wanderings of a wonderer and vice-versa.

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Tue, 20 Mar 2012 09:04:11 +1100

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Wed, 25 Jan 2012 08:31:37 +1100

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Mon, 05 Dec 2011 05:50:30 +1100

Фотограф, George Rustchev

Mon, 05 Sep 2011 03:31:29 +1000

Фотограф, George Rustchev

Because I enjoy a nice date;

Wed, 24 Aug 2011 05:27:00 +1000

I’ve decided that starting one’s day by reading the paper is as pleasant as waking up every morning to a symphony of your beloved’s bodily noises as they blatantly scratch their behind, grunt and roll over onto the most comfortable arc of their beer gut.

I’d much rather my world begin with intrigue and subtlety, then ever so slowly reveal its flaws as the day rolls on. You know, a day that wines and dines me a little.

My proposed solution? News delivery via attractive maidens and/or suited gentlemen, each hired to hand out gloom-sequential newspaper pages, accompanying treats and sporadic embraces throughout one’s day.

I will write to The Sun accordingly.

Knowing that this may be my ceiling in just a few weeks makes my...

Mon, 22 Aug 2011 07:54:00 +1000

Knowing that this may be my ceiling in just a few weeks makes my stomach do cartwheels. Tromso, can’t wait to meet you.

afternoonsnoozebutton: Stop following me!

Wed, 16 Mar 2011 09:49:18 +1100

afternoonsnoozebutton:

Stop following me!

gif of the day: Rabbit's revenge

Wed, 16 Mar 2011 09:47:45 +1100

afternoonsnoozebutton:

The Unmoving Part of Travel

Thu, 30 Dec 2010 12:41:00 +1100

I transport myself back one month ago today. I am in Seville, standing at a bus stop as normally as I used to wait for the 409 to school, my backpack just super-sized; the creased leaves of its textbooks now replaced with the entwined ball of sleeves and leggings moulded into it over many a rushed exit. Its pockets are still stuffed with artsy fartsy cafe postcards, only- one is in Deutsch, the other in Français, and the rest in Español. I am smiling at the ground. The last two months manage to squeeze themselves into minutes, and the polaroids of rivers, lanes, buildings, market stalls, bars, restaurants, hostels and mostly, people’s faces, ebb along with the traffic. I feel my feet touch the ground and almost need to stop myself from smiling out loud (SOL-ing?) when I remember I’m finally here, in that big old Europe place, and ever so much more finally, here, in the South of Spain.

—-

That was the last day of my first significant bout of independent travel. The last few hours before I found myself flown back to London, where the degree dropped twenty times and my backpack and I sat in the corner of a living room giving each other acknowledging looks of social awkwardness as we quietly observed the chatter between close friends.

It was strange. Despite my warm reception, I couldn’t shake the gloom that crept over me. As if the frost had found secret pores in which to infiltrate my emotional senses. The nomadic fire was snuffed. It really did feel like I had just been whisked back to Kansas. I knew I had to snap out of it. I made an effort to insert myself back into society. I spoke. I laughed. I ate dinner. I slept. But the hunger for my humble version of Oz was incessant.

—-

It’s funny how inconsistently time and capacity work.

Here I sit, a month later and my memory to day ratio has decreased dramatically. No longer do I rush out in hopes to not waste the hours I could be using to see this and this (and God forbid I miss THAT) like a freshly painted machine, programmed solely to See and Do and Savour.

Instead, I lurk around a house that is not my own, hiding from the cold and forming an addiction to Friends’ Walls. I scroll routinely through the same handful of jobs on the Internet that the Christmas period cares to offer. I am tormented by a chest infection which has decided to take over my will to function physically not to mention ability to speak. I’m experiencing real, heart-wrenching homesickness for the first time. I’m like a cold little vegetable.

Kris the Frozen Broccoli.

What does one call this half-arsed state of mine? It’s not travelling, though I’m overseas. It’s not living abroad, because I haven’t set up my life here yet. I guess upon embarking on this lone adventure I’d prepared myself for many things- stagnancy just wasn’t one of them. I’m coming to accept it as one of those underrated yet essential ingredients in everything good. Like the naked string between two pearls. Or the queue before an awesome funpark ride. Or the break before the crescendo of a classic rock ballad.

All I know is my momentum has been lost for a while now and I need to get it back. So New Year, I ask of you one tiny but vital thing:

Move me again?

