En Route to Aotearoa...

Of Wetas, and The Wallabies vs. The All Blacks

2009-08-22T05:32:00.000-07:00

SANCTUARY: KARORI NATURE PRESERVE

After a quick tour of the Massey University Medical Research Facilities for Ola this morning, we are whisked away by our VIG [Very Important Guide] to Karori Nature Preserve, which sits in a protected valley of Wellington Harbour.

A pest-proof fence keeps out the rodents, possums, and cats that would otherwise decimate the populations of native birds that are protected here. Our bags are even checked for any potential stowaway vermin that may have been crafty enough to hitch a ride with unsuspecting park visitors.

We wander off the main trail to follow a sign pointing the way to an abandoned gold mine, and are invited by a park ranger to explore the old mine shaft. In the 1800s, the owners of this land discovered some flakes of alluvial gold in their rivers and caught some gold-rush fever; this mineshaft was the result.

The ranger tells us that back then it was quite the spectator sport to sit around the entrance to mine, sipping tea in their Victorian finery, watching the miners pick, chip, hack and detonate their way into the hillside. She tells us to keep an eye out for some Cave Wetas, the shy and quirky creepy-crawlies that live underground in this part of the world, and we find a bunch of them chillin’ out just around the first bend.

CAVE WETAS

Further up the main trail, we encounter a Kokoru feeding station, and watch these large native parrots stomp on their food trays to open the lid and pick out some seeds, while a watchful ranger takes notes on who has come for today’s feed. A couple hours are quickly lost wandering the trails here, stopping every now and then to snap a photo of yet another lush view unfolding at our feet. This is a very special and picturesque pocket of Wellington that is well worth a visit, expecially on a sunny day.

Meanwhile, our guide has arranged for a hangi tonight with some friends to watch the All-Blacks play the Wallabies. His cousin is off diving for some fresh paoua, or abalone, to eat tonight, while chicken, pork, lamb, and kumara slow cooks in the portable hangi they have built. Traditionally, a hangi is the Maori version of the Hawaiian imu, or underground oven, where superhot rocks are placed into a pit filled with banana leaves, and the food is left to slow cook all day.

The food is delicious - tender meat that falls off the bone, sweet kumara slow-cooked to perfection, and I can’t get enough of the paoua, which has been ground up and simmered in a rich, creamy butter sauce. We’ve made yet more new friends, who open up their home and welcome us into their families, patiently explaining the rules of rugby to us both even as they cheer on one of the most exciting matches against the rival Aussie team that anyone can remember.

NEW FRIENDS

Somehow we wind up at a pub on Cuba St, the famous stretch of bars and nightlife in Wellington for the final 10 minutes of the game, and I find myself cheering on the AllBlacks at the top of my lungs for the thrilling finale of the game.

Final Score: Wallabies: 18. All Blacks: 19.

GO THE ALL-BLACKS!!

# # #

Kia Ora from Wellington

2009-08-21T04:43:00.000-07:00

Theme Songs for the Day:

"One Love", Bob Marley and the Wailers
"Aotearoa Aroha", by Diwata Tribe
"Island Style", by John Cruz

We missed the bus!

The plan today was to catch another shuttle, Intercity Buslines, up the coast through beautiful Kaikoru to Picton, where we could jump on a ferry to cross the Cook Strait and land us in Wellington by nightfall.

ATTENTION ALL TRAVELERS: When catching the 7am Intercity Bus to Picton from Christchurch, note carefully that Intercity are the only buses which depart from their own terminal station on Worcester St, behind the chapel. Lesson learned.

So, it was back to the source of all knowledge – Google – to find us an alternative way to get to Wellington where Ola’s friends were expecting us in time to make a 1:30 tour of the city’s museum.

$400 in airfares, one hearty breakfast, and 3 hours later we are waiting for our bags at the Wellington Airport baggage claim with a friend of Ola’s who has offered to be our guide while we are in Wellington. This is no small feat, as this friend also happens to be the Director of Medical Research at Wellington University School of Medicine, and is a very busy and important man.

He whisks us away in his sporty little coupe and takes us to Te Papa Museum on the shore of Wellingon Harbour, where he is delivering an award to a colleague. She happens to be the Chief Curator of Te Papa, and takes us on a brief whirlwind tour of the Maori history exhibit, which is scheduled to be changed very soon. Ola is stricken by the beautiful and intricately carved Waka [war canoe] that is the length of the hall.

We learn about the Marae meeting house and Pataka food storehouses. We learn about the Treaty of Waitangi, and of the continuting struggles for land rights between Maori and Pakeha [non-Maori]. We learn about how the Maori population has been decimated since white man’s arrival: from 130,000 in the 1700s to about 40,000 today. The Hawaiian population has suffered similarly, although far more heavily: from 800,000 to about 40,000 today.

It is fasciating to compare notes between the two peoples, and how each dealt with, and continues to deal with adapting to modern-day society whilst honoring and preserving the rich culture of their ancestors. This will become a theme for the remainder of our trip.

After a cup of coffee with our guides, we are whisked away again, where we visit another friend, the Director of Maori Studies at Wellington University. This part of the city is a college town, with townhouses built into the hills and students lugging books and listening to iPods as they rush to their next class. We ask for permission to visit the Marae, which is hidden behind some buildings in a protective elbow carved into the hillside.

Led by our guide, we stand at the edge of grass before the Marae and wait to be invited in before crossing the threshold. We take our shoes off and are led to seats just inside the entrance, where we stand facing a small group of Maori students who survey us with a fierce curiosity. We are motioned to sit as he begins to welcome and introduce us to his family in his native Tongue.

The students then launch into a beautiful harmony, a welcoming song that gives us goosebumps, and recounts the story of the sacrifices made to build this Marae. The Maori language is beautifully musical, similar to Hawaiian, with a more war-like quality to it.

Now it is our turn: we are introduced as friends, and a little about who we are is shared, before it is sugested that Ola may dance a hula as our offering. There is enough similarity between Maori and Hawaiian language that Ola understands this part of his speech, and she is visibly nervous. Her lone voice quivering, she dances and sings beautifully for us, her courage and grace moving everyone in the room.

The ancestors of the many different tribes represented here glare down upon us from the walls as we are welcomed and shown around, learning about the different tribal ancestors represented in each beautiful carving, and the meanings of each intricately weaved pattern. The mana is strong here, vibrant and pulsing with its own life force. Our host explains that this is very much a living marae, with regular events scheduled and familes coming to sleep under the watch of their ancestors.

I feel so blessed to be invited into the marae as a 'Brother from Hawaii' to learn about Maori culture . You see, although I am third generation born and raised in Hawaii, there is no Native Hawaiian blood flowing throw my veins: my family heritage is Irish-Scottish-Filipino. Though the Hawaiian culture is the one I feel closest to, I have always felt an outsider because of my lack of Hawaiian cultural knowledge. It is truly humbling and an honor to be so warmly welcomed.

Although we are invited to take photos, the experience of sharing cultures so intimately is so profound that it doesn’t feel right to take out the cameras and start snapping away. The images and music and emotions of that afternoon, however, will remain etched into my memory banks.

WELLINGTON HARBOUR

Afterwards we are invited to have a cup of tea in the student house, where we watch the Maori-language news broadcast, then are taken to the staff lounge to enjoy a couple Friday night drinks. As we relax on a balcony with our new friends, sipping on a cold brew and watching the sun set over Wellington Harbour, I notice that my cheeks are actually sore from the smile that has been on my face since our arrival in Wellington.

Today's experience epitomizes what I enjoy most about travel: people, humanity, connection.

Atomic Adventures

2009-08-20T02:53:00.000-07:00

Theme Song of the Day:

"Slice of Heaven", theme song from 'Footrot Flats' by Dave Dobbyn

JUST ANOTHER BEAUTIFUL NZ VIEW

Indie Travel has its perks: the thrill of not knowing what lies around the next corner, where you will sleep tonight, or what adventures tomorrow will bring…

It also has its frustrations though. Because it was so easy to get that killer $5/day rental deal from Christchurch to Queenstown, I figured that it would be simple to find a great deal to get our way back to Christchurch… not so.

After 2 hours at the airport internet kiosk, on the phone, and visiting all the car rental outlets, there were no good deals to be found. It would have even been cheaper to catch a flight back to Christchurch, or even Wellington had they not all been sold out.

At times like these, you really appreciate having a friend in the business. With a tip from EntirelyKiwi, we ended up booking a couple of seats on the Atomic Shuttle for only $30 – slightly more than the cost of our cab back to town.

The six-hour bus ride would take us on the direct route back via Tekapo and yet even more spectacular scenery, and get us into Christchurch at 10 o’clock that night. We get the cool kids’ seat at the back of the bus and settle in for the epic journey north with our new travelmates.

On one side sits a young Aussie named Lucky, who hangs off the side of skyscrapers with a bucket and squeegee to earn a living, and is on his way to North America in search of new adventures. He’s sick of hitch-hiking this route and has decided to do it the easy way this time. Kathy sits on our other, an India-born American from Georgia, who is studying pharmacology in Las Vegas, and is in the final days of a 6-week trip across New Zealand - her first solo travel adventure. She ‘s just survived her first skydiving experience just the day before.

We wind through giant brown hills, follow bubbling creeks and rushing rivers, skirt massive mirror lakes as the afternoon sun silently backlights everything with an intense drama that culminates in a mad rush to pile out of the bus and snap a few shots of Mount Aoraki as the sun sets.

The bus drops us about a block from Christchurch town square half an hour earlier than our ETA, and we barrel out of the bus, stomachs growling, in search of room and board. We opt for a room at the Camelot hotel for only $120/night instead of staying at the backpackers’ hostel next door. With a heartfelt smile from behind the front desk, we are pointed in the direction of Sticky Fingers, a popular restaurant [and personal favorite of our concierge] that is right around the corner.

As with most things in life that don’t go to plan, it all worked out in the end… and we had a great adventure getting there. The people you meet along the way are one of the best things about Indie Travel.

EVERYBODY BACK ON THE BUS!!

Flat White Organic Free Trade Coffee …..………....…...............$3.50

Roasted Kumara Pizza at Sticky Fingers in Christchurch…………..$18

Cab ride to City Center from Queenstown Airport……………….......$25

Atomic Bus Fare from Queenstown to Christchruch [6 hours]…...$30

View of Mount Araki at dusk ….………….........................Priceless

PRICELESS

# # #

Snowboarding and the Art of Perseverance II: LYNCHMOB

2009-08-19T06:57:00.000-07:00

Fall down seven times, get up eight.

Enough said.

Me and my cousins on Coronet Peak, Queenstown:

QUEENSTOWN ROCKS!!

# # #

Snowboarding and the Art of Perseverance

2009-08-18T22:37:00.000-07:00

VIEW FROM OUR BALCONY AT GARDEN COURT

Queenstown, the 'Adventure Capital of the World', is a picturesque lakeside town on the shores of Lake Wakatipu. We are meeting up with my Uncle Darryl and my tow cousins, Danny & Andrew to join them on their annual ski/snowboarding holiday.

The deep blues of the lake reflect the winter blues of the sky, and wispy cirrus clouds streak from behind the snow-capped peaks which surround us - a stark contrast to our entrance into Queenstown late last night: the dark road wound its way along a black lake, a trail of tailights leading around the next corner as starbursting headlights whooshing past in the opposite direction. Amber streetlights and incandescent houselights twinkled in pairs across the way, relected in the inky waters. A deep, throbbing dub soundtrack gave everything a hauntingly surreal feeling, taut with anticipation.

Ferdburger, which has been recommended to me as 'DaBestestBurgerInThaWorld' is packed to the walls and does not disappoint. Harrys Bar, just up the street, has a warm fire and cold beer, and is full of beautiful people with the satisfied smiles of a good day on the slopes.

Our morning is spent returning rental cars, transferring to the swanky Garden Court lodge in town, searching for a good flat white, and preparing to hit the slopes of Coronet Peak that afternoon.

I’ve never been a good surfer.

One, I don’t go often enough to be any good, and two, I’m just plain lazy. It’s a heck of a lot of work to get around on the water, all that paddling and paddling and paddling for a short ride on a wave.

LOOKING OUT FROM THE TOP OF CORONET PEAK

That’s why snowboarding sounds so good to me: strap your boots to the board so’s it can’t float away, ride a lift to the top of the swell, then drop in on the biggest wave, albeit a frozen one, that you’ve ever seen – 1,200 meters above sea level.

So it’s a wonder that I’m not better at it. But then again, see #2: I’m just plain lazy.

AW YEAH, THAT'S HOW I ROLL...

HOW'S THE SERENITY!?

# # #

Queenstown via Mount John Observatory and Wanaka

2009-08-17T05:08:00.000-07:00

Theme Song of the Day:

"Carmina Burana", Carl Orff

THE LONG WHITE CLOUD

The day breaks clean, crisp and blue, with the sun making a welcome appearance by midmorning.

This morning’s adventure takes us up to Mt John’s Observatory, 300 meters above Tekapo. The four massive telescopes on the summit are in active use today by scientists from around the world, and in 2003 discovered a Jupiter-sized planet orbiting a star several thousand light years away.

Only twenty minutes up the road, the town looks like a minature train set from here. I understand why the Maori named this land ‘Land of the Long White Cloud’ as I look out at the bright blues of lake, sky, and distant mountains and sip my flat white at the Astro Café.

The amazing interstellar imagery captured in the postcards on display is enough to convince me to return and to do the stargazing tour. There are images of distant galaxies, comets streaking across the Tekapo night sky, and even of the Aurora Australis shimmering behind and dwarfing the distant peaks.

COMING DOWN FROM THE OBSERVATORY

As we wind our way back down the hill, my thoughts drift into the scenery - I’ve never seen such massive spaces - the glimpses of wide open nature that I’ve caught always seem to be interrupted too soon by the harsh grid of civilzation. As I look out at miles and miles of blue lake, brown plains and snow-capped peaks, there are no other towns visible in the distance.

I glimpse a farmhouse here, a small cluster of buildings there… and a now-familiar feeling wells up inside. It is the same exhilleration that I feel when embarking on a road trip, eating up the endless open road… except these spaces ignite a yearning to be back on foot, tramping and camping with my backpack and a tent, a tiny speck wandering in wonder as the vast landscape swallows me.

SOMEWHERE ALONG THE ROAD TO WANAKA

There is also a peace of mind, a stillness that is stirred as I drink in the clean air and blue nature all around me. Surely only nature could evoke such contrasting emotions with such a deft stroke of her brush.

I’ve no idea how long my thoughts have been wandering when I actually notice the canal that we’ve been following for the last half hour. The water is still the same glacier-flower blue that was Lake Tekapo, except that it is eddying and boiling in a fast flow, rushing to get somewhere in a hurry. This road appears to be on a man-made embankment ten stories high that is so precisely engineered that I am reminded of one of those virtual roller coaster rides where you are going down down down into darkness and the track jerks and jolts you around unforseen corners.

IS THAT THE SAME LONG WHITE CLOUD WE SAW IN TEKAPO!?

The mountains and lake are still our backdrop one hour later, and the I am sure that the long white cloud skirting the mountain is the same one we were looking at up at the observatory. Suddenly the flume opens up into a squarish pool, and the road turns away from the water.

A sweeping curve starts our descent, and as we round the corner, massive pipes can be seen plunging out of the embankment towards the lake below. We must have stumbled across one of New Zealand’s hydro-electric plants. It is impressive; the energy coursing down through those pipes is almost tangible.

CRISPY SKINNED SALMON W/ PESTO ON WARM SALAD

Before we know it, we come to the Wanaka turnoff and decide to check the place out before we hit Queenstown. I highly recommend the detour: we share the most amazing Salmon filet with pesto over warm rosted veggies with a couple of locally brewed, preservative-free beers from Kai Whakapai.

The road to Queenstown from Wanaka winds through rocky brown and black hilltops that bring to mind images of Mordor as the sun is getting low in the sky and casting long, dramatic shadows. We gradually climb higher and higher until patches of melting snow appear, turn a corner and the hilltops here are mottled with snow. Another corner, and the hilltops are now mountain peaks. Another corner, and LakeWakatipu greets us silently, the grandeur of this view demanding a full orchestra but only getting static on the radio in response.

COMING OVER THE MOUNTAIN PASS TO QUEENSTOWN

The sun has disappeared behind the mountains but has not yet set, muting the hues below and backlighting a dramatic skyscape. We must be a couple thousand meters above the valley floor as the van picks its way down the switchbacks, stopping every kilometer or so to take in the changing views.

Queenstown, here we come!

# # #

ROADTRIP!! ~ Lake Tekapo

2009-08-16T21:14:00.000-07:00

Theme Song for the Day:

"Happy Birthday", by Stevie Wonder

ROADTRIP!!

Solo travel has its perks, but there’s nothing like a great travel companion to really make an awesome roadtrip.

COUCHSURFING HOST MARINA, OLA AND ME

I am being joined for the next two weeks by a friend from Hawaii, the beautiful Kapuaola Gellert [or just Ola for short], who is an Epedemiologist currently working and conducting medical research on the tiny island of Molokai. She also happens to be a mad keen Waterwoman: StandUp Paddling, Outrigger Canoes, Surfing, and anything to do with ocean sports are the loves of her life.

So at 10.26am I meet her at Christchurch airport’s baggage claim, we pick up our $5/day relocation rental special [Toyota Previa family van] and head towards Lake Tekapo. We’ve got 48 hours to complete the journey and deliver the vehicle back to the depot at Queenstown Airport.

Breakfast [at noon] is a smoked chicken panini with blueberry salsa and melted camembert cheese from Vic’s [again!], where we make more new friends at the table. Apparently, in Christchurch you make friends by slamming down your table number to startle your neighbors… Anna and Paul are studying Organic Horticulture and turn me on to some key people and places to visit while I am here.

LAKE TEKAPO

The 3 hour drive to Tekapo takes us through the rolling green pasturelands of Central South Island. The cloud cover is low, muting the colors and swallowing the hilltops. Sheep, cattle, deer and lamas munch and stare as the kilometers easily tick past, and before we know it we round a sweeping corner and are greeted with an epic turquoise view of Lake Tekapo.

