, for at least two hours. People were milling about far below me, but I was alone. I sat as the sun drifted down my back, casting haunting shadows towards America. That night we built a fire between dunes and the group from the bus just talked, roasted bananas and marshmallows and looked at the green, orange and pink stars that shot across the sky.

After a night in Sydney I jumped on a bus for the Blue Mountains. The oil from the gum trees lifts into the air and creates a hazy, blue hue from a distance. Just outside of the city limits the mountains rise like indignant shoulders. This nature isn't going without a fight. It's been here, battling for millions of years. I read about a type of pine tree that's just been discovered in a Blue Mountain canyon. It was thought to have become extinct 65 MILLION years ago. It has needles, but they hang on fronds, like a palm tree. It's trunk is alive and textured, like a tall, lanky pine cone. It exists nowhere else in the world and has been hidden in this miraculous maze of mountains for all of man's time on earth.

I am staying in Katoomba, a very New England style town. They are having "Yulefest" right now. Feasts and Christmas-type celebrations. It's a fun time to have stumbled upon. Tomorrow I'm opening another musical door when I see Jodi Martin perform at the Clarendon Hotel. She's meant to be a rising star and her face has been plastered on posters all down the east coast. I will let you know how it goes. Aside from that I am doing countless bush walks which all lead to awesome views of the canyons, cliffs and mountains. The colours change with every minute, as the sun moves and clouds gather or dissipate. I know how lucky I am to be witnessing all this beauty.

"On a night like this I can actually hear the happiness inside me" -Rowan, my little sage

Quickly

In Sydney, finally. Tomorrow I head off for the Blue Mountains. There is a lot to catch up on, even though it's only been two days! It will all come soon. Right now I'm off for an early night in King's Cross.

Lost the Plot?

"When you travel, you experience, in a very practical way, the act of rebirth. You confront completely new situations, the day passes more slowly, and on most journeys you don't even understand the language the people speak. So you are like a child just out of the womb. You begin to attach much more importance to the things around you because your survival depends upon them. You begin to be more accessible to others because they may be able to help you in difficult situations. And you accept any small favor from the gods with great delight, as if it were an episode you would remember for the rest of you life.

At the same time, since all things are new, you see only the beauty in them, and you feel happy to be alive."

from "The Pilgrimage" by Paulo Coelho

Currently I'm in Bellingen, home of David Helfgott. (For those of you uncertain who that brilliant mind is please rent "Shine".) It's laundry time and I'm enjoying the bliss of being a sloth with a book and some leaf-filtered sunshine.

Tonight I'm out to discover some local acoustic talent at the Cool Creek Cafe. This place is relaxed and alternative. The people walk slowly, even if they have a place to go. The shops are enveloped in the felt creatures and garments of crafty Steiner mothers. The windows all offer yoga, meditation and tribal drum experiences. Bright, rainbow birds sing determinedly. I miss home.

Into the woods
To get the thing
That makes it worth
The journeying.

Not quite out of the woods with this sickness yet, but I'm getting there. From Bargara I travelled south to Mooloolaba. I stayed the for three nights as it was another good place to rest and they gave me my own room (it's good to be a travel agent). I took a day trip to Noosa, which is lovely. It reminds me of Winter Park (where I used to live in Florida). Unfortunately if you don't have a gold card there isn't a ton to do. Couple this day with my rereading of The Orchid Thief and you've got me feeling a bit homesick for Florida, something I never thought I'd be.

On the way out of Mooloolaba we stopped at an animal sanctuary. There were sweet, sleepy little koalas, some with babies in their pouches, wombats pacing in their enclosure and red kangas, some also with joeys in pouches. We got to hand feed them, which was really special. They look so reminiscent of my little kitty! I guess that's why I named him "Kangaroo Paw".

I've stayed the past two nights in Nimbin, which is a really relaxed and beautiful place to chill out. It's called the drug capital of Australia (humourous with their population of about 200). Last night when I went out, after being offered dime bags from four people from the age of 60 down to 10, I saw why. Regardless, it is a great community with a candle factory, interesting book store, wonderful organic cafes and a spectacular sunrise view from my bedroom window. Tomorrow I head south again...

now i know how a roasted chicken feels

I've been incredibly sick the past few days. I think it's the flu, which seems to be going around here. I am in Bargara, just south of Airlie Beach trying to recuperate. I was supposed to leave for Hervey Bay today to head out to Fraser Island, but now I think I will skip that all together. My whole body is just aching and I slept for maybe two hours last night. It was horrible. My head was dizzy with one of those fevers that you think "My head is just going to explode. My brain is surely frying." Nightmare.

