the big trip 2002-2003

OK, I’ve finally posted a few of the gazillions of photos from my travels. I know there are no captions. I know the only identifiers are in the ‘alt’ tags. I’m sorry. I’m working on a new and improved layout that will actually allow me to explain the photos. It’s on its way, and with it more pictures than you can shake a stick at. Even a hockey stick. Even a goalie stick.

I was going to say I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, but really I probably haven’t been doing enough. About the trip and what it did to me and for me, how it rattled me and put things into perspective and chilled me out all at the same time. Since I got back, I’ve been in this rut of sitting surfing the web trying to work out what?s going to happen next, or thinking about (and occasionally working on) posting my tales and photos from the journey that’s past, but little or no time paying attention to the present. I know I don’t have much money but I?m not broke yet ? I know I don?t have any guarantees on any of the irons I’ve got in the fire, but I should be able to find a way to muddle through, right? And I’ve got all this richness of experience in me that I really shouldn’t let slip away.

So, OK, let’s think about it. What have I already articulated, what do I already know? I had allowed my world to become so small. I couldn’t see it until I left here ? it’s not just seeing the wide world, but also the people I saw along the way. Mostly younger than me, sure, but with so much less manufactured nonsense of rules in their lives. Here were people who got out of university (or skipped it altogether), worked for a while and decided it was crap. Now they’re divemasters in Southeast Asia, or they’re backpackers who’ve been on the road for years, or they’re working in some Irish bar in Queenstown and snowboarding whenever the mood strikes them. Or they’ve got businesses that take them to all their favorite places in the world. They made it. This was such a moving experience. What have I been so afraid of?

And then there’s the other thing. I’ve been a little ashamed of being me for so long that I’d got used to it and didn’t even remember it sucked. I would say things to make other people comfortable even if they weren’t true; I would play chameleon, a different person depending on the situation; with men, I would settle for not even close just because I felt it was (a) better than nothing, or (b) what I was supposed to do, somehow, taking care of these man/boys just because they needed me to. For possibly the first time, I don’t feel that way. I’m under no obligation. The me I’ve got to offer is a good thing. Love it if you can, I say. If not, I wish you much joy elsewhere.

Overall, I’m just much more comfortable with who I am. I know not everybody likes me. I know not everybody agrees with things I say and do. That’s OK. I don’t think anyone can say I’m a bad person, and I’m having a lot of fun being me.

And what about Southeast Asia? What did those times teach me? That I can do a lot more than I thought I could. That resourcefulness can get people a lot further than wealth. That even when I get scared, it’s going to be OK, but it’s a lot more fun when I?m not scared. That it’s universal human nature to want what you’ve never had. That it’s not always easy making friends, and not all friends are worth making. That being a good person really does pay off. That people are generally sweet, except when they decide not to be. That to get moving is so often the hardest part of the journey – and not just the first time you get moving, but every day when you walk out the door. That just because you’ve started something doesn?t mean you’ve finished it. It also doesn?t mean you have to finish it. And it certainly doesn’t mean that the thing you finish has to be the same as the thing you set out to do.

I’m glad I went out largely without a plan. I’m glad I talked to people and I’m glad I listened. I wish I’d taken more photos, but I’m so glad I can close my eyes and see another place behind my eyelids just the same. I’m amazed I managed to live for 7 months out of a single pack, although I’m not surprised it had 5 pairs of shoes in it by the time I came home. I’m amazed I learned a little Thai. I can’t believe I can give people advice on how to get around and where to eat in Hoi’an and Bangkok.

Shylo asked me the other day, ‘Where do you get your confidence?’ I didn?t know how to answer her, and I still don’t. I don’t know that confidence is something I acquired at one point or another, although I do have to admit that I’ve been pretty low on it at times, one of those times being the months before I left home. So it must have happened at some point along the road. But when, and how? It occurs to me that it’s probably related to this loss of fear. Isn’t the lack of confidence insecurity, and doesn’t all insecurity begin with a fear? Maybe that’s really all there is to it. I was afraid of so many things before I went ? that I wouldn’t be able to rough it, that I wouldn’t be able to get along in a country where I could neither speak nor read the language, that I would be lonely, that I wouldn’t be able to make friends, that I wouldn’t be fit or courageous enough to do half the things that were out there to see and do, that I wouldn’t be able to find people to keep me company, that I would crap out and fail and have to come home, that I would wind up holed up, sick in some crappy little room or bleeding somewhere in a drainage ditch? And I made it. I made it through on the dodgy buses and the even dodgier motorbikes and the places where there are no roads. And I sprained my ankle and still hiked on it. And I drove my own 650. And I learned so many things. And I made some excellent friends. And I got my Advanced PADI Certification. And I drank gallons of booze. And I got my heart broken and also lifted to the heavens. And I said no when I wanted to say no and yes when I wanted to say yes. And I confronted the things that bothered me, and the people too.