After a good hour taking photos on the shoreline behind the iconic Church of the Good Shepard, we check into The Chalet, a cozy little boutique inn run by Swiss-expat couple Walkter and Zita. The couple has been here since 1987, and show us the available rooms with obvious pride –Zita has designed each one herself. We drop our bags and head to the Alpine Springs Spa and Winter Park for a Skate‘n’Soak.

Two Hawaiians on an ice rink? Trouble. Luckily, there is only one spill between us [me of course], and the rink is empty so as to minimize the risk of us mowing down any unsuspecting skaters.

...AAAAAAHHHHHH...

The natural hot spring waters are slightly salty, and wonderfully steamy in the cold night air. There are three pools ranging in temperature from 36 – 40C degrees; we choose the warmest pool to soak our tight hamstrings and watch a group of backpackers flirt with each other across the way. Ah, the simple voyeuristic pleasures of people watching…

Dinner is at Pepe’s pizza and pasta tavern: one large handmade pizza, half venision [with BBQ sauce and roasted kumara] / half lamb [with mint jelly and roasted potato] with a pint of Speights cold ale to wash it down please. Lamb and venision pizza… only in New Zealand.

BEN AND JUAN FROM GREAT BRITAIN

Two friendly Brits, Ben and Juan join us at our booth and we strike up the travelers conversation: where you from, where you been, where you goin’…? Turns out they have been on the road for 5 months now, and have covered the skifields of Europe, the backpacker treks of Southeast Asia, the trails of Nepal, the suburbs of Sydney, and are now in search of the magnificent scenery and powder snow of New Zealand. It’s also Ben’s birthday, so we end the night with a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday [the traditional version, seeing as no-one knew the words to the Stevie Wonder version], and show some restraint by not dancing on the tabletops per his request.

Happy Birthday Ben!

THE WATERS OF LAKE TEKAPO REALLY ARE THIS COLOR!

# # #

Couchwarming Party!

2009-08-15T01:50:00.000-07:00

Theme Song for the Day:

"Wonky Donkey", by Craig Smith

THE ARTS CENTER ARTS & CRAFTS MARKET

The mist in the streets of Christchurch today was a superfine drizzle that you could barely see swirling gently down from the grey skies above. It sits on my hair and clothes like dew drops in the morning.

We tour the Arts Center Market early in the afternoon and wander through stalls of hand-made merino wool clothing, carved greenstone jewellery, and beautiful photography of wild Kiwi landscapes. Lunch is a spicy Lebanese Lamb Wrap from a street vendor, while my hosts and tourguides munch on a Czech Potato Pancake with Beef and Sauerkraut [I’ve never seen a Czech Food street vendor before!].

NOTICE THE DR SEUSS TUFTS GROWING ALONG THE RIVER BANKS

Hagley Park is 400+ acres of lush greenery that we walk through to go home. A crowd is cheering on a rugby match as joggers bounce past us along the river, which is lined with willow trees and other Seussian water plants. Ducks paddle and dive and waddle their way along the fast-flowing water, which is crystal clear and looks no more than thigh-deep.

It's a laid-back Saturday afternoon in misty Christchurch, and we spend it preparing for the party tonight; Marina is making chocolate truffles! Turns out last night that we missed the CouchSurfMeet by a day - it was on Thursday, not Friday - so Matt and I commiserated by sampling a couple rounds of the bubbly drink specials before Marina joined up with us an hour later after her work event. When life gives you lemons, make ...sparkling wine!

After-drinking food is good here: the souvlaki joint was unexpectedly closed so we found a good Chinese take-out place right across the City Square. This one even sold fish & chips ...apparently, not uncommon in these parts!

The festivities tonight are over at award-winning local musician Craig Smith's new diggs. His new song, Wonky Donkey, won the 2009 APRA NZ Children's Song of the Year Award, and I am lucky enough to sneak a peek at the children's book version which is released in October.

Craig is an easy conversationalist with a warm smile and a welcoming aura. We swap stories about our respective journeys and find that we have walked similar paths: a few years ago, he closed up shop - after running his own business in sales and marketing for ten years or so - to feed his soul and pursue his music, and hasn't been happier ever since.

Craig also happens to be the Couchsurfing Ambassador for Christchurch which means that tonight I meet more locals, as well as fellow Couchsurfers from France, Germany, Canada, and LA... and, believe it or not, met someone whose Mum may have worked with my Mum in the Dole Pineapple Cannery in Hawaii... !

I *HEART* Couchsurfing.

The world lies in the hands of those who have the courage to dream and to take the risk of living out their dreams - each according to his or her own talent."

-Paulo Coellho-

# # #

Arrival in Christchurch

2009-08-14T18:23:00.000-07:00

CHRISTCHURCH CITY SQUARE BY NIGHT

Christchurch is cold, wet, and wonderfully misty as I am driven to my hosts’ apartment at one in the morning.

The streetlights infuse everything with a warm orange glow, and I’ve already made new friends while standing in line at customs. I like New Zealand

Marina [a.k.a The Swiss Temptress] and Matt [a.k.a. The Vagabonding Kiwi] are my Couchsurfing hosts for the next couple days as I make preparations for a short roadtrip south to Queenstown for some snowboarding fun. They met at a Backpackers’ pub in London and between them have traveled through Europe, South America, the United States, and Japan; we are meeting up later tonight at a CouchSurfMeet held on the couches of, Le Plonk of course, with some of the local Couchsurfing Crew. Should make for a fun night out…

LE PLONK, AFTER A COUPLE GLASSES OF LE PLONK

Breakfast this morning was at an organic café called Vic's 5 minutes walk from Matt’n’Marina’s home that makes the world’s best fresh bread. Think home-made sourdough and honey ciabbata and rye loafs – I love the smell of fresh bread in the morning!

Christchurch is one of two cities in the world whose drinking water is so pure that it comes out of the tap untreated. The other city? Evian, France. I am drinking the equivalent of expensive, pure bottled spring water straight from the tap.

Lunch à a café-come-boardroom aptly named, well, The Boardroom where you can meet clients for a cuppa, or hire a private conference room for more privacy. I’m here to interview Peter ‘Pink Gloves’ Taylor, Organizer of Christchurch’s Greendrinks event, and all-around Sustainability Marketing Guru. He quickly turns the tables on me and produces his own video camera to record an impromptu interview with me …

Peter is a bright-eyed man with a quick wit and twinkle in his eye who is involved with a projects in the business and political areneas, all focussed on helping businesses and community embrace and adopt sustainability.

There are many different accents and faces in the streets of Christchurch as I wander around to sort out my new cell phone and find an internet café (there’s a good one next to Starbucks in the city square, $3/ 1^st hr, highspeed wireless connection). The sales girl at Vodafone hasn’t heard of the EntirelyWorldFamous competition, so in a fit of shameless self-promotion I take it upon myself to educate her about it, and of course ask for her vote. Thanks Hannah!

Dinner is a yet another café (there are some good ones here) called The Honey Pot that is a favorite of Matt’n’Marina …serving breakfast all day, this is my kind of place.

STEAMING HOT BLACKCURRANT

The customer favorite on the dinner menu here is the B.B.C. - Chicken breast stuffed with sun-dried tomatoes ad smoked cheese, wrapped in bacon and served with baby potatoes, panfried seasonal veges and a spicy BBQ sauce. Fowl Play is also recommended, while Hot Lips and Jimmy The Fish also look like good choices.

I opt for the breakkie customer favorite: The Breakfast Muffin - strips of chunky bacon, fried egg, sliced avocado smothered in home-made hollanaise sauce - and am not disappointed [thanks for the recommendation Sharla!]. It lasts about 2 minutes as I wash it down with some Hot Blackcurrant, a wine-colored drink that tastes medieval and warms my insides.

There is all kinds of art on the walls and a mellow roots-reggae soundtrack soothes and chills me out.

Welcome to New Zealand!

In Search of the Great Aussie/Russian Monkeyman...

2009-08-04T07:40:00.001-07:00

There is a local myth of an Apeman roaming the Noosa hinterlands.

I went in search of this mythical creature, and narrowly escaped with my life...

World Thong Throwing Championships!

2009-07-28T08:42:00.001-07:00

Theme Song of the Day:

"King of the Mountain", by Midnight Oil

STAY TUNED FOR THE COMPLETE EPISODE...

On Sunday I was lucky enough to be included in the field of international competitors for the 30th Annual World Thong Throwing Championships as part of the King of the Mountain Race at Pomona in the Noosa Hinterlands.

The competition was fierce, with the former Junior Champion making an impressive return after a twenty-year absence. The American Champ even flew 22 hours non-stop to be Pomona in time for the event, and late in the day controversy erupted as rumors of performance-ehancement usage led to random drug-testing...

My training and technique was clearly lacking, leading to an early elimination at the hands of an intimidating curly-haired-eight-year-old [you can catch a glimpse of him in the trailer]. Luckily, my uncle was on hand to put on a good showing for the Lynches, beating out the eight-year-old's throw by a few inches.

Stay tuned for the complete webisode to be posted soon!

# # #

STOP PRESS: Aotearoa here I come!!

2009-07-15T01:18:00.000-07:00

Theme Song for the Day:

"The Matty Lynch Song", by Funk Harmony Park

I WAS BORN FOR THIS JOB!

Christchurch-based travel company Entirely Kiwi has the following position on offer:

World Famous New Zealand Expert on Everything New Zealand

The Dream Job exploring the Land of the Long White Cloud on an all-expenses-paid three month tour of Aotearoa. Job Duties include:

meeting the locals and sampling the local brewskies
rapelling into GlowWorm caves of Waitomu
lounging in the mud baths of Rotorua
base jumping from the buildings of Aukland
fish the Bay of Plenty
scaling the cliffs of Wanaka
bombing the snowboard runs of Queenstown
cross the glaciers of the South Island
explore Marlborough wine country
hike the mystical Fiordland wilderness
fly fish Norfolk Island
and whatever other adventures and misadventures we can think up!

So vote for me by clicking here [join my Facebook fan page] and here [rate the YouTube clip] ...and all of your wildest dreams will come true!

THE JOURNEY BEGINS

# # #

Tasmania: Day 7 - Of Rain, Guiness Pie and Cheese

2009-06-06T05:24:00.000-07:00

Theme Song for the Day:

"The Rain Song", by Led Zeppelin

CHASING SUNSETS

Two words: Guinness Pie. and Cheese. Okay 3 words then…

Cheese, as in: the best cheese I have ever had [and the most in one sitting] at a roadside showroom for cheese made by a family-owned dairy whose 4th generation custodians smile innocent cherubic smiles from their milk cartons.

Guinness Pie, as in: the best damn pub food ever invented! Imagine - chunky beef stewed with Guinness Stout so that the bittersweet hunks of meat melt in your mouth, washed down with ...a pint of cold Guinness, of course! So good and hearty and satisfying after a full day's driving North-> South across the state - that I decide on the same meal for brunch the next morning too. Fan-TAS-tic.

...Our time in Tasmania was wondrous, an escape into an alternate, past world when a families and communities bonded together out of a common need for survival. A time when the rhythm of life was dictated by the seasons of sow, harvest, stock, survive… and then the cycle would begin again.

There was such warmth in the household; it was clear that like all families, this family had been through its ups and downs and ins and outs and dramas and triumphs, and had come out stronger for the experiences. Their choice to live off the land was literally a choice to take their lives back into their own hands, and has created the bond of mutual understanding that a shared experience creates. The kind of bond that goes without words, that can convey volumes in a quickly shared glance.

The Canadian and I have also created a similar bond through the shared experience of the last few days, but through the sharing of stories: our lives’ journeys to this point. That’s one of the things about travel, it sharpens senses and heightens your experience another, because every moment counts.

How do I bring this back into my daily life, the one where I have bills to pay and phone calls to return and commitments to make? And keep. The life that has consumed the last decade of my life, the life I have left behind.

Through all of that endless mundanity, that terminal condition of western society, that syndrome that afflicts so many who walk around their lives fast asleep with their eyes wide open, that bastion of insanity, of doing the same thing over and over and over and over, and expecting a different result....

How do we keep alive our sense of wonder, and adventure?

We are alive dammit, ALIVE. And we don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Or if it will ever come. But in this moment, we are alive, and we are here to savour every precious flavour, the sweetness of it all, the bitterness, the chocolate-and-coffee richness of it all. And then we are gone.

To sit with someone’s pain is a unique privellege indeed. To sit with someone’s pain and bear witness to their journey through to the other side is quite another. I have gone to the depths of humanity over the last few days.

There is a subtle melancholy about her, a deep sadness and even deeper pain that dwells just beneath her easy-going way. There is a sense of joy, of closure, of celebration that bubbles through in her smile. And in her eyes, you can almost see the twinkle growing brighter each day.

Some days the grief hits hard, and other days the sun shines brightly through her heart. And with each step she holds her head high, eyes up, smiling and laughing, and listening. With such dignity. With such genuine interest in what the other person is saying. With such an understated appreciation of enjoying this moment with a fellow human being. With a slightly bewildered amazement at this gift called life.

She is finding her way back to herself, removing herself from an old world full of memories and expectations and love. Finding her way in a world which has given her the most bitter things to taste, a world in which she finds herself wandering, and wondering what is next. And finding out that she has been given so many gifts, so much richness, so much LIFE…

Now, she pauses, a brief intermission as the next reel is loaded in preparation for the next act of her life. Only she gets to write the script – however she wants to.

No wonder our paths have crossed. No wonder our paths will diverge.

“If you can lose, and start again at your beginnings, And ne’er breathe one word about your loss…”
-"If", by Rudyard Kipling-

My losses seem to pale in comparison to what she has lost; yet there exists a mutual understanding of what it means to have won - big time - and then lose it all. Though my circumstance looks different to hers, the pain each has felt is very real.

Financial abundance is one thing; abundance of the heart is true wealth. I am truly blessed that the ones that I have loved, that I still do love, and that love me… are still here for me to enjoy.

From The Canadian, I’ve learned that:

Dignity is carried, not given
Pain can be beautiful
Sweet tastes so much better after Bitter
Every moment counts
Shared silences are healing
Everyone has a story
Everyone's story has a gift for those who are lucky enough to hear it
Listening to someone's story is a gift for the storyteller

At the departure lounge, we sit easily in each other's silence, thankful for the new friends we have made, the lessons we have learned, and most of all, for the shared experiences of the last few days.

Life is beautiful.

# # #

"These are the seasons of emotion,
and like the winds they rise and fall.
This is the wonder of devotion -
I see the torch we all must hold.

This is the mystery of the quotient -
Upon us all a little rain must fall."
-"The Rain Song", by Led Zeppelin-

THE CANADIAN,
WITH NEW FRIENDS
AOBA AND MAXIMUS

# # #

Tasmania: Day 5 - In Search of Sushi

2009-06-06T05:22:00.001-07:00

Theme Songs of the Day:

“Fire Coming Down the Mountain”, by The Gorillaz, live in Harlem with Dennis Hoper
“El Manana”, by The Gorrilaz

TAWNY FROGMOUTH AT NIGHT

Who’s bright idea was it to go spotlighting on the back of the ute for wildlife at midnight on a 3 dog night [as in degrees Centigrade!]?!?

…oh yeah, I was the Ideas-Man last night… the wildlife around these parts is very intelligent; smart enough to stay in on a cold night, anyways… we only spot three wallabies, nothing like the abundant wildlife scattering from our headlights experienced on the way in.

The morning is balmy compared to the windchill of midnight on he truck bed with the midnight wind screaming in my hair, spotlight turned up to the tree canopy searching for glimpse of the elusive, rare, and very rare species of Drop-Bear and Hoop-Snake that are rumoured to be active in these parts.

I spend it with a steaming cup of tea in one hand, and a slimy tennis ball in the other, exploring the luxury campgrounds again while Maximus leaps and bounds alongside me like an oversized, muscular Mexican Jumping Bean [another rare species fumored to be active in these parts].

Today’s mission is to head back into Ulverstone in search of sushi supplies. Aoba’s arrival has sparked my culinary imagination, and I’ve offered to gather the necessary ingredients to make okonomyaki, a delicious sort of Japanese savory pancake made with shredded cabbage, batter, minced beef or pork, Japanese mayonaise, bonito flakes, and a special okonomyaki sauce that is like a mild teriyaki.

Ulverstone by daylight has quite a different character; it is Sunday so the main street is empty and the church’s parking lot is full. We find a morning latte at Smiley’s café, where we meet none other than Mr. Smiley himself, who amuses himself by attempting to welcome us with his best Caadian accent. “Hau wood yoo like yore coafeeee then, ay, young laydeeee?” he drawls, then laughs heartily at his own joke. Aussies love Canadians…

The supermarket doesn’t carry the Japanese batter mix and other special ingredients for us to make okonomyaki – I forget that we are in rural Tasmania. We are surprised to learn that nobody in town sells fresh fish, and so head down the road to Penguin in search of good sushi.

The road to Penguin follows an old railway track along coast, just a few feet from the rocky beaches, and as the sun glints and sparkles off the blue water I feel like I am driving through the opening scene in a roadtrip movie. The town of Penguin is nestled into a small nook in the coast and has the feel of a lazy coastal holiday town. There are winged tuxedos everywhere on the main street, cute and kitschy, all grinning and winking, and one in particular is very happy to see The Canadian.

There is no fresh fish to be found here either, so we press on to the port of Burnie, which is said to have a deep water harbor to rival Devonport and Hobart. This is a logging, woodchipping, and papermill town, and the first thing to be spotted as we round the corner and approach the town are three massive piles of woodchip sitting on the docks, each at least 5 stories high.

Peter tells us later that he has seen miles and miles of woodchip piles twice as large sitting idle deep in the forests around his property. The effects of the Global Finanical Crisis [known in Oz as "GFC" - sounds like a really bad fast food restaurant chain...] are felt even in the wilderness of Tasmania, just waiting for a stray spark to send them up like piles of gunpowder in a Loony Toons cartoon gone tragically wrong.

The stark contrast of the pristeen wilderness we have come down from, to the huge industrial machines and belching smokestacks that are in and around this town is disconcerting. It sparks an inner dialogue questioning how economic and environmental sustainability can ever reconcile each other when we live in a system that places financial profitability and growth above all else.

