Home is Where Your Heart Beats Best

As of late, I've been further pondering the meaning, purpose, place and work involved with this concept of 'home'. Being an alien in a land that you love like an old friend, it grates on me to constantly have to justify and explain my existence here. "Where are you from?", a constantly fielded question. And I know nobody means any harm by it but it is not a simple answer for me. I come from a place that does not physically exist anymore, as really we all do. The exact geographical location of my early years can be pinned down to the greater DC area but it was really despite the culture I came to consciousness in not because of it that I am the way I am. Why don't we define ourselves by the place we choose to be presently, rather than the place we just happen to come from?

So what is home? Home is where you choose to be, wherever accepts you for all of you, where life is just challenging enough to afford you opportunities to grow but provide enough comfort to catch you when you fall. Sometimes the exploratory process can be scary but by looking, listening, and thinking "What is life really like here?" everyone can truly connect with the world. Home might be the place of your childhood, or somewhere vastly different. How can you know unless you truly think about it? It is suggested that you 'shop around' for big decisions such as purchasing a car or choosing a mate, why not the community in which you reside and contribute? We cling to similarities sometimes when we should be exploring our fantastic differences. How do you learn and grow by only asking questions which you already know the answer to? The best way to learn your way around is to take time to get lost for a little while, say "Yes!" to the unknown, look down a few dark alleys every now and then. The only barriers that exist are those we buy into. I think we should make the time in life to apply this concept to our definition of home. The world is too big and wonderful a place to just settle for what's handed to you.

So to all the past and future probers of the question,"Where is home?"I say, "I am here now! Happily, contently, serenely here now. And for the first time ever in my adult life, I have no plans to go anywhere else anytime soon*." That's why I think I am home.

(*I will keep traveling at every possible opportunity but now I will have a place to be excited to return back to time and again.)

The Charm of the Cham Lands & Triumphs of Minor Medical Emergencies (Vietnam Part II)

So I've been sitting on the stories contained in the latter half of this quick trip to Vietnam I took back in September/October. A lot has happened since then and the triumphs and micro-dramas entwined with these memories seem so incredibly petty, I wonder if they are even worth writing about. But a little voice in the back of my mind, and a number of friends, tell me they are. So here it goes, in no particular order.

Flying into DeNang airport on that sunny Tuesday morning, I knew I was going to have some ignorant American moments but I had no idea how personally it was going to affect me. The airport was fresh and shiny but you couldn't help but notice the vast expanse of abandoned hangers and grown over air strips directly adjacent. As I hopped in a cab with some of my fellow classmates and the vastly knowledgable John Bell, we proceeded to be graced with a local history tour. The vacant air base and miles of half demolished homes studded the landscape in stark contrast with the beachside resorts, villas, golf course, and high rise hotels. It served as a strong visual reminder that what bombs, guns, and nepalm did not accomplish, the promise of a slice of western oppulance did in a big way.

I knew the war museum in DeNang was going to be a somber experience, I was not prepared to feel such a well of emotions as I viewed gruesome photos and artifacts telling tales from beyond the brink of humanity. It made me feel ashamed and angry all at once. Many of the pictures featured dead, or captured U.S. soldiers. These are young men of my parents' generation, sent overseas to die for a cause they likely didn't understand or believe in. There is nothing productive about war. However, as the trip progressed and we met some local tourism entrepreneurs, it became apparent that the positive cultural influence of numerous military presences of this place are now inseparably part of the heritage. The French influenced architecture is one of the draws to little Hoi An, after all. And on a more personal note, I think the crude, simple charm of somewhere like Hoa's Place in China Beach is invigorating and cherish any opportunity to enjoy delicious French pastries, even in a town in Vietnam.

The longest day had to be the one in which we toured all day, broke into an abandoned Cham temple, visited the hauntingly beautiful remains of My Son, and finally I was accidently poisoned by a well-meaning vegan couple. While I wasn't too happy about having to miss presentations and vomiting a fair bit in the charming Buddhist monastery, as well as the side of a busy road on the way back to town, I did not go into anaphylaxis so I consider it a positive outcome. I ate nuts at a temple in Vietnam over an hour away from medical facilities and lived to tell the tale. Maybe Asia isn't as scary as I thought.

Some of my favorite moments were getting lost on the way back to the hotel at night. I was sort of alone but not, so no safety issues. My sense of direction has a whimsical sense of humor, so a few times I found myself in the rice paddies on the edge of town enjoying the concert of frogs and insects that preform most warm evenings despite a pathetic turn out audience-wise. Sometimes the sky would spontaneously open up to a deluge and you'd get to skip home in the soggy tropical streets looking like you just jumped in the pool. On dry nights, you could just jump in the pool for the same effect.