Other than that... this resort is a beautiful place to rest. I'm staying in my own apartment, which is marvelous. There's even a sauna here. Movie channels and miso soup. A certain cure.

I miss my own pillow and the opportunity of a bath.

Back from Paradise

I'm astounded by how quickly the salt and sand have washed from my hair and skin. How quickly this experience has been washed from my body (never from my mind). From crystalized and sun-stained to smooth and bronze.

I have just spent three luscious days aboard the Matador yacht off the coast of Queensland. We spent the bright, spotless, azure days touring the WhitSundays. We hopped off to lounge on Whitehaven beach, blanketed in silica sand as light and fine as powdery snow. I was part of a small group, sleeping below deck or above as the night skies allowed, eating fresh and tasty food, snorkelling in the depths of the mysterious great barrier reef (amazed by the colour and enchanting creatures mere feet from the surface), counting the familiar constellations (everyone with their own knowledge and contribution) until we lost ourselves in the vastness of the universe and the conversation turned to something deeper. It is a trip I want to take again and again until the ocean sends me away, tosses me back onto the land. I have always been intoxicated with the expanse and haunting uncertainity in the seas. But I realize now that I have never known the water truly before now.

I am trying to keep my mind grounded now that I am back on dry earth. My legs sometimes sway and my dreams are liquid, languid and flowing. Amazing.

Boys in the Trees

The air in Northern Queensland is warm and gummy. It hangs on your skin like honey. Drapes you in toxic sweetness and heat.

I'm on Magnetic Island right now. Off the coast of Townsville. Just like New Hut on Koh Samui I'm sleeping in an A-frame hut. Tropical and lush. This morning I saw a Kookabura outside my door. He bobbed his head around like he owned the place. I guess he used to. His head looked too big for his beautifully sculpted body and neatly layered feathers. An incredibly hip bird. His fuzzy flatop slicked back like a six year old boy just out of the pool and away from mum's comb. Elvis in infancy.

Jotting down notes for my post I am sitting on an elevated level above the shore. With a perfect view of the coral reef. (That famous one) The sand is bright and light, like frosted glass, shattered. The water is a tempting ultramarine along the beach and then about 50 meters out drops off into death and darkness. Well, death for those who dare to walk too far, or life for those who make the ocean floor their home. The ocean would like you to know; it can reclaim you at any moment.

Went for a short bush walk today. Koalas dangled their arms from the trees lazily. Languid and charming little fellows. Maybe I can sneak one home...

winter?

I've spent the past week in Kuranda, which is a tropical village just west of Cairns. Steve and his daughter, Kirsty, have welcomed me into their home to help care for their animals and do a bit of yard work. They have five horses, two goats, half a dozen sheep, dozens of ducks and chooks and two dogs. It's quite a handful!

This is my first real wwoof experience (calling up a stranger to ask if I can live/work with them as part of the family) but it has been wonderful. I wandered down to Kuranda village to their bustling craft markets, walked through the rainforest, saw the world's largest butterfly and went for a lovely horseback ride.

The climate here is tropical, which I love. The trees grow and bend like canopies over the roads and all through the yard. The sky, when it's not raining, is the most brilliant unspoilt blue. I have spotted a few fat spiders, but I'm learning not to scream and cry and can actually respond with a hand swat and a "shoo". Though my heart still races and it takes me a bit longer to fall asleep than it should. Still I'm making progress.

Tomorrow it's off to Mission Beach, which I hear is sleepy and serene. Nice break. Tully is my next wwoofing stay so there will be more to report in the next week.

my life the past few days

Mud.

simple happiness

Well, even as I threatened with departure, New Zealand was good to me until the end. I spent my last night in Wellington, catching a cast discussion of the movie "Whale Rider" at Te Papa, then enjoying the unseasonably mild winter's night walking around the harbor and city streets. Instead of paying for a hostel the night before I left (since I needed to be at the airport around 3 am anyway) I went right to the airport to wait 10 hours for my flight. I like a bit of self-torturing adventure.

After 36 draining hours in the same clothing (and shoes!), I am safely and contentedly in Cairns. The weather is brilliant. Sunsets knock me off my feet. I'm staying in a little oasis right in the city center. Tuesday I'll head off in a southerly direction, hopefully stopping off to do some wwoofing before relaxing again at Mission beach.

No spider sightings yet. Everyone keep up the happy thoughts.

there is a castle on a cloud. i like to go there in my sleep.