I met people along the way who only seem to travel to collect more stamps in their passports. I am distressed by these people. I mean, you expect a certain amount of that behavior from high-end tourists, but these people I?m talking about are backpackers! How much do they miss, with their regimented schedules and itineraries that cover 6 countries in 3 weeks? I don’t even know that that qualifies as travel. How can you say you?ve been somewhere when you’ve never left the safe little cocoon of your ways? Of course there are going to be things that scare you and things that piss you off ? if there weren’t, what would be the point of going? This is the price that comes with seeing things so different from anything you’ve ever seen before that you have a hard time coming up with words to describe them, even to yourself. This is the price tag on exposing yourself to as much beauty as you can possibly take in. That?s just the way it goes. Quit your bitching, people!

I’m sorry this post is so soapboxy. Phineas maintains there’s no such thing in the blogaday world, but I have a pretty serious issue with condescension, and don’t want to be the perpetrator.

Even more importantly, I don’t want to give the impression that one has to go halfway around the world to come to these conclusions. I’m just particularly obstinate (just ask any of my friends), and therefore required some fairly serious rattling to get out of my worst habits. But life, and joy, and beauty (and all the ugly and stupid shit that goes with them) are always around. Sometimes it’s just hard to see what you don’t expect.

Well, folks, it’s official. I’m back. Hair cut, bright blue trainers on, desperately hung over. It’s just like old times. Also familiar is the fact that I somehow managed to leave my mobile lying about in Dave and Marty’s flat last night (and they, of course, are dead asleep and not answering their phones or their doorbell). I really must find a way to have it permanently attached to my person. This is after I caught my heel in the lawn outside their door and found myself sprawled out on the pavement (perhaps stilettos have their dark side too). But a good time was had by all, I’ve not gotten to sleep before sunrise since I arrived home on Friday night, and even though everybody still owes me money for the tab last night, damn but it’s good to be home.

It’s really alarming how behind I am on posting. What’s even worse is the number of partially written posts that have accumulated in the Drafts area of this site. No, I’m not publishing any of them. I’ve read them and the best that can be said is that with a whole lot of editing some of them might be considered coherent. The good news is, I shall soon have lots of (free!) time to bask in the monitor’s motherly glow and fix them – not to mention all the photos I have to process. But how on earth am I going to get free Internet access, you might ask? Not How, dear reader, but Where:

I’m coming home.

I’ll be arriving at Chicago O’Hare late on Friday night, jetlagged to the bejeezus and desperate for my own rickety old fourposter. I’m hoping to put together a group to go be stylish in restaurants on Saturday night – anyone in?

We turned up at the A. J. Hackett store at 2:00. We sized each other up furtively at first, trying to work out who’d done this before. Eventually we all started chatting nervously, watching the video of person after person taking the leap. We were weighed, we signed paperwork. We filled out a little piece of paper endearingly called the ‘toe tag’. And then the driver came to get us.

The ride up to Nevis is gorgeous, winding through wine country and staggering alpine scenery. The sky was brilliant blue, the sun was warm, the hillsides golden brown. It took about 40 minutes, including a hair-raising 4WD climb up a very narrow, very muddy road carved into the side of the mountain. Rounding the last corner, we could see the gondola. Suspended on steel cables over the Nevis River ravine, it looked like a craft left behind from some alien expedition. It was here that things started to feel not-quite-real.

Off the bus, into the station, harnesses on and tightened. Weighed again, organized by heaviest to lightest for jumping order. I was #3. Out into the shuttle, clipped to the cable, over we go to the gondola. The gondola is divided in half, one half being a sort of watching/waiting area and the other the staging/jump/equipment zone. In the floor on the waiting area side, aligned with the jumping platform, is a pane of glass. You can watch jumpers through this as they drop. I couldn’t work out whether this was a good or a bad thing.

I sit on the ledge in the waiting area. Jack has just jumped. Tim puts the cuffs on my ankles. I say, “Is this the part where I’m supposed to get nervous?” Tim looks up at me. “Yes,” he says. “This is the part where you get as absolutely scared as you possibly can. The greater the fear, the greater the high. Simple biochemistry.” I laugh, and then I realize he’s not kidding. “Listen to the wind,” he continues. “And watch the river. Otherwise you won’t remember any of it. Your brain needs to have something to hang onto.” I nod. Listen to the wind. Right. I’m nervous now, but still not nearly as much as I’d expected to be.

