Mongolian Permaculture: Day 31 - Sustainability is DEAD

IT'S TIME TO MOVE BEYOND SUSTAINABILITY

Ankle is better this morning.

Did some washing, caught up with the blog, and checked in with home. Main mission today is to replenish my funds with a visit the ATM round the corner.

Typing, typing, writing, writing, blog blog blogging… was it really only 2 days ago I was joking around in the kitchen with my newfound Mongolian friends?

Sorting thru all the pics taken that day and I am taken right back to Tosontsengel, now wondering where students go and what they will do with the Permaculture Design skills and knowledge they have developed…

It would be so interesting to see where each project is 2, 5, 10 years from now.

It would be great to be able to come back and revisit, though this is not a certainty.

Peak Oil, Climate Change, continuing Global Economic Crises… we live in such uncertain times…

It could be so easy to throw up our hands in frustration and disgust, to go down that dark road of disillusionment with humanity… to buy into the thinking that we’ve destroyed ourselves, and it is just a matter of time before the bomb we’ve set explodes in our faces.

Or, we could play for the best in humanity.

I have glimpsed the depths of the resilience of the human spirit in the eyes of my companions over the last month. I have experienced heartfelt connection and generosity that transcends language barriers, cultural differences, and geographic separation.

I have seen light in the eyes of our brothers and sisters here in Mongolia, who live closer to the land than I ever have in this lifetime, who have so much less than I have ever had, who give and share so much and so freely of themselves, to welcome us into their hearts and homes.

The light I have seen in students' eyes here on the Steppe, is that same light that goes on in people’s eyes at the end of the PDCs I have been on in Australia, the light that says HOLY CRAP I GET IT… we don’t need to have all the answers, just figure out the right questions… because it is all right there in front of us…

We do truly live in a Garden of Eden, with everything that we need to create a beautiful, vibrant, healthy community and life right before us… if only we train our eyes and hearts to see…

...suddenly, problems become solutions, waste materials become valuable resources… all with a slight shift in perception and a simple foundation of ethics and principles to guide us.

Maybe we really can solve all of the world’s problems in a garden.

Nature moves in exponential cycles, hence the quickening we are experiencing now, this hurtling towards potential and spectacular impending doom… ecological, economic, and cultural disaster, all converging into a gigantic cosmic SPLAT…

...though if nature moves in exponential cycles, than might it not also possible to harness this energy, and use the forces of nature to reverse the cycle of damage we have done?

High-intellect, high-tech design won’t solve our problems - you can’t solve a problem with the same thinking that created it.

Low-tech, remembered knowledge of how to move and work in harmony with the natural world around us is, well, the natural way...

…Head thinks. Heart knows.

Sustainability is not just a new, trendy buzzword that hipsters and hippies wax lyrical about in coffeehouses about town.

Sustainability is how we lived, out of necessity, for millenia.

Sustainability is simply living, living simply, within our means, and working with natural laws and forces, to expand that means, to expand our lives – not forcing and bending nature to our wills.

In nature, energy cycles, changes form, and comes back again, and if you ignore this law… you get modern society. The Piper always collects his due in the end.

It is time to move beyond Sustainability.

We get what we focus on, so let’s play bigger.

Instead of focusing on how to reduce our footprints, what if we were to focus on creating systems inspired by nature, using biological resources, in order to flourish?

What if we were to focus on re-discovering and re-organizing the vast amount of natural living resources we have all around us, and incorporating them into our designs to create multiple mutual beneficial relationships within our systems?

What if we were to focus on how much we could create and contribute to the world, instead of how much we can consume and accumulate?

What if we were to focus on how big a positive impact we could make, rather than how much we can shrink ourselves to minimize our impact?

What if we were to focus on

• Restoring?
• Regenerating?
• Recreating?

…What kind of world could we create?

here I am...

Theme Song of the Day:

• The Luckiest, by Ben Folds
  

Has it really been six months since I've written here??
My, how time flies when one is.... well, flying....

Has it really been one year since I left Hawaii, in search of ...?
Am I a different person now, or am I simply more of me?


I feel as though I've stepped out of a costume, some kinda WheretheWildThingsAreWolfSuit maybe, or an AmericanPsycho-style corporate suite, or maybe some kinda AncientSuitOfArmour, dented and scratched and clawed but still intact, even if only just ...I've stepped out of those costumes and have stepped into my skin...


