A bit of theatre in India

As part of pretending that I’m still somewhat being productive on my trip around the world, I’m trying to see at least one play in each country that I visit. This gives the impression that I’m doing research and getting inspired for future projects.

Weirdly, I’ve been more successful in my non-mission of eating a burger in each place I visit (there will be a burger round-up in August).

After a failed attempt to see a play in Cambodia (on World Theatre Day of all days!) due to cloudy weather and nausea (thanks, malaria tablets!), I was keen to make up for it in India, a country with strong and vital theatrical traditions. So I saw two plays. Two! I win.

Man applying makeup.

Another man applying different makeup.

In Kochi, I got the chance to take a tourist’s peak into Kathakali, a type of classical dance-drama from the state of Kerala, at a lovely and air conditioned wooden theatre in the old city.

Usually very long (like, 8 hours), they cut and dumbed this one down for tourists, complete with a make-up application demonstration and a quick run-through of the gestures and their meanings. I read the synopsis in two languages and still couldn’t quite follow the plot and my mind wandered a bit.  But I got to see what I’d learned about in my World Theatre course in 2006 in action, so I felt pretty good about that. And the costumes were quite amazing.

In full costume, a type of demon boar.

The boar and the lady.

The main character, being egotistical (spoiler: at the end he’s enlightened and no longer full of ego).

And then, on my last day in India, I was treated to Gasha by the Indian Ensemble Theatre in the beautiful and sleek theatre space Rangashankara in Bangalore.

As the contemporary play was in Urdu, Hindi, and Kashmiri, all I understood that sometimes the two characters were at school (“If you concentrate, you will go far”) and that there was a dead dog at one point.

Though I was completely right on those two points, my friend explained everything to me afterwards and what I thought had been a joyful story of a friendship was quickly revealed to be about the horrors of the political conflicts in Kashmir.

I loved the use of the simple props and quick shift between characters by actors Bhat and Sandeep Shikhar. And the theatre itself made me feel so at home (Torontonians, it was very close to the Dance Theatre). But I guess with a play like this where accents and quick dialogue, it would make sense to understand at least one of the languages spoken…

Because India is colourful

I’ve only just left India and already I miss it. I don’t miss the ridiculous heat (Croatia is the perfect sunny 27 degrees today) but the colours…

Though I did see some spectacular lime green hot pants on the beach in Split today, there’s something about the colours in India.

Boy selling cotton candy on the beach in Pondicherry.

If you’re going to paint your shop or home, better make it pink, blue, green, and striking.

Street art in Kochi

Bougainvillea in Coorg

Creepy puppet doll people

Boat on a beach

Beach games in Mamallapuram

Watermelons: a tasty treat, a fancy feast

Pigments for sale in Mysore

To quote Alanis: “Thank you, India”

I’ve been in India for a month to the day now and the fact that I haven’t even looked at my blog will tell you that I’ve been busy (and without much Wi-Fi). I’ve been busy roaming around the south, sweating from my earlobes, hopping on one night train after the other before fully recovering from the last.

At the beach in Pondicherry.

I’ve been busy finding the sweetest pineapple, lounging on the beach (under a broken Kingfisher umbrella), walking barefoot through old temples and being blessed by elephants (for a coin donation, obviously), learning how to drink beer, cramming myself and my bag (it didn’t seem this big when I left 9 months ago) into public buses, worrying about the length of my sleeves, drinking sweet sweet coffee from street stands and eating eating eating, constantly eating, all the while becoming increasingly obsessed with where one might find air conditioning.

Hanging out the door of a speeding train- the most exhilarating way to see India and get a sunburn on your left foot.

India can seem intimidating, but with friends welcoming me in Chennai, I felt at home instantly. Being with Anu and Uk in their leafy apartment was such a nice break- just being with old friends, just being- and a good breather before my hectic 15-day tour of South India.

We spent a week eating, napping, and buying cushion covers with a brief, luxurious weekend in lovely Pondicherry.

Watching a game of boules in Pondicherry

It was tough saying goodbye even though there were promises of visiting Canada soon. But there wasn’t much time to dwell as I joined my organised tour run by Intrepid.

“Don’t go alone!” everyone warned me when I told them I was going to India. So a tour was booked, expense be damned. Looking back, I would have been fine alone, but there was the comfort of having train tickets booked for me and people I knew around me on said trains.

