Byron Bay & Nimbin

We pulled in to Byron Bay and knew immediately that the rumors were true--this town was the love child of hippies and surfers and had no intention of being anything else. Young people everywhere walked around barefoot, dreaded, and mostly naked, showing off tattoos that covered their backs, arms, and bellies. It is impossible to tell locals apart from travelers--everyone is dirty, eating cheaply, and out for a good time. The small town is loaded with kebab stands, dive shops, hostels, tattoo parlors and caravan parks that back right onto the beach. With a few hours left before sunset, we spent two hours walking a flat beach of blue green water, with the Byron Bay lighthouse in view. Early the next morning, we drove out to the lighthouse, a few minutes from where we slept, and greeted the sunrise at Australia's most easternly point. After some more sleep, we went to visit one of Byron's parents--Nimbin, the motherly marijuana loving parent of the pair.

An hour or so inland, Nimbin is set far back down country roads. Just minutes after you leave the coast, you feel like you are in rural Pennsylvania--cows line the roads, green is the predominant color, and cell service is lost. We followed winding roads to Minyon Falls, a mildly impressive falls that took us through tiny towns and further confused our way to Nimbin. Coming from the Falls, finding Nimbin was a challenge considering signs pointed in both directions for the same town. Confusing in the least. We made it there in time to see that the late 1960's still lived a healthy existence in this village town--indeed, it was the same people who lived through that great age of Aquarius that still inhabited the streets of Nimbin. No matter whether they were fifteen or fifty, their offering was the same: marijuana cookies, joints, brownies, hash. They whispered after you, discreetly selling their wares, yet they showed no fear. The main street was full of organic fruit, hemp clothing, and locals spilling out of the only pub in town, as King Farook played their best jam band jams. Women in their sixties swirled in head-to -toe tie-die. Long haired men with babies on their hip and beers in their hand nodded their head with the rest of the folks. The Irishman in charge of our caravan park told us to check out whenever--things were lax here. To say the least...

To see photos of Byron Bay, please click me

Parks a Plenty

The next few days were mostly spent on the road with stops at Blackbutt Reserve in Newcastle, a park boasting walks among gum trees, wild turkeys and peacocks, kangaroos and emus--a truly exciting thing to see all these folks in the wild, just walking around, doing their business. We slept in Taree and Coffs Harbor along the way, each caravan park with its own charms. We finally reached Byron Bay after stops in Solitary Islands Marine Park and Cape Byron Marine Park in Ballina, where the blue green ocean crashed up against gorgeous rocks. It seemed that each beach was more beautiful than the next, pristine and primitive, the way the coast must have looked to the first person who had the honor to lay eyes on it.

A quick note about National Parks and Marine Reserves in OZ: They are everywhere. Seriously. If there are some trees, water falling, coastline, or the possibility to see wildlife or marine life, the Aussies plunk down a few benches and a BBQ and call it a park. It is both and amazing and overwhelming feature of this great country. You pass signs for national parks and reserves more often than you pass rest stops, and while some are well known, others are less traveled and often more beautiful. As a traveler with limited time, you wish you could stop at each and every one, but alas fuel is too expensive and a life time may still be too short to take in all the beauty that Australia has to offer. And we have not even left the east coast yet!

To see photos of Newcastle, Taree, Port Macquarie & Coffs Harbor, please click me

Stairway to Heaven

Our first destination after Sydney was the Blue Mountains. We found a caravan park in Katoomba, a hip little town bordering the Mountains, and settled in for our first night in the van. The sun faded around eight and the cold set in--cold like fleece jacket, sleeping bag, hat, socks, still shivering, cold. Morning was crisp--after some hot coffee, omelets, yogurt, we set off on foot to Katoomba's Great Round Walk. The Walk was four hours of lookouts onto gorges, stunning waterfalls, forests hued in blue, all at the cost of 2,000 stairs...986 down and 988 up. Yes, we counted. We saw the famed Three Sisters, jutting out over the valley, a monument to the aboriginal legend that three women were locked inside the stone, sealed in an eternal search for love.