...and I'm not sure that I can remember any other time in my life when I've ever felt so... how can I say this... ME.


It's like I've met myself all over again, as if I was catching up with a good friend, the kind of friend that you've lost touch with though you don't ever forget about, as the paths of your lives have turned and twisted you both off in different directions, with all the triumphs, the falls, the joy, the sorrow, the tangents ....the GIFTS.... that come along the way.


And then, ten years later, your paths cross again and you smile and hug and sit down with a cold beer or maybe a hot cup of coffee and it's like you've never left, you just pick up the conversation and the friendship where you left off, except now the conversation is so much richer because there is ten whole years of stories to catch each other up on...


...imagine now, that this friend you're catching up with, that is sitting at the other side of the table, this friend is YOU. The you that you were 12 months ago, or 12 years ago, it just depends on when and where and how you are catching up with yourFriendyou.... though you've travelled thousands of miles and had countless experiences and been away for so long.... THERE YOU ARE.


That's where I'm at ....and it's a wonderful feeling... and I'm thankful for the teachers I've met along the way, those fellow souls [you know who you are!] who've reached out and touched me, over a cup of coffee or a shared journey or through cyberspace... I am thankful for each and every one of you, and for the gifts that we've shared along the way...


...this blog had become a promotional poster for me while I was in the thick of competing for the EntirelyWorldFamousNZ Blogger Competition, which was fun while it lasted, and was a very necessary part of my journey... though it took me away from the very reason I started this blog anyway: simply to write.


I started writing here for me.


It may sound selfish, perhaps even arrogant, though it is the simple truth.


I write to write, so that I can reach that point where I am no longer thinking of what to write next because my fingers are just blurring from the words pouring out of my heart through my fingers and onto the unblinking screen - my fingers have not given it enough time to rest, pausing only sporadically to allow the cursor to catch its breath...

I write for these moments, and when my heart is finished pouring itself out, then i can pause, take a deep breath, look back and read what my heart has written.


I write because a life worth LIVING is a life worth RECORDING... and that is the kind of life I want for me...



So often our inner journeys are reflected in our physical travels …or is it the other way around? The journey back to ourselves is deeply personal, yet universally human …and therefore a powerfully shared experience... so it is my absolute privellege to share these thoughts with you here... it's nice to be back!

"The Hero of my Tale,
Whom I love with all the power of my Soul,
Whom I have tried to portray in all his Beauty,
Who has Been,
Is,
and Will Be,
is TRUTH."
- Leo Tolstoy -

* * * * *

Why Choose Me

This part of the competition is strictly a #s game... and I am trailing the leaders in 6th place at the moment.

So I thought I'd take a moment to write about why I feel so passionately for this job. Yes, New Zealand is known for its spectacular scenery, amazing hiking and snowsports, and adventure sports galore...

But it is the people who truly give a place its character. There is a rich culture to dive into and experience in Aotearoa, the Polynesian culture of the Maori people. It is based on family, respect, and stewardship. It means that your home is always open for guests, and the gifts that we all have for each other if we take the time to hear each other's stories and connect. It means taking care of each other, and of the land that will take care of us.

This competition is an avenue for me to contribute. If I win the job of exploring New Zealand for 3 months, in addition to exploring and enjoying all the adventures that EntirelyKiwi has in store, I want to incorporate the cultural and Maori perspective in my blogging and reporting. Here's why:

I am born and raised in Hawaii, but am not of Polynesian decent. However, my experience of growing up with Hawaiian culture is all I know ...I dont know much about the Irish, Scottish, or Filipino cultures that comprise my ethnicity, so I feel closest to Hawaiian culture - especially, the Aloha Spirit. Our hearts and homes are always open to family, and once we are friends then you become extended family... I don't know any other way.

I've spent the last 10 years living in Hawaii, though living in an office in pursuit of the almighty dollar... missing out on so much of the beauty that surrounded me each day. I am blessed that I've been given the opportunity to re-evaluate my life's priorities, and explore how best to pursue my passion & creativity to live a happy & fulfilled life of creation and contribution.