This is a beach where singing ladies will sell you pineapples.

Being on a tour means you don’t have to think too much about where to go, stay, eat, or catch the bus. It also means you have no choice in where you stay (Dear Mamallapuram, your sweat box of a “hotel” room will always be my own personal version of hell), or how long for (Dear Hampi, two days were not enough, let me stay with you forever).

One advantage of travelling in a group: playing cards on the platform (with a stolen styrofoam box as a table) while waiting for the train.

Being on tour means you are stuck with a group of people, for better or worse. And let me tell you: there was the best and worst in this group. Some made me so happy I didn’t want to let them go, while others frustrated me to tears.

As some British dude told me in a café in Kochi: “You’ve got to let go of fear and live in love” meaning that I shouldn’t let my hatred of stingy negative people affect me, that I shouldn’t let their negativity make me negative. I don’t know about his theory of fear and love being genetically determined, but there was some truth to his peace and love spewings.

Things I learned in southern India:

-Women wear garlands of jasmine in their hair. The smell is intoxicating.

-Your eyes burn from the dust.

-When they tell you a dish is spicy, it’s spicy.

-Everyone, especially locals, will complain about the heat at some point in the day.

-You can learn to speak Russian from an Indian while in Goa.

-I am good at killing mosquitoes with my left hand.

-Riding on the back of a motorcycle (especially one without a horn, reliable breaks, or anything that works, really) is a lesson in letting go, dealing with the fact that this may be it and if you have to die, it might as as well be on the back of a motorbike in India, so hold on and enjoy the thrill. Oh, and you will get fined by the police for something or another.

-The moon seems brighter here.

-They say you will get sick at some point in your travels in India, but turns out the only kind of sick I got here was a cough and cold. That came out of left field.

-There is sugar in everything. And salt in things that should be sweet.

-There is no question that I have to come back. One month is not enough.

Everything here is in full colour.

There are cows everywhere and you get used to it.

So now I’m in Bangalore taking advantage of my friend Ranjini’s hospitality. After 7 years, nothing seems to have changed and we’re back at uni, doing laundry, drinking tea, complaining about guys, and laughing about just about everything.

I love to travel. But leaving people and leaving places is getting harder and harder.

I have always gotten travel sick on buses, in cars, on boats, and I know how to deal with it. This is another kind of travel sickness altogether and turns out there’s no pill for it.

Can’t go wrong in Koh Rong

Because the dusty hustle and bustle of big cities and going up and down those temple stairs in the sun take a lot out of you, sometimes you need to take a vacation from your vacation.

After a ridiculously long bus ride from Siem Reap to Sihanoukville on Cambodia’s coast, we had delicious Indian food and then took a boat to Koh Rong for our island get-away.

As a glimpse into what was waiting for us, the upper deck of the ferry was decked out with mattresses on which sprawled tanned youth boasting about their travels to date.

Turns out this small island is full of backpackers that smoke all day and bum around at the few bars lining the coast. Holly and I splashed out and got a cabin up on top of a hill with a far-off sea view. We had a gecko as an alarm clock and sand in our beds.

We listened to a stoned Turkish guy go on about ecology and not reading anything anymore and German boys gush about their adventures through Asia on motorbikes. A group of friends from the boat, beach, and bar was quickly formed.

On our second day, we walked across the jungle to an isolated beach on the other side, our sweat dropping on the rocks, marking the path for anyone who followed. A dog from the beach (we called him Leo) followed us up down the steep rocks and through the forest.

Smiling through the sweat.

Never have I ever been so happy to see the sea.

This is what greeted us. We stayed in this water all day.

Playing a plastic and feather version of a hacky sack.

We built a fire and watched the big red sun set into the ocean.

As the sky darkened, Holly and I jumped on a fishing boat that brought us through the big waves back to the main beach. We were happy to find that Leo had made his way back safely. The others bravely (insanely) decided to walk back through the dark jungle and we were very relieved (and a bit surprised) that they all arrived, with all their limbs intact.

There was another day or so at the beach, some sun burn, and a lot of pineapple, then it was back to the mainland, back to buses and tuk-tuks and another kind of happiness.

Temple tramping in Cambodia

I immediately loved Cambodia. Was it the widely-available baguette that did it? The quick-to-smile people? The insanely sweet pineapple that doesn’t burn your mouth being sold everywhere? The pink toilet paper? Cambodia just felt right. And the pineapple was amazing.