Tomorrow I am leaving Napier, and this house on a hill that seems to rest on clouds all day. I will truly miss this place, these people, this life. It was a nice place to try on a new idea of life, toy with possibilities and potential. I have a feeling I will be back.

When you hear from me again, I will be in Queensland. Think positive thoughts about my cunning avoidance of the deadly spiders. Together we can keep me safe.

I'm away from home and it's a way of life

For the past couple of weeks I have been merely absorbing. Because of this not much writing has been seeping out. The focus is all on the intake now. Feeding myself. So while I wish I had at least been recording basic daily activities I can't apologise for lack of update here. So, now that you all know how not sorry I am, let's continue:

After journeying up to the sacred Cape Reinga I was heading east towards the Coromandel peninsula. A peaceful collection of communities and communes, isolated shores, bush walks to storybook coves, Maori legends. During the drive we stopped to bush walk to Cathedral Cove. It was a gruelling walk because it was a series of steep stairs. When the track finally curved down to the sand there were massive caves, arches and ridges still being formed by the persistent waves. As with everything in New Zealand, the outcome was well worth the effort. We stayed a night in Whitianga (fiti-anga). We arrived as the sun was setting so my time in the area was brief. I don't think I experienced enough of what I hear to be a place with amazing vibes, culture, lifestyle and activity. It will just be another area on my list of further explorations when I move you all down here and we travel the country together. (Start saving.)

The next day brought us south, first to Matamata, famous or infamous for being the Hobbiton location for Lord of the Rings. A local farmer owns the land on which the village scenes were filmed and now charges people $60NZD to see the hills and fields where Elijah Wood may have stood. All the set pieces have been removed so you pay $60 to see grass. He’s made about half a million dollars from this enterprise. From here it was on to Rotorua. I hear there's a lot of culture in Rotorua, but to me it was just a city that smelled like rotten eggs. The city is built on and around sulphuric thermal springs and pools. So this is "the place" for seeing bubbling mud pools and soaking yourself in a standard hot tub filled with naturally hot water as opposed to heated water. I just don't see the big deal. I had a much more enjoyable hot pool experience near Napier that I will go into later. I just took it easy in the hostel wondering "when exactly do you get used to this smell?"

I had been looking forward to my East Cape adventure since I arrived back on the North Island. I joined up with an intimate part of the tour called East Cape Escape. It's a ten seater van and a local Maori driver who knows the land, the history, the people. I stopped in Whakatane (faka-ta-nay) for two nights. This is the jump off point for boat tours to White Island, the only active volcano in New Zealand. It's about 50km from shore so you go out on a boat and they lead you on a trek up to the edge of the crater. Unfortunately, though the weather was gorgeous and clear on the mainland the conditions on the island were not suitable for landing. They cancelled all the boat tours out there. Again, something for my to-do list on the next visit.

After two nights here I joined up with the group again and headed further into the East Cape, stopping in Whanarua Bay. Robyn (Gwill's mum) had recommended a hostel called Maraehako Bay Retreat. So good was her description and encouragement that I planned to stay for three days. I wish I had had a month to spend in this haven. It was set down a treacherously steep road that curved and narrowed. But then, suddenly, you had arrived. This mecca was right on the Pacific, set on its own small bay. It was a playground for the exotic adventure seeker. Hammocks hung from the arms of huge, lazy trees over a stream fed by the property's own waterfall. The house itself was built on levels, like a treehouse. There was a good deal of shoreline to explore and out front you could climb along honeycombed volcanic rock to a cove littered with Paua shells, shining purple, green and silver on the beach. At night there was a big fire in the courtyard, where you could watch as the day dipped easily into a blazing finale. I was hesitant to leave, but Napier was calling.

Leaving Whanarua Bay we continued to head east, until we could go no further. We stopped right at the eastern most tip of New Zealand, the lighthouse. The first place to see the new day's sun. It was over 1000 steps to the summit, but the views of the Pacific and the surrounding coastal islands were well worth the exhaustion. That night we stayed on a farm. It was in Rangitukia, completely isolated. Normally I would have enjoyed a farmstay, but this staff was odd and gave me a creepy feeling. A kind of now-we-have-you-all-alone-in-the-middle-of-nowhere-and-no-one-will-hear-your-screams type of feeling. Of course the morning came without incident and we quickly packed and left. That night's destination was Gisborne, where I met someone from Durham NH. He knew Abby Green, a girl I went to school with. He knew the roads I used to drive. He knew about the blossoming lilacs we had just missed. He had been to certain shows at the Field House at UNH that I had also attended. He knew my mountains and rivers and tiny coastlines. For the first time I got really homesick and close to tears.