On our way, we met Koos and Remon, a a blond and brunette duo from the Netherlands, coming to the end of a two month journey. After they took the rail up and out of the gorge and we climbed, step by step, we reunited at the caravan park for hot drinks and dinner. We spent day two in the jungles and waterfalls of Blackheath. Whereas the Great Round Walk was full of people, this trek was harder, less traveled, and more beautiful. We visited a number of lookouts--Govett's Leap, Pulpit Rock, and Wentworth--and reveled in the almost empty jungle like playground of the walk. The trees were unbelievably tall and everything was the green that says it sees water ever day. Little ponds were scattered throughout and fish, iguanas and little crabs made the trek with us. Each day's end finds us in the caravan park with a hot cup of coffee, reclining in our chairs. The four of us sat around til after dark, swapping stories, recipes, and recommendations about where to go and where to skip. After a quick breakfast the next morning, our new Dutch friends headed south and we took the road north.

To see photos of the Blue Mountains, please click me

Stop. Revive. Survive.

In order to pick up the van, we took Sydney's city rail, a well-signed, double decker metro system that seems convenient and relevant, stopping in all areas of the city. Finding the van shop was considerably less easy that navigating the metro, however. The shop, once we found it, appeared inauspicious at least and run down at best. After a lengthy conversation with the Irish mechanic and many trips the free table (strainer, atlas, thermos, can opener, salt, cutting board--i loved the free table), we set out. It sounds like a straight forward endeavor and indeed it was, but we were driving on the left instead of the right.

Oded took the reins first, navigating the bus lanes and turn signs of central Sydney. Left turn into the left lane and right turn into the far lane, windshield wipers where the turn signal should be, left around the rotaries--insanity. Slow and steady wins this race, we concluded, and now that we both have a few long drives under our belts, we are feeling better. Our instincts are still to drive like we are on the road in the States or Israel, but day by day we are becoming lefties.

One thing we noticed quickly is that Australia is serious about safe driving--about every 10 meters there is a sign asking you"how fast are you going?", reminding you of the speed limit, or the favorite, "Stop. Revive. Survive"--perhaps a way to make sure you stay awake behind the wheel, perhaps a strategy to get you to spend time in their fuel stations. And what a place to spend time--the shops at the fuel stations usually include a mini cafe, fresh pastries, coffee, a natural foods aisle, and ice cream galore. Revive indeed.

First stop, Sydney

Despite spending three days in Sydney, we only spent one day actually exploring past the rental avenue of Kings Cross, but with a little looking, we easily found our way to the main show. Just a quick walk from our hostel and we were strolling through Sydney's Botanical Gardens--a huge green space full of birds, ponds, and beautiful trees. The Gardens led straight to the Circular Quay, the Sydney Opera House, and the Harbour Bridge. It was a Sunday and Sydney was outside--walking, jogging, picnicking, meeting for coffee, ice cream , lunch before the opera. The white waves that form the seashell that is the Opera House gleamed in the afternoon sun, showing off each tile and the craftsmanship that went into erecting the massive structure. Along with the Harbour Bridge, the entire view makes it hard not to list Sydney among the world's most beautiful cities. It is reminiscent of Vancouver, San Francisco and even Seattle and the mellowness of the city also matches the feeling of the Pacific Northwest. By sunset we were on the roof of our hostel, barbecuing with Canadians, Kiwis, and even an old timer from the States. Although we left Sydney quickly for the mountains west of Sydney, we'll be back in January.

To see photos of Sydney, please click me

Deluxe Astro Boy II

Oded and I landed in Sydney early on a Saturday morning, fifteen minutes apart on separate flights. We caught a free ride to our hostel in Kings Cross and quickly settled into a few hours of sleep to regulate the jet lag. By noon, we were in and out of car stores, collecting information on buying and renting vans to take us around Australia. Because we are here for OZ's summer and holiday season, all the prices are jacked up beyond what we could have imagined. We emailed, called, looked into relocations, and finally settled on a Wicked camper van, complete with a "kitchen" (pump sink, gas burner, pots, pans, plates, bowls, utensils), chairs, table, and a large area that serves as benches by day and a bed by night. The van itself is automatic and has air con--I am not sure I would survive without either.

The outside of the van is covered in a graffiti version of Astro Boy, a cartoon or character that I am not familiar with. The back of the van proudly states, "We are going into outer space. Next stop..." Please insert the appropriate planet. Here's a hint: It's not Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Saturn, Neptune or Pluto. Classy. This is how I roll...

