After a little research, I was surprised to discover that I
could fly to Australia for just over $100 on Air Malaysia from Kuala Lampur.
The fact that an Air Malaysian flight had just disappeared in the South Indian
Ocean may have had something to do with the low cost. Since I wasn’t paying for
accommodations except buying food and supplies to share with my adoptive family
at the Bangkok Democratic Reform protests, I slowly made enough by busking to
take a train to Malaysia and fly from there to Oz.
Western Australia is
one of the most affluent regions in the world, and also one of the most
expensive. Perth is notoriously more costly than even New York or Paris, but I
figured it would beat roaming the streets of Bangkok by a long shot. Stepping
off the plane I had no idea where I was going to stay, knew no one in the area,
and barely had the resources to buy a hamburger, let alone pay for a place to
sleep. I was unable to procure a working visa, as my arrival was so spontanious. It’s
amazing they let me into the country at all.
The customs lady looked down her nose at me and my violin in
its battered case and asked me if I planned on busking.
“Naw, of course not, it’s just for jamming and such.”
I took a bus to Freemantle, slept on the beach and the next
day pulled out my violin and played away for much of the day outside an outdoor
goods store. In a matter of hours I made more than I would in a solid week in
Bangkok.
And so over the following couple months I played in the
streets of Australia, and slept on her beaches (always expecting to get woken
up by a poisonous spider or snake) until I met a lady who was kind enough to
let me stay in her shop. The hospitality of many people in Australia (and the
rest of the world for that matter) gives one hope for humanity.
Of course, there was plenty of hostility. In the US, there
is a subculture of vagabonds and gypsies, and in most places one can take
refuge from all the hate and judgment by seeking companionship with fellow
travelers. There are plenty of crusty shitheads and bums out there, but there’s
lots of interesting, intelligent folk who choose a simpler way of life as well.
What you don’t hear about life on the streets is the kindness from one traveler
to another, folks who would literally give you the shirt off their back.
I find it quite interesting that many people who take so much
pride in accepting all manner of people, of different backgrounds,
ethniticities and sexual orientations, kick dirt in the face of the homeless.
After all, not everyone sitting on the sidewalk is there due to laziness or
drinking too much mouthwash.
In my antipodal travels, I didn’t find many others living
the same way. Plenty of backpackers, but they would stay each night in a cozy
hostel, and dine at upscale restaurants and bars. You either had money, or you
were a bum. I was saving every dime I could to get home, and hostels were out
of the question.
Anyway, I experienced a very different side of down under
until I had the opportunity to join the latest
sailing delivery from Hawaii to Washington (crossing #5 with my friend Brian
Calwell), which brought me back home.
I’m now in a very different part of the commonwealth,
anchored out off of Nanaimo on the south coast of British Columbia. I’m a
relatively short sail from Desolation Sound, one of the most beautiful cruising
grounds in the world. I’ve lived for the past nine days of leftover canned food
from my last Pacific crossing, my speakers, depth sounder, GPS and various other
electronics on the boat need repair, and I’m more content than I’ve been in
ages. From here I sail north.
How far? That is up to the wind.
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