Napier. I called Robyn, Fritha and Gwill's mum, as soon as I arrived and she sounded so pleased to hear from me. My homesickness was completely wiped away. (I think when your darling mum is not near the mum of your closest friends will do quite well.) She said she would be right down to pick me up and we "could go and play". I've been here about two weeks and we have definitely down our fair share of play. Robyn lives on a really special property called Hohepa. It's a group of homes for people of all ages with special needs. In her home there are five women, ranging in age from seventeen to forty. Stepping out onto the deck which overlooks the beginnings of a brilliant garden, there are rolling hills that even now in the middle of winter are healthy and green. They give way to a cloak of trees, still deep greens but also brushed with bronze and gold. Past the forest the hills are often darkened by the clouds which bruises them from charcoal blue to a deep lilac. The clouds themselves are always changing in shape and colour, adding another dimension to the scene. Robyn keeps calling the land “benevolent” and I think there is no better word. It is easy to see that this land will care for you if you can return the thought. The community has its own farm producing vegetables, dairy products, etc for each household. Robyn even collects honey from her own bees. (I have been eating like a gluttonous queen.)

We've had a lot of amazing day trips. With Alice and Leina we drove out to the Tarawera hot pools. These simple concrete pools were filled with the hot thermal spring water and overlooked a subtle lime, hunter and seafoam green valley. It was hidden and peaceful. We didn't see another soul. I was grateful to experience hot pools in this way rather than the commercialised versions in Rotorua.

I've been lucky enough to be here for two Wednesdays, which is the day The Cat and the Fiddle has its Irish music night. We've gone for dinner and to listen to the intimate, spontaneous and improvisational folk songs. It was interesting to watch as people who came to be spectators grabbed an instrument and joined in. The group is for all levels and there were times when we were all singing along.

Yesterday Robyn made an impromptu decision to drive out to Lake Waikaremoana for a glimpse at one of her favourite spots. She filled up a cooler with all sorts of treats and we set out on the long drive. The lake is set at a high altitude, formed when the Pacific plate pushed its way underneath the Australian plate and forced the area to rise. The clouds were thick, but the sun shone through when it could. As it peaked out the cliffs, hills and clouds danced between purple, blue, green and gold. We sat on the edge of the lake sipping wine, eating herb cheese and crackers and watching two black swans and their four grey signets dive for grass. The drizzle forced us into the car, but we stayed a long time watching the day fade, while Robyn made a hysterical dialogue between the family of swans. Our drive home was dark, but we filled the car with songs and canons. It was a magical day.

My time in New Zealand is counting down in days now. Soon I’ll be back in Australia. Amazing how much time has elapsed. I wonder if I’ve changed at all.

Be Patient towards all that is unsolved in your heart
And try to love the questions themselves.
Do not seek the answers that cannot be given you,
Because you would not be able to live them
And the point is to live everything.
Live the question now
Without noticing it
Live along some distant day
Into the answers.
-Rainer Maria Rilke

Every Witch Way

The above was printed on a campervan spotted from Wellington to Taupo.

From Wellington to Auckland I spent a rainy night in Taupo, which is beautiful, but I have to say one of my least favourite places in New Zealand. I will be staying for two nights there on my way southbound to do the 17km day trek known as the Tongariro Crossing. It's said to be one of the most beautiful walks in the world, past craters, lakes and forest.

On the 22nd I stayed at a hostel called City Garden Lodge in the Parnell district of Auckland. Normally I wouldn't mention a hostel, but this one has significance for me. It is right next to Neil Finn's house and studio! And he and his brother are recording an album and rehearsing for a bit of an unveiling concert to take place next week. I could have just died. I have dreamed of being that close and straining my ear in the peaceful night to hear even a possibility of Neil Finn strumming. Well I got the chance to do it in an unstalker fashion! So exciting.

Paihia in the Bay of Islands was the next stop. It was so warm after the chilly south I was in heaven. I took a cruise to see many of the 141 islands that make up the "Bay of Islands". The water was calm and crystal clear and full of dolphins with a few babies out for the day. Magical.

Early on the 24th we left for Cape Reinga. We stopped at a Kauri forest, home to the second largest type of tree (behind the California redwood). These trees live for thousands of years and grow very slowly. When the Europeans came they chopped down thousands of them for houses back in the UK and masts for their ships, because the trees grow extremely straight and tall. Just to give an idea of how tall, they could use a whole tree trunk as a mast for a ship.