I sit in The Chair. A crewman attaches the bungy cable to my harness and to my ankles. He shows me the release I need to pull after my second bounce, which will release my ankles so that I can assume a sitting position for my ascent. He tells me what I want is a big dive, that I can’t possibily overdo it, to jump out as far as I possibly can. Not to forget the release. Don’t be afraid to wiggle in the harness and get comfortable. I nod sagely as if this all makes sense. Right. I’m going to take a flying leap off a big shiny piece of metal in the middle of a ravine. I’m going to hurtle at something like 100 kmph towards a rocky river 200 meters below. I am going to do this head first. Then, around 134 meters below the alien craft, I will bounce. Somehow I will retain the presence of mind to find and pull a little yellow cord, and then I will calmly assume a sitting position and wait to be winched up. Yeah, right. Sure. “Any questions?” Nope.

Wink at the camera. Stand.

Shuffling over to the platform seems to take about an hour – I can’t move my feet because they’re clipped together and to the bungy – and on the other hand, it’s like I’ve teleported there. Suddenly there I am, toes dangling over the edge, thinking (and saying, I’m pretty sure) “Jesus Christ, what the fuck am I doing?” Smile for the camera, signal ‘OK’, then 5-4-3-2-JUMP. Freefall. The wind is whistling in my ears. The water is bright blue. I am going so fast. And then it sets in, what I have just done, and there is a moment of absolute terror. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod… And then the bounce. And the exhilaration. I am flying on the end of the bungy, almost horizontal from the force of my first bounce, then dropping again, the river and mountains swinging wildly across my perspective. I let out a whoop of triumph. I remember the rip cord. I look up/down. Where is it again? Oh yeah, all the way up there by my knee. I fold myself in half, grab it, give it a good yank. I feel the carabiner release, and catch on the heel of my right boot. Damn. I rattle and shake a bit, still bouncing, and it comes loose. Suddenly, I’m sitting up. Looking around the canyon, still bouncing slightly.

God, it’s a beautiful day. I can’t believe I just did that. I feel great, I feel like everything’s in perspective. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. I can feel my whole body shaking. I can feel the grin on my face. And they begin to winch me up.

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

So yeah. I went bungy jumping. And I’ve got the video to prove it. I must say it’s one of the coolest things – if not the coolest – I’ve ever done. Sorry mom, but I had to try. And I survived. And I did it. I jumped. Even now, I’m grinning.

The stats: the Nevis Highwire Jump, at 134 meters total, is the highest bungy jump in Australasia. As far as I know, there is only one jump higher, in South Africa, at 180 meters. I don’t really feel the need to do that one. But there really is nothing quite like looking fear squarely in the face and sticking out your tongue.

OK, so I did lose my phone in Melbourne. But aside from that, Melbourne was the most fun I’ve had in a very long time – on land, at least. I met the most amazing and insane group of people, and somehow we all clicked so well that by the time we had to start leaving we really felt like family. No offense to my family back home – this isn’t a replacement, just an extension.

I’ve got mountains of photos from our shenanigans to post, which I promise I will do just as soon as I get something to eat and do the 400 other things I have to do today. Then I’ll have to write the stories to accompany them – what I can remember of the stories, that is. It’s true that my liver has seen better days, and today sitting in Christchurch on my own I do feel a bit lonely, but my heart has been buoyed up by the experiences of the last few weeks (what an excellent birthday everyone gave me!), and I’d like to shout out a big thanks to Taylor/Tanenay, Ashley/Ashliqua, Andy/Antwon, Chris/Chrizzone, Nils, Freek, Rebecca, John and Dave. It was a wild ride, but a great one. Also, many thanks to Brahim and everyone at the Friendly Backpacker for putting up with us!

So what’s the plan for Asia, people?

So I make it all the way through Asia – 4 and a half months worth – running around like a crazy person, and don’t lose anything important. Still have all my gadgets in hand. And then, my last week in Melbourne, a civilized country where I can take my time and get myself together in the mornings before dashing off to do whatever, I lose my mobile phone.

Sigh.

So any of you who’ve had updates to your contact information in the past 6 months or so – and any of you who’ve just given me your contact information while I’ve been traveling – please send it again. Thanks.

It’s been too long since I left, and since I’m cold today it’ll do me good to think about my time in the sun…

Gili Air, together with Gili Trawangan and Gili Meno, make up the trio of islands between the east coast of Bali and the west coast of Lombok in Indonesia. Surrounded by crystal-clear and temperate waters, drenched in sunshine and forested with lush palms and jungle undergrowth, with not a single motorised vehicle between them (taxis are horse drawn) they may be one of the last true island paradises. I spent several days (but not nearly enough) on Gili Air, diving and frolicking with the fine folk at Blue Marlin.

