Tag Archives: travel
Newcastle, New South Wales, Australia
Yeah, Newcastle, but not the one in England. Several places bear the same name as others back in the United Kingdom, as if the founders of the towns had absolutely no inspiration at that moment, or maybe too much nostalgia for their homeland.
Because Australia, as some of you already know, was colonized (some would say stolen, conquered from the Aboriginals) by Captain James Cook, the first European explorer to reach the East Coast of Australia. It quickly became a jail, England sending entire ships of convicts there, on the other side of the world, for them to stay and live the rest of their lives in exile.
But the convicts flourished and thrived, on this land strangely harsh and full of resources at the same time – some would say resources stolen from the Aboriginals. And, in the end, they got their independence.
Coffs Harbour, New South Wales, Australia
“You did Byron Bay, Coffs Harbour, Port Macquarie, Newcastle?”
“Errr… Yeah – how did you guess?”
“That’s what everyone does.”
And so I recently learned from Stephan, Dutch architect now living in New Zealand, that my itinerary on the Australian East Coast was kind of classical. I only looked at the map and decided to hit the biggest points along the way, though, but I guess that on a coast, you have not much of a choice when you follow that sort of thought process.
So I followed the touristic road, named the Pacific Highway, towards the south while the summer was giving life to thousands of tourists, so-called backpackers (I will come back later to these ones), and travelers.
Byron Bay, New South Wales, Australia
“Aaaaaahhhh… Now THIS is what I came for.”
(James, traveler from London, England, as we discovered Byron Bay’s beach on the first sunny day of our stay)
Because, yes, to be honest, I did not really come to Australia in summer to see floods. Especially on the East Coast, goddammit. It was supposed to be an endless stretch of white sand, bathed by a generous sun, covered with people with so much sunscreen that they would shine while humongous waves would crash with an incredible strength on the coast, sometimes with blond surfers on top of them.
And, finally, that was it.
Brisbane, Queensland, Australia
My last post about Malaysia was silent. I thought silence was a good way to express my grief about the hundreds of people dieing a few kilometers from me, trapped in the rubble of the Christchurch earthquake.
And then I thought I could do that as well for the next posts to save me the trouble and time of writing and laying out the page. I found myself choosing pictures.
And I told myself I had so much to say about them, about my travel, that pictures cannot express alone.
Words cannot either, but they help.
Map update
Yeah, I know, I haven’t updated the blog for ages. I am now… what, three months late? It is becoming increasingly more difficult to find time, find a decent (and free) Internet connection. I have so much to do, so much to see, so much to travel.
But I found the time today to update my map, adding my whole Australian trip. So no, you won’t know where I am – sorry, I like my freedom – but you can see how much I have traveled, mainly by hitch-hiking, on the East Coast of Australia.
This travel is full of stories, full of emotions, and full of unforgettable memories. But as a Kiwi traveler noticed recently, a travel blog is a hassle. And I couldn’t agree more. It is really painful, whatever you might think on the other side of the world.
Still, I am aware that you would like some stories, maybe pictures at least. I’ll see what I can do in the next future. But for now – here is the map.
Kota Kinabalu, Sabah, Malaysia (Borneo) part 1: Mount Kinabalu
Freedom came back into my heart when I walked above the clouds.
No kidding. The fresh air (the coldness being intensified by the humidity of all my clothes, but well), the rocks, the climbers around me, the silence, the light of the dawn. My equipment. And this incredible landscape. Nothing above me but the dome of the sky. And under me, a sea of clouds.
A sea of clouds.
Welcome back, my friend.
Hong Kong, China (香港,中國)
I remember how every single traveler I talked with was so eager to pronounce the word ‘family’ as soon as Christmas entered in the conversation. I am going home for Christmas! I am gonna see my girlfriend for Christmas! I will be so happy to be with my family for Christmas! Where will you be for Christmas? Oh, first Christmas away from home?
Seriously, what the hell. Is the first Christmas away from home a big celebration, a big step in life, like the first laundry your mum does not do for you, like the first lion you kill, like the first time you get caught by the police? Or is it something like a blasphemy, something forbidden by the gods themselves – or by the conventions, normality rules of the Western society?
Christmas is a day in the calendar, a day like all others, only this day, a few thousands years ago, someone special for the Christians was born – and now, alright, nowadays it has become a world-wide pretext to express love with your family, to gather, to celebrate together. Fair enough. That’s cool. Not a bad idea, after all.
But, for the love of all the gods from all the pantheons, stop acting like being away from home during Christmas is the saddest thing that can happen to a human. It might seem strange to you, but I am happy wherever this planet is in its revolutions around the Sun, I am happy at any possible place on Earth, and I am happy to see my family at any time of the year, even if it is not a celebration in a specific calendar. Oh, and I do not need an excuse from the calendar to offer gifts to people that I care about.
Because Christmas is just a day. Because my family does not magically change during a precise day. Nor does my relationship with them. And I am proud of it – and of them. I am proud that they are honest and constant, contrary to what the Western conventions seem to think about the society. About us.
And because of the fact that actually, the whole world is my home.
Indian food
The best food is always the street food.
(Anthony Velasquez, as we were eating delicious street felafels in downtown Amman)
I took this truth into consideration and decided to give a try to the Indian street food – but only after a long, too long period of stomach preparation and conditioning. Too long because the street food is, always is, the best food you can find.
The period of adaptation to the local standards of hygiene was important, however; not absolutely necessary, but I had no intention of wasting time because of sickness. I hence in a first time always ate in restaurants, cheap compared to Western standards, but still expensive compared to the street food. Which explains why the majority of locals eat at the street stalls.
Another good reason to try it out: melting with locals. You know, speaking with your hands and eating stuff you do not even have the slightest idea of what it is.
Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh, India
“Are you gonna take a bath in the Ganges river?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, yeah.”
“You’re not actually really thinking about doing it, right?” asks his girlfriend.
“Well, it’s a once in a lifetime experience. Ahhh… I have a few cuts though.”
I did not do it. I had a few cuts.