From the forest we headed up to 90 mile beach, which is only about 30 miles really. No one is sure why it's inappropriately named. We took our all terrain vehicle onto the sand and drove up the shore, swerving into the waves and around the beach. Exhilerating. This lead to Cape Reinga, where the Tasman and Pacific meet and mix in a foamy dance. There is a definite white line where the two collide and it stretches into the horizon. Maori people believe that when they die, no matter where they are in the world that their spirits travels up 90 mile beach to Cape Reinga. There is a tree at the point, the most northern point in New Zealand, and their spirit seeps through the roots into the ocean. Then they make a journey back to Haiwaiki, a spiritual homeland. Their culture is filled with so many wonderful stories, which I hope to further experience on the intensely Maori east coast.

Later this morning I head to Whitianga (fi-te-anga) on the Coromandel peninsula.

After seeing "Zach" again in the Bay of Islands ordering some fish and chips: I realize the damaging part of thinking I've seen a friend (because I'm far from home). It clips my wings. And the freedom, first true freedom, and independence I'd been working towards drops from me suddenly. I realize part of me is still back there, still sitting in Boston Common, calling me home.

New Zachland: My Twilight Zone

Christchurch has to be my favorite city so far. There are other days and places that have surpassed it, but as a city it's my most fondly remembered. Getting there was a long drive, but apparently it was to prepare me for my days of endless driving in Australia. We drove up the east coast, through the alps. We stopped for a view of Mt Cook or Aoraki (cloud piercer in Maori). The name of the lake we stopped in front of escapes me, but it was formed by the Tasman glacier and the waters were a milky, icy blue. The is caused by the "rock flour" that is chisseled off of stone as the glacier receeds. I've been seeing water like this all over the south island and it's truly remarkable. This is where I saw two of Zach's many New Zealand twins. When I first arrived in Wellington I counted three people who could have been mistaken for Zach in a line up. Over the past two months those three have become nine! Lake Tekapo was our lunch stop, another glacial lake, watched over by a small church where the driver offered to marry any of the passengers. (I think he meant he would perform the ceremony, but it may have been a proposal.)

What was meant to be two nights in Christchurch ended up as five. I fell in love when we drove up to the Cathedral in the afternoon and I caught a first glimpse of Cathedral Square with it's performers, artisans, food stalls. My hostel was right across from the art centre of Christ's College and next to the Botanical Gardens and Canterbury museum. The tram passed by my window each morning, rumbled on like a reminder of my St. Kilda childhood. I spent a lot of time inside the Cathedral, climbing the 134 steps to the lookout, mesmerized by the stained glass, and just thinking. It was a great place to relax and wind up my time on the south island.

The last day I took a day trip to Akaroa, which was meant to be a French colony, but the British rushed down to plant their flag as the French sailed in, so it became a French settlement instead. Relaxing and charming day trip.

From Christchurch we had a quick drive up the coast to Kaikoura. It's a small town set on a bay with mountains jutting into the sky all the way up to the water. Upon arrival we drove around to one of the largest seal colonies in New Zealand. There were countless seal pups swimming through the seaweed and diving off of rocks. I got up early the next morning to watch the sun rise from the Pacific off the hostel verandah.

The following morning we drove up to Picton, where I caught the ferry back to Wellington. It was so heartbreaking to be leaving the south island. It is truly an amazing place. As we pulled out of the lush Marlborough Sounds there was a glimpse of tiered and towering rocks reaching from the sea and in the distance the Kaikoura peninsula where the Southern Alps rose like the broad shoulders of kings. A beautiful last sight.

I'm in Wellington visiting with Gwill for a few days. He finally bought his ticket to London. Exciting! He'll be leaving in a couple weeks. Tomorrow I'll be heading north to sunny, warm days.

i will meet you in the next life when we are both cats

I have a lot to write about. Unfortunately that will all have to wait.

A dear family friend, Pamela Collins, has lost a struggle against diabetes. We had hope after she finally found a kidney donor that her quality of life would improve and she would flourish again. Unfortunately not all gifts are what they seem.

Pamela was an amazing artist. She captured Winter Harbor, it's simplicity of life and complexity of nature, perfectly. It always made me feel quite important to hang one of her paintings on my wall.

I saw her just before I left. She was in pain, swollen and tired. But she had an accepting, positive spirit even though she was less than well. Her smiles only occasionally would break with a sigh, a kind of surrender to the unavoidable. She brought humor to every situation, as much for her sanity as the company's comfort.