The day after all the fieldwork was completed, I went kayaking on the local river with a classmate, the guy who's wife accidentally poisoned me, and one of the lecturers. It didn't occur to me that I'd be the only girl to join this activity. The 'boat launch' spot was a little family house located on the riverbank, rustic but very inviting and homey. We trudged through knee deep bank mud to get our boats into the river then paddled up river for about an hour and a half. My scrawny, out of shape, nerd arms couldn't really keep up with the other three guys so I enjoyed the solitude and surroundings as I kept pace a few meters behind. Eventually our 'guide' decided to drop back and keep me company. It was lovely conversation so long as we stayed away from the whole vegan issue. Apparently there's a monastery in Hue where I can go to live off rice and spices and meditate my body out of being allergic to foods. While that sounds great to my optimistic idealist side, my practical side is screaming "Bad Idea!!!". Alas, the time and money for such journeys are luxuries I have given up for now. So you win practical side....this time.

After concluding the educational and athletic pursuit that was paddling, we were all invited to join the family (remember this was at a house...oh yes, on a Sunday no less) for a beautiful lunch. This meal featured a variety of fresh catch straight from the river we were sitting atop as well as heaps of local greens wrapped up in spring rolls. Then there was a 'rice wine' served out of a repurposed Johnny Walker bottle. Grandpa and Uncle were fond of the hooch and keen to share. They found it highly amusing that I was infrequent to refuse the next shot....and there were many. These were clear spirits to singe your throat and cleanse your memory. It did just that. Despite massive language barriers, the feast and festivities continued for a few hours..so I'm told. But for me it was more of a cut to next scene situation. That next scene being one of my other classmates coming to check on me and make sure I didn't miss my train to Ho Chi Min. It was perfect timing, I made the train and slowly one of the worst hangovers of my life set in on a hot, smelly, crowded train ride lasting just over 17 hours. I had some fun on this journey, playing with the kids sharing my sleeping car and making friends with a few locals on the train that could speak some English.

Most of the rest of the trip was fairly uneventful but enjoyable. I look forward to time and resources in the future to properly experience this corner of the world. Thank you to all who made this brief adventure fun, mostly safe, and highly educational.

Growing Upward and Onward: A Pseudo-Vietnamese Experience (Part I)

I ate nuts in a rural Buddhist monastery and took a romantic late night stroll through deserted historic Hanoi with an entrancing Baltic wildman...and survived to tell the tales. Well, some of them. Maybe it was my complete lack of expectations, maybe thats just Vietnam but I could never have predicted these highlights. It really goes to show you, the best things in life you never see coming. So just sit back and enjoy the ride.

Have you ever really pondered airports? I have, and they are amazing. Airports are the real-life time and space travel vortices! They are filled with people in motion; figuratively and literally, dozens of languages, cultures, and perspectives. They are the modern day port towns, only with a synthesized base layer of constructed consumer productivity. Almost every one has at least a few corporate logos to remind you of home and probably even salty-sweet comfort of fast food indulgences. These are the locations of anticipation and fresh memory relapse of almost every new excursion these days. Here resides a community of inbetweeners; processing excitement, anxiety, decompression, and giving up comforts of 'home' for something else. With this in mind, I set aside the frustration of two nights in a row of red-eyes and don my best smile and gear up the inquisitive mind for what's head. More questions than answers, that's how I like it.

On the cusp of this next step, or leap as it may be and hurdles lie ahead of me that, like always, I haven't even begun to think about. All I can see from this point are days above 25 degrees and nights filled with broken English in back ally bars. It's dawning on me, yes I am a student for the technicalities, but I already am a travel specialist in my own right, an informal facilitator of excursions into the unknown. Like a horse to water, people will drink up when they're thirsty... and we live in a world that's drying up. Gazing out my window at the over-wing shadow, my eyes relax, look at the big picture and realize my old friend Orion is staring back at me. Nights and days, seasons pass, but even on the other side of the world the stars will always welcome you home.

Today, what did I do to today? I traveled four hours starting at 1:00AM, slept on a bench for two hours, stared down a giant crocodile, fed some little ones, helped six people touch or hold their first ever reptiles, sent my family post cards, walked about 6 kilometers, gave two people directions in a city I'd only just arrived in, and make friends with two very lost, nice Korean backpackers. All in a day in sunny Darwin, I guess. Until next time.

