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…
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.
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.
A day off at work means a day of adventure! Sort of.
After a month of living in the Australian bush, far from anything familiar except the feeling of being unsure I’m supposed to be the place that I am, I am at that stage where I have to remind myself to look around me and really try and appreciate what I find there.
For instance, it isn’t an everyday occurence in my regular life that I will be standing at a gravel cross roads, waiting for a little white school bus to stop and drive me to town, past beautiful hills of all sorts of colours, past two huge jacarandas and a flame tree, with a bunch of little kids in checked dresses and blue jumpers speaking with cute accents and quickly becoming my friends. Hi Zane!
This is where we wait for the school bus.
Gloucester town centre.
The street in Gloucester.
The pharmacy that didn’t have any contact lens solution.
The cafe where I spent the beginning and end of my day. Gloucester has several cafes and eateries that all seem to have an espresso machine. I appreciate this.
The post office, where I bought envelopes and stamps and sent things to people.
A view of the town and the Bucketts (mountains)
What I bought. Notice the chocolate to last a couple of weeks, tea tree oil because this place is making my face break out (it may be all the dust and cobwebs I’m dealing with and the sweat. But I think it’s the sunscreen. Or is it the chocolate?), and lack of contact lens solution and yoga mat. Huge Cadbury’s. Tiny Nutella.
Being in such a remote place, I realise that I’m learning things about myself. Unfortunately, they aren’t things I’m particularly proud of. Like I’m a bit more of a wuss than I thought. I thought I was tough. But a tick bite had me close to tears (I mean, I thought I had tick paralysis!). I realise I resent being dependent on others for anything. So even something simple like my boss buying me my food is awkward, so is getting driven 40 km to the clinic to check out my tick paralysis (not tick-related, in the end).
I realise I’m not as patient as I thought I was. Although my new Italian roommate makes a mean bolognaise, turns out I can become quickly frustrated with our 24/7 English lessons, which is only made worse by our different views on shower length(seriously, 45 minutes?!) and water usage (seriously, do you need to wash dishes twice?!)…
Turns out that if I’m going to be this remote and isolated, I’d rather be by myself. Or with a school bus full of shrieking kids.
I have been in Barrington Tops, New South Wales, for almost three weeks now, which is longer than most Canadians get in vacation time per year. Though I still have days where I count the days, I’ve gotten more into the groove of life in such an isolated place, but I admit to watching more reality tv than is healthy for anyone at any point in their lives.
The retreat where I live and work, peppered with parrots.
I have taken to walking in the rainforest (and getting ticks and leeches and a bit paranoid about snakes) and swimming in the little swimming pool as much as possible between chores (or after walks in the rainforest). It gets hot here. Unless it rains. Then it’s cold.
New leaves in the rainforest.
Leech! Lesson learned: wear taller socks. Also: leeches hurt in Australia so you know they’ve got you, they’ll land on you from who knows where, and their demise will be bloody and gross. But not as gross as it was for the guest who got a leech on her lip or for my boss who had one in his eye. I like our Canadian leeches who reside predictably in the water.
The other day, my boss drove me and a guest out in his 4 wheel drive to see the property, the river, the stinging trees. We picked bush lemons and limes, which I squeeze into water for a refreshing drink.
Bush lemons.
The lyrebird, with its amazing feathers.
See there? That’s a pademelon! A tiny kangaroo! Cuter than a bush rat, which I found in the laundry. Bush rats are cuter than real rats. But I still screamed like a little girl.
The cleanest river on mainland Australia, the Dilgry River.
My nightly visitor.
On a not-too-busy Sunday, the family who owns the retreat invited me to tag along to Nelson Bay for the day as they looked for a holiday home to rent in December.
I was happy to be in a car (though it smelled like little-kid vomit) and see some country and gorgeous blooming jacarandas. It was nice to be in a town with fish and chips and a beautiful harbour. And the beach. We went to the beach!
By the time I leave Australia, I wonder if I’ll be sick of the smooth sand and blue-blue waves.
My first visit to a real Australian beach. Fine sand, blue water, mesmerising surf.
Rescue crew letting a little girl drag their boat onto the sand.
This week has been pretty quiet, work-wise, but although that means far fewer wages, I’m trying to enjoy this time as much as possible before the Christmas rush hits. I’m also trying not to think about the fact that my Christmas will be far away from family or any approximation of a quebecois reveillon. But surely it won’t be as bad as the Christmas I spent stuck in Detroit airport for 10 hours. Here there will be exotic animals, swimming pools, and organic coffee.
Something that keeps coming up in New Zealand is the issue of conservation. Green is in (even though the heater in my dorm room right now seems not to actually heat in any efficient way), but this country has a terrible history of extinction of plant and animal species.