Today I sit in Cathedral Square in Christchurch. Angels and saints before me. While family and friends gather across the globe for her wake, I remember her here in what seems the London of the South Pacific. A city she would have loved to paint. She walked around with me all day, told me where to look and how to go.

When I talked to mum she told me about a day, decades ago, when little me did a jig and demanded of Pamela "You dance". I am lucky to have known her all my life. She was an engima to me. Someone who was able to live in their art, to really see the beauty behind the mundane. She lived in a magical little house, more like an English cottage, surrounded by flowers and cats and delicate treasures. I always aspired to live the way she did. She was sarcastic at times, had a wonderful British humor. She was beautiful and graceful. She was peaceful. Truly a soul that had been here before and was improving with each visit. She was a part of my family and I loved her.

she's running to stand still

Far behind again. Only a few days pass and I've been west and south and north and west and east and back again.

Dunedin was a great city. I actually gasped as we came over the hill, because it's honestly tons bigger than I had imagined. Everyone emphasizes Queenstown which, in comparison to Dunedin, is a small and barely a city. Home to about 30,000 (out of a total population of 100,000) students, it's definitely a university city.

I took a Portobello village bus to Company Bay on the Otago peninsula, just east of town. From there it was a 4km walk up the most serious hill I've ever encountered. It's a wonder cars just don't slide backwards down it. At the top was the charming Larnach castle, built in the late 1800's by a local businessman. His family lived there for years and then death and family bickering left it uncared for and unowned. In the 1960's another family bought it, renovated it and set it up as a public attraction. Set in the hills overlooking the scenic peninsula (home to rare yellow-eyed penguins) with lush gardens and hidden pathways it made a nice day trip. All around the grounds were Alice In Wonderland figures, such as the cheshire cat in a tree and Alice herself in the greenhouse. I had scones in the ballroom cafe and headed down the hill fighting the intense winds.

It was earlier than I had anticipated when I got back to town, so I went to the Cadbury factory for a bit of a tour. It was Sunday and the factory wasn't fully operational, which was okay because they gave us triple chocolate samples to compensate. Oh yes, it did compensate. There's not too much to say about that adventure (as you are probably not too interested in how they make chocolate bars, but how they taste) except for YUM.

Early the next morning I left Dunedin for Invercargill. We drove through what is called the Catlins, in the southeast corner of the south island. It was blustery and cold, but the scenery on this stretch was amazing. The first stop was Kaka Point where the driver told us an interesting story. In the 1930's a young farmer's daughter in Kaka Point fell in love and was married. When the wedding night came she discovered that her groom was actually a second bride. To avoid a scandal the "groom" bribed the father, saying she would reveal the secret if he didn't give her money. He refused and instead turned her over to the authorities. It was uncovered that she had previously married five other unsuspecting women and bribed their families. On to Nugget Point, where we walked out to the lighthouse and saw seal pups sunning themselves on the petrified forest and rocks below. We past Surat Bay, Owaka, Tautuku Bay (where families had built houses on an inlet accessible only at low tide), Curio and Porpoise Bays (where dolphins will race up to swimmers in shallow water) and Slope Point (the southernmost tip of the southern island). At Slope Point we took photos of trees, pushed onto their sides (almost uprooted) by the severe winds. The wind roars in as there is nothing between this point and Antarctica so it has 1000s of km to pick up speed.

I spent the night in Invercargill as it was my jumping off point to Stewart Island. I opted to fly and it was a great decision. We took off from Invercargill and like a bumblebee hummed and flitted up and to the left. The city gave way to patchwork paddocks to sand dunes to beach and out to the translucent green waters of the Foveaux Strait. Foam on the water spread like cobwebs. A rainbow appeared, evidence of the determined sun, through the showers. The colourful ring circled around us in a way I've never seen before. Beside us the engines roared and all around us the pressure and speed rushed like a waterfall. As we neared Stewart Island the sea became thick and cloudy. The trees clustered together and from a distance resembled soft moss. The descent was the only slightly unstable portion of the flight. The plane fell and rose only twice and we dropped onto the narrow strip of runway.

Stewart Island was wonderful. In many ways it reminded me of Winter Harbor and Acadia National Park. Much of it is protected land. And one of the smaller islands to the east, Ulva Island, is a sanctuary. They have rid Ulva Island of introduced predators such as deer, possum and rats and are placing endangered plants and animals there are a means of conservation. I spent three lazy nights here, walking the tracks and beaches, sampling the deserts in the few cafes that line the two main streets, and relaxing with my journal. It rained for most of the time I was there, but it didn't matter. The simplicity of their life on "the island" and the sheer beauty of the island's nature was a real treat.