The road back is full of questions, and as I enjoy fresh sushi with new friends this night, I am thankful for being with good people surrounded by wilderness.

Suddenly, it has become much easier to see why Peter made the decision to come build a self-sufficient life for his family, “luxury camping” in the bush.

# # #

BUSH TUCKER: SUSHI!

MAXIMUS DECIMUS MERIDIUS

# # #

Tasmania: Day 6 - Wild Beauty

2009-06-06T05:22:00.000-07:00

Theme Songs of the Day:

"First Dy of My Life", by Bright Eyes
"Burn One Down", by Ben Harper
"Are We Different?", by Priscilla Ahn

CAMPING ON THE RIVER FLATS

The morning dawns achingly cold on the flood plains of Taylor Flats.

Blue smoke bellows from the still-damp campfire while I stand on the bank of a river, casting into the flow and hoping for a rainbow or a brown trout to strike. The air is still, and my breath hangs around my shoudlers in a puffy veil.

Kookaburras guffaw in the distance while other birds chatter and chirp and whistle all around me. An industrious little fellow tap tap taps at the skeletal tree standing behind me, pulling out grubs and other goodies from the dead wood.

Poplar trees grow thick along the banks to the water’s edge, and I pick my way upstream searching for breaks in the undergrowth large enough for me to cast from. Back at the campfire, butter and home-made raspberry jam bubbles away on the gridle, while bread smokes itself into toast for our breakfast.

Last night we met Roslyn and Oscar, Peter’s wife and youngest son. I spoke with Roslyn on the phone when we landed in Tassie, or rather she spoke to me through the crackling connection: “Is that you Matt??” She is tough as nails, all sinew and no nonsense, with a warm smile and a heart of gold.

Oscar and his brother grew up on the “luxury campgrounds” and were homeschooled by their parents. He is a confident, well-mannered 16-year old, also tough as nails, all sinew, and no-nonsense. He does have his father’s cheeky grin, and the twinkle in in his eye that suggests he may or may not be about to play a practical joke on you…

On the day that the Board of Education came to interview the children to find out how effective [or not] their homeschooling had been, Roslyn was nervous that they might deem their progress sub-par, and take her children away. Instead, the lady that came out was so impressed that she asked if the boys would come and speak to other homeschool families as an example of possibility.

Roslyn explains to me later that their approach was simple: keep the boys engaged and having fun, and they would learn something without even realizing it. For example, to teach them about mathematics and geometry, they built a shed and had them do all the calculations on site that were necessary to complete the project. They learned the theory and application of the concepts being studied, and gained the practical construction skills while swinging their hammers. At 23 years old, Wilbur now travels the world as a freelance adventure guide; he is currently away in Europe leading whitewater kyak adventure tours in Norway over the summer season.

We get to see more of the benefits of this kind of education first hand when we get back to camp and Oscar invites us to join him and his best mate Alex [who is 3 years older] on the downhill Moutain Bike Track that he and his brother Wilbur have built on the other side of the waterfall.

The track is impressive; a narrow trail winds its way down the mountain, earthen embankments allow you to throw the bikes around the switchbacks, and a fallen log provides a massive railslide that drops back onto the track on a steep, twisting ramp. The see-saw feature they fly over freaks me out and sends me careening off into the bush, mowing down a couple of baby eucalypts along the way.

I opt to take the side route on the final stretch, which drops off a rocky outcrop before slipping through a narrow gap in the trees. It took us twenty minutes to hike up to the start, and maybe three minutes to barrell down, hooting and crashing and laughing all the way down. I am thankful that the 15-foot jump they are still building mid-way down is incomplete… and that despite falling off twice, I survived my first downhill mountain biking experience with barely a scratch!

The adrenaline is still coursing when we return to “camp”, and we are still wild-eyed when Peter shows us the yield of hazlenuts that he and Aoba have gathered that morning. The Canadian has asked that we do a bonfire that night, so Roslyn announces that ice cream, molten chocolate, and home-made raspberry sauce will compliment campfire-roasted hazlenuts perfectly for desert.

Before we head out to gather wood for the bonfire, however, Peter invites us on a bushwalk with him to Levyn Canyon. The 45-minute trek up to the lookout point takes about 25 minutes with the pace that he sets for us, and our breath is taken away when we reach the end of the trail. Wooded valleys stretch to the horizon as a river winds its way through. We are ants perched precariously on the edge of this precipice, dwarfed by the massive spectacle of nature engulfing us. The platform and we stand on and polished trail signs behind us are the only sign of human presence; the work of a single park ranger who has carved the trail out with his own two hands, and the occasional help of a laborer or two.

THE RIVER WINDS THROUGH...

Once we regain our breath, we head back to the car which Peter guides deftly around the gravel roads twice as fast as I would be comfortable driving, to bring us to another trailhead. This one descends into the canyon and crosses the river, where we pass a sign reading EXPERIENCED BUSHWALKERS ONLY, and our motley crew - The Moustachioued One, The Canadian, The GreenBackpack, and the Tokyo Girl - pick our way along the steep trail until we round a bend and stop at a natural stone bench which overlooks dark tea-colored pools that eddy and swirl below.

It dawns on me how foreign an experience this must be for Aoba, who has probably only known the bright lights and ceasless racket of big city life... now we are surrounded by a natural symphony, the water rushing below, the breeze whispering through the treetops in waves, birds cackling and whistling and chirping all around.

NATURE'S SKYSCRAPERS

We sit and munch on the chocolates I have brought, drinking in the view from the canyon floor. The cliff face stretches up 100+ stories above, and you can almost hear the cracking and rumbling of the massive rock stratas which lie at a 45 degree angle from the horizontal rocks which are the adjacent cliff. The river does a huge switchback here, and Peter tells us that at some time in the distant geological past, this entire canyon was formed by the collapse of the massive rockforms towering above. If we were ants standing on the top of the canyon, we are gnats as we look up from within.

We return to "camp" with a new sense of quiet satisfaction, our glimpse of the awesome power of Wild Tasmania lingering in our auras. This is Peter's backyard, and I find myself longing to keep exploring, to discover yet more wild spectacles that few privelleged humans will get to experience in their lifetimes. The wild places of the world don't want to be discovered, preferring instead to reveal their secrets only to those intrepid enough to seek and discover...

Dinner is the vegeterian green Japanese curry that I have had bubbling away all afternoon. The homegrown baby yams added at the last minute are pink and translucent and no bigger than my thumb, and lend just the perfect earthy-sweet flavour to this Asian-Australian bush tucker meal we have just invented.

HYPNOTIC

We take turns simmering in the woodfired bath; house rules are that whoever is in the hot tub gets waited upon hand-and-foot, “As you wish…” Everyone outside of the bath house sits and stares into the fire, talking about past and future planned adventures [and misadventures], and even start to sketch out a vague plan to hike in to Cradle Mountain and back from Loongana when I return to Tasmania.

Aoba entertains herself by slicing cross-sections of the bonfire smoke rising into the night sky with her bright green laser beam, whistling Super Mario Brothers to herself and munching on potatoes roasted in the glowing embers. I can only imagine what her internal dialogue would be, 18-years old girl raised in the Tokyo metropolis in the middle of the Tasmanian bush and only enough grasp of English to understand fleeting glimpses in our conversations..

Roslyn and The Canadian have convinced Peter to break out a bottle of homebrew honey mead which has been “cellared” for a couple years. The amber liquid has a velvety texture, not quite as viscous as scotch, yet smooth enough to coat the sides of the glass when swirled. It smells sweet like honey, not the sickly sweet of desert wines, or the artificial sweet of soda pop, but a subtle, delicate sweetness imbued with a hint of citrus… and the taste? Divine. Almost spiritual. If one were lucky enough to sip from the nectar of the gods, than surely this would be it.

Maximus curls up in my lap and drifts off to sleep, twitching and eyelids fluttering as he starts to dream of chasing birds and sticks and severed wallaby heads. The conversation fades and becomes more intermittent, each of us losing ourselves in the hypnotic glow and crackly of the bonfire, connecting with some deep part of ourselves from eons past, when ape-like men huddled around campfires in caves.

Glowing embers float up and away into the milky way yawning above us. I realize that have discovered a formula for inner peace:

Homebrew Honey Mead
+
Vegetarian Japanese Curry
featuring Home-grown Baby Yams
+
Fire-Roasted Hazlenuts on IceCream with Molten Chocolate
and Home-made Raspberry Sauce
+
Woodfired Bath-house
+
Bonfire
+
Awesome People
+
Amazing Conversation
=
Bliss

# # #

BEDFORD'S BACKYARD

RIVER CROSSING

THE CANADIAN

CHILLIN' ON THE STONE BENCH

AOBA [TOKYO GIRL] CONTEMPLATES NATURE

ROASTING HAZLENUTS

BLISS

# # #

Tasmania: Day 4 - "Here: Loonagana"

2009-06-06T05:21:00.000-07:00

THEME SONGS FOR THE DAY:

"Society", by Eddie Vedder, from the Into The Wild soundtrack
"Indifference", by Ben Harper and Eddie Vedder

PETER BEDFORD:
THE MYTH, THE MAN, THE BLOODY LEGEND

Urgh. After 10 hours on the road yesterday I'm not sure it was a good idea to stay up until 5am drinking wine with our Couchsurfing host and new friend, Peter Bedford... but geeeez his wine is good!

Home-made from blueberries, raspberries, and loganberries grown organically in the garden patches right outside the main house, there are jugs of new batches bubbling away in the kitchen. We made a pretty good dent in their supply getting to know each other last night...

Surprisingly, I'm not hungover, just tired from being on the road and then staying awake for so long. Guess that's what happens when you drink wine that is made from organic fruits, with no preservatives or additives - the wines taste clean, crisp, and fresh, like we are nuzzling from the bosom of the earth.

Aside from sharing our stories and drinking copious amounts of wine, last night - or rather, this morning - we learnt how to find due south by lining up the stars of the Southern Cross with the Pointer Sisters [with Peter's bright green laser pointer which seemed to touch the stars], and were given a tour of the place in near-total darkness. When I finally rise at around 10am, I jump out of bed eager to explore the place in the daylight.

FROST ON THE GROUND IN THE MORNING

The sun has cleared the mountains and the temperature hovers near 4 degrees C, only one degree warmer than last night. I walk down to the dam to get a better look at the "luxury camping" compound that Peter has built for his family over the years. A builder by trade, the building have all been constructed of materials reclaimed from old tear-down houses in the area, or timber milled on-site from the few trees they felled to create the clearing in which the houses sit.

BEDFORD LUXURY CAMPGROUNDS

For the first 18 months or so, the Bedfords would hike in from the main entrance and camp around the fire pit seen in the middle of the photo. The fire's embers were kept glowing 24 hours/day to give the family warmth and cooking capacity until a double wood-fired oven, barbeque grill, and covered dining table were all added later to finish out the heart of the compound. The original structure, which can be seen to the right, was built; then the family moved their tents into this shelter.

THE ORIGINAL HOUSE

This structure was later expanded into what it is today: carpets cover the original earth floors on one side, and a wood-fired stove sitting on carpet-covered brick floors warms the cottage from the other. It feels like a writer's cabin in the woods, complete with a corner desk that overlooks the dam and is bathed in sunlight each morning.

INSIDE THE BATHOUSE

The bath-house can be seen to the left of the photo above: inspired by the bathtub cauldrons used to skin slaughtered
pigs, Peter has built a wood-fired hot-tub out of brick and a reclaimed cast-iron bathtub. Fresh dam water is used, the color of weak herbal tea from being seeped with eucaplytus tannins. A chimney pipes out all the smoke from the fire, and a very high-tech system of pulling the plug to drain water while turning the tap to let in more cold water is used by the bather to regulate the temperature and prevent themselves from becoming boiled soup.

The veggie gardens sit above this area, well fenced to keep out unwelcome guests. The growbeds are raised, sitting on the north-facing aspect of the gentle slope everything is built on, and are a combination of worm castings and compost that has been cultivated on-site over the years. Most of the veggies have been harvested, though a few heads of lettuce and other yummy munchies can be seen growing; the seasons are shifting and the winter veggies will be grown in the two hothouses that have been built.

Peter uses what he calls "organic worms", which live in worm baths that sit in the shadows of a grove of eucalyptus at the edge of the compound. These worms are happiest munching on a combination of kitchen scraps and horse manure, and differ from regular earthworms in the quality of worm casting they produce. Buckets sit at the bottom ends of the worm baths collecting "worm tea", which is a nutrient-rich liquid fertilizer that is used throughout the gardens.

THE KIDS' HOUSE

The "main house" that we pulled up to last night is the most recently built structure on the premises: also built almost entirely from reclaimed building materials and timbers milled on-site, it features heated floors. A concrete slab was poured with copper pipes laid throughout that connect to a modified wood-fired stove in the middle of the house. Water fills a chamber surrounding the fire chamber, and a small pump helps circulate the water to keep the house warm in the cold winter nights.

The north-facing wall is almost entirely glass, bought for $100 from windows reclaimed from another tear-down house in the area. Growbeds line this wall, about three 1/2 feet off the ground so that tomatos and other veggies can be grown inside the house throughout winter. It's also a handy feature to be able to throw your dry scraps right onto the garden to be composted. Originallly intended to be the "kid's house", this structure has become the main living area, with a large kitchen bench to hang out around, and plenty of room to hang out wet gear.

A flat screen TV and impressive collection of dvds and video games look like any other suburban kid's living room, though these kids are hardly what you'd call any other suburban kid. Wilbur is 23 years old and is currently in Norway leading whitewater kyaking expeditions, while 16-year old Oscar is away with Mum whitewater kyaking somewhere near the Walls of Jerusalem national park in the middle of Tasmania.

We strike out towards the waterfall that can be heard in the background, and follow a large trek leading away from the ompound. The stream at the top of the waterfall is narrow enough to jump across, and seems harldy capable of producing the roar of falling water humming in our chests. There are a couple eucalyptus trees here that would take four men holding hands to span its circumference, and soar majestically 30 stories above the forest floor.

At the bottom of the falls, we are humbled by the sight which greets us. Only a handful of humans have ever born witness to this place, Peter tells us later that the locals didn't even know it existed until he moved in and discovered it himself.

We are standing at the bottom of a small canyon, whitewater falling in slow motion over glistening black boulders that are almost perfect squares, tempting me to climb this beautiful natural staircase. Massive tree ferns lining the canyon walls create perfect acoustics for the water to gently echo around this room, and we stand in silence for quite some time in awe and gratitude of this discovery. It feels wrong to cheapen the moment by snapping photos, so we quietly say our thanks and move on back up to the house.

Electricity for the entire compound is generated from one turbine at the base of the falls, and is pumped into a converter and battery store room where power levels can be easily monitored. Sitting around under one light bulb in the middle of the night no longer seems creepy once we've walked down to the turbine and followed the power cables all the way back up to the house.

They don’t get many visitors this far out into the bush, as Peter explains, “those who are meant to find us, eventually do…” This afternoon he is picking up 18-year old Aoba [pronounced “Oh-bah”], whose Couchsurfing sister has arranged for a two-week stay to get her out of the city and broaden her horizons.

She barely speaks English, and I am lounging naked in the hot-tub when she arrives late in the afternoon and is given the tour. “Can I take photo?” she says, and I nod vaguely through the clouds of eucalyptus steam.

Who woulda thought that I would be snapped nude by a Japanese tourist out in the wilderness of Tasmania?

# # #

"KIDS' HOUSE"
AND VEGGIE GARDENS

STORAGE SHED, CUBBY HOUSE AND FLYING FOX

MAXIMUS PLAYING AROUND THE DAM

WOOD-FIRED OVEN

OUTDOOR DINING TABLE

BUNKHOUSE

# # #

Tasmania: Day 3 - "Guns Don't Kill People; People With Moustaches Kill People."

2009-06-06T05:19:00.000-07:00

Theme [Road Trip] Songs For The Day:

"Ramble On", by Led Zeppelin
"Never Going Back Again", by Fleetwood Mac
"A.M. 180", by Grandaddy

ROADTRIPS ROCK!

Today's mission is to make the four hour drive up to Launceston in time to meet up with another traveling friend for lunch, then make the two-hour journey up through Devonport to Ulverstone, where we will find our way to the Bedford's property in the mountain bush in time for dinner.

The drive up through Tassie's Midland Highway takes us through the agricultural center of the state. The sky is filled with puffy, backlit clouds, the asphalt disappears quickly beneath the campervan, and the iPod is cranking out some great road tunes.

Trucks shake the van as they thunder past in the opposite lane,while the gently rolling hills and greenery stretch all the way to the mountains carpeted in dark green eucalyptus stretch on the horizon, punctuated every now and then with a craggy cliff face yawning skywards. These mountains beckon silently, persistently: "Come, explore us, hike us, wander us...there is much to discover."

AUTUMN IN LAUNCESTON

Launceston sneaks up on us at around 2pm, and the autumn sun is shining brightly. This town looks and feels very much like Hobart, with its short, squat buildings and no-nonsense vibe. Autumn is still very much in effect here, and the afternoon sunlight sets the orange and yellow leaves ablaze. I am always so impressed with Autumn, and the warm, brightly shifting hues that celebrate its arrival.

We make contact with Aisha, a friend of Jill's who has just completed a week's worth of WWOOFing on a horse ranch in the area we are headed towards. There is time to kill before she can meet up, so we find our way to the public library for some quick internet access to check email accounts after two whole days without internet access. I am amazed that I have survived 48 hours without updating my Facebook status... hanging out @ home for the last few weeks, I have been updating my FB status 20 or 30 times daily, cliffhanger updates and deep thoughts such as "eating toast" and "gone out for another coffee" and "why do we have toes anyways??"...

100 new emails later, I find myself being kicked off the computer by an annoyed librarian, so I head out to catch up with the girls who have gone ahead in search of lunch. Launceston is a wonderfully small city - more like a country town - you can almost see horse & carriages being driven around the wide streets here. I pass a group of Harley riders relaxing in front of a two-story brick government building with tudor windows that is right out of an old British colonial movie. I walk around a few city blocks with my mobile phone thrust infront of me, snapping pics every 10 steps or so, fascinated with the long shadows and dramatic lighting that the afternoon sun is casting.