MY FIRST PADDLE IN A 6-MAN OUTRIGGER CANOE:

AN 'EASY 10 KM CRUISE' IN LAKE ROTO ITI

So I have to come halfway around the world to learn more about the Polynesian culture I grew up around. I had to go all the way to Rotorua for my first WAKAAMA [outrigger canoe paddling] experience! Go figure...

My hope is that by sharing my own journeys, explorations and education about Maori culture, I will help to bridge that gap of understanding between western and indigenous cultures.

All this talk of Eco-Tourisn and Sustainability and Transition Towns and Permaculture and Slow Movements... it's all there in indigenous culture. The modern world is finally realizing that basic fundamentals like being good stewards of the resources we are blessed with, looking after your neighbours, and connecting with our fellow human beings are what is truly important - there is so much to learn from indigenous cultures.

Please take a moment to click FOLLOW, and come along with me on this journey of adventure and discovery!

WAKAAMA RACE AT TAURANGA

# # #

Kia Ora from Wellington

Theme Songs for the Day:

1. "One Love", Bob Marley and the Wailers
2. "Aotearoa Aroha", by Diwata Tribe
3. "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. 

farewell Melbourne, hello Sydney!

Theme Song of the Day:

1. "On the Road Again", by Willie Nelson...oldie but a goodie [what, me cliche'd?]

FAREWELL FLINDERS ST

The road trip up to Sydney feels like the first “real” travel I’ve done since embarking on the GreenBackpack’s adventures. Tassie was fantastic, though at the end of that trip I returned to the nest - Melbourne is a very safe space for me, especially when allowing myself to be embraced by the warm cocoon that is my parents’ house.

I was in shape when I arrived in Melbourne, but six weeks of Melbourne lattes, good Aussie beer, and Mum’s cooking has given me a slight pot belly and atrophied my climbing muscles. In fact I no longer have any climbing muscles and will start again at square one if I am ever to be any good at the sport.

There is so much I want to do in Sydney:
➢ Interview Greendrinks Organizers
➢ Interview Flashmobs Mob
➢ Tango Lessons?
➢ Read Mitchener's “The Source”
➢ Read McDonough's “Cradle to Cradle”
➢ Purchase Tent
➢ Purchase Camera
➢ Purchase Camping Stove
➢ Purchase Battery
➢ Solo Camping Trip
➢ Fish off the Rocks
➢ ESL Certification
➢ Copenhagen Brainstorming
➢ Contact Denmark Artist
➢ Rockclimbing Gym x10? x5 mebbe…
➢ Write Every Day
➢ Work Out Every Day
➢ Book Tickets for QLD, NZ, and Japan legs of the journey

WHAT, ME CLICHE'D?

# # #

What's Bothering My Green Conscience?

Theme Song of the Day:

1. "The Cold Acre", by Augie March - great video clip too!

WHAT'S BOTHERING MY GREEN CONSCIENCE?

There has been something gnawing at me for some time now. Here’s what’s been bothering my green Conscience: ever since discovering Canadian Artist Franke James' blog in the Twitterverse:

Sustainability, that buzz word that is so popular now, is often thought of in terms of green; that is, relating to environmental sustainability and the pressing need for better stewardship of our planet. I’ve dubbed my blog theGreenBackpack for just that reason: it represents the sustainable themes I am exploring through my travels.

But the very icon which I have chosen to represent my travels is made of nylon, in a Vietnamese factory [which granted, supports fair trade practices], but is shipped on an oil-guzzling tanker halfway around the world to a discreet shopfront in Melbourne’s northern suburbs.

The plane I have ridden to reach this part of the world has spewed, and will continue to spew tonnes of greenhouse gases into the air during its manufacturing, use, and maintenance of its useful life.

The campervan I have been driving, with its greedy petrol tank and noxious rubber steel radials rolling over oil-based blacktop for endless miles are the epitome of the fossil-fuel-consuming-and-carbon-producing-based technologies that are harming our planet.

The houses I stay in, the food supplies, the synthetic outdoors clothes and thermals, even the boots on my feet have been built with more attention given to the economic profitability than with long-term sustainability in mind.

The Bedfords, whom I have just spent 4 days living and sharing with, embody one form of embracing a more sustainable lifestyle: their choice to move into the mountains and live as far off the grid as possible was born more out of a bid to maintain their sanity, and health, than out of a burning desire to save the planet.