On the return flight the waters and islands to the east, as we took off, were dark and calm. As we circled around to the west the sun shone thorugh the clouds in patches illuminating small areas on the ferocious strait. I turned back for a look at lonely Oban village, the only on Stewart Island, tiny and isolated on an island paradise.

That evening we drove on to Riverton and the following day to Te Anau, with a stop at Lake Manapouri. It just stopped raining as we arrived and I followed a trail along the narrow end of the lake to where it opened up. It was absolutely magnificent. The rain was misting in the distance and the mountains and hills were rising around us as the fog cleared away from the rocky shore. It was one of my favorite stops of the whole South Island. Te Anau was a quiet lake town and our jumping off point for Milford Sound.

Milford Sound is not a sound at all. It's actually a fiord. The difference being that a sound can be created many ways, but a fiord can only be created by a glacier, as Milford was. Just the road winding through Fiordland up to the boat terminal was awe-inspiring. The rainforest met the mountain suddenly. Massive ranges hung like towers over my head and I had to crane my neck to get a decent view. They rose from the green, broad and dark, dusted with snow. In their majesty and temperature they house azure glaciers on their shoulders, oddly blue and icy above the lush tangle of tree and fern. Waterfalls in their multitude sprung from the mountainside and rushed down gracefully like milky veins. We passed Lake Gunn, where trees had fallen to a watery grave. They lay, seemingly floating, just beneath the surface. Intact they reached out, trunk extending frail branches that were turning a slow mossy green. The lake was so still. It almost seemed a mirror image of trees left standing.

The boat trip through the fiord was breathtaking. We past seals sunning themselves on rocks and hundreds of long, languid waterfalls. There's no way to describe it and my photos won't do it justice. It was just beautiful. My journey on this island would not have been complete without this day.

That night was back to Queenstown and out for Indian food and "The Life of David Gale". Today was a grueling trek to Christchurch. I will go into that drive and my Christchurch experience in the next couple of days, because this is plenty to read for now.

the truth is i could no more stop dreaming than i could make them all come true

Fox Glacier was amazing. I decided not to do a guided tour onto the ice. It was expensive and it's not easy for me to keep up with a group, so I didn't think I would enjoy it too much. Instead I walked from Fox township 3 km to the glacier access road, another 3 km up to the carpark and then another 1 km to the terminal face of the glacier. From far away it looked covered in soil, jagged, and ugly. But once I reached the terminal face, and was close enough to jump to the ice itself there was a blue tint gleaming within the ice and it appeared to be covered in a dusting of ash. It was beautiful. I ate my lunch on a rock at the terminal face and started on the journey back to town.

Walking on the glacier access road I followed the river. The water steamed and rushed down from the ice. It lapped against the black sand and stone of the riverbed leaving a milky sheen of ice. I took a detour, walked over a bridge and climbed part way up a neighbouring mountain for views of the glacier reaching up into the alps. Then I followed the road through the rainforest back to town. Fox and Franz Joseph glaciers are two of only a small group of glaciers that flow right up to a rainforest. They used to reach the sea, but have been rapidly receeding for hundreds of years. I'm quite amazed with the diversity and contrasts in the NZ landscape. Walking through the rainforest I was entranced by the way ferns hung from rock walls like a tapestry or how prehistoric looking bromeliads dripped from the branches.

The next morning it was off to Wanaka. We left the west coast and headed inland, through Haast Pass. The mountains became more violent and pointed and the lush forests became golden hills. I stayed at the Wanaka Hotel, right on Lake Wanaka. It's a peaceful little town (well, really there are few "big" towns in NZ) with a wonderful cinema. Being a rainy day I went with another American from my bus, Kevin, to see The Quiet American (haha). It's an alternative kind of environment. The seats are all random couches, old airline seats, recliners and even a VW bug! They had an intermission with the opportunity to eat dinner or have a lovely coffee or tea. Very nice way to spend a cloudy afternoon.

Even though the weather had been less than desirable for a couple days I am still weakened by the beauty that surrounds me. Every day is like a new door into paradise.

I'm in Queenstown only for a night, then I head on to Dunedin and the CADBURY FACTORY, which will be one of the highlights of my life I'm sure.

stars in the trees guide my way

My last day in Greymouth was uneventful. Everything was closed except the market, which was good because I needed to load up on groceries. The next opportunity to truly shop will be in Queenstown, which was about five days away. My new driver was Gail, who is a newbie at the whole bus driver gig, but a lot of fun. She used to be a teacher, but needed a change of pace. Quite a change of pace. From running after a dozen elementary kids to driving a huge bus full of 50 of them!