It is even more marked here because of New Zealand’s short human history (it is believed the Maori arrived here only about 800 years ago and the Europeans in the 18th and 19th centuries) and because so many of the species of plants and animals here are endemic (85% of their 2,300 higher order plant species are unique to New Zealand- fact I learned by running through the Botanical Gardens in Wellington at top speed because it was pretty cold).
On my travels here so far, I’ve learned that:
1- Many bird species evolved to be flightless because of a lack of predators. And they thus made for easy killing and eating by people and introduced mammals.
The moa is now extinct. It was a massive flightless bird that made good eating. This one is a reproduction at Zealandia that creepily moves its head up and down.
2- Only 2 species of mammals are native to New Zealand (two species of little bats, one of which can fit into a matchbox, but would probably prefer to be free).
3- Possums, goats, wild boar, deer, and stoats kill native birds and native bush at an alarming rate. Humans don’t have a great track record either.
How could this poor stoat with a bandaged knee be evil?
4- In 800 years, New Zealand has lost a massive percentage of their native birds.
In a place called Whakahoro (“wh” is pronounced “f” in Maori so words sometimes come out sounding a bit rude), Dan the Man has set up Blue Duck Station, an eco-business/conservation project that he hopes will spread through New Zealand to make the country one big conservation area. Needless to say, it is a gorgeous (and big) piece of land and it looks like his efforts are slowly paying off as he sees an increase in the local Blue Duck population (a marker of the ecosystem’s health as a whole since it relies on very easily-disturbed balance to survive).
Whakahoro
A few of us went on a really nice, muddy walk, and found sheep in the rainforest. But you could go goat-hunting too (hard to wrap your head around killing goats being a step towards conservation, but it is, so deal with it. Right?)
Zealandia, in Wellington, is kind of like an urban version of the Blue Duck Station. It is a sanctuary, surrounded by a fence to keep the predators away, that hopes will slowly transform back into its pre-human state (this place has a 500-year vision). It is a haven for over 30 species of native animals (I saw a baby tuatara!) on one square mile. Despite the Antarctic wind, I walked around for hours with a sweet couple from Hawke’s Bay, looking for birds and making up survival scenarios.
Kaka in Zealandia
A silent, gorgeously animated film in the museum section, brought me close to tears as moa birds were cut down and rats infested the pristine forest and then showed the vision of the future where the forest would be restored and be filled with little spotted kiwi birds.
I’m off! The first leg of my travels have taken me from Toronto to Jasper (Alberta).
Saying goodbye to my brother and father at Union Station in Toronto. My bag is very new and shiny.
Freight trains have the right of way, which means this little train had to wait and wait throughout the night. But it doesn’t matter at all to me that’s we’re two hours behind schedule.
Trains trains for days and days.
Boys from Ottawa travel West with their guitars without cases and play Let It Be, which is at first is a bit obnoxious and then charming and then obnoxious again. On the train, you can watch the sky become light and listen to 20-year-old boys compete with pot stories and be glad they’re both getting off in Sudbury.
The soothing sounds in economy class.
On the first day on the train, I thought maybe I’d become un-fun and too uptight to travel like this. But it turned out that it was because it was my first day and I hadn’t quite relaxed enough to truly appreciate how cool it is to sing along to stummy renditions of songs by The Arcade Fire at 6am.
Ontario’s trees and water are very pretty.
I shunned away negative thoughts and enjoyed speaking to the nurse from Kerala sitting across from me. I learned the word for tiger, but I’m not sure exactly in which language. Ontario is beautiful and huge. The Arrogant Worms were right when they said “There are rocks and trees and trees and rocks and rocks and trees and trees and rocks; there are rocks and trees and rocks and rocks and trees and trees and rocks and water.” But they’re really nice trees and rocks and water and the sky is an unbeatable blue.
Train (and hostel, it turns out) breakfast, lunch and dinner.
After days of Ontario, it seemed that we whipped through Manitoba and Saskatchewan. I slept through Saskatoon. At 10:30 pm, the sun wasn’t quite set yet and there were hundreds of huge dragon flies outside the train window. I listened to farmers talk about crops and the politics of selling elevators.
The prairies.
When we pulled into Winnipeg before anything was open in the morning, I unsociably separated from the little train clique that had formed because I wanted to be alone and walk in silence for a while in the Forks and not go searching for bacon and guitar strings. I met a couple from Rimouski that had ridden their motorcycle all the way to Winnipeg and were getting ready to ride back through the US. They suggested I take the half-hour boat tour. And I did. And it was amazing to be outside with the fresh air and wind whipping through my hair after days on a train.
You cannot buy a cup of coffee in the Edmonton train station.
From Edmonton to Jasper, I sat upstairs in the bubble car, where you can get a higher-up, better view of everything (including bug carcasses splattered across the front windows). Watching the Rocky Mountains appear behind the trees and through the clouds was amazing. The pictures of this moment are not amazing. But this is how excited and in awe we were:
Jacob, Olia and Matt as the Rockies appeared.