Opposite Day

In comparison to the last two months, it is like living opposite day over and over again. Remember in elementary school or on long car rides when everything that was normal became opposite? When the sky was green and the grass was blue and school was fun and sleepovers were dreaded? That is what my first day in Australia felt like--like someone declared opposite day somewhere between my takeoff from Bangkok and my landing in Sydney.

Whereas Southeast Asia was long bus rides, private guesthouses, and eating every meal out, Australia is camper vans, crowded dorm rooms, and super market meals made on one gas burner. Southeast Asia was dirty, inexpensive and out to make a buck off the unknowing wanderer at each turn. Australia is clean, expensive and makes no apologies for asking Western prices for Western goods.

The difference in travel styles is profound--we are in control of each step, each turn, each meal. There is much freedom in this kind of traveling, a freedom that will increase when we master driving on the left, buy a few CDs to conquer the bad reception and minimal radio stations, and figure out a cooling system for the ever important dairy items, but at times we definitely miss fresh beer for 30 cents and meals for two dollars. Instead, we have good Australian wine and Tim Tams, clean rest stops with flush toilets, hot showers, and meals made without the southeast Asian spice otherwise known as live ants. I suppose no radio isn't so bad afterall.

The Half Circle

I think the sky is bigger here--a startling blue expanse punctured with puffy, perfect clouds that seem to surround the horizon on all sides. The sun, seemingly closer, rises faster to greet the day and slinks away just as quickly when darkness falls.

Australia is amazing. Not only is the landscape breathtaking, but the towns and cities are clean, well-planned and welcoming. For a country swallowed by England as a means to empty out her jails, Australia is full of the nicest people as a whole that I have yet to come across. If they think you're lost, the pull over to see if you need help. If you are standing on a beautiful beach, they offer to take your photo before you ask. They recommend their favorite national park while waiting in line and they always greet you and leave you with warm tidings, usually including the word mate.

We have been in OZ not even ten days but have worked our way from Sydney to the Blue Mountains and up the east coast to Newcastle, Port Macquarie and Taree. In the north coast of New South Wales, we dropped into Byron Bay, Nimbin and crossed through Tweed Heads and Surfers Paradise on the southern border of Queensland, known for huge waves and an even bigger surfer culture. In the next 60 days we hope to do what is called the Half Circle and follow the coast north to Cairns and West to Darwin, south to Alice Springs and Ayres Rocks, and then follow the Great Ocean Road from Adelaide to Melbourne before returning to Sydney.

Something More

The ghost of parties past runs rampant through the alleys and beaches of Koh Phangan. If Koh Tao is known for diving and early bed times, Koh Phangan is her evil, tie-dyed, tranced out step sister. Though the island was dead while we were there, one does not have to look hard to see the traces of what was and what will be again when the moon grows full later in the month. Started in 1987 as a birthday party and continued on month after month, Koh Phangan, like Goa in India, became home to the wandering fire throwing barefoot children that stumble into South East Asia in search of something more. And this island is set up to receive, full of guest houses, tattoo parlors, and shops bursting with island wear and liquor. The sunlight hours are usually meant for laying on the sand, sleeping off last night's party, and filling yourself full of fruit shakes and fried rice. When the sun goes down, the beach opens for business. Shacks offering buckets full of the alcohol and mixer of your choice line the sand, only to be interrupted by sound systems and DJ boothes. At its height, 30,000 cram the beach dancing, drinking, melting into the music. Trim Thai men twist fire sticks, fearlessly tossing them behind their backs for no more than a whoop from the crowd. When the crowd tires of this spectacle, they set up limbo, every kid's favorite challenge. But alas this limbo stick is on fire and only the drunk or brave dare to bend their bodies below the leaping flames. During the hours when you're not sure whether to sleep, drink, or dance, most local restaurants show daily movies or reruns of Friends and Family Guy.

Since the moon is currently waning before it will wax once again, the island is mellow. Games of beach volleyball still take place every afternoon and the snorkling is amazing if you wake early enough. The water is crystal clear and the days hot as the island waits for the moon.

To see photos of Koh Phangan, please click me

Charlie & The Chocolate Factory

We left Bangkok on a night bus that took us south over many hours. As the sun rose, we boarded a boat