Lake Manhinapua was the stop last night. In the middle of nowhere, this hotel is bordered with beauty. On one side is the pristine west coast beach, where I watched a cloudless sunset. Another side are the verdant pastures full of grazing sheep. To the south is a view of Mt Cook ("cloud piercer" to the Maoris) and the southern alps. On the east is a dense forest path leading to Lake Manhinapua. I walked down here with the last of the sun's rays. (Think Snow White lost in the woods and you're close to my experience) I sat at the quiet, quiet lake and breathed in the relief of solitude, mesmerized by the perfect reflection of the alps in the water. Walking back through the trees, at an excelerated speed, I noticed in the moss running along the bottom of the forest and in the trees themselves were countless gloworms. Suddenly my panic turned to wonderment and I slowed down. It was magical to be led on a path illuminated by tiny glowing creatures. As I near the exit of the shaded greenery the ocean roared through the leaves. Surreal and lovely.

After driving through the tiny mining town of Ross earlier, I've landed in Franz Joseph. I just caught a glimpse of the neve of the glacier here, but I'm catching a shuttle to the smaller township of Fox. They have a similar setup and an equally brilliant glacier, but the town has a quaint alpine feel. It's nice to be separating from the group once again.

There will be lots to say about the glacier I'm sure. I'll try to get up to see it twice for photos and inspiration.

I'll take you to the mountains, I will take you to the sea, I'll show you how this life became a miracle to me

Okay, long over due is a message about what I've been up to. There has been a good deal of travel, so here it goes:

After my harrowing ferry trip, I arrived in Nelson over the Easter weekend to a ghost town. Most everything was shut down, some shops for the week! I decided to make my way north, towards Golden Bay. I saw an advert on the hostel wall about free shuttle service to Takaka from Nelson. I pounced and it led to two glorious nights at the River Inn in Takaka. It was just out of town, in a quiet farming area. A 6 km walk to Waikoropupu springs, which are the clearest springs in the world. The only water that can rival the springs are under the Ross ice shelf in Antarctica.

The town itself is small and quaint, very granola. I ate a few times at the Wholemeal cafe, which offers fresh soups and homemade breads. On my last night Erin, the manager, let me drive a few folks from Britain and Holland to the Mussel Inn, a food oasis hidden under a canopy of dense trees, bordered with lights that twinkle like gloworms in the branches. The next afternoon it was a winding journey through the hills back to Nelson.

On the 23rd April I left Nelson and ventured north again to Kaiteriteri beach for some scenic beach walks and bush hikes. On to Westport for the night where there was little to do but relax by the fire in the quite homey hostel. The following morning I went horseback riding at dawn up Buller gorge. I haven't been on a horse in a long long time, but it came naturally and was a good deal of fun. Quite exhilerating when we broke into a trot or canter. After the riding we made our way along the coast to Punakaiki where we viewed the pancake rocks. They have been eroded over time to form disk upon disk of stone. One day, in the not-so-distant future, they will be consumed by the ocean. That night I stopped in Greymouth, so I could easily get to Arthur's Pass the next day. I stayed at a hostel called Noah's Ark, in which each room is decorated with an animal theme. Clever. I was in the penguin room, but managed to stay warm enough.

Yesterday I took a two hour shuttle ride through the Southern Alps to Arthur's Pass. I am so glad I made the extra effort to see this place. After arriving mid morning and settling in I walked up a trail to Bridal Veil Falls. Gorgeous. I was feeling pretty good after that little hike, so I thought I'd tackle Mt. Temple. Two hours later my legs were a bit upset with me, but I was so proud of myself, my endurance and strength. The views were unparralleled. The alps were all around me covered in snow and glacial ice. Some were covered in brilliant white, others were hunter green, some glistened an icy gold in the fading sunlight. I stayed up there a good long while, until the sun started to disappear and I raced it down the mountain.

My accomodation last night was a charming cabin in the hills behind the township. It was heated by a roaring fireplace and was so lovely and peaceful. In the sleepy silence of New England on snowy nights I sometimes hear a passing plow that comforts and lulls me, like a soft whisper. Under the quiet stars of Arthur's Pass last night it was instead a train that rumbled through, comfortably reenforcing the tranquility. There are many times that I've been reminded of my home. I suppose I will appreciate it all the more when I return.

I've just returned this morning from a hike up to Devil's Punchbowl Falls, another spectacular view and challenging walk. My shuttle takes me back to Greymouth this afternoon.