We arrived in Phnom Penh, the bustling capital, and explored the markets and Royal Palace.

We boldly dove right in, trying various things on skewers at the Phnom Penh night market (ok, after some hesitation). We sat on the mats on the hot ground and ate, waved at babies, and stared at all the people.

I don’t want to boast, but I got quite good at crossing the street. If you wait for a break in traffic or for anyone to stop, you’ll spend your entire time in Cambodia on that street corner (although you’d be soon saved by a tuk-tuk driver offering you a lift.)

No- I managed to cross those streets, having faith that the tuk-tuks (Lonely Planet lied- no one calls them remorques), cyclos, cars, and motorbikes would swerve around me. I can count on only one hand the times I thought I would actually die.

We visited the Royal Palace, where I took some artsy-fartsy pictures after being slightly disappointed that 2086 diamonds on a solid gold Buddha don’t actually sparkle that much.

In one of the exhibition rooms in the palace, we stumbled upon someone’s half-finished hat-sewing project.

Our ride up to Siem Reap in a mini-bus driven by a maniac was shared with cell-phone-yakking adults and iPhone-game-playing children. In Cambodia, you only feel the air-con once the sun sets.

We made it in one piece to our air-conditioned room (worth the extra $3). For the second time in a week, I’d booked accommodation for the wrong day. I’ve truly lost track. But there was room amd the next morning, it was off to visit the temples of Angkor- the largest religious monument in the world (400 square km), one of the seven wonders of the world, a UNESCO world heritage site.

Chun, our tuk-tuk driver, greeted us with this lovely sign.

At the temples in Siem Reap. We saw many temples. I’m afraid I travel like a bag of dirty laundry (as my mother would say) and don’t remember which temple is which.

A cool sight for hot eyes- a nice little oasis amidst the temples.

Little girl selling things at Angkor.

I wish we could have bought all the books, magnets, scarves, noise-makers, and cold drinks being sold by children (who insisted they go to school in the morning) around the temples. But we didn’t. One little girl responded to our “sorry, no” by stamping her foot and sputtering “Sorry you don’t buy anything!” I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

The next morning we rose early to greet the sun at Angkor Wat. We’d saved the big temples for the second day. We were already sweating by 6 am.

We were not the only ones who thought seeing the sun rise behind Angkor Wat was a good idea. So much for a serene experience.

Angkor Wat cutting its way out of a lightening sky.

Sunrise at Angkor Wat.

They don’t tell you that some of the hidden corners of these magestic temples smell a bit of urine.

Monk checking out the temples.

Under the Cambodian sun, it’s easy to become templed-out. Luckily, our tuk-tuk offered us a breezy rest between temples (it’s impossible to imagine the vastness of this ancient city before experiencing it). I don’t know how people did the circuit on their bikes. And how they managed to look cooler and fresher than we did. And how did that 70-year-old couple manage all the temple stairs without breaking a sweat when we could barely walk because of our sore muscles? Visiting the temples might make you seriously question your fitness level.

By midday, the crowds of people had descended and took away from our exploration- it’s hard to pretend you’ve discovered something mysterious when you’re being pushed around so people can take a picture.

Luckily, people-watching is a favourite activity and we were entertained by the Russian couple dressed excactly the same (lemon-yellow tank top, bandana, purple elephant pants, and Thai bag) and groups of old ladies posing for pictures where Tomb Raider was filmed.

Many people crammed into a small room in a big temple.

Very colourful people at the temples.

All in all, it was quite an overwhelming, beautiful, eye-opening experience. I would suggest a guide, though that would diminish the thrill of stealthily eavesdropping on other guides and piecing together the history of the sites.

Also suggested while at Angkor Wat: it is advised to meet a couple of nice French guys who are staying at a beautiful hotel that has a pool, as it is possible that they might invite you for a swim after the temples, for which you will forever be grateful.

Malaise in Malaysia

I had a very informative and witty blog post written about my short stint in Malaysia, but my netbook got a virus and it got erased when I took drastic measures. So this is what you get instead:

After Bali, I took a quick flight to Kuala Lumpur (KL to its friends) where Holly was waiting for me (we met in Airlie Beach a few months ago and when her plans fell through, she decided to join me- this is what I love about travelling solo!). We took a taxi- which was as expensive as my flight- to a strange guest house with peeling walls and plastic locks.