Aisha is catching Jill up on her travel adventures since the last time they saw each other, and they are poring over highlighted maps in their guidebooks when I find the cafe they have been hiding in. We slow down to 5km/h and push her out of the back of the campervan to drop her off at her hostel and cheerfully wave goodbye in the rearview mirror on our way out of town; it is 4:30pm by the time we leave Launceston and strike out for Ulverstone.

The LET'S GO IN AUSTRALIA guidebook says that the best view of Devonport "is from the rearview mirror", but as we approach this town the sun is setting dramatically right in front of us. Nature's lightshow is expansive and brilliant and dramatic and calming all at the same time, and oooohs and ahhhhs bubble from my lips unconsciously as the spectacle unfolds.

SUNSET ON THE ROAD TO DEVONPORT

Problem is, the late departure from Launceston mens that we arrive into Ulverstone, another quaint coastal town [from what can be seen], well after dark. Now we are faced with the task of finding our host, who lives deep in the mountains on a self-sufficient compound that he has built to escape from society. What's more, he doesn't really want to be found. The directions to his place are somehwat cryptic:

"Not easy to find, its better to phone with a map in front of you. If your in Ulverstone head to Sprent, Castra, Nietta, Leven Canyon, go past Leven Canyon until the bitumin, continue for 4.8 Klm, we are on the right just past 6 or 7 letter boxes that will be on your left."

In hindsight, the directions actually make perfect sense... though not while winding through unfamiliar narrow roads in the darkness from Ulverstone. The road gets progressively narrower and more unsealed, and a couple of logging trucks barrel down past us, their bright lights looking like alien motherships in the complete absence of streetlights. The campervan shudders as the roar past and I pull nervously onto the shoulder to give them a wide berth.

We take a turn marked LEVYN CANYON and the road surface is no longer sealed - not quite blacktop, but not quite dirt road. A few turns in and I slow right down to about 40 km/h as the bouncing bottoms of some small furry creatures bound away from the headlights. Pairs of glowing eyes turn away and become bouncing tails disapperaing into the night. They look like plump, oversized rats on pogosticks, and for the longest time we are unable to catch a good look at them. We find out later that they are wallabies, very plentiful in this part of the world.

The road drops away on one side, and treetops can be made out at eye level - we are skirting the edge of a valley, or perhaps the sheer edge of a canoyon wall; we cannot tell in the darkness. After the two trucks, there are no other cars to be seen, and the houselights on either side of the road become fewer and further between, until eventually we are buzzing along in near-total darkness, with only a slim sliver of moon and the twenty meters or so of headlights lighting the way.

After an hour or so, we slow right down to make a sharp corner at the bottom of a switchback, and spot a lone house up a hill to the left. The sign says FIRE BRIGADE, and this touch of civilization gives us a surge of renewed confidence that we may be on the right track.

The night is teeming with wildlife, and as the bitumen (asphalt) ends, the campervan clatters on over corrugated dirt road and even more wallabies scatter out of headlight range. I swerve to avoid a large possum that looks like a cross between a large cat and a racoon, and is sitting adamantly in the middle of the road. A ghostly shape whispers through the air in front of us, and for a few moments we follow a tawny frogmouth hunting along the road on silent wings.

The road gets rougher and rougher, until it is clear that we are creeping along logging tracks now, massively wide tree trunks dimly visible through the thick underbrush caught in our headlights on either side of the road. We've gone 16 km past the end of the bitumen into the mountains, and I notice that the petrol tank gague is reading 1/4 full... time to turn around before we break an axle or run out of gas or get bogged or... HIT A WOMBAT..!

...a fat little ball of muscle and fur waddles calmly across the road directly in front of the van, and as I hit the brakes he doesn't skip a beat as he calmy walks under the front wheel well and off into the night. It is well known in Australia that if you hit a wombat, he is likely to do more damage to your vehicle than you are to it... this is an animal who evades his predators by burrowing into the ground and presenting his bum to his attacker, whose teeth are unable to penetrate the tough, bony hide there.

LOST IN THE BUSH

We continue back the way we came, deciding to ask directions from the last house we saw before the end of the bitumen, keeping our eyes peeled for those 6 or 7 mailboxes referred to in the directions. There are more possums and wallabies on the way back out, and some Tassie devils even lope along side the van for a few meters, do a couple of confused circles as we stop to get a closer look, then decide to explore the underbrush off the side of the road. As we near the end of the dirt road, a couple of very unhelpful cows look very bored when we stop and ask for directions and shrug us off without so much as a grunt or moo.

The Fire Brigade turns out to be an older white-haired couple who eye us suspiciously as I jump up and down to catch their attention. He sizes me up, this wild-haired, unwashed, brown-skinned traveler doing jumping jacks outside his window in the middle of the night in front a a rental campervan that reads HAVE A DEVIL OF A TIME on his driveway... he decides that yeah, he could take me... and comes outside into the cold to see what I want.

"Bedford is it?" he says, looking me straight in the eye. Then something like "Yeah, figures..." under his breath before he proceeds to give me directions on how to find the cluster of mailboxes at the side of the road that will tip us off to the entrance to the Bedford property.

5km after the end of the bitumen, we just make out the mailboxes at the edge of the headlights, and find tire tracks leading off into the woods to the right, so I gun the engine to get the van up the embankment. The "road" is rocky and the van slips and slides underneath us as we twist and turn and finally crest a hill. A cold, solitary light can be seen shining through the trees up ahead. The van slips down the slope and the headlights show us a junked car next to a horse shed, building materials scattered around the yard, and old Toyota 4wd parked backwards against the main house. The digital clock in the van blinks 10:07pm.

A moustached man in a beanie is moving around under the solitary compact flourescent lightbulb that lights the place, and as I kill the engine Jill says, "Good thing you didn't wear your moustache t-shirt today..." We jump out of the van bearing gifts, wine bottles in hand and are greeted by a happy, slobbering, leaping juvenille bulldog and the moustached man, who has a glass of wine in one hand.

I notice a severed wallaby head squinting up at us behind the two, and gulp as I reach out my hand to introduce myself: "We've brought wine!"

"Finally found the place didjya?" he says quietly. "Yeah well it's not easy is it....I'm Poida, nice to meet ya. Come on, let's have some wine and then I'll give ya a tour of the place!" he says, with a handshake as hard as rocks.

Above, the moon has set, and the Milky Way stretches out across the entire night sky, silhouetting the tall eucalyptus trees that close in all around us.

I smile and blow warmth into my hands: Welcome to Tassmania.

'NUFF SAID.

# # #

Tasmania: Day 2 - The Tasman Penninsula

2009-06-06T05:14:00.000-07:00

Theme Songs for the Day:

Oompa Loopma Remix, by G-Penguin
O Fortuna, composed by Carl Orff

THE TASMAN PENNINSULA
1 1/2 - 2 HOURS' DRIVE EAST FROM HOBART

I love the smell of coffee and chocolate in the morning.

It is the Breakfast of Champions, and for my money, certainly beats that other breakfast of champions and artistic types all over the world: coffee and a cigarette.

Ahhhh chocolate.... food for the soul...

O, chocolate, how do I love thee, let me count the ways...

THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY:

As we drove around the neighborhood last night looking for someplace to park the campervan, I kept spotting purple roadsigns reading "CADBURY" in that delicious cursive font that graces their chocolate bars. It was only because of the better judgement of my navigator that we did not camp out in the parking lot of the Cadbury Chocolate Factory, just 4km up the road from the caravan park.

THE MORNING VIEW FROM

"TREASURE ISLAND" CARAVAN PARK

I walk along the dark waters in the cold morning to stretch sleep-twisted muscles, backlit clouds roll in overhead, while a wispy white cloudbank sweeps over a craggy rock face looming in the distance behind me.

This morning's mission is simple: get to the Chocolate Factory for a chocolatey morning meal with the fabled Oompa-Loompas, excuse me, "Little People" as they preferred to be called in this part of the world. There are no Little People to be seen anywhere on the premises and I use my Sherlock Holmes skills to deduce that they must be nocturnal, like so many other species of unique Aussie fauna.

The "tour" turns out to be a 30-minute audio/video presentation about the history and processes of the factory [who knew that chocolate is not fattening when consumed on a Thursday!?], Willy Wonka was not there [in fact I was nearly thrown out at the mention of his name; he owns the other chocolate company that begins with "N" and ends in "E"], and apparently rivers of chocolate dow not run through fields of candy at this chocolate factory. I thought it best not to ask if we could see the Great Glass Elevator.

Insiders' tip: the coffee in the cafe is forgettable, but the hot chocolate is amazing!! Check out the vintage posterboard advertisement that reads CHOCOLATE SAVES LIVES ...and stop by the gift shop to buy $50 worth of non-fattening-on-thursdays chocolate for like twenty bucks...

THE ROAD TO PORT ARTHUR:

Next stop: Port Arthur. Once the most feared penal colony in Australia, in high school I read a novel titled "Come Danger, Come Darkness" about a teen who is sent there from England for stealing a loaf of bread and escapes. The novel captured the harsh conditions endured by the convicts, and the stark contrast of this brutal human place set in the swirling mists of the Tasman Wilderness. I've been curious to visit ever since.

LOOK CLOSELY: YOU CAN SEE
GHOSTS OF TALL-MASTED PIRATE SHIPS
MOORED IN THE SHELTER OF THE BAY

It takes about an hour to get to the first distraction - a turnoff to Pirate Bay, Devil's Kitchen, and the Blowhole. The photo on the roadsign sells me in 3 seconds to take the next turnoff, and shortly thereafter we crest a turn and hear angel choirs singing as the view reveals itself. Unlike fast food menu pics, roadsign photos and postcards never capture the majesty of being enveloped by a sweeping vista in nature.

The road winds down to the water's edge, and we are greeted with a different roadsign: "WELCOME TO DOO-TOWN". Twenty or so endearingly quaint cottages in various stages of ramshackle are clustered around the small harbor at the end of the Bay, with names like "MUCH ADOO ABOUT NOTHING", "DOO ANYTHING", and "DOO F#&K ALL" [sic]. Sheer awesomeness. There are absolutely no people in and around the town.

The Blowhole is suitably impressive, a tunnel about 80 feet long, with an almost perfectly flat roof carved out of the sandstone leading from the ocean to a small pool which surges with the waves rolling through the tunnel. From the right angle, it looks like a very miniature ocean that has simply appeared in a rocky outcrop in the bushlands behind the beach, complete with tidal wave action and all. The oceans are calm today, so now and then the Blowhole half-heartedly spits up a lazy tendril of oceanspray.

Five minutes up the road from Doo-Town is the Devil's Kitchen, which is what I am excited aboot [sorry, The Canadian's accent is rubbing off on me...]. Lucifer is out today, or sleeping deep in the narrow cave we can see far below, while the ocean feature he has sculpted through his kitchen sends a wave or two at a time rolling through the massive canyon sounding like a giant sheet of paper slowly tearing.

The tallest trees you see at the top of the photo at right are 2-3 stories high...a natural sink and kitchen bench can be made out from our vantage point, and there is a rock shelf that makes up the floor which extends out 60-80 feet past the base of the cliffs, where Peter later tells us that they drop straight down as deep as they are high.

We hit the road and cross the narrow isthmus [seriously, how often do you get to use the word "isthmus" in a sentence??] of Eaglehawk Nest, where a pack of monster bulldogs on shackles just long enough to touch each other once guarded the crossing so that escaped convicts could not get through. That's what the statue of a massively rabid bulldog said, and that's the story I am sticking with. It is said to be true.

As I coax the campervan through the twisting roads towards Port Arthur, I can't help but think that were I an escaped convict, I would like nothing more than to carve out a patch of bushland here and live off the land... The waterways touch both sides of the road in places, the eucalyptus grows thickly to the water's edge, and the afternoon sunlight streams through the gathering mists.

When the roadsigns finally announce Port Arthur, we drive past 3 empty parking lots before pulling up in front of the vistor center entrance. The tours range from half-day walks to 3-day experiences, complete with breakfast & dinner packages. It costs $2 for a brochure and there are pricetags on everything else in the place. This is not the experience I came to Tassie for, so I quickly decide to leave before they charge us for breathing in the historic air.

Besides which, there was a Tasmanian Devil Reserve that we passed on the way in that looked like a whole lot of fun.

TASMANIAN DEVILS:

Three words to capture the essence of the infamous Tassie Devils.

Ferocious. Precocious. Capricocious. ...nope. Let's try again...

Lost. Dazed. Confused. ...yeah, that's it:

I am told that they are indeed quite feral and ferocious when feeding, but the Tassie Devils we meet this afternoon may have gotten into the Koalas' stash of the good green stuff that makes them so rasta-mellow... These guys lope around their enclosure amicably with silly gaping grins and vapid eyes, pausing often to remember what they were doing again, then doing little circles before loping away, thrilled to be coming around the corner to meet us again. Hours of entertainment for the whole family!

We meet three Locals at the Dunnaly Pub that evening, which I again cleverly deduce to be the original watering hole for convicts who managed to escape and avoid the rabid hounds of Eaglehawk Nest.

"Have a beer mate, you deserve it..." and again I imagine myself as that escaped convict, this time sitting at the bar top relishing my newfound freedom and wondering, Tasmanian-Devil-like, what my next move is going to be.

Anyways, I ask these three guys where we can go to get a good feed around here before 6 o'clock, and I don't miss the glint in their eyes as they glance at each other before answering: "Awwww yearh, nuh ...the foodssh roooly good he-yahh....youse should staaay it'd be well worth itt.... we come he-yah ev'ry Thursdeee noight!!". They are pissed as farts [American translation = "quite drunk"], enamored with The Canadian's blonde hair and blue eyes, and very entertaining, so we decide to stay and have a couple beers with them.

The Locals promptly decide to celebrate by stoking the fire to keep us warm, and proceed to fall over each other stuffing the fireplace so full of oversized logs that it may qualify for a bushfire instead of a glowing hearth of embers. In Tasmania, they don't use a fire poker to move the logs, they simply kick the fire around with their boots. And plumbers' crack is never attractive, but quite hilarious in the right context.

Oh, and they make a really great drop of port in this part of the world:

A RATHER NICE GLASS OF PORT

# # #

Tasmania: Day 1 - Blister in the Sun

2009-06-06T05:13:00.000-07:00

Theme Songs of the Day:

"Blister in the Sun", by The Violent Femmes
"American Music", by The Violent Femmes

Q: What do rock & roll legends do when they retire?

A: Open a tea-house in Hobart, Tasmania.

Hobart is a beautiful old port town of short and squat historic buildings built to keep out the cold southern winds. Perched upon the waterfront of the Derwent River, which empties into Storm Bay, the Tasman Sea, and the Southern Ocean, I have never made the one-hour flight down to explore this corner of the world despite ten years of living in Melbourne.

The sun us setting and the clouds look as though they are glowing from the inside as we pull into the city center in search of Chado: The Way of Tea... A couple of short paragraphs grazed over the in-flight magazine on Tiger Airlines alerted us to the place, run by Brian Ritchie, bassist for the Violent Femmes, and his lovely wife Varuni Kulasekara.

There is one page of food items on the menu, and pages upon pages of exotic names with descriptions of the exotic teas served up. Our servers are a two beautiful women from Japan and India, who gracefully invite us in to sit and enjoy a meal - even though we are the only two people in the place.

Tea sets line the walls and a bamboo flute plays softly in the background. Apparently, Brian often stops by the shop to play for customers - not folk-punk bass guitar but the shakuhachi, or bamboo flute - and we missed him today as he played for the lunchtime crowd...

Dinner is delicious: bento boxes, Violent Femmes-style - served by the band's groupies with flaming sake bombs and everyone's favorite riff from everyone's favorite Femmes anthem blasting as the food comes out... "and we go ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, like a Blister in the Sun........"

Welcome to Tasmania, wild cultural hub of the southern oceans! This is going to be a good trip...

OK, SO MAYBE I EXAGGERATED ABOUT THE GROUPIES.
AND THE FLAMING SAKE BOMBS.
AND THE BLARING MUSIC.
BUT GEEZ, THAT FOOD WAS DELICIOUS!

# # #

Duelling With Devils

2009-05-28T21:42:00.000-07:00

Theme Songs of the Day:

"Paper Aeroplanes", by Angus & Julia Stone
"Only Love Can Break Your Heart", by Neil Young
"Neopolitan Dreams", by Lisa Mitchell

MAP OF TASMANIA, CIRCA 1916
APPROX 240KM SOUTH OF MELBOURNE

I'm going to Tassie. Tasmania, that is.

When I share that with the locals in Melbourne, I get one of two responses:

"Why??"
"Aw, yeahhhh, Tassie is BEAUTIFUL!"

I've heard that Tasmanian Devils really do spin around like in the Loony Tune cartoons. I've heard that Tasmanian Tigers aren't really extinct, if you know where to look for them. I've heard that some of the wildest places on earth are still pristine and hiding in this little corner or the world that most of mainland Australia has forgotten.

My travel companion for this leg of my journeys is Jill Rushton, the lovely Canadian that I met in Maui earlier this year at a pivotal time in my life:

After Christmas 2008, I sank rapidly into a fairly deep depression in which I did not make it out the front door of my house for most of January. I would lie awake at night waiting for sleep to arrive, listening to my inner monologue loop endlessly around thoughts of "Why did/didn't I do this; Why am I so far away from where I should be; How in the hell did I get myself into this mess; How the hell am I going to ever get myself out of this mess; Who do I think I am [bloody useless fool]; yadda-ydadda-yadda-doom-and-gloom-ever-downward-spiraling-blah-blah-blah......"

In the morning I would awake and lie catatonic, staring at the wall for an hour or so before mustering up the courage to get up and have a shower to face the sunlight. Being surrounded by so much natural beauty didn't help at all; it only heightened the contrast between how I felt within and the cheery surroundings without. I kept the blinds over the window to wallow in as much darkness as I could and found solace by distracting my mind with hours of mindless sessions on YouTube watching conspiracy theory movies, alien encounter clips, and other random obscurities.

My brother was a great support to me in this period, holding a safe space for me to move through this process, giving me room and permission to wallow without judging me, as if he knew all along that I wouldn't allow myself to linger for too long in this place of self-pity.