When we arrived in Jasper, I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay on the train. Looking out a window now, it’s slightly weird that the trees aren’t whizzing by. They’re just rooted there.
But then I walked around the town full of adventure equipment shops surrounded by mountains, had a sandwich on fresh bread, caught the shuttle to the hostel surrounded by forest and mountains, listened to ukulele tunes around a camp fire and slept in a real bed (top bunk, mind you).
Elk!
And after spending a morning at Maligne Canyon checking out falls and rivers and tasting buffalo berries (bears eat 200,000 of these berries that taste like cranberries, soap, and cigarette ash with a lovely astringent aftertaste a day), having my breath taken by Maligne and Medicine Lakes, and, as the other people in the little tour took a cruise around to Spirit Island, my amazing guide Marie and I walked and saw flowers and lichen and when it started to pour, took refuge under trees with a deer.
Jasper National Park.
Now I don’t want to go back on the train tomorrow to continue the journey. That’s the trouble with travel: you’re constantly leaving. This can also be a good thing, depending on the context. My hope for this trip is that I’ll always and consistently be sad to be leaving places.
Wait, what? How did this happen? I’m leaving tomorrow and I have no idea how that happened.
Today was coffee dates with a couple of friends and a last family dinner to say goodbye to the cutest little nephews in the world (I actually got a real hug and requests for postcards featuring crocodiles and kangaroos). And I started packing. I have a 40L backpack, so I’m trying to keep things minimal. But that’s harder than I thought.
This is where I’ve gotten so far.
Jeans, lightweight/rollable pants, sun dress, skirt, shorts, leggings.
I know jeans are a no-no for backpackers, but I know myself and I know I’ll be happy to have jeans when wandering around the cities of the world. If they become annoying, I’ll leave them somewhere. My other pair of pants are light, dry relatively quickly and can be rolled into capris.
A summer dress and skirt will be handy for hot hot hot days and the beach.
My shorts were bought in 2003 and are still awesome.
Leggings will be useful if it gets cold, if I decide to do Pilates at some point, and as pyjamas.
Fleece, thin hoody, 5 t-shirts, 2 tank tops, bathing suit and bikini.
I know I’m only supposed to bring 2 t-shirts or something, but this all seems to fit in my bag. And these are mostly old things, so I don’t mind getting rid of a few along the way. A t-shirt can double as pyjamas too.
4 pairs of socks, 7 pairs of underwear, 3 bras.
Because I’ll be doing laundry, but not every day.
I am obsessed with things that go in pouches.
All pouched up! Rain jacket, backpack rain cover, travel towel, day pack.
A crapload of contact lenses, my glasses and new prescription sunglasses.
My plan: as I travel, I’ll use up my daily contacts and slowly free up room in my bag, room I can fill with things that are more fun than contacts. And no heavy solution to carry around.
Flip flops, sandals, running shoes.
Picking which footwear to bring has been stressing me out for at least 2 months. But I think this combo will be ok.
Netbook, camera, iPod, USB key, plug adaptor.
Other things not pictures:
itty bitty umbrella
UK mobile phone (can be used as alarm clock/watch), much smaller and lighter than my current phone
combination lock
notebook/pens/tape/scissors
passport and other important documents
foreign currency
travel clothesline
toiletries (toothbrush/toothpaste/floss, prescription medication, face-wash, shampoo/dry shampoo, razors, deodorant, Gravol, sunscreen, elastic bands/bobby pins, Body Glide, nail clippers, mascara, tiny tin of Vaseline, Tylenol, band-aids, eye drops…)
snacks for the 4-day train journey
After the bag is packed, I’ll need to leave my living space in a presentable manner, which is why it’s a good thing my train only leaves at 10pm tomorrow. Just got butterflies in my stomach as I typed that.
I got tired of refreshing my inbox, waiting for someone to tell me that I didn’t get an amazing apprenticeship at a cool theatre in Washington.
This is me waiting. (Actually, this is me during dissertation-writing time/heatwave, Norwich, 2006, but you get the idea.)
So I decided to not wait anymore, and I went ahead and booked myself a one-way ticket to New Zealand.
I don't have any pictures of New Zealand yet, so this photo of one of my T-shirts will have to serve to illustrate it for now. See, it's an anatomical drawing of a kiwi bird made out of kiwi fruit and I love it.
I bought the ticket online, without cancellation insurance, over morning coffee, half-asleep.
The plan is to go around the world and what I have now is a ticket from Los Angeles to New Zealand. And the knowledge that I’ll have to get to Los Angeles from Toronto somehow
What I don’t have is a budget or a plan. I haven’t actually really thought about it. I’ve thought about it, but I haven’t really thought about it if you know what I mean. That’s how it’s done, kids.
Close your eyes and jump off that cliff. And hope that at the bottom, there’s a deep pool to land in, one so buoyant it acts more like a refreshing trampoline.