And another:

Sat, 18 Dec 2010 06:51:43 +1100

(This was written during a volunteer experience at Wangee Park School with my lovely friend Mimz)

Humans are always seeking or anticipating the discovery of worlds different to this one. Earth, the wee ball on which we scurry to bus-stops, push along red-handled supermarket trolleys, shatter a cumulative amount of glassware during evening celebrations, has apparently been figured out enough to go cultivate our curiosity elsewhere.

***

I have been spun around this last year. The spinning had me sent to a pretty far-off land (namely, South America) where I was spun even more and returned to my point of origin where I now remain- still accelerating with fair rapidity, yet unable to move off this here dot on the planet. Yet again. But this two hundred billionth return to inertia isn’t my point this time round. (A friend’s ear is a much better receptacle for whinings of the sort; their words- e.g. “Ah shut up Kris, quit thinking too much and do something about it..”- better balm.)

No- it’s more like: the spinning, the 360-degree rotations, have allowed me to look at our little ball in these cool, new angles. And now I’ve in fact stumbled upon an array of other worlds that happen to be revolving on this one right here. Alls I had to do was stand on my head a bit to see them properly.

One of these newly discovered planets is called Zahra. It takes the form of a little girl, usually situated under pretty hairclips and directly behind a grin bearing the power to weaken knees at first sight. The world of Zahra is a unique one to say the least. If I were to participate in a Zahra-based university trivia night for instance, it’d probably go something like:

Q: What do we use to walk around?
A: Wheels!

Q: What do we need to eat our meals?
A: A spoon or a fork… and a pair of hands to hold them up to my mouth for me!

And so on- each answer like a heavy stamp, drowning the world in dark, blue ink. But planet Zahra herself seems to not feel so much the predicament she’s in. Never have I had the pleasure of experiencing such hearty laughs coming out of nowhere. Such sparkly eyes- smiling eyes. Such mysterious, wonderful joy dancing on a foggy moor of unfair disadvantages. It brightens my day & my soul so much to be the recipient of her surprises. I wonder at the fact that she too must have some special kind of perspective… on mine and other worlds. (and from the looks of things, she must find us hilarious!)

***

I’m not certain, but I think, really think, that I’m developing some kind of explorer’s syndrome. Of worlds within our world such as what I’ve mentioned here. I want to surround myself with these good & amazing people that have now proven themselves to exist. My experience, though I’ve thus far only dabbled, has shown that most in turn gather their strength & spirit through the good & amazing people around them. It’s just like this. People need people. Each person has something to give and receive. There are never too few people to assist nor too many that need assistance. The problem is that most have the whole action down as being complicated, when it’s just so simple and intrinsic.

At the school, I’m constantly thanked for giving up some of my free time to be there- I don’t believe they believe that the pleasure really is all mine.

Another vintage post:

Sat, 18 Dec 2010 06:42:46 +1100

Desconocidos que esperan en la misma habitacion.

During my clumsy attempts to assemble sentences in español, I take account of the process itself- not linear, not sequential. Adjectives and pronouns consult their neighbouring nouns in order to define themselves. A statement’s meaning has the ability to be altered by one conjugation. An occasion of ambiguity is solved by the addition of one indirect object, and so on…

The words may situate themselves beside each other all they like. But if they do want to make any kind of sense, they’ll need to communicate. They’ll need to know, and understand, and rely on each other for coherency’s sake. If they can’t, then the union is pointless.

If they can’t, then they’re just a bunch of words.

Or strangers, waiting in the same room.

Just came across this old entry I wrote 4 years ago. Sticking it here so I don't forget.

Sat, 18 Dec 2010 06:36:00 +1100

Things work in a funny little, upside-down, topsy turvy kind of way.

Here I sit again. In the same place, on the main pivot point in my life, at the very beginning.

Now the funny part is that this constant return to my now tattered start position is NOT the result of a 2-way yo-yo like existence (thank GOD), but moreso that of a loopy, spirographical existence I now think I’m destined to lead.

I’ve a feeling my life has gone & decided that to get to the place it wants to be, it must confuse the hell out of everything in it’s path by doing a strange kind of repetitious dance. By creating this kind of diversion, then and only then will it get by unscathed. It is so dizzying a dance, I fear in the end even I won’t realise we are finally sitting upon my very own dreams. My life and I.

So let me look back to this time last year, which I never usually like to do by the way, but in this instance that time happened to become the one of my life. We (my life and I) had been swept to the ridiculously beautiful land of Peru. At the time, it was actually a pure unintention. We were supposed to find ourselves in Cambodia but didn’t due to some awful reason like the fear of Bird flu or terrorism.. or affordability.