Truth be told, Malaysia and I didn’t quite click. It wasn’t unpleasant, but things that happened and things we saw seemed slightly random. Maybe I felt a bit without a goal, and therefore didn’t know how to appreciate where I was.

Also, I was sick for the first week (I think the culprit was the curry dipping sauce that came with breakfast).

Because see, the reason I wanted to go to Malaysia was really to go to Borneo, to go to Borneo to see the rainforest and the weird monkeys with big noses (although I should know better by now about monkeys) and other wildlife from the rickety comfort of a canoe slowly going down the river. See all that before it’s cut down to make way for more palm plantations.

Flight prices rising every day pushed our departure date further and further into our trip, leaving our Borneo time squashed in at the end like an afterthought. Finally, we booked our tickets (fed up because of the 5-fold price increase overnight) only to find out, about 9 hours later, that conflict had errupted in the area. 

It’s hard to know what a situation is like by relying on the media, but pictures of tanks and the fact that a policeman was decapitated were enough for us to scare us into not going. I hear things are settling now, and hopefully that is true- enough killing now, enough.

So we had to improvise. 

Batu Caves, just outside of Kuala Lumpur. I don’t know, I imagined caves (the dark and dank kind). This psychadelic feast was what we were confronted with.

A random 3-dance dance show at the Batu Caves, where the one girl had obviously missed the last rehearsal.

This, next to 12 storey sparkly shopping centres, makes up KL.

Taxi windshields are covered in stickers, which makes me wonder how the drivers can drive.

After KL, we wound up (literally, up the narrow, windy road) in Cameron Highlands, where we had to wear hoodies and jeans and close our window for the cold. It felt good to be cold for a few days. It didn’t feel so good getting up in the mountains, but I’m proud to report another first: tossing cookies in a bus.

Not feeling so well gave us permission to be lazy and book a sightseeing tour that the guide repeatedly told us was boring and that he’d rather be trekking in the jungle.

Beautiful tea plantations in Cameron Highlands. Just enjoy the green and pretty hills. Try not to think about the colonial aspects of the whole operation.

Our tour guide was bored so he made us sit on the jeep.

We went to a bee farm, where huge creepy statues of bees guarded the hives.

Very awesome butterfly farm with sedate butterflies and neato snakes.

I got bitten by a carp outside a Buddhist temple.

Street in the Cameron Highlands.

From the Cameron Highlands, anti-nausea tablets taken, we took the bus to Penang, apparently the Pearl of the Orient. When you call something the Pearl of the Orient, you have to realise that people won’t expect a really busy, bustling, grimy city. Georgetown was nevertheless a great place to visit with lots of street art, history, cheap museums that explain the mix of Muslim, Chinese, and Indian cultures. A great place despite open drains/sewers, absolutely no footpaths anywhere, and strange cinema-going behaviour. We may or may not have spent two evenings in the ice-cold movies seeing teenage-boy-oriented fantasy-adventure films. Ewan McGregor makes a good good guy.

Our guesthouse in Penang was a traditional Chinese house. For some reason, we ended up singing Roxanne every night as we walked home.

From Penang, we took a boat to Langkawi, a nice and expensivo island with a fantastic French bakery, amazing juice, and very suspicious resort security guards that make absolutely sure you’re not going to cut through their resort to get to the beach.

Speaking of random, we were invited to the tail-end of a wedding in Langkawi. We arrived, we ate buffalo and fish, we shook hands with the father of the bride, and then watched as the guys pulled down the tents. The end of a 3-day ceremony.

Our best meal in Malaysia was Moroccan. This was the juice.

Between meals, we found time for beach time.

And sunsets on the beach.

With a few days before our flight for Cambodia, we decided to go to Melaka, a city south of the capiral, accessible from the airport, meaning we didn’t have to go into KL.

Melaka was my favourite city in Malaysia, by far. Probably because its chinatown was so cool, old, charming (our hotel owner’s go-to word).

Pimp my tuk-tuk!

For our last day, we enjoyed the amazing hospitality of Anna and Ali, a wonderfully hilarious couple from Calgary I’d met in Bali. They’d rented a swish apartment for a month (cheaper than hotels in the long run) and let us stay with them and swim in their pool and have cereal for breakfast. They let us watch Minority Report (and explained the entire last half hour of the movie when the TV station decided that they should stop the movie at the climax for news for half an hour), go to the mall with them, and order McDonald’s when the pizza place wouldn’t deliver on a Friday. We couldn’t have left KL happier- they don’t lie when they say it’s the people that make all the difference.