We all know that I’m a SCUBA junkie. We all remember about the day with the shark out at Chumpon Pinnacle on Koh Tao, right? Doesn’t even begin to compare. On our first day out, on my first dive in the Gilis, we went to a little site called Hahn’s Reef, just off Gili Air. After descending to about 18 meters, we headed over to examine a large rock – or, more precisely, to look under it, which is always where the good things hide. Hanging upside down, a few fingers on the rock to steady us, we looked and saw not one, not two, but three baby black-tip reef shark. On that first dive, I saw turtle and lionfish and mantis shrimp and every kind of wrasse and angelfish I’ve ever seen in a book. It was spectacular, and the remaining dives only got better.

In particular, there was the Wreck. Situated just off the Lombok coast in about 45 meters of water, it is a World War II Japanese patrol boat. We all reckon it must have been sunk intentionally, because it’s totally pristine and perfectly upright. It’s a dive you’ve pretty much got to do on Nitrox, because at that depth on air you’d have a looooooong time decompressing, and that’s nobody’s favourite way to spend their time underwater. Even at 28% Nitrox, maximum bottom time is only 20 minutes, so you’ve got to get down there as fast as possible too. This is one of the best things about diving this particular wreck: you don’t see it until you’re almost on top of it. Descending along the line, I kept an eye on my depth guage. Around 28 meters I started to squint ahead, trying to make out my destination. By 33 meters I still couldn’t see a thing. Suddenly, at about 39 meters, it appeared out of the murk like a ghost ship. Alena told me another diver had once compared it to an old (American) Wild West Ghost Town… after its ghostly appearance, upon closer examination the entire ship is covered in stone fish, lionfish and other poisons of the deep. It’s the outlaw center. You half expect a huge grouper to come out of the wheelhouse toting a six-shooter, wearing a ten-gallon hat. Lounging on top of the wheelhouse were five of the biggest lionfish I’ve ever seen, and on the forward deck Didier spotted a stonefish that must have been well over a meter long. Alena and I swam through an enormous, spiralling school of tiny glassfish off the port bow and the narcosis made it even more psychedelic than it already was. Twenty minutes didn’t seem nearly enough, although we did get in a few backflips and underwater kung fu, just because.

So right, the diving was astonishing. On my last dive, we saw 5 shark, 3 turtles, and more of everything else than I could be bothered to keep count of. But that’s not all there was. Alena and her family and the staff at Blue Marlin made the week so much more memorable than any fish could. On my last day, the entire family came out diving, kids and all, and everyone spent the night on Trawangan to see me off. I have only very rarely been made to feel so welcome by total strangers, and I cannot thank them enough. I can, however, share the love – just as dear Hein at Buddha View on Koh Tao did for me. So if you’re ever in Indonesia and feel like strapping a tank on your back, head for Blue Marlin and ask for Alena Conroy. Tell her Louisa (aka the Junkie) sent you. She’ll sort you out.

Okay people. I know I’m wimpy, and I know that all of you who’ve just had 3 inches of snow (sorry, Chicago) already hate me quite a bit, but I’ve got to tell you I’m freezing to death. Remember how in the summers in Chicago I whinge constantly about the heat and the humidity and long for autumn? Granted, I’m not as bad as Phineas, what with his annual plea for air tickets to Iceland or a brick to the head, but I never thought I’d actually get to the point where 90 (that’s 32 for you Celcius folk) in the shade would be an acceptable temperature for me. Nonetheless, now that I’m here in Melbourne, after some 4 and a half months in tropical climes, 20 (that’s about 68 for you Fahrenheiters) degree weather makes me want a parka and mittens. Seriously. I don’t know what I’m going to do in New Zealand. I can just see myself now, huddled in my sleeping bag in a tent up on a mountain somewhere, wearing every single piece of clothing in my backpack.

On a slightly less inflammatory note, there is a news flash: much as I don’t like jinxing these things with premature announcements, I’m going to go ahead and tempt fate. There is a chance that in the next six months or so I’ll be moving to Sydney. For now, let’s just say I’ve met a very interesting person who’s got some very interesting projects to work on (many thanks to Eric for the introduction!). So who’s coming with me?

As some of you might have noticed, this site was down for about 36 hours earlier this week. This would be because I am too retarded to remember to renew my domain registration. All is well now, though, even though of course I find myself once again without the time to do a real post. But I suppose a quick update wouldn’t hurt…

I’m currently in Noosa, on the Sunshine Coast of Australia. I’ve been here since Saturday afternoon and am going on to Brisbane tonight and Melbourne tomorrow. We won’t get into all the strange circumstances that led me here or their even stranger collapse – suffice it to say I got to spend some more time with a travel friend and touch up my tan, which had been shamefully faded by my time in Sydney. Unfortunately, this might be the last tanning opportunity I get until sometime in June, as it’s only in the high teens/low 20s in Melbourne and I don’t even like to think about the temperatures in New Zealand.

As for the other stuff I’ve been promising, I’m still promising.