It takes a special kind of courage to go completely against conventional wisdom and take a stand for what you believe in: in their case, that their family’s health and happiness was more important than any material possessions could bring.

They have personal experience of the stress, anxiety, and gnawing sense of discontent that a life based on consumption and accumulation will breed... and by focusing on creating experiences and memories, raising their children surrounded by wild bushland, homeschooling and gardening and building with their own hands, hiking the Himalayas with the children and instilling a sense of curiosity, resourcefulness, and adventure ...lay a strong foundation for living the kind of life - of pursuing their passions - that others will write books about.

But even in the Bedford’s house - which out of necessity has been built with efficiency of resources as its topmost priority - sits toilet paper that is likely made from old-growth forest wood.

Who is going to give up using toilet paper in order to save the planet?

How then can I claim to be exploring sustainability, when the very act of my travels are contributing to the problem at hand?

It seems that the more I raise my awareness about sustainability – reading ingredient labels, purchasing local produce, paying the premium for organic and fair trade produce, measuring my carbon footprint so that I can effectively offset them, seeking out others who are embracing and leading the way in the movement towards a sustainable lifestyle – the more overwhelming the odds seem.

Why is it that a pound of locally caught wild prawns are three times the price of a pound of farm-raised prawns frozen and shipped over from Thailand? And why are bananas grown and shipped in from Eucador cheaper than bananas grown right in our backyards?

What good is it to change my lightbulbs when the all-consuming, never-ending-growth-in-the-name-of-progress fundamentals of our society continue unrestrained? There are corporations out there whose environmental impact exceeds that of entire countries – what chance do we have against the ‘wrath of God’ kind of money they control?

"He who has the gold, makes the rules."
-The Golden Rule-

Can we really make a difference?

I believe so.

Sustainability is about so much more than saving the environment... it is about all the juicy things that make up this experience we call LIFE.

It is about community, and connecting...

It is about Arts, Music, and Culture.

It is understanding that there is more than enough to go around.

It is about becoming good stewards of the financial, enviornmental, social, and spiritual resources that surround us - rather than 'owners' or 'conquistadors' of the world around us.

It is about serving others: for in doing so, we nurture ourselves, and create a cycle of reciprocity that spirals upwards and onwards ...rather than the downward spiral of decay that a self-serving spirit of scarcity will set in motion.

It is knowing that we are all one family; that when we lash out and hurt another, we are actually hurting ourselves... and that when we lash out and hurt ourselves, we are actually hurting others.

What good is it to save the planet.... if we can't all get along? What good is it to get along....if we destroy the planet that we live on?

It is about playing for the best in the other person, and always seeing another bigger than they see themselves.

It is about leaving the world a better place for you having walked upon it.

It is about pursuing what makes your heart happy and your soul sing...

GOOD TIMES WITH FAMILY
AT LYNCH'S RESTAURANT IN MELBOURNE

It is about sharing and enjoying the resources we have been blessed with... the simple things in life: good food, good people, and great conversation.

...And so I will continue to wander the planet, in search of people, places, and projects [and do my best to minimize my impact along the way]...
...that are making a positive difference in our world.

So that I too, can do my part to make a positive difference in our world.


Question of the Day: What's Bothering Your Green Conscience?

# # #

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

Theme Song for the Day:

1. "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.

The conversation on the road back was rich. There is nothing better than a road disappearing under you and a good soundtrack to facilitate reflection, sharing, and some good laughs.

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 6 - Wild Beauty

Theme Songs of the Day:

1. "First Dy of My Life", by Bright Eyes
2. "Burn One Down", by Ben Harper
3. "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

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BEDFORD'S BACKYARD

RIVER CROSSING

THE CANADIAN


CHILLIN' ON THE STONE BENCH


AOBA [TOKYO GIRL] CONTEMPLATES NATURE


ROASTING HAZLENUTS


BLISS

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Tasmania: Day 5 - In Search of Sushi

Theme Songs of the Day:

1. “Fire Coming Down the Mountain”, by The Gorillaz, live in Harlem with Dennis Hoper
   
2. “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




# # #

Duelling With Devils

Theme Songs of the Day:

1. "Paper Aeroplanes", by Angus & Julia Stone
2. "Only Love Can Break Your Heart", by Neil Young
3. "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:

1. "Why??"
2. "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.

# # #