Another thought: whoever said durians smell of garbage but taste lovely was lying. Durians, even when smothered in chocolate, taste the way they smell. Which is awful.

Bye bye, Bali!

Bali felt like a vacation. After hot hot northern Australia, it was a relief to get to a place that was a tad cooler and a tad more exotic; it was great to meet up with Yvonne, whom I’d met in New Zealand.  She had been in Bali for three weeks when I arrived, so I had my very own personal guide.

Even though we climbed an active volcano at two in the morning to greet the sun (that was the idea, anyway, the reality was more like rain and cold and fog), took an amazing cooking class in the countryside where we picked our own tapioca, and rode a scooter across a rickety suspension bridge, I don’t feel that I saw or did very much in Bali.

But if a vacation includes sitting on the beach, swimming in the infinity pool in the middle of the night, getting massages, letting fish eat your feet, having an all-fruit dinner, and the only worry being which warung to eat at next… I’m ok with having a vacation from travelling once in a while!

My first meal was the perfect meal: satay and watermelon juice. Hot top: when ordering juice in Bali, make sure to ask for no sugar. Man, do they love their sugar over there. Sugar packets are twice the size of North American or British sugar packets. Though some people do have two packets per coffee. The question becomes: is it better to save sugar or paper?

Mossy wall in the alley going to our hotel.

On our second day, we signed up for a cooking class. We were picked up and got a little tour of the local market, picked our own vegetables and greens in a garden surrounded by rice fields, then ground and cut and mashed things and ate like we’ve never eaten before.

Fruit in the market! Mangosteen was my consolation surprise after I learned I’d completely missed mango season. But, as my father said, mangosteens are the Jewish mangos, so that made me feel better.

Goldfish in the market.

Rice fields of Sidemen.

Just your run of the mill Nigella at work. Making sambal tomat.

Reaction shot to our Green Kitchen cooking course.

The next morning (and by “morning,” I mean 2am), we woke up to meet our transport to Mount Batur. This is how we felt:

Reaction shot (with flower) to waking up at 2am.

At the summit of the volcano, this is pretty much what we could see. The rest was cloud and fog.

Then we decided to escape to an island where there were beaches and not much else to do. We decided to escape the constant “Yes, taxi?” “Yes, massage?” “Yes, transport?” calls that played like a soundtrack during our walks in Ubud.

Luckily Yf knew how to drive a scooter, so we travelled around the island (Nusa Lembongan) and found a refuge on the beach with the mangroves.

A woman making an offering.

A pigeon eating that offering.

If I were a lace or wedding-dress dress designer, I’d use these as my inspiration.

As happy as our time on the island was, we had to get back to the mainland. We should have taken a hint when our capitain refused to come pick us up as planned and all the other speedboats were cancelled due to weather. Somehow, we still thought it was a good idea to take the merchandise boat back to the mainland. With waves crashing on top of us and conversations about how far we could swim and if we’d leave our passports or not, we were relieved when we made it safely.

We made it… just. When the men meeting the boat seemed to be panicking, though, we realised we’d really taken a risk.

Fish spa: where little fish eat your feet. It was hard to keep a straight face, especially when the wormed their way between your toes.

Time went by in blink of an eye and it was time to go.  Things you can get at the Denpasar airport for 27,000 rupiah: a bag of weird corn Cheetohs, a packet of wafers and a can of pop.

The lotus garden

Bali is all about good and bad, the evil monkey versus the good monkey, the ying and the yang, quoi.

So I thought to balance out last time’s somewhat negative post, I should post something nice.

The lotus garden.

So here are a few potentially sentimental photos I took in the lotus garden in Ubud, Bali. I just couldn’t stop taking pictures of the little jewels of water collected by the leaves. Breathe.

Sacred/scared: unfortunate first impressions of Bali

My first week in Bali has been a bit of a rollercoaster. Maybe Bali wants me to go home? It’s not all about eating (though the gado gado is pretty awesome), praying (though I almost resorted to it when I thought I was doomed) and loving (though mangosteen tastes a bit like love).

It’s been bouts of falling asleep on the beach to the sound of the waves, with the taste of fresh mangosteen on your lips and the sun slowly pulling all the sweat out of your body interspersed with monkey attacks and bank cards suddenly not working when what you’ve got in your wallet is 1,100 rupiah (about 10 cents).