Now, I have been in Hanoi for about seven hours. Found my hotel, being all grown up to me means booking accommodation before arriving at the airport. There is something very important looming over me at this point. I'm not unnecessarily scared of normal things like crocodiles, snakes, spiders, being kidnapped or robbed. These are all things I have experience with and have always come out fine. There is one thing however that I am truly fearful of: death by anaphylaxis. I have always felt that my food allergies pose an overwhelming mental impediment in my life. This trip is largely an exercise in overcoming that barrier. If this trip goes off without incident, in this case hospitalization or death, I will have successfully navigated through one of my life's major hurdles.

If you have never had the pleasure of strolling the streets of historic Hanoi, let me try to paint the picture for you. Beautiful architecture, a plethora of shops, smells, tastes, and sounds, and everything going very fast. Getting anywhere is kind of like a real life game of Frogger; motorbikes everywhere, people eating and drinking on tiny stools, women cooking simple meals, trash burning, dogs patrolling their owner's shops and broken-spirited cats on strings eyeing birds in trees longingly. After two days safely enjoying the urban landscape and a warp-speed looksy at the Heritage listed Ha Long Bay, I reconvene with friendly faces from class at a loud backpackers' hostel on the other side of town. Within less than two hours, I have unknowingly placed that most notorious of little nuts upon my tongue. The crunch and taste translated in my brain to alarm bells meaning "purge now!" I did, took some medication, and was fine. Hurdle one, down.

As the days, and coursework, progressed I had the enlightening pleasure of meeting the wide array of unique lecturers who were so kind as to come to Vietnam and share their experiences and perspectives. The real learning happens, as always, outside the classroom setting. I had the pleasure of spending an afternoon at the Temple of Literature, how fitting, with the esteemed travel journalist and t.v. producer John Bell. He radiates old school, British, academic charm that pairs quite well with an elbow-patched jacket and red converse sneakers, well maybe the red Chucks are a modern twist. We were sufficiently entertained by the odd, ornate, hodgepodge of religious symbols surrounding us. It was quite refreshing to actually be able to discuss a tourist experience while having it. Next, upon the gentleman's suggestion, we were off to sip a cocktail poolside at the Sofitel Metropole Hotel bar. There is something oddly comforting about sitting at one of the fanciest hotel bars in a city, while exchanging crocodile and snake stories from other beautiful and exotic locations. That is precisely what we did. You know what pairs lovely with a gin & tonic: a story about a woman swimming across a known croc-infested lake, getting attacked, losing her arm but still swimming to safety with the one remaining. When you live in Africa for ten years, these things happen.

As this day wound to a close, I found myself sitting on the tiny plastic stools that constitute street-side hospitality at its finest. Twenty five cent beers, over half a dozen different nationalities represented, ages ranging from 14 (not drinking) to over 50, and nothing but flights to catch midday tomorrow all add up to a great evening. About two or three beers into the night, not that we were for want of entertainment, our Estonian comrade whipped out a plastic recorder -yes, recorder...one of those things you might have been forced to learn in primary school music class- and began to delighted us with a mashup of Beatles classics and Baltic folk songs. To say the least, many of us laughed so hard we fell off our stools that night. Luckily, we were only about 5 inches off the ground. The Vietnamese guys especially couldn't stop starring at the giant (he's well over 6 feet tall) Thor look-alike playing the silly, youthful wind instrument. Rarely a dull moment with this crew, and these were mostly the teachers!

Later this same night, people have been retiring to get some sleep and it has boiled down to myself, a colleague 15 or so years my senior, and Mr. Tall, Muscley, and Funny (Pied-piper of Estonia). After a heated discussion of America's role in global perspectives in which I got schooled on being too defensive of my self-perceived 'American problem', we got booted off our present street corner stools and led to a skuzy shisha bar infested with British backpackers. Next thing I knew we were being handed free, super sweet, florescent colored shooters. When in Hanoi... so I danced it up with some Brit chicks for a few songs, let the men-folk talk boy stuff and tried to ignore the lack of quality of the music for as long as possible. As soon as I gave up and rejoined my course mates, my colleague, B, said something and hastily departed. This of course left me and Mr. E standing there surrounded by the stench of booze, backpackers' hormones, and that smell a smoke machine emits before its about to die. It was at this point that I realized we might have a little more than a love of adventurous, outdoorsy things in common. Flash forward, we are walking across the vacant streets of historic Hanoi, not sure exactly why but I gave up on questioning hours ago. After about 20 minutes my heat-swollen feet were blistered and quite painful in my normally reliable croc mary-janes. He started to notice me slowing down and eventually kind of hobbling. This was after we had stopped once a few blocks back for me to pee behind an ATM. I was trying to put on my best 'I'm fine' face but he could see through it. Next thing I know he's sweeping me off my feet into his sizable arms. Yup, literally swept off my feet. We made it a few more serene blocks before I convinced him to put me down. While I appreciated the gesture, I was also fairly embarrassed. This landed us in a cute European-style park complete with little iron benches. Yes, the moon was out and, yes, he put his arm around me as we proceeded to get into another discussion. And that is where I'll leave this part of the story.