But as they always tell me, everything happens for a reason daughter. OK, as my mum always tells me. And there is something about that country, and everything in it that just adheres to me. With it I felt and feel a strange familiarity, comfort, connection. I was as foreign to it as one could get, but on the trip I found my arrival and departure senses had switched around to make me feel like I was returning home for a teasing while then leaving it again much too soon and for a depressingly long period of time. Of course, we’d made the loveliest new associations there so this isn’t anything too surprising.

However, even prior to the trip, when Peru didn’t occupy my dreams or my mind and was just a slab in the atlas I’d have probably liked to check out one day, there were subtle references to the place. I recall now that I’d used it as my literal escape country without even knowing it. “If only I could crawl into a log and roll myself to Peru in it.”- is what I’d say. Furthermore my entire life since I can remember I’d have people question my cultural background, and ask me if I was a myriad of things, but especially Peruvian. This is how I got to sound learned in my early years by correcting people when they’d refer to something like a Peruan or Perusian. “I think you mean Peruvian.” “No, I mean Peruan. What the hell’s a Peruvian?”

My point to all this?

Well everything, these recent significant events in my life, and the past littler moments I didn’t pay much attention to previously have led me to conclude: There is something I have to do in Peru. This is it. And I don’t mean I’ve gotta go back and visit a friend or eat more than 3 bites of a guinea pig or make up for missing the Inca trail (though I do plan to do all 3 on the way). I mean, there is something we (my life and I) are supposed to go and do and perhaps establish there.

The dream we’re approaching via this circular dance waits for us in Peru. I know this now. My visit last year allowed me to see it. Of course, interpretations of what we see are usually pretty bodged up. So here I went thinking I’m supposed to be there right this instant. I fell carelessly in love, with yes- Peru, and also- a boy. As a result, 2006 was spent physically here in Sydney but completely neglecting that fact.

My mind spent it craning its neck to peek at the lush, magnificent mountains I missed, the beautiful, heart-wrenching people I missed, the everything I’d missed in my world that I’d suddenly found hiding over there across an ocean. The impracticality of wanting nothing but to be back there wasn’t near enough to overrule the minty-green energy breathed into me by this newfound careless love. However, no matter how fresh these sensations were, they were just that- sensations.

Reality is such that life itself cannot be constructed on feelings alone. The feelings are what turn it into an artwork, a masterpiece- yes. But without the practicality- that’s all it is. Life becomes naught but an idealistic vision on a piece of canvas. It took having one and not the other to realise that to be truly happy in a realistic sense, I’ll need both.

I need to get myself to a situation where I’m not sacrificing all I have, all my priveleges, all my world as it stands, for my adventure-savouring appetite. I need to stay put for a while, build my foundation here, refine and be content with myself before I get out there and do my piece for the world. Discover myself before it, in a way.

I do have somewhat scary, actually feasible big-as plans for what I eventually want to do over there in my faraway second home. Recognising them makes me understand further why I have to keep my feet on the ground first. Complying with what I understand gives proof to the fact that this isn’t just a fickle impulse. I have a dream, and it’s not smothered with clouds and smokey effects this time ‘round.

I have a dream and it is real and here is where I’m going to document it becoming just that. (and all the stuff in-between too)

Overheard Today

Thu, 04 Nov 2010 06:36:00 +1100

“Bella…” - (creepily muttered) - series of Italian men on street

“Ain’t No Sunshine When She’s Gone” - A song played continuously at every TrenItalia station so far; someone must have a big sense of humour during all these wet-weather train delays

“Grash-yas” - Arrogant lady with strong Southern accent to Italian lady at counter (this sort of made my day)

“Look how big the sea is!” - Little girl on train from Cinque Terre (this actually made it)

People-grazing, 1 (Amsterdam)

Thu, 21 Oct 2010 10:13:00 +1100

“Cool, you’ve been everywhere I’m going- I must pick your brain!”.

He froze, hand mid-locker, and gave me a look of alarmed perplexity that could have very well been accompanied by a- “What is this you want to do with my brain?!”

He was a tall Israeli guy wearing one of those furry-flapped hats he’d bought to equip himself for the ever-encroaching chill, or so he explained when I told him I liked his hat. At first encounter, his slight resemblance to Edward Cullen (love him or hate him) would’ve normally deemed him an eye magnet of sorts, but this idea was well stunted by his peculiarly literal way of conversing.