My arrival in Bali and visa-acquiring went smoothly, although I was quite annoyed at myself for not realising earlier that the guys I thought were security were actually sneaky porters working for tips. I was greeted by my friend Yvonne, who I met in New Zealand. I think the last time I’ve been met at the airport was in 2006. And she had a sign and everything!

She greeted me with a sign, so I gave her TimTams! Such a fun reunion.

First stop: Ubud. We’d booked two nights and ended up staying for five very eventful days.

Our instinct said “stay away!” but our minds said “you’re here, you must enter the monkey forest because it’s well known and mentioned in the Lonely Planet and we need to tick it off the list.” So we passed the ladies selling bananas, paid our ticket and timidly entered the lush green forest.

Maybe making faces is not the way to appease the monkey gods. It may actually anger them.

The Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary… oh the monkey forest. I’d been warned to stay away from the monkeys and I did my best, but scandalously I was the innocent victim of an unprovoked and vicious and traumatising and, really, uncalled-for, attack.

I was walking along minding my own business when I felt a weight on my purse. And there it was, along for a ride, a little grey monkey full of cheek and evil. I dropped the purse, thinking maybe it would realise there was no food in the there and leave me alone. But no. I was suddenly being growled at (but why?) by one big monkey from one side (so I backed away slowly) and then attacked from the other and bitten on the ankle by a little (but horrible) one. I swore very loudly and unladylikely.

Some cool things in the monkey forest include sculpted animals that do not bite.

The green-uniformed forest man was a bit rude, telling me I should not leave my bag like that on the floor, but totally unconcerned that I’d been bitten. The wound wasn’t open- just some deep tooth marks. We left pretty quickly after that.

This may very well be the best photo I’ve ever taken. Too bad it’s of an evil monkey from hell.

The pharmacy we stopped at on the way home was air-conditioned and the pharmacist laughed when I asked if I was going to die from the bite. She said to just put antiseptic on it.

Aw, so cute! Too bad it’s going to grow up to be an evil grown-up monkey.

I didn’t worry about it until three days later when a sense of doom set it (which is actually a symptom of a box jellyfish sting) and then it was full-blown cold sweats and the overwhelming thought that I don’t want to die and that while rabies would be quite the story, it’s not worth it. Because once you have rabies and are symptomatic, chances of death are 100%, no joke.

This is how we felt after the monkey forest. Reaction shot #1 (this is going to be the start of a series of reaction shots, just so you know)

So off I went with patient Yvonne in tow to see a doctor. The clinic was surprisingly quiet and the doctor said the monkeys don’t have rabies and that it didn’t look like the skin had been torn, but that I could get the shots “for safe.” And so I did. I have a few more courses of the vaccine to take, but I’m going to look at it as part of the adventure: find the clinics and get shot in different cities around the world!

Crying into my gelato after my visit to the clinic.

  Looking back, I know I overreacted, but the vaccine has stopped me obsessively looking at water and wondering if I am afraid of it, so I’m glad I ended up getting it.

We got some gelato afterwards (mango and chocolate) and I promise my next posts will be sunnier and full of pretty beach photos.

Back from the outback

Today I am not leaving the blasting air-conditioning of my hostel room, even if it means having to tolerate the rancid smell of old running shoes. Seems unlikely that they belong to pretty German girls, but smelly shoes happen to everyone in 80% humidity.
I have made it through the desert and am now at the top end of Australia, in Darwin. Although I haven’t found Darwin to be a particularly interesting place to be (it can be that I’m just tired and sick of the heat), there are very interesting things about it. Darwin has been destroyed twice- once in 1942 by Japanese bombs and then again in 1974 by Cyclone Tracy. I braved the heat and public bus system yesterday to go to the museum to see a fantastic and scary exhibit about the cyclone. I saw photos and movies of the devastation it caused (80% of Darwin was gone by Christmas morning) and stepped into a terrifying sound booth to hear what the cyclone sounded like.