*To Be Continued (sorry, I really need some sleep)

This is RP, Now meet BV, The Rest is History

Photo thanks to Luke... I think?

You'd probably never give this odd array of rowdy cats a second glance on the street or train, but add a mic and a stage and its a whole different story. The room might be barely filled but this night in Newcastle is nothing but love. Heads bobbing to a situational soundtrack thats aphrodisiac, education, auditory safety blanket, and all friendship. Kids of all ages desperately seeking flow in a disjointed daily grind unsatiated but awash of hustle with little to no thrills. These are songs to walk across a landscape to, help you through the proverbial dust storms, help you not just look but see those around you for all their bizarre beauty. This is not product to fill a background, something to be consumed sitting down. This is art in motion, pulses of life, all bigger than them who create, them who ingest, that which goes on in between. This is trial and error of talent, balls, and passion boiled down over the last decade in living rooms and late night pubs to create this collective of unique sounds and ideas. These are friends that blur the definition of family and rarely fit into exactly one genre neatly.

Initiation came four years ago upon waking up in a strange bedroom, safe and warm to the sound of some interesting bedroom rap introduced by none other Jake and Elwood Blues. It was just supposed to be another night of hectic music, a few pints, then back to Manly to pass out at daybreak with the ghosts and bandicoots as usual. But plans dissolve and next thing you know you're tragically hungover but accidentally cracked the code of this grossly commercial city. You've found the den of culture; fresh with overspray, surrounded by saxophones and MPCs, and smelling downright funky. You're not going to find beats and rhymes that make your heart expand at Circular Quay. You can't find friends that don't mind if you have a cry in their garden at a hostel bar. The best parts of Sydney aren't for sale, they can only be found down proverbial back allies at the end of that night you've given up on. That's where I started meeting the colorful cast of this Big Village family.

Photo thanks to Kevin..I mean Damon. 

So fast forward to last weekend and I'm chilling in the impromptu artspace that is the roof in beautiful Sydney sun catching up and tossing the footy. It is obvious that the projected departure time was nothing but a nice idea but, after all, this crew IS the show so soundcheck happens when it happens. Shoes optional but step lightly on account of the shards of glass, rusty bottle caps, and watch out for the soft spots. All in good fun, take another sip of luke cold beer and take in a nice long mental picture. Just remember to bring the CDs this time. It's always better when you can actually sell your music.

If I had to summarize the following 48 hours it would have to be something like: boxes, beer, scroot! scroot!...yes scroot (can't really explain), 'another pee break!', soundcheck, hype, 'No you cannot take that hoodie, please give it back', footy in the street, back on road, sleep, wake up, coffee, do it again but this time without sleeping and add one really yummy steak and substitute some penis jokes for a debate on the validity of reality. Next thing I know, Sunday afternoon came way too soon. The mad dash to the airport took about 5 hours including a stop off to randomly visit somebody's kid but I was on the flight as planned, oddly conflicted about what just happened. It was the perfect finale to the past three weeks but why do I always get a little choked up when parting ways with this side of Sydney?

This is the real life embodiment of one of the facets of this illusive Oz that keep me chipping away at the immigration bullshit in order to etch out a home in this gorgeous but unforgiving land. When I throw caution to the wind and find myself facing homeless nights, foodless weekends, or just nocked down by failure I've always been shown a hand by Mute, Smurf, or Billie to name a few. I can't name too many other artists on my ipod that I can say that about.

Photo thanks to Damon

At this point I feel like the music gives more than it gets but as they keep getting more and more Triple J love and touring like crazy, I can see this train gaining some steam. It all goes to show you what can happen when you're nice to everybody, even some seemingly crazy, sloshed dude at a show who tries to bum a cigarette off you then proceeds to tell you he's a rapper.

Thanks a ton to the BV family for an awesome weekend and making great music, art, and energy to keep it all in beautiful perspective :)

*Check out the tunes and videos in the Big Village link to the right of this post.*

Just another Monday in Darwin: My dip in the Cage of Death

It took a little getting used to but once I got comfortable with the feeling of being suspended in a big, plastic cylinder I could start to mentally process the fact that I was mere inches away from a three meter long salt water crocodile. The only thing keeping the peace was about one inch (about 2.5 cm) of plastic, yes plastic, attached to some chains and pulleys. After the first two chickens, Houdini circled me once and initiated a staring contest. I know he was probably sizing me up for taste and tear-ability but all we could do was float there eyes locked in visceral thought. I gazed into this captive prehistoric killing machine's eyes for what felt like five minutes until the next chook on a stick came out. At that point, the sheer size of this reptilian powerhouse's body, tail, legs, head, and jaws were fully comprehended.