He mentioned Copenhagen.

“Oh! How was that? Unfortunately when I think of Copenhagen I just think of ice cream. You know, cause of the brand. It’s everywhere in Sydney.”

There was an epoch of silence as he absorbed my lightheartedly served statement, fed it into the mental processor encased within his fur hat, sent it to Google, had it audited for validity and then stamped in red till he finally came out with a:

“But I did not see that much ice-cream in Copenhagen?”

Followed by a:

“I think Italy is more known for its gelato, no?”

The last I saw of him (and his hat) was at the hostel bar eagerly buying 5 euro fish and chips. The other dorm-mates and I had invited him out but he’d replied very matter-of-factly that he was going to have some fish and chips, and that they were 5 euro.

Things learnt from this people-graze:

- There are two extra straps on my sadistic backpack which when adjusted make it much less sadistic. I was horribly unaware of these and my shoulders will be forever thankful for his pointing them out.

- Free walking tours are actually worth it. Without his tip I wouldn’t have been aware of the one I took yesterday, wouldn’t have scored free cheese, and wouldn’t have known they have ones like these in almost every country I’m going to. (I just hope they all provide free cheese)

- That even more lovelier than exploring the world will be, most definitely, exploring the intriguing little worlds people live in within it.

Menu Perusal

Thu, 21 Oct 2010 10:08:00 +1100

“Oh Praha, I forgot all about you! Berlin to Praha, perhaps. But then, Budapest, we’ll be ever so close and I have this ‘feeling’ in the deeper, whispering regions of my gut that I’ll be a sucker for your refreshing eastern flair. And then comes that damn sexy beast of a Croatian coast which by then, will have me so off-track that I wonder, Praha and co, if we should meet later on when I don’t have to rush off to those western friends of yours too quickly. So, you know, we can hang.”

This has been my muted dialog for the last hour or so as I sit backwards on an InterCity train from Amsterdam Centraal to Berlin Hbf, my Eurail map sprawled over my lap like a stiffened, large-sized serviette, and KrismeldasTotallyEpicItinerary.xlsx open before me, the cursor tapping its feet as it awaits my next order from this week’s international buffet.

Here lies the beauty of choosing to travel Europe by train.

Admittedly, there is that unavoidable pre-transit chaos: waking up to mind-jogging vodka breath and a frantic packing session to make checkout time, running from symbol to screen then finally to information aka ‘I know you tried but yes, you are definitely still a tourist’ desk, that crazy platform-hopping game, squeezing through ‘elbow pinball machine’ aisles and then finally releasing oneself of that merciless baggage to melt into one’s temporary haven of respite.

But it’s from this point on where there’s no denying the pleasure that is being swept from plot to plot across lush, cattle-ridden pastures whilst trying to pick what country you sort of feel like next.

Meanwhile, in the same way I sometimes pass St Peters station back at home and only realise once I hit Sydenham, I believe I’m suddenly in Germany. Guten tag! Yep, this is all still such a trip.

Video

Sun, 15 Aug 2010 19:29:07 +1000

nickholmes: Spectators - occur in nature.

Sat, 07 Aug 2010 17:50:37 +1000

nickholmes:

Spectators - occur in nature.

Brainbow.

Wed, 28 Jul 2010 18:48:27 +1000

One morning this week I managed to be the girl that was, but not.

I slumped into my train-seat without knowing how I got there. I emptied a coffee cup without recollection of lifting it to my lips. I stared intently out the window seeing nothing but floating contemplations against an urban stream of white noise.

Upon a very short-lived return to entirety, I realised the canvas of my ruminations was actually a large rainbow that had followed my illusive journey since I’d boarded the train. I apologetically took a photograph to make up for my ignorance, after which, funnily enough, the rainbow adhered itself to the running stream and disappeared from sight.

The timing was suspect and if it wasn’t for the evidence, I would’ve wondered if it was just like me that morning: the rainbow that was, but not.

Ólöf Arnalds - Klara

Tue, 20 Jul 2010 11:12:25 +1000

Ólöf Arnalds - Klara

I'm moving all my shit over.

Mon, 14 Jun 2010 22:41:00 +1000

Because I’m finally putting an end to that abusive and retrospectively bizarre relationship I’ve had with ‘walls’ of late. Anyway, if I had to be a socially-fed victim, I’d rather it be with a sane two at max. Also, consolidation is nice.