Because Darwin really revolves around mining, the population is young and, when the mines are open and work is abundant, the male to female ratio can be up to 6 to 1. Darwin is also the city that consumes the most beer per capita. Apparently it evens out to 6 beers per person per day. With all those guys, so few girls, and all that beer, it might not surprise you that Darwin has the most broken jaws every year in Australia.
I am here waiting for my flight to Bali. I am happy to be leaving Australia and discover different places where different languages are spoken and delicious food is eaten. I’ve enjoyed my time here, but it’s time to step to more challenging places (baby steps to start- Bali isn’t exactly unchartered territory, just ask the thousands of Australians where they go to party each year).
The last few weeks have been particularly eye-opening. I feel like I’ve had a glimpse into the real Australia. Outback Australia with its potentially harmful emptiness and heat, beautiful red sand, aboriginal culture and landmarks, weird pubs… the Australia of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.

From The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert

Rather reluctantly, I booked a bus tour from Alice Springs to Darwin. It ended up cheaper than doing it all myself. And it felt safer, what with the thousands of kilometers of nothingness and stories of murdered backpackers. And I’d get to sleep in the infamous Australian swag under the thousand desert stars. I got on the full Wayoutback mini-bus and joined the tour to Uluru (Ayers Rock). I of course never dreamed of being a cock in a frock on a rock like Guy Pearce, but it was stunning.

Uluru at sunset.

Sunset (Uluru is behind me)

Stunningly red, big, and hot. We walked around a bit, almost fainted, and were told stories that would be told to aboriginal children as cautionary tales. We got to watch the sunset hit the rock and witness the magical changing of its colour.

Our guide had good timing and was really good at taking jumping pictures.

So happy and unsuspecting in her swag and animal pillow case! Little did she know, inconsiderate chatterboxes would make this a less than pleasant night in the great outdoors.

Trees at sunrise the next day.

We slept a short night under the stars. The moon was so bright it work me up when it rose. We got up in the dark to go see the sunrise on Uluru and Kata Tjuta, another rock formation whose European name is the Olgas. We went for a stinking-hot walk on the red rocks. Beautiful and strange. I felt like I’d had a full day by 10 am. My favourite walk was the next day in King’s Canyon. Was it because it was a bit shadier and breezier? Perhaps.

In Priscilla’s Crack. Vulgar but awesome. King’s Canyon.

King’s Canyon.

After a day in Alice Springs where I had a coffee and fruit salad in a breezy cafe and did not much else, the bus picked us up for our 3-day drive up to Darwin. A lot of kilometers and not much to fill them with.

We stopped at every servo (gas station) and I ended up buying many ice-cream bars. I think that other than clean public bathrooms, the thing I will miss most about Australia is Weiss’ mango bars. It’s like eating a frozen mango! At one place, they had had a power outage so their ice-cream was all deformed and only $1. Oh happy day.

As we drove and drove and drove north, the landscape started to change from arid, red desert, to slightly greener grounds.

Trees started to appear.

Once in a while, there was something amazing, like the rock formations (something to do with a magma bubble cooling and breaking into pieces that were then smoothed into boulders by the elements) known as the Devil’s Marbles. Surprisingly, we were the only ones there and it felt a bit eerie.

Just doing the tourist thing at the Devil’s Marbles.

Our campsite had a little zoo in it and, break my heart, a little kangaroo whose mother had been killed by a truck. He was so cute and tame and light and snuggly.

Redman, a 6-month-old red kangaroo orphan, has stolen my heart away. Here he can be seen with his adoptive mother, a true Aussie outback man.

Ready for a baby kangaroo.

I had been warned not to go to the Top End during the wet season. A few roads were shut so that we didn’t have access to some amazing waterfalls, but we still got to go to Kakadu National Park, see some stunning rock art and scenery. And barely any other tourists, which was awesome.

Some rock art is estimated to be over 50,000 years old.

Crocodile Dundee territory.

We got to hear entertaining stories about people who didn’t know anything about driving through rivers and going on treks without water and almost being eaten by crocodiles.

Driving in the wet season in Kakadu National Park. We did not need air-lifting or any saving of any kind.

We still got to check out the amazingly vast and beautiful wetlands and see some crocodiles and worry a bit that we might die. There was a crocodile risk in the parking lot. That kind of thing.

Big male crocodile. Very close. Slightly unnerving.

I don’t know why, but I’ve always wanted to see massive termite mounds. And now I have! This is in Litchfield National Park.

And now I’m in Darwin, taking advantage of the air-conditioning, the fact that my computer fixed itself (maybe it was just a bit of heat exhaustion and not sizzling death after all), and a bit of quiet before I jump into my next adventure.