It was some of the most perplexing excitement I've ever experienced. While I logically appreciated salties from seeing them in the wild and various zoos, always from afar, now my perception of them will never be the same. I will equate them with the hundreds of pounds of eerily placid creature inches from my face, my hands, my heart looking at me like either a morning snack or just another random intruder but situation regardless, we shared that brief time and space.

He could have put up opposition to my presence or even just ignored me, but he did neither. I did not have the power of the feeding stick and he knew that. Still, he peered into that box with curious intent. I'll take that compliment. Call me crazy, many do, but I say any attention you receive from a massive living dinosaur, that doesn't end in fatalities or limbs lost, is a learning experience worth treasuring.

Leaving on a jetplane...

This is not a holiday, not a sabbatical, and not exactly simply a study tour. In a way it is the natural pace of life for me. New places, people, experiences, and ideas are more vivid in motion. In order to turn up the volume of these next few weeks, I'm leaving the screens at home: no ipod, no laptop, no fancy phone. Its just me & my thoughts in the world. Where in the world? Darwin, Vietnam, Singapore, and a weekend stopover in Newcastle and the Blue Mountains. It's a bit more of a planned adventure than my usual. Maybe that's what 'growing up' means to me.

My lectures in Vietnam are the primary reason for this country hop. Despite the fact that I will probably spend the first few days scared to eat anything, don't speak a word of Vietnamese, and am allergic to the sun now, I have a good feeling about the weeks to come! The unit material is dense but intriguing. Funny to think we are going to one of the backpackers' party havens to have lectures, discussions, then observe them in their 'natural environment' by night. I'm making every attempt possible to not have expectations, but of course that's easier said than done. I expect to get sick at least once, to learn a lot, to write a lot, and hopefully come back in one piece...albeit a slightly different one.

As for the informal education components of this trip, crocs, snakes, many coffees with couchsurfing friends of the future, and who knows maybe even a late night pash out of the blue. On the road, anything is as possible as you let it. That's the perfect entropy of time and space disregarded. Practicing being in the moment, of the moment, and completely with the moment is one of the main objectives of this experience. I have this hankering feeling I've been missing something big but it's still here. I just don't know how to look. Maybe the shift in vantage point will help.


The next time I find myself in a proper bed will be Tuesday in a hostel in Hanoi. The next meal I enjoy will be filled with warm top end sun and anticipation of the cage of death. The next time I see my classmates it will probably be in a hostel bar. The next time I hear familiar beats and rhymes will be live in Newcastle. And the next time I return home to this room, this house, this screen I will be many new places richer and that much closer to whatever it is I'm meant to aspire.

My Own Personal, Impromptu 'Slut Walk'

Last night, well 4 am, as I was cheerfully walking home after a fantastic night of music, dancing friends, and conversation when some guy in a beat up ute (mini pickup truck for my American readers) yelled, "F*#k'n slut" out the window as he drove by. Honestly, it more saddened me than anything. What does this guy hope to achieve from behaviors like that? Why is walking down a street, at any hour, a sluttish behavior? If I lived in a culture that showing your hair or being an unaccompanied female was abhorrent, maybe. But I don't. And frankly, I don't think anybody should. If anything, by the fact that I was walking home alone at 4am on a Saturday morning it was pretty apparent that I would be enjoying my bed solo. Maybe he found that offensive. All I can hope is that bro-charming there and his classy wheels made it home safely but does not have the opportunity to reproduce or raise more little car calling men. It made me think, can we make sperm bank donors pass an etiquette/basic human civility test? If we haven't thoroughly tested if this type of behavior is possibly inherited and not solely learned...it can't hurt. This event didn't make me feel threatened or vulnerable, as this guy was obviously just an idiot who probably shouldn't have been driving and definitely should not have been talking. In some ways he is just as much a victim as any of us for wondering about the world guided by the kind of negative ignorance that leads one to such actions. That can't be pleasant. I only wish there was a look, a song or an image that could tap into every man, and for that matter, every person's emotional memory and remind them of one time when their mother or maternal figure used her feminine strength to make them feel safe, strong, and loved. For the time being, all we can really say is, "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"Or in this situation, "Shut up and drive" would've sufficed.