"I don't feel like doing anything, or seeing anyone today," I would announce gloomily. "Then don't!" was his cheerful reply.

I've never understood people who have had challenges with "depression", rather heartlessly writing the condition off as a sign of a weak and undisciplined mind. It's not. It is very real, and can be very scary - even to the most self-aware individuals. Depression is a very elusive, seductive creature: it beckons silently to you, lulling you into a sense of security and then drowning you in your own heavy thoughts. I can see now how the weight of it all could quickly add up and become unbearable, especially without the love and support of family and friends around you.

After a week or two of moping around the house all day and feeling lousy, I forced myself to get out into the sunshine, into nature, and do something, anything I could find joy in. This is when I started blogging, volunteering, hiking, sailing, swimming, surfing....anything to get me out of the house and having fun.

This was also a time to make peace with some lingering open wounds upon my heart, and move on into the next phase of relationship where you allow yourself to enjoy a person for who they are, wherever they are at, warts, old hurts, and all. After a two-year absence, I returned to Maui for Chinese New Year's Celebrations, which had become such a big part of my previous life, and was welcomed back with open arms, as if I had never left.

So it was there that I met The Canadian, her travel companion Kristen, and their chaperone [the perpetually hungover] Knuckles Tulio while stealing away to the hot-tub to relax muscles sore from a day's worth of Lion Dance and Kung-Fu performances. After two years fighting tooth-and-nail against brain cancer, Jill has recently lost the most important person in her life , and has embarked upon a journey to "rediscover both what's important to me and what makes me who I am." You can read her blog by clicking here.

Here I am, after moping around for the last month or so about losing everything, reawakened and finally enjoying all the beauty of life surrounding me... my breath is knocked out of me and silent tears stream down my face as I discover her story and see Facebook photos of good times....recent good times....shared with a loved one who has only recently left us. And again, I am reminded of what is truly important, and how lucky I really am. And of how beautiful, cruel, and beautiful life can be.

That experience has humbled me, and deepened my appreciation for the beauty of people and places surrounding me. I hope I never lose this perspective.

We're never really alone, are we? Our experiences may feel like we are the only ones going through this, indeed who has ever and will ever go through whatever it is that we are going through at that time... but the fact is that we are all more similar than we are diferent. We can find more that we relate to in others, than we can often find in ourselves. There is comfort and solace in the bond that exists between those who have had a shared, or shared a similar exerience. And we are all sharing a very similar experience - it's called the human experience.

"Are we human beings having a spiritual experience?
Or are we spiritual beings having a human experience?"
-overheard at a cafe, a long time ago-

# # #

The Canadian has been traveling throughout Australia spending time with friends across the continent, blogging about her journeys here. The plan is to meet up in Melbourne, and head down to Tassie to share the cost of a campervan to explore the island for a week.

I've organized a stay with Peter Bedford, whose CouchSurfing profile says that he lives on 60 acres of wild bush in the mountains of Tasmania where "he and his family and working towards creating a self-sufficient lifestyle." Sounds wild.

The Guidebook to Hiking in Tasmania that I bought describes some amazingly beautiful multi-day treks, which I hope to somehow accomplish despite our lack of cold-weather gear. There is no agenda other than to explore, experience, and explore some more.

I am really looking forward to getting on the road again with new friends, and to making even more new friends, and to learning whatever lessons Tasmania has in store.

# # #

From Dawn 'Til Dusk: Hog Wild

2009-05-23T05:14:00.000-07:00

Theme Songs for the Day:

"Give It Away" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers
"Alive" by Pearl Jam

THE MISSING APOSTLES
[OH YEAH, THAT'S SOME OF THE ICONIC "12 APOSTLES" IN THE BACKGROUND...]

My chest is still rumbling with the unmistakable growl that can only come from a Harley.

My hands are cramping so much that my fingers hurt as I type.

My head is still ringing with the sound of wind in my ears.

My mouth is still twisted into an ear-splitting grin.

My buttocks are numb.

2 best mates
1200 ccs [mine...well, ok his wife let me borrow hers - thankyou Lisa!]
1690 ccs [his...dat buggah...]
11 hours on the road
500+ kilometers traveled
3 new muscles discovered

MEN AND THEIR MACHINES, OR
BOYS AND THEIR TOYS

Last night I was so excited I could hardly sleep. After downsizing my car to a motorcycle during the last months I remained in Hawaii, I've not ridden for almost six weeks and withdrawals have been kicking in... gazing longingly at bikes parked on the sidewalks of Melbourne, snapping my neck to see the machine responsible for causing all that lovely ruckus as it whines or growls or putts its way down the street...

When I jump out of bed at 6:30 this morning, my feet barely touch the ground as I pull on two layers of thermals, two layers of socks, two layers of tshirts, and then put on my borrowed riding gear. We hit the road a little after 7am, and I am thankful for the neoprene ninja mask keeping my face warm that I bought this week. I am not to feel my toes, or fingers, for another two hours when we stop for breakfast and coffee in Lorne.

The Great Ocean Road winds its way down some of the most rugged, and beautiful coastline of Australia. Loking out at the massive seacliffs that stretch away, you can feel the slow march of the entire continent's landmass into the Southern Ocean. Two thin lanes of cars and motorcycles skirt these cliffs - many of them sheer drops into the surf below - whizzing only feet away from each other at 100 kilometers per hour [kmh], separated only by a white stripe on the pavement.

Then the road turns inland, and rolling hills emerge from native forests, and asphalt carves sweeping turns through the changing terrain. The twang of eucalyptus oil fills our noses as the bike engines roar and crackle through the bush.

At one point, we shoot out of the mottled eucalyptus canopy into a cloud of blue smoke drifting across the roadway. The trees have changed, there are now pine forests stretching away to the horizon, and on either side of us are clearings littered with stumps, bright yellow heavy machinery, and smoldering piles of brush... my first thought is that we are passing through the remnants of Black Saturday, until I realize that the fires did not pass this far south. Then the scene is gone like a bad dream, and we plunge back into the eucalyptus forest at 100 kmh, and the acrid smell of burning pine is replaced again with the smell of koalas' favorite food.

The weaves and twists and turns are hypnotic, and the hours and kilometers fly by as we hit our groove: lining up our entry points and lines, leaning into the turns, and accelerating out into the next curve. My mind, which had been fluttering from randomness to randomness, quiets itself, trancelike. Each moment flows into the next, one long, smooth, continuous motion with no end and no beginning, ebbing and flowing with the surge and retreat of the bike's power. Man, machine, and the open road become one.

Until the conscious mind pipes up again, saying, "Where was I? I suppose I had better ride this bike now... who was riding it all this time?" ...and the moment, the magnificent flowing moment with no end and no beginning, which could have lasted 5 minutes or 45 minutes in real time... that moment passed.

I understand a little more about the allure the motorcycle, a.k.a. the meditation machine, and the open road holds for certain souls...

END OF DAY:
CHASING SHADOWS ACROSS THE LAND

# # #

Street Music

2009-05-17T18:31:00.000-07:00

AUTUMN SUN ON MELBOURNE

Melbourne's streets thrum with music, art and life at all hours. It's one of the things I love about this city.

The other day, I walked with the crowd up the stairs from the train platform at Flinders St station, in the midst of a mystical musical landscape created by a busker sitting on his guitar amp caressing his strings. The guitar had a clean tone, and the sweetly haunting music cascaded down the steps and washed through the crowd.

As I neared the top of the steps, a voice like butter wove lyrics that were vaguely familiar....after a couple more steps the penny drops, and I marvel at his strangely sweet version of Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters". His music is like eating foie gras: it's oh-so-good, and it's oh-so fine... and you know there is a dark side to the pleasure you are indulging in the whole time.

I step onto the crosswalk and into the night, surreal now with his music fading into the background of moonlit city streetscapes.

It happened so quickly - the time it takes to walk up a flight of stairs, through the train station turnstyle, and to the sidewalk. I have the presence of mind to flip a $2 coin into his open guitar case, but not to stop and take a photo; though my guess is that would have diminished the surrealism of the experience. The moment, and the feelings he evoked in me, are etched into my memory banks of Melbourne.

Walking around the streets of Melbourne, this kind of experience can happen at any time, so rich is the tapestry of buskers... I have seen child prodigies on pianos, flautists, guitarists, quartets, preachers, acrobats, jugglers, beatboxers, comedians, and freaks... some talented, some you would pay to shut them up...

The other day I read an article in the newpaper about Rupert Guenther, a Melbourne street-busker who honed his unique style of improvising classical music on his violin for five years, eeking out a living by playing music for passers-by.

He attended a masterclass in February at the renowned Julliard School in New York being given by Dr David Dolan, a professor at Guildhall and the Menuhin School. Dr Dolan was so impressed with Rupert that he suggested he audition in the UK at Guildhall's Centre for Classical Improvisation and Creative Performance. Rupert took his advice, and is now on his way to becoming an internationally acclaimed artist and teacher, like many of his alumni at the prestigous school.

Sounds like a screenplay in the making... I just love the creativity that just oozes from the pores of this city!

NOT RUPERT GUENTHER

NOT RUPERT GUENTHER EITHER!

# # #

Chloe

2009-05-11T18:31:00.000-07:00

YOUNG & JACKSON'S PUB,
HOME OF GRANDPA'S FAMOUS GIRLFRIEND:
CHLOE

The first time I ever saw a naked woman was at a bar with my Grandpa.

My Grandpa, Keith Lynch, owned the McKinnon pub [about 1/2 mile away from where Mum & Dad live today], and brought up Dad and his 3 brothers here; as a result the Lynch men are a very colorful bunch...our family get-togethers are always fascinating affairs!

The misadventures of the Lynch boys growing up in and around the pub would make for a great novel: pet snakes escaping into the neighborhood, unexpected overnight stays in the walk-in fridge, fast cars, and the girls next-door to name a few...but these are other stories that will be told another time...

This is a Grandpa Keith story [of which there are also a great many tales of misadventure], and I digress.

In 1985, the year before we moved to Oz, Dad took me on a scouting trip to Melbourne to prepare for the family's move the following year.

Grandpa was, of course, tickled to see his eldest son's eldest son come to Melbourne for the first time and took it upon himself to show me around. He booked us an all-day bus tour [highly recommended!] which included, among other things, a visit to Healsville Sanctuary to see a real live kangaroo, and a stop at Ferguson's Winery for lunch and a tour. breakfast that day was my first Aussie four'n'twenty meatpie [no the ketchup did not look like that on my pie]...

Long story short, after the tour was over and Grandpa had charmed all the ladies on the tour bus over lunch at the winery, he says, "I want to introduce you to my girlfriend", and takes me to the famous Young & Jackson's Hotel, across from Flinders Street station at the entrance to Melbourne central business district.

Grandpa sits me down at the bar, my 8-year old legs dangling off the barstool as I peer over the countertop, and orders himself a pint of beer, and me a shirley temple.

We sip our drinks and then raise our glasses to toast his girlfriend, "To Chloe!".... who is the 12 foot high nude oil painting hanging on the wall next to the bar!

"Sweet things do not go well
with a bitter Aussie lager -
Chloe is an exception"
-Rafal Zakrzewski, Beer Historian (2001)-

Today, the bar is different that I remember. My feet no longer dangle from the barstools, and I can lean over the countertop to order my own beer. Chloe now lives upstairs, overlooking the busy intersection that is home to Federation Square, St Paul's Cathedral, and Flinders Street Station.

I take a moment to myself today and climb the upstairs to visit her; she hasn't aged a day. As I hoist my glass to toast her, an old digger and his wife wink at me and comment about the gleam in my eye.

Here's to Chloe!

TO CHLOE!
AND TO YOU, GRANDPA...

# # #

voyeur

2009-05-11T01:08:00.000-07:00

THEME SONG FOR THE DAY:

"Guaranteed" by Eddie Vedder, from the soundrack "Into the Wild"

ACLAND STREET ROOFTOP

Today I people-watched.

This afternoon the sun broke through they grey of this morning, and so I ventured down to Acland Street in St Kilda, the wonderful little corner of the world that my Dad affectionately calls "The Armpit of the World".

It is such a surreal little stretch of asphalt, the gaping maw of Luna Park welcoming you to an avenue lined with cakeshops and coffeeshops and bookstores and boutiques. Garish characters on rooftops leer at you and wander the street muttering to themselves, while artists and musicians and other denizens of bohemia sit and sip on flat white coffees, passionately discussing existentialism, politics, music and art.

This trip to Melbourne has so far been a wonderful whirlwind of reunions with family and friends, a blur of lattes and pints of beer and delicious meals shared with warm conversations and catchings-up. I feel like I could quite easily spend the whole of the next 12 months looking up old friends and acquaintances... It would be so easy, and so safe to just stay here...

As I wandered through the streets and gardens today, I observed myself observing others, a surreal feeling of watching a movie that is playing out in real time right before your eyes, except that you are participating, and watching, all at the same time; a lucid dream, except that I am wide-awake...

...a now-familiar feeling has been growing in my belly - it is the feeling that bubbles up to my conscious thought stream and whispers "I am no longer here". I am ready to move on.

Being a happy child surrounded by loving family in Hawaii is a blessing that I shall always treasure - all my childhood memories are full of joy and laughter. You don't truly appreciate the beauty of a place until you leave it.

As little people we all make decisions about ourselves, other people, and the world based upon our experiences, that shape our thinking, and therefore our words, actions, and habbits....and therefore our REALITY.

The despair, angst and sheer anger that I felt during my teen years served to drive much of the outward material successes I enjoyed in my 20s, though has long since faded. Anger, when focused to a point, can create positive results. The problem is that anger is a poor foundation upon which to build a legacy, and, when suppressed, will explode violently.

This stands in stark contrast to my current experience of Melbourne: peaceful, joyful, and connected. I have made my peace with this city, and with the experiences and emotions of the past.

Today I wandered and watched, enjoying the simplest details - snippets of conversations overheard in the street, the laughs of a young family tending to their plot in the community garden, the cacophony of screeching seagulls and cawing crows bathed in the soft, warm glow of the afternoon sun. The big, cold blue sky stretches far away above me, fading into deep indigos as the quiet drama of another Melbourne sunset slips away on the horizon.

"...A mind full of questions
And a teacher in my Soul..."
- "Guaranteed", from the soundtrack "Into The Wild"
by Eddie Vedder -

THE ARMPIT OF LUNA PARK

# # #

Green Point

2009-04-29T20:20:00.000-07:00

SUNSET AT GREEN POINT

Yesterday I sat at my old thinking spot and watched the sun go down.

I hop along the basalt blocks that make up the breakwater and I am ten years old again, picking my way across the tidepools at BlackRock and exploring the Red Bluffs, survival kits made of matchboxes and stuffed full of string, matches, sandpaper, a magnifying glass for burning ants, and other essentials in case we kids got stranded and had to spend the night on the cliffs [not likely under the watchful eye of the Beach Rd mansions that look out across the bay].

The water of Port Phillip laps gently at my feet, its surface tension palpable, like a vast rippling carpet gently rolling to the horizon. It is tempting to step onto it and start walking out towards the light. The indigos and oranges of the setting sun dance and shifting, allowing me fleeting glimpses of the rocky bottom beneath the surface. The air is still, crisp, and cold against my cheeks ...this was where I was to come for solitude in later years, after I had made friends with this new place.

I went to elementary school not five minutes from here, my first introduction to Aussie culture when the family moved to Melbourne 21 years ago. Melbourne was cold and grey and unfriendly at that time in my life, full of spoiled little rich kids teasing my American - pidgin english and dark skin, distinctly uncomfortable in my new, alien, british-style school uniforms [socks pulled over calves, shorts above the knees, shirt tucked in, tie and coat to pull the whole ensemble together...].

The awkwardness of being a pre-teen while my older classmates were beginning puberty only added to the confusion finding myself in the midst of transitioning to a new country, a new culture, a new life. I tried out many different identities and began asking myself, "Who am I?" In so many ways, I am still on that quest, and still asking that question.

AFTERGLOW

The Bay has many moods - the water is always freezing cold - the complete opposite of the tepid bathwater-temperatures of Hawaii. In winter, my brother and I used to dread the capsize drills at the local yacht club where Dad has enrolled us into sailing lessons; I don't know what was worse, the bone-chilling waters, or the itchy woolen undergarments that we were told to wear in order to keep us warm.

The stark Melbourne summers brought stifling heat and humidity, the unforgiving Aussie sun beating down mercilessly on the beaches and brightly colored beachboxes and pale skin of Brighton, while the dark waters of Port Phillip stung with icy contrast.

I have only just left home, only to arrive home again. It's a warm and fuzzy feeling, as if I am existing in two places at the same time.

Question of the Day: Is home where the heart is?

MR LIVINGSTON SEAGULL,
A PLEASURE TO MAKE YOUR ACQUAINTANCE!

melbourne by mobile - a photo/video tour

2009-04-27T07:08:00.000-07:00

THEME SONGS FOR THE DAY:

Australia: by The Shins, from the album "Wincing The Night Away"
Nosebleed Section: by Hilltop Hoods, from the album "The Calling"

Note: for best effect, click on the image to enlarge... and enjoy!

OLDE IRISH SAYING:
"GUINNESS IS FOR STRENGTH"

ELIZABETH STREET TO FEDERATION SQUARE

INTRODUCING: AUSSIE HIP-HOP!

# # #

farewell Honolulu, hello Melbourne!

2009-04-20T00:24:00.000-07:00

THEME SONGS FOR THE DAY:

Honolulu City Lights - by Keola Beamer. This is a pretty random video, but it was the only recording of the song I could find on YouTube!
The Horses - by Aussie singer Daryl Braithwaite, from the album "Rise"
Back in Black - by rock legends AC/DC, from the album "Back in Black"

SUNSET ON MY LAST EVENING IN HONOLULU;
THE WAIKIKI SKYLINE BIDS ME FAREWELL

The weeks and days counting down to my departure from Honolulu are a blur of laughs, first-time experiences, and happy good-byes. It is surreal how quickly my departure day was upon me, as I boarded the plane it felt like I was watching a movie of myself, you know the one with Jim Carrey where he runs down the jetway yelling, "It's OK, I'm a LIMO DRIVER!!!"

Funny how when you are about to leave a place, all of a sudden you meet the coolest people and start to do all the funnest things you didn't do but wanted to the whole time you were there: paddling on a stand-up board and then a one-man outrigger canoe off Kaimana Beach were firsts on the 3rd-to-last day in the islands [i'm hooked!]. And, I've done more rockclimbing, hiking, camping, motorcycling, volunteering, and just hanging out with loved ones in the last 2 months than I have in the last 12 years of living in Honolulu.

CLOCKWISE, FROM TOP LEFT:
1) SQUALL OFF LAIE POINT
2) BOGGART'S "KRAKATOA STEAMER" WITH POOTIE
3) CAMPING AT "LUANA"
4) GETTING GROCERIES AT KAENA POINT

Since I pulled an all-nighter to pack 12 years worth of accumulated "stuff" into two oversized suitcases, I slept through the 9-hour flight to Sydney and awoke in a new hemispehere, a new country... the 60-minute connecting flight to Melbourne was over by the time we finished the tiny butter chicken dinner with peas swimming in a tasty curry-like sauce over rice that they served up; QANTAS always did have decent airline food...

...but this was nothing compared to the delicious meal Mum, Dad, Sis and I enjoyed at the Pacific Seafood House, a new contemporary asian restaurant in its new location at the edge of Melbourne's Chinatown. This neighborhood smells just like Honolulu's Chinatown: a mix of five-spice, char-siu, and steamed dumplings on the main streets, with the faint underlying stench of hum-ha, stale beer and urine wafting through the air from the back alleys. Chinatowns smell the same all over world.

We get home late, and as I walk into the house that my family has lived in for the last 12 years, it feels like I am home. Mum says, "I'm glad you're here," before turning in for the night, and I am fast asleep in the back room soon after.

I wake up to an empty house as everyone has left early to get to work, and Yuki the cat greets me with a loud meow before settling into a chair to wait for a beam of sunlight through the windows she can bask in. She doesn't have to wait long, as I am making my breakfast of crumpets with honey and tea, the autumn sun appears and streams through the windows to both of our delight.

The crisp Melbourne autumn morning is too inviting to stay inside the house, so I take my breakfast and the old naval war novel I am reading [thank you, Hawaii Yacht Club book exchange] and find a warm sunspot in the garden to sit and read in. Mum interrupts [it's "Mum" when I am in Australia, "Mom" when I am in Hawaii] 1 chapter before the thrilling finale of the book - she only has a half day at work and has come home to take me out for a Melbourne latte and lunch.

We go to Batch Espresso in Balaclava, a trendy cafe three stops up on the train line. Young families, artistic types, dapper executives, and orthodox jews in black suits, hats and sporting beards and sideburns bustle about the street here, which is lined with cafes, restaurants, and specialty shops. This kind of vibrant street culture is one of the things I miss most about this place, and is something that Honolulu could certainly learn from. No newbie police officers pouncing on their prey to hand out jaywalking tickets here!

The cafe's menus are cleverly presented in old refurbished hardback novels, with notches in the pages cut out to the places where the menus are hidden - reduce / reuse / recycle at its best in the artistic simplicity of the idea. I order the avocado-feta mash on ciabbata bread [toasted], with a side of bacon [thick, satisfying rashers that are far more decadent than the thin, crispy, burnt stuff Americans are so used to], while Mum goes for the fish special, a pan fried fillet of "roughy" served on a bed of pilaf lentilis with a glass of rose.

I order myself a latte, and soak in the whole scene. There are two ladies seated right next to us, bistro-style so that our elbows are rubbing, talking animatedly about their clients' latest purchases in her boutique, while an artsy lesbian couple sip lazily at their lattes on the sidewalk tables, scratching their dog's belly with their feet. When my drink comes I grin broadly and breathe in the java; there is nothing quite like a Melbourne latte.

It is difficult to describe why a Melbourne latte is so special; perhaps it is the hormone-free milk that is used in every other country in the world except for the united States, or maybe it is simply the sheer volume of espresso that Melbournites consume, forcing barristas everywhere to be on their toes because their discerning audience demands it.

A good Melbourne latte is velvety smooth and doesn't have the bitter bite that many Kona blends do. You could drink three or four of them at one siting and still want more. Think of the creamiest, most expensive, espresso ice cream you've ever had....and imagine that coming out of the espresso machine steamer into your steaming mug...and that is close to what a Melbourne latte is like. Glazers ' in Honolulu comes close, but Melbourne still has my vote when it comes to "Best Latte in the World"...

...it is good to be back in my new old home.

THE AUTUMN MELBOURNE SKY...
NOT A CLOUD TO BE SEEN IN ANY DIRECTION...

# # #

momentary lapses of reason

2009-04-10T02:01:00.000-07:00

The days grow shorter, each passing moment is increasingly hyper-real ...as if etching itself in my memory banks to take on the road with me....

EVEN A DRIVE ON THE FREEWAY
IS BEAUTIFUL IN HONOLULU...

Colors are more vibrant, soundscapes more symphonic, the smallest details jump out at me and scream "AREN'T YOU GONNA MISS ME?!?!?"

I ran into some people over the weekend that I had not seen in a while, and the first words out of their mouths were: "You're still here?"

They have a point really, I haven't really been here for the last month or so; my adventures have already started and I am evolving into a traveler...content to live day-to-day, out of my backpack, in search of daily adventure...

My body is still in Hawaii, but my mind, my heart, my soul ...is on the road already.

Old friends that I have not seen in almost a year are startled when they run into me again - I am happy, I am tanned, I am wild, and hippy, and free!

WILD. HIPPY. FREE.

I am catching myself in moments of bliss, thinking to myself, " I LOVE my life!!" How many people can truly say that they are doing exactly what they want to be doing with their life right this moment??

It may not look pretty, with utility bills going unpaid and foreclosure notices being delivered and strange, vapidly hopeful realtor / investor types knocking on my door offering a surefire solution to my housing woes... clucking their tongues with a reproachful shake of their head, then swooping in to "rescue" me...

...I am HAPPY. In the midst of all the financial turmoil and doom and gloom we are bombarded with every day, I am blessed ad fortunate enough to be listening to my soul, following my heart, and striking out on a completely illogicial, unfunded journey around the world to seek ADVENTURE, and opportunities to be of SERVICE...

I've been presented with so many ways to make lots of money in this market, and some of these ideas are going to work, and going to make some people a lot of money. AND, I have found that I am simply not interested in money right now.

WHAT LIES AHEAD, I WONDER??

I am fascinated with PEOPLE. HUMANITY. CONNECTION.

Relationships, old and new, have become newly minted, each moment shared standing out in stark contrast to the rush of the last 10 years spent chasing dollars, each moment precious with the knowledge that we may never see each other again....

...Or at least, not for a long time...

# # #

break on through...

2009-03-27T01:18:00.000-07:00

"WHAT A FRIENDLY LOOKING HOLE.
LET'S GO SEE WHAT LIVES INSIDE!"

Today I went to the other side. Literally. Physically. Metaphysically. Let me explain:

A couple months ago while visiting Olomana Gardens in the foothills of Waimanalo, I followed along with an impromptu group hike and found out about a hidden trail that follows the water flumes which wind through the mountains and provide all the irrigation water for the agriculture in the area. We came across a tunnel about 4" high that disappeared into an almost sheer face of mountainside and was told that if we were to go through it, we would come out to the Lost World on the other side...

WAIMANALO WATER FLUMES

Today I went back. Today I went through the black, and came out on the other side.

We peer into the entrance and can only see blackness 30-40 feet in. The cool water rushing around our ankles gurgles impassively, and my stomach twitches as my mind starts to paint macabre pictures of creatures that lurk in deep, dark places, and of pale gaping faces floating in the night.

FELLOW ADVENTURER AND SOUL-SEARCHER:
LUCIE VOELCKER, THE TRAVELING POET OF GERMANY
AT THE TUNNEL ENTRANCE

Adrenaline kicks in and I can feel the glint in my eye brightening. The Traveling Poet's gaze meets mine, and our glinting eyes smile in agreement that we are actually going to go in.

The 9-LED flashlight, a gift I received only the day before, can only light the way 20 feet ahead before being swallowed by the blackness. It is a strange feeling, knowing that there are tons and tons of dirt, rock, trees, and who knows what else pressing in all around you. It is perhaps an even stranger thing to knowingly descend into these dark places of the earth; once the mind starts chewing on the your fears, the chatter is difficult to stop:

"What if the light goes out?"
"What lives in here?"
"Remember that creature in Star Wars that dragged Luke under the muck in the garbage compacter? I wonder if that thing lives here..."
"Now I know how Gollum must have felt; no wonder he went insane...."
"Don't drop the flashlight."
"What lies ahead?"
"What was that?!?"
"I don't want to see any faces. Or dead bodies. I don't do dead bodies. Or floating apparitions. No floating apparitions please."
"What if this doesn't come out on the other side?"
"What was that that just brushed my ankle?!"
"Don't drop the flashlight!!"
"DO NOT. DROP. THE FLASHLIGHT."

And on and on and on and on.....

On and on we press, losing all sense of time and space, save for what the flashlight can show us for the next twenty feet, the next 30 seconds. The tunnel walls are cold and roughly hewn, and beads of water glisten on the walls like pearls in the gray sky.

The water seems to simply appear out of thin air. The ceiling bears down upon us, seeming to get lower and lower with each step...then it toys with me, opening up every now and then enough to let me stand up straight.

Thankfully, The Traveling Poet starts singing. It is haunting and surreal and macabre and beautiful and strangely comforting all at the same time...

THE SOUND OF PITCH BLACK -
FOR BEST EFFECT, VIEW FULLSCREEN

We pause for a moment and turn off the light. The cool water rushes around my ankles, like busy commuters rushing and gurgling to make their trains. The walls press in around me, and my unseeing eyes blink naievely, desperately groping for light.

There is no difference between keeping my eyes open or closed. Panic rises in my stomach, and I smile broadly to laugh silently and keep the fear at bay.

The screen of my mind and the screen of my retina are one and the same, both inky blank canvases awaiting inspiration and direction...

We press on, the rythym of our sloshing footsteps keeping pace with my quickening heartbeat. I force my mind to stay on the light at the end of the tunnel, though it does not come. On and on into the next 20 feet of darkness we slosh, the water no longer gurgling but relentlessly going the other way, passing silent judgment on the decision to walk against the flow.

My life has become a cliche, and I am loving every minute of it: fear mixed with wonder mixed with anticipation shaken in mountain spring water and pressed by a hundred million tons of sheer-faced mountain...

It is no longer my imagination, the ceiling is getting gradually lower and lower now. Up ahead at the edge of the flashlight, I can make out a different shape, and I cringe....it looks like the roof has caved in, and I don't want to think about the implications of that.

As we get closer, the tunnel turns almost 90 degrees to the left, and what I thought was a cave-in is actually an older tunnel that has since been sealed. The water seems to have quickened its pace and is much louder here, and the cave ceiling keep getting lower.

Now, we are duck-walking, arse-deep in the water, and I am wondering if we will keep going like this until we shrink down and down and down into the size of m&m candies, like Alice in Wonderland, on our way to smoke hookahs with giant existentially philosophic caterpillars...

Up ahead in the distance, I see a simmering light...

It's not the Hotel California, it's the Exit to the Tunnel...and I can breathe deeply again. My thighs are aching from duck-walking the last 100 feet, but it doesn't matter now, I can see the end.

The Travel Poet emerges first, fourty feet ahead of me, and when I finally emerge blinking in the sunlight, a whole new world ... the Lost World ... comes into focus...

We are Sam Neil and Laura Dern, we are the only two humans left on the planet, we are the first two human beings on the planet...we are Adam & Eve. The other side is lush, vibrant green, a living, breathing soundscape of nature...

THE SOUNDS OF NATURE

With newly refreshed eyes and ears, each sight, sound, smell, touch is heightened, and we explore this wilderness we have discovered with childlike wonder, taking our shoes off and squishing through the mud, running up the valley walls and whooping with joy.

As the nature-induced ecstasy fades, we bask in the afterglow and settle back down next to the Exit, out portal back into the world we just escaped. Not ready to return yet, we hunker into our packs and much on organic energy bars and vegan apple cakes given to us that morning by our genius rockclimbing/smoothie-making friend [Badass Harvard Laureate]...and the Traveling Poet strums Martin [her guitar], and bursts into song again...

She is taken by the moment, channeling words and chords and melodies that speak to the moment we are sharing... I sit at her feet and am 6 years old again, close my eyes and am lifted with her voice, swirling with the notes up through the trees... she tells me later that when this happens, it is as if her soul is speaking to her through her own music. I am witnessing a faerie singing her heartsong in the wilderness with my own eyes...

INSPIRATION - CLICK FOR YOUTUBE VIDEO

# # #

...Today, I sat under a mountain, and in the complete absence of light, became a thought.

A bodiless, floating thought. As if the tunnel had collapsed, and my consciousness was ascending through the layers of rock and dirt through the mountain to gain a better view...and in that moment, I experienced peace.

Peace, knowing that if I had indeed died, that I had died while adventuring, doing exactly what I want to be doing - something I love... and absolutely living in the moment.

Peace, knowing that few humans had ever trod into the heart of this mountain...and fewer still had taken the time to stop, turn off their flashlights, and savor the experience.

Peace, melting into the walls of the tunnel, becoming one with the 'aina.

Peace, knowing that the world is what you think it is.

Peace, in communion with nature.

Peace, reconnecting with the source.

Peace.

# # #

barber shop chair wars!

2009-03-25T18:32:00.000-07:00

Defending Champ: Matthew Lynch, World Famous Adventurer and Travel Writer
Challenger: Lucie Voelcker, Germany's Travelling Poet
Score: Champ - 2, Challenger - 0

Round 1

Challenger gets off to a [very] slow start...

Round 2

In which the Champ demonstrates that he has spent way too much time honing this skill...

The Equipment: vintage cast iron / red leather barber shop chairs circa 1940s...reclaimed from barber shop on Maunakea Streeet in Chinatown Honolulu...

....I'm gonna miss these chairs!!!

# # #

motorcycle diary

2009-03-23T14:41:00.000-07:00

MAKAPUU LIGHTHOUSE

Every Monday should start with a ride through Waimanalo and around Makapuu Point and home to Diamond Head.... even though this morning started in Traffic Court:

Me: " No Your Honor, I did not have insurance on my bike, Yes Your Honor, I have insurance now but only for 3 months because I'm skipping the country so please just sentence me to the gallows now...."

His Honor: "OK, send me a postcard, this job blows....wish I was going around the world!!"

"THE MOTORCYCLE GRIMACE"

The wind is in my hair, the salty sea spray on my face, the thwop of wind and bike in my ears....*bliss*.... as a grin creeps across my face, I realize that the grimace I see on the faces of other motorcyclists is actually a smile, cleverly designed to keep the mouth closed, and flying bugkill out.

I pass through 'Nalo town and fill up my $3 tank at the gas station while a busload of tourists wanders around the parking lot, clutching their McDonald's coffees and looking for an authentic local tourist experience in the parking lot of a strip mall in Waimanalo. It is surreal.

The road stretches out long and straight along the beach as I clear the town and head towards Sea Life Park. The wind is blustery, the ocean is grumpy and the salty gusts blow the bike all over the road.

The fun begins at Makapuu Point, where the road starts to twist and wind its way around the coast.... I round the lookout point and stop for some pics, then hit the blacktop again towards Sandy Beach, where the road gets really fun:

"THE LONG AND WINDING ROAD"

-JOHN LENNON-

On a clear day, you can see clear across the channel to the shadows of Molokai and Haleakala looming even larger on the horizon behind, but today the horizon is a haze of whitecaps and seamist.

I crest the hill near Haunama Bay, and the swamplands of Hawaii Kai stretch out before me, now a concrete suburbia crowded around the man-made marina and back into the valleys and ridges of this ahupua'a. Give me the wild, windswept landscapes of the coastal road anytime over a return to civilization and homogenized Costco parking lots.

The rest of the ride home is an asphalt tunnel surrounded by rows of stucco houses and standing seam rooftops hiding behind rock walls with ornate faux hawaiiana gates, Hawaii's own concrete wetlands.

As I pull into the driveway, my welcoming committee scratches at the door to go pee... and then claim his rightful throne.

POOTIE TANG ONLY RIDES ON HIS DAYS OFF

letter to The Victorian

2009-03-15T00:49:00.000-07:00

Names have been changed in the following excerpt to protect the innocent:

...did u hear the one about the harvard grad, buddhist monk, the atheist, and the 3 born-again christians? me neither, but they have been staying with friends of mine over the last week... some people should just have cameras following them around so that they can broadcast their entire quirky lives for the world to see...

....perhaps one day soon, my life will also be interesting enough to warrant a podcast / vodcast... for now, i am still in the bittersweet limbo of leaving a place i so dearly love and venturing off into the metaphorical wilderness of this wide world....

which seems to get smaller every single day. you'd be amazed at the people i've met in the last few weeks that have connections and resources they are willing to share in the parts of the world i am interested in:

potential opportunities to teach at a university in thailand, work on an orphanage in bhutan, live on a farm in rural japan, participate in human rights' movements at the UN in geneva, stay with crazy architect's brothers in sydney, party on with friends i've not seen for 17 years in jakarta . . . !

can u tell that i am no longer in hawaii? the departure date draws closer each day, and it is so tempting to shirk the few remaining responsibilities i have: selling my house [let the bank eat cake!], completing an architectural model for a friend's development, and saying farewell to friends and colleagues who have supported me here through the years i was building my business....

...i am planning to escape into the [literal] wilderness of Maui for a week before I leave and run around naked in the valleys to connect with the 'aina one last time before i leave the beauty of this place... hopefully, i don't get arrested! =p

your words still ring in my head: "you must do this. for all of us. for all of us who have hoped and lost, built and lost, loved and lost." ...it kinda makes me feel like i am on a mission to save humanity, or at least our sanity.

which is good, because i have no idea how i am going to fund all of this.... which is the point, i guess.

it's an experiment on my life, and the thesis is: how much more fulfilling can my life be when i focus on adventure and service, instead of money?

departure draws nigh, doubts run high

2009-03-14T22:37:00.000-07:00

WHERE AM I ?

My departure date draws nearer each day, and I find myself constantly amazed at the doors that are opening to me - sometimes it feels as though the universe is conspiring to fulfill my dreams...

I am meeting writers, filmmakers, activists, volunteers, philanthropists, visionaries ...the world gets smaller each day...and, on other days, the world seems vast and inaccessible...

...these are the days when my electricity gets shut off and I have to come up with $400 that I don't have to pay the entire bill and turn it back on; the days where I speak with the buyer of my house and can hear the doubt in his voice as we drag this transaction further and further along in this limbo we "in the biz" call "escrow"....3 months now, and the guy is having difficulty getting financing from the bank, even though he has perfect credit and is putting 50% down, yes five-zero....HALF OF THE PURCHASE PRICE...towards the purchase of this home....

These are the days when the chatter starts in my mind:

"WTF am I doing??"
"How the hell am I going to pay for this??"
"Who do I think I am anyways, who am I kidding?!?"

On these days, this blog seems like a bad mistake, an out-house of misplaced dreams and hopes, a mish-mash of unconnected ideas and threads that make sense to no-one but me....and maybe the 4 people or so who read this [thanks Mom]. The whole idea seems absurd, how the hell can you travel around the world without any money??

Is TheGreenBackpack a travel log? a journal? a spiritual diary? a "green" resource? Are these personal rants relevant? Does anyone even care? Am I writing for an audience [that doesn't even exist yet], or am I writing for me?

One of my best friends left this for me the other day, with the handwritten note "for your blog" scrawled across it:

"Our environment, the world in which we live and work, is a mirror of our attitudes and expectations."
- Earl Nightengale-

Why did he leave this for me? What about it grabbed him that made him think of me? I'm thinking it's something along the lines of "To Think Is To Create", but there is something else about it that is toying with me, tugging at my mind like that shadow that disappears when you turn your head...

Especially after having spent much of the week with a guy who has decided to devote his life to the fight against climate change, funding trips out of his own pocket to China and India and all over the world to educate people. Passionate, angry, and driven, a reformed Financial Planner with a top 10 firm and later a Professor of Statistics [in former lives] ....and now, he is a self-proclaimed Eco-Soldier.

Tears well in his eyes when he comes to certain parts of his Al-Gore-Inconvenient-Truth-inspired presentation that he shares with me, and the conversation breaks off in moments of despair as he pauses to gather himself when the data gets too heavy.

I can't remember the last time I was that passionate about something.

Comments like "If we're still here" and "If it's not too late" pepper our dialogue, and he speaks with such fervor that I find my own temperature and concern rising.

Why am I concerned with things like art, and photography, and literature... when the glaciers are slipping off of Greenland into the sea? Why am I frolicking in the mountains and valleys of Oahu while humanity is poised to destroy itself, and Honolulu may very well be under 10 feet of water within a few years?

Is global warming a product of our mass consciousness' attitudes and expectations? And if so, then what does that say about the race of humanity....and our chances?

Am I really about to set off to travel the world while the impending doom of our species and planet lurks around the next decade?

Will I embark on a journey of trivial discovery, or can I really use my Ninja skills to help save humanity?

My life has turned into a surreal dream of late, each conversation I have is from two perspectives: talking me, who is engaging in said conversation with subject, and observer me, who watches the whole thing with a bemused smirk and the detached air of someone who is watching a really bad soap opera.

Of course I met this person now, just before I am about to depart. Of course, they have a contact in [insert exotic future destination here] that they would love to introduce me to. Of course, of course, of course, it's all synchronicity, isn't it?

Especially when you risk it all in search of your dreams....who am I kidding, I've got nothing left TO risk ...one of the perks of "losing it all". And, look what I've gained access to:

THE WORLD AT-LARGE

...if we can keep it.

Denied

2009-03-05T19:09:00.001-08:00

"DO NOT PASS GO. DO NOT COLLECT $200.
YOU SUCK. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!"

Ummmm, so yeah. *Ouch.*

Access = Denied. Sigh.

I quote:

Sorry Matthew,

Your video application for Island Caretaker has been rejected.

Your application was rejected your video exceeded the maximum length of 60 seconds. [You Dummy.] (1 min 11 seconds).

Unfortunately applications have closed, but you can still be involved. Visit islandreefjob.com from March 2 to see the short-listed candidates and vote for your favourite.

Kind Regards [You Idiot],
The Tourism Queensland Team

So in all honesty, this email came to me within 48 hours of submitting the video...2 hours before the closing deadline.....after 2 months of "yeah I'm gonna go for this"....and I have only brought myself to write about it just now....

To quote another friend from the blogosphere who has inspired me:

"I procrastinate. More on this later."
-she-who-shall-remain-anonymous [you know who you are!]-

After putting my stomach back in its place and picking my bottom lip up off the ground and staring blankly at the wall for, oh, six hours or so [I jest...tho not really]...I pluck up the, ahem ?courage?, to watch the Short-Listed applicants that have made it for the wild-card voting...

Here's my shortlist of personal favorites:

Anjaan
because I love Bollywood accents...
Mieko
....gotta love Japanese Anime props.....did i mention I *heart* accents??
Yi
Austin Powers soundtrack + kungfu movie dub chinglish = WINNER.
George
...coz how fun would it be to watch a pale, beer-drinking, cigarette-smokin' Irishman livin' it up on the white sandy beaches of Queensland?!?
Manon
Once upon a time, we had a roomate who lived on our couch. He didn't move from the couch very much. At all. He became known as "Man-on-Couch"....his nickname when he was around became "Manon"....so my vote is Manon for Island Caretaker.
Kat
....hey, her video was over 1 minute too, how come she got on the short-list....oh yeah, she's HOT....shoulda busted out my bikini....
Felippe
this guy would rock!! seriously....vote for Change, vote for Felippe...not your average video application; pleasantly quirky!
Clarke
holy cow, this is talent...i want this guy's job....he really has been doing this stuff his whole life....

...which plants a seed in my newly fertilized creative mind....I had so much fun doing this....I am allergic to "jobs which entail working for others" anyways....so why not make up my own "job doing what I want to do when I want to do it" ...

...traveling and writing and blogging and making crazy videos and living and exploring and learning and meeting new people and having new adventures ....this blog was created to supplement my application for Queensland Tourism's brilliant "Greatest Job In The World" publicity stunt.....though that job it is not meant to be for me......

Which doesn't need to stop me from writing about my travels and adventures...

...I've always dreamt about being a freelance travel writer, sipping a latte in the kewlest cafes around the world as I tap out my latest story for Travel & Leisure or Esquire or Playboy...

....so here goes!

Prepare to be enthralled, amused, dumbfounded even by the shenanigans that shall ensue...[wow, spellcheck picked up "shenanigans"?!?]...flabbergasted, fixated, and frustrated....disgusted, demented, and debaucherous....ok maybe I am getting a little carried away....

Prepare to read about my upcoming journey and misadventures that will unwind along the way... and just come along to enjoy the ride...wherever it takes us....

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Later....I write to Supermom and tell her the news of my decision to create my very own Bestest Job In The World ....she promptly responds with an introduction to a family friend, who has been doing this stuff, quite successfully, for years.

And so the hunt is on for a cheap airfare that will get me back to Melbourne in time to grab a cup of coffee with her and pick her brains about what it takes to become a successful freelance travel adventure writer....before she heads up North for her next adventure on April 22nd!!

I am
...no longer
......here.

Matthew Lynch.
Freelance Travel Correspondent.
Wanderer.
Adventurer.
Photojournalist.
Explorer.
Filmaker.
Blogger.
Livin' Life...

LOVIN' LIFE!

Coming Soon to a blog near you:
"TheBestestJobInTheWorld".

Stay tuned.

Stunts during "The Making of...Gr8est Job Application"

2009-02-28T18:41:00.000-08:00

THE GR8EST STUNTMEN IN THE WORLD!

Quick video post here...wanted to give a special shout out and thank "Da Kalihi Boyz" for helping out with the filming of the Greatest Job In The World Application. These kids were having so much fun with us and got such a thrill seeing themselves on camera...and were awesome Stuntmen!!

I promised that I would post it on YouTube for them to see, I hope that they find it and contact me so that I can keep in touch with them....it's kinda hard to exchange email addresses when you are jumping of a 12-foot wall into the Pacific Ocean....!

Travelog Redux - backpacking New Zealand

2009-02-26T19:38:00.000-08:00

STA TRAVEL CENTERS MEAN BACKPACKING TO ME!

Thought I'd post an entry from the Travelog I kept in 2003 while backpacking New Zealand. I booked my flight into Aukland, and nothing else, deciding to figure everything out once I got there..."spontaneous travel", I called it. One of the best trips I have ever done [so far] in my life! No pics, only some images from my sketchbook at the time....enjoy:

9pm, Janus Hall Backpacker's Lodge, Wet All Day

....Waitomo Caves Gloworm Adventure Tour was well worth it, what an adventure!!

30-meter abseil into a hole in the ground starts things off...the hole looks like, well, a hole about 1/2 meter wide an 2 meters down, then you squeeze into the opening and find yourself hanging in a limestone chimney 30m off the cave floor....

...then down a narrow path to a short flying fox run (in the dark), quick break for tea & a biscuit a.k.a. cave cookie a.k.a. NZ Granola Bar...we dangle our feet over the edge of a 10-foot drop and peer into the still, pitch-black water below...can't tell how dep it is (or isn't)....we jump off the cliff into the freezng water below and paddle our way upstream where our guide shows us a chamber full of gloworms & tells us of their lifecycles:

"They are acually maggots of a certain kind of fly, the only maggots known to catch their food by using a light on their arse...only maggots known to trap their food with snot-like fishing lines they dangle to entangle their prey...after living as larvae for many weeks, they pupate into flies which live for three days & shag until they die of exhaustion....they have very short life cycles, but very large penises...what a trade-off, aye?? "

Then, after paddling uptream for about half an hour, we sit on our inner tubes and form a human chain, shut the lights off on our helmets...and float down the stream in the darkness, with only the pale glow of the maggots to light our way.

It is a surreal feeling, drifting downstream in an underground river in total darkness, with 7 other people crazy enough to want to do it with you, and your guide....you lose all sense of space & it feels like you are drifting in the cold vacuum of space; the glow worms look like the stars of distant galaxies....then *SPLASH* our other guide scares the s*%t out of us by making a god-awful noise which breaks the spell and heralds our arrival back to our entry point, where we came in on the flying fox & jumped into the water.

We ditch the inner tubes, turn our lights back on, and follow our guide downstream into the icy black water towards the roar of what sounds like a huge waterfall...we twist & urn & stumble thru a series of rapids, not knowing what lies beneath or where your foot is stepping, just trusting to your numb feet that tey will find the way.

"Watch out for the big eels" they say, and we cannot tell if they are joking or not...although I wonder when they tell us to keep our fingers out of the water lest they be mistaken for earthworms or grubs. Down a slide, we turn a corner & continue downstream, sometimes ankle-deep in water, sometimes chest-deep, sometimes paddling to keep your head afloat as the river bed drops away beneath you.

We pause and our guide points out a few stallegmite formatioins that remind them of different things: T-Rex claw over here, fairy castle over there...then the crown jewell, a formation that looks like a sheep farmer having a little too much fun with his sheep, doggy-style if ya know what I mean...

We press on despite the fact that I can no longer feel my toes, and the cave gets smaller and smaller, pressing in around us. We are crawling our way thru some spaces now, our guides have given us directions and we are now leading the way, the blind leading the blind...

We duck under another low ceiling into another cold pool, and Ritchie, our Maori guide, runs forrward to a nook in the wall and exclaims, "Check this out, it's Cecil!!" "Cecil" turns out to be a 1.5 foot-long eel who resembles a catfish with no eyes, and who is, apparently, asleep.

I am immediately reminded of the "shrieking eels" in [the movie] "The Princess Bride", an also reminded of the earlier warning at our entry point into the caves...yech...10 feet long, they said, 6 inchess in diameter...my skin crawls at the thought of such a creature wrapping itself around my leg, and with a shudder, we move on. Bloody uncanny those creatures, seems like they could live anywhere....their grey skin is unnatural, reminding me of Gollum.

We turn another corner and are given a choice....the easy way out, or do we want our money's worth...nobody objects, so we take the right fork and crawl under a tiny gap in the wall...to emerge under a 10M waterfall. We climb up one at a time, and squeeze through a narrow passageway to come to another waterfall, and...daylight.

It is with mixed feelings that we greet the daylight; sad that our adventure is coming to an end, glad that we are out of the cold...and on our way to hot showers & soup & bagels...what an amazing experience!

Two hours underground with complete strangers, and we emerge with the strange bond a shared experience creates. We know each other pretty well now: there are the 3 Italian guys who don't speak much English but laugh at everything you say...the Smiling Swiss, Felix, who beamed at you every time you looked his way...the Aussie couple, Danielle and her hubbie The Plumber, true-blue Aussies with that "no worries" attitude that meant they were up for anything thrown their way...Sharon, the British girl who teaches English in japan and was petrified the whole way, but who made it thru, foggy glasses and all...and, of course, Bigi [my Austrian travelling companion at the time], who is just...well, Bigi, making friends with everybody, and loving every minute of it.

What a great day!
12/21/2003

WARM AGAIN:
THE VERANDAH GRILL BACK AT THE BACKPACKER'S LODGE

The Story Behind TheGreenBackpack...

2009-02-24T02:45:00.000-08:00

EVENTS LEADING UP TO BIRTH OF "THEGREENBACKPACK"

The GreenBackpack was born out of a desire to create an underlying purpose to the world travel that I am planning.

This trip could simply be a romp throughout the world, drunken night after drunken night at hostel after hostel meeting new people, exploring new places, and creating new adventures....or, I can encompass these elements of travel [in sober moderation, of course], and direct my wanderlust so that my travels can be used as a vehicle to increase my own knowledge and value in an area that I have long been interested: sustainability.

Sustainability has become a buzz word in recent times, and it can be easy to think of "sustainability" simply as "environmentalism", or "eco-friendly". However, to me, sustainability encompasses so much more than "going green".....

Put the word "sustainable" in front of any of the following words, and you cast a renewed focus onto another aspect of the sustainability movement: capitalism, charitable work, entrepreneurship, environment, education, economy, philosophy, philanthropy, social responsibility, social ventures, even....wait for it....spirituality.

So, while this journey is about me diving into these things that interest me, and inviting you to come along and learn with me......it is also an outward expression of the journey I am taking within to explore myself:

What passions do I want to follow? What do I want to experience? Will I retreat into the wild? Will I come back? Who will I be when I come back?

Therefore the blog is a travelog, a spiritual diary, a research paper, and hopefully a forum where those of us who find ourselves asking these same questions can discuss and debate and collaborate and connect and explore together.

Here's the rough plan for 2009 thus far....of course, this is subject to change each day as the road is constantly changing and has already started to unfold and reveal its treasures and challenges before me:

Depart Honolulu April 20th, 2009 to Melbourne, Australia to celebrate my brother's 30th birthday and spend about a month with Mum, Dad and Sis. Road trips and re-connecting with family / friends.
June / July - road trip up to Sydney. Hope to spend a month training chi-kung and some kung-fu with my teachers who live there.
July / August - road trip up to QLD to visit family and friends. Explore the surrounding countryside, specifically want to learn more about aquaponics while in Australia. , camp on beaches that stretch to the horizon both ways, and do some WWOOFing.
August / September - travel through the Red Center to visit Ayers Rock. Sleep under the southern sky in the Australian outback. I wonder if I could work on a cattle ranch and learn to drove cattle on horseback?
September / October - meet my uncle in the Phillipines to explore my Filipino ancestry. Visit a friend's Eco-Resort that is under construction.
Oct / Nov - am looking into ways I can teach English in rural Japan for short stint, no longer than 2 months. I want to live on a small Japanese farm and experience the lifestyle.
Dec - spend Christmas season with family friends in Bali.

The rough plan for 2010? Travel through SE Asia to rural Thailand to teach English for a month, visit Bangledesh and learn more about Grameen Bank's microfinance projects, study meditation and yoga in India, then make my way to Europe which I have been longing to explore for quite some time.

It will be very interesting to see how European society is adapting to the changing world, and how a cap-and-trade economy has affected small business, especially since the Obama administration has listed implementing carbon cap-and-trade initiatives into the US Economy as a priority.

The final leg of my journey back to Hawaii will be through North and South America, on motorcycle, WWOOFing and Couchsurfing my way across the continent.

Along the way, I will seek out and explore people and projects that are making a positive difference in the world...which is the simple truth driving the entire sustainability movement:

"How do we love all the children of all species for all time?"
-William McDonough, author of "Cradle to Cradle: Remaking the way we Make Things

Come along for the ride!

Sincerely,

Matthew K Lynch
thegreenbackpack.com

Job Application

2009-02-22T02:51:00.000-08:00

I had so much fun shooting this over the last week....er, OK well mostly today...thought the deadline was next week and SUPERMOM came to the rescue again, texting me with the news that the application vid was actually due in TODAY.

So in true procrastination-drives-creative-genius form, I spent the day filming like a maniac with my Couchsurfing Buddy [and new best friend] Lucie Voelcker [THANK YOU Lucie!!]

We spent the day asking unsuspecting tourists and locals to say, "HE WAS BORN FOR THIS JOB!!" into a stranger's video camera....and everyone happily obliged!! I'll follow up with the blooper reel on another post; this was so much fun!!

Of course, Mom thinks that I am a shoe-in for the job [love you Mom]; I thought "Well why not?!" In any case, now that it is out there we'll see what happens, aye??

Special thanks to: Mom & Dad, Lucie Voelcker, Laurens Laudowicz, Miles Burkhart, James Lynch, Jens Trumpa and his beautiful children, Pete Richards, Jim Schmit, Tom who we sail with every Friday [what the heck is ur last name??], Antoinella, Atlantis, Da Kalihi Boyz, that lovely couple from the west coast who we met on Diamond Head, and Morning Brew Cafe in Kailua.

The GR8EST Job In The World - Application Complete!

2009-02-22T02:06:00.000-08:00

I had so much fun shooting this over the last week....er, OK well mostly today...thought the deadline was next week and SUPERMOM came to the rescue again, texting me with the news that the application vid was actually due in TODAY.

So in true procrastination-drives-creative-genius form, I spent the day filming like a maniac with my Couchsurfing Buddy [and new best friend] Lucie Voelcker [THANK YOU Lucie!!]

We spent the day asking unsuspecting tourists and locals to say, "HE WAS BORN FOR THIS JOB!!" into a stranger's video camera....and everyone happily obliged!! I'll follow up with the blooper reel on another post; this was so much fun!!

Special thanks to: Mom & Dad, Lucie Voelcker, Laurens Laudowicz, Miles Burkhart, James Lynch, Jens Trumpa and his beautiful children, Pete Richards, Jim Schmit, Tom who we sail with every Friday [what the heck is ur last name??], Antoinella, Atlantis, Da Kalihi Boyz, that lovely couple from the west coast who we met on Diamond Head, and Morning Brew Cafe in Kailua.

I am no longer here

2009-02-19T15:05:00.000-08:00

CONTEMPLATION NOW BEGINNING,
KEEP THE RYTHYM FLOWING...

I am no longer here. People see me and hug me and and converse with me, but it is clear to me that I am no longer here.

I am already on the road. The wind is in my face, my clothes are dusty, and I am in need of a bath and a place to sleep. I am happy.

My reading list grows: Anais Nin, Anthony DeMello, more Kerouac, Thoreau, Carlos Castaneda, the Gnostics....."Into the Wild", holy cow what a powerful movie.....and of course my dear old friend Coelho....the books, it seems, are finding me.

Financial reports that used to be my daily reading fill my InBox and are deleted with nary a second thought. Instead, I devour tales from the road of spiritual journeys and adventure. Paulo Coelho writes as though he is speaking directly to my soul; I am lost in his tales of magic and discovery...

Responsibilities and commitments that I have made are in danger of falling to the wayside, and it gets more difficult with each passing day to focus on those tasks. Let me wander in nature instead!

I fall into a conversation with a visiting fellow soul-searcher who is interested in learning about investing in real estate. That part of my brain launches into automatic dialogue with him about how I got started and succeeded, mistakes I've made that he doesn't have to, current market conditions, etc etc etc ....and I observe myself with a curious detachment and voyeuristic fascination at how a topic that was once so exciting to me has become so dull....in spite of the knowledge and familiarity that I have accumulated in that area.

Money no longer interests me. Life interests me. What is right in front of me, at any given moment, has become fascinating.

A butterfly fluttered its way into the shop I was watching yesterday, and I watched in simple amazement as he browsed all the antique furniture and buddha statues that fill the showroom.

I find myself looking forward to the next time I am riding my motorcycle, or sailing on the ocean with the salty breeze in my face, or breathing the cool mountain air on a hike somewhere, or diving into the azure waters below Diamond Head...

And cooking dinner! I forgot how much I enjoy creating something delicious, experimenting in my skillet to blend flavors and textures and cultures....

And sharing coffee and conversations with loved ones...loving and accepting them for who they are vs who you would like them to be...meeting new people who are on similar journeys of discovery, and sharing the awe in their eyes as the simple beauty of life unfolds around us...

My life looks so much different today than it did two years ago. Looking back at my writings, I realize that I began to explore creation vs consumption, contribution vs accumulation years ago, as I was building towards my first million...and now that I have let go and have nothing, I get to immerse myself in that exploration.

What would it be like to live without money? The question is not so much could I do it....more so, how can I do it? Since I've torn down my life to its bare foundations, I get to rebuild however I want to:

What passions do I want to follow? What do I want to experience? Will I retreat into the wild? Will I come back? Who will I be when I come back? I get to come up with answers to these every day!

"The less I have, the happier I am."
-"Ingrid", my 80-year old muse and monthly lunchdate

Indeed.

HONOLULU INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT,
ONE OF MY FAVORITE PLACES ON EARTH...

North Shore Rock Climbing

2009-02-17T20:04:00.000-08:00

WHY DO WE FEEL THE NEED TO CLIMB MOUNTAINS?

An hour's drive from downtown Honolulu and the North Shore opens up before us as we crest the hill past Schofield Army Barracks and wind our way down to Wailua. My buddy Miles and I are on our way to the rock-climbing wall at the end of the road, past Mokuleia and just before Ka'ena Point.

The old sugar mill still stands proudly just outside of the town, and we pass a couple of bikers who have pulled over to the side of the road to get a closer look.

The day is blustery and the swell is building; rain clouds threaten on the horizon but we are determined. It has been over five years since I've been up here, and i am looking forward to meeting my fear of heights again.

We approach Dillingham Airfield and find that a small village of movie-star trailers has cropped up next to the highway; they are filming the hit show "Lost" along this stretch of coastline. This explains the small traffic jam of rental cars up ahead as tourists park by the roadside and clamber to catch a glimpse of their favorite star.

We don't understand what all the fuss is about...I've not owned a TV for 7 years now and have not seen a single episode, while Miles sat next to Matthew Fox at the airport last month wondering why everyone was asking Mr Too-Handsome for his autograph; until his Mom figured out who it was when he told her the story later on...

Movie stars aside: today, we climb.

The security guard asks us if we're going to see any wild pigs back there as we hike past the movie set...we tell him that we'll be sure to bring him back one if any should cross our path. The trail is lush with overgrowth from the recent rains, and I would have walked right past the entrance had Miles not turned abruptly off the road and charged into the underbrush. It feels like we are walking thru the haunted fields of Children of the Corn and I almost eat mud a couple times but luckily keep my footing.

The hike takes about 45 minutes to scale the foothills below the cliffs before we emerge to the climbing site. Our fellow rock-climbing enthusiasts maintain the trail and the 20 or so top-rope climbs on a volunteer basis for all to enjoy. Everything is as I remembered from five years ago, ropes nicely tucked away on sticks that bear the name and difficulty rating of each climb.

We pick our way around a ledge to the warm-up climb Miles has in mind for us today, and the wind picks up ominously. The North Shore stretches away below us, the sound of the rolling surf a mile below crashes its way up the ravines and sounds almost as if the waves are breaking at our feet.

Miles runs me through all the basics of climbing again, and it starts to come back to me...in no time at all he is scaling the first wall, quickly hauling his lanky 6'1" frame up the side of the mountain, and I am belaying him back down as the first drops of rain kiss our faces.

There's no way that we came all the way up here for me not to climb, so I tie in quickly and pick my way to the bottom of the wall. The first segment is fairly simple, a crack with lots of hand-holds that I shimmy up easily enough. It feels good to be on the rock again.

The next segment, though, is a little tricker. The spitting rain has made the smooth rock surface slippery, and there are less hand-holds. Miles had made it look so easy! I breathe deeply and the path reveals itself, one hold at a time.

Three-quarters of the way up now and I make the mistake of looking down. I am maybe only 40 feet above Miles, but we have hiked halfway up the mountain to reach the rockface. My fear of heights knocks the breath out of my lungs as I look down to the ocean 500 feet below, and I start to wonder why I am clinging to the side of this mountain with the wind and rain starting to swirl.

I look to my right and spot a massive crack in the side of the rock face, thru which I can see what looks like another world on the other side...Lost World indeed! A few more deep breaths, and my attention is refocused on the 10 feet of rock face remaining between me and the top of my climb. I shift my weight, close my eyes, and let my hands search the rock for the next hold to bring me up....and in this way, I crawl inch by inch up those last ten feet to make it to the top.

How do you describe the feeling of dangling off the side of a cliff 500 feet up from the ocean laughing in the wind at your fear? You don't - you savor it.

As my feet touch terra firma at the base of the wall, my grin says it all. It is good to be back here.

"DR HOOK" - I THINK...

Gung Hee Fat Choy from Maui!!

2009-02-15T03:33:00.000-08:00

LIONS PROWL THE BEACH IN FRONT OF JODO MISSION, LAHAINA

For the last 24 years, Au's Shaolin Arts Society has been making the journey to Maui to bring in Chinese New Year by sharing traditional Chinese Lion Dance performances and Kung-Fu demonstrations across the island, occasionally venturing over to Molokai and Lanai to perform as well.

I've been making the journey with the family since I started my martial arts training seven years ago...it has been two years since since I ceased training in order to heal some wounds I suffered, and two years since I've joined them full-time. I make the decision to go at the last minute, so it is a surprise to many of my brothers and sisters when I show up in Maui...they barely skip a beat: "Welcome back, brother."

It is difficult to describe the experience to someone who has not come along for the ride: 2 teams of 8-10 people, 50+ performances ranging from 1-6 hours in length over seven days. Playing Lion's head requires strength, stamina, agility, and creativity....imagine carrying and animating a 15-pounds paper-mache mask over your head, flirting with the crowd, becoming the lion...or, playing the tail by following your head player's footwork, keeping your head down, and crab-walking to keep the illusion of a heavenly four-legged feline, engaging your audience for hours at at time....INTENSE. And that doesn't include the kung-fu demonstrations!

You find out a lot about your physical, mental, and emotional limits. If you survive the experience, you are hooked. For life.

This year we have an apprentice [rookie] on board from a sister school in Long Island, New York. He is athletic, talented, and physically very strong, though nothing could have prepared him for this...our first performance? A 5-hour marathon with a skeleton crew down Fort Street Mall in Chinatown Honolulu.

He survives, with a look that says "What-the-heck-was-that??"....by the end of the week, his grin tells us that he is hooked; he'll be back. Happened to our brother from Kentucky too, the whitest, most red-necked good 'ole country-boy Chinese person you have ever met ;-) ...he has made the pilgrimage for seven years now, his only experience of Maui being from inside the Lion...

I realize on my first day back, how much a part of me this has become....my legs and shoulders feel the burn almost immediately, and my body hits the wall early, recognizes it like an old friend, and pushes through
happily. The drum beat moves me, infusing my movements with the spirit of the lion.

The lion dance drum beat sets the rythym of the year, cleansing the negative energy of the past year through the very pores of my skin, and clearing the way for the blessings of a new year to be welcomed in...when I get back on the drums I quickly remember the old beats and riffs, and am soon smiling as I start to throw in new riffs here and there. Hello creativity, where have you been? Nice to meet you again....

Playing for the children is what makes us happiest; they are scared and thrilled and happy all at the same time, and they love to feed the Lions their lai-see offerings for good luck. Young and old alike squeal with delight as the Lions nibble hands, legs and the occasional small child on their way to the red envelopes and lettuce offerings.

We get to be superstars for a week each year; some of the people in our audience have watched the Au children grow up, and have been following us for 15- 20 years... and despite the inevitable behind-the-scenes drama that will unfold when bodies and minds in such close proximity are pushed to the limit, we all grin when it is over. The bond that is formed when you share an intense collective experience goes beyond words. Each of us walks a little taller, feels a little stronger on the other side of Chinese New Year's celebrations ...walking in the knowledge that if we can do that....we can do anything.

And thus, a new year begins....

My First Couchsurfing Experience!

2009-02-14T22:58:00.000-08:00

THIS IS HOW YOU PACK TO CYCLE ACROSS NORTH AMERICA

So I had my first Couchsurfing experience this week!!

Nico is from Belgium and is cycling solo across Canada, North America, and off to the Baja Coast of Mexico after a brief stopover in Hawaii to cycle around Oahu and hike Molokai.

Apparently, this is what Belgians do for fun.

Seriously though we Americans have it all wrong.....we live to work....Europeans work just enough so that they can live it up!

Nico has taken a leave of absence from work for 12 months to travel and recharge his batteries, and his job will still be there when he gets back. Apparently, he must take off at least 4 weeks / year to prevent burnout [he's a nurse], and can take up to 5 years of extended leave throughout his career....

Similarly, I backpacked New Zealand in 2003 with an Austrian nurse who was also on an extended 12 month leave of absence she had decided to spend travelling the world; with the knowledge that her job would be waiting when she returned. Come to think of it, I hung out with some German executives at a bar in San Francisco who were on their way to Tahoe, also on an extended leave....they even invited me to hang out with them on the slopes when I'm back in Europe!!

But I digress! back to the couchsurfing experience...we were to meet just for coffee and a chat, so that I could pick his brains about do's / dont's / insider tips from a real live actual person who has successfully couchsurfed... instead, we wind up sharing a few beers at The Dragon's Den, a local live jazz spot in Chinatown, which I had not yet been to in 12 years of living here!

The place is empty, the music is fabulous....the musicians are thrilled to have someone there to enjoy and share their music with, and we are treated to a private show. Nico tells me of his hometown in Belgium, population 45,000, which has great beer and chocolate. There's not much reason for travelers to visit there, he tells me, unless they are into cycling.

Great beer and chocolate? Sounds reason enough for me... I make a mental note to visit Nico when I next find myself in Europe...

THE DRAGON'S DEN IN CHINATOWN HONOLULU

Travelog Rediscovered...

2009-01-26T21:22:00.000-08:00

TREE OF LIFE

Cleaning out 12 years of stuff I have accumulated living here, I came across an old travelog diary I kept when I backpacked New Zealand in 2003.

They say that we have the answers to all of the challenges we face already inside of us...we just need to ask the right questions. Interesting thing is, I'm still asking myself the same questions six years later...and am not entirely sure how I feel about that.

Had I become that comfortably numb? Am I just a lost soul swimming in a fishbowl - year after year [God Bless Pink Floyd] - living the same year over and over again, like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day??

Early in my mortgage career I had often questioned if "10 years experience" on my competition's business card meant the same year over and over 10 times, or if my competition was taking the necessary steps to learn, grow, innovate, and remain at the leading edge of their field.

Now I cringe at the thought of how I have spent the last 12 years learning about real estate & finance, and building for the future...at the expense of what lay right before me. About how I created an "Instant Family" for myself at the tender age of 20, wanting so badly to provide more options for my family and stepson that I worked countless hours for the future I dreamed about at the expense of being present with what was right in front of me, what I cared about most...

....and that being said, I would take none of it back.

Friday Night Beer Races

2009-01-25T22:58:00.000-08:00

FRIDAY NIGHT IS SAILING NIGHT

For 30 years, Pete Richards and Jim Schmit have been sailing in the Friday night races from Honolulu Yacht Club. They've been nice enough to let me tag along for the last few races, and have even invited me to keep coming back to learn more [God help them!].....

Our motley crew assembles at the dock by 5 o'clock every Friday, emerging from the craziness of week's-end-Waikiki traffic to see who has shown up to sail with us this week and get the boat out of harbor to jostle for the best starting position when the race-start horn blows at 5:30. This week Antoinella [from Italy], Jenny [Local/California girl], and Chad'n'Eric [two North Carolina boys who've never sailed before] are sailing with us.

I'm still stuck in traffic at 5:05 and get a call from Jim: "How long?" ...so, I'm running and jumping into the boat as it pulls away from the dock; it's racing time.

Pete and Jim both own their own boats, and have been sailing for a long time. We're on Pete's boat, Harvey today, and the engine cuts out as we enter the channel. Jim jumps up and starts hoisting the mainsail, it's my job to make sure the sail doesn't jam on its way up - old boats have lots of character...

There is a good wind blowing and we are under way quickly, skipping along the subsiding southerly swell. The easy banter between the two skippers soon starts, and I chuckle and marvel at the artful way they trade insults while navigating, and debating race tactics. This is one of my favorite things about sailing on Fridays.

We time the start perfectly, counting down and crossing the Committee Boat right as they blow the starting horn, and the streaming debate is now interspersed with yacht club gossip as Jenny joins the conversation. Our arch-rivals, Addiction, are in a dispute with Pete about a minor altercation a few races back [we t-boned them], and are threatening legal action. Pete shrugs it off: "We were' racin'."

We spot Addiction ahead of us and start chasing. They are flying their spinnaker, which we do not have, yet we are slowly gaining ground. The banter gets more focussed, and we make a couple strategic tacks as we near the bouy.

The sun is setting as we round the mark, and if there was a green flash we've missed it in all the action... Addiction has fouled her spinnaker as she rounded the mark, and we hear shouts coming from her deck. We all grin broadly as we recognize our opportunity to take the race, set our jaws, trim the sails, and start bearing down on her.

Pete takes us above our rival and pins her on the outside, taking away her good wind and slingshotting past her. We are flying now, slicing through the swells and coming home to the finish marker with the afterglow of the sunset behind us. We've been on the water for an hour now and it feels like the party is just getting started as we leave them in the dust and cross the line.

Back at the club, Pete buys us a round and there are smiles all around.

Good race.

1. ADDICTION OF PORT BOW

2. GOT 'EM PINNED

3. BYE BYE!

En Route to Aotearoa...

Of Wetas, and The Wallabies vs. The All Blacks

Kia Ora from Wellington

Atomic Adventures

Snowboarding and the Art of Perseverance II: LYNCHMOB

Snowboarding and the Art of Perseverance

Queenstown via Mount John Observatory and Wanaka

ROADTRIP!! ~ Lake Tekapo

Couchwarming Party!

Arrival in Christchurch

In Search of the Great Aussie/Russian Monkeyman...

World Thong Throwing Championships!

STOP PRESS: Aotearoa here I come!!

Tasmania: Day 7 - Of Rain, Guiness Pie and Cheese

Tasmania: Day 5 - In Search of Sushi

Tasmania: Day 6 - Wild Beauty

Tasmania: Day 4 - "Here: Loonagana"

Tasmania: Day 3 - "Guns Don't Kill People; People With Moustaches Kill People."

Tasmania: Day 2 - The Tasman Penninsula

Tasmania: Day 1 - Blister in the Sun

Duelling With Devils

From Dawn 'Til Dusk: Hog Wild

Street Music

Chloe

voyeur

Green Point

melbourne by mobile - a photo/video tour

farewell Honolulu, hello Melbourne!

momentary lapses of reason

break on through...

barber shop chair wars!

motorcycle diary

letter to The Victorian

departure draws nigh, doubts run high

**Denied**

Stunts during "The Making of...Gr8est Job Application"

Travelog Redux - backpacking New Zealand

The Story Behind TheGreenBackpack...

Job Application

The GR8EST Job In The World - Application Complete!

I am no longer here

North Shore Rock Climbing

Gung Hee Fat Choy from Maui!!

My First Couchsurfing Experience!

Travelog Rediscovered...

Friday Night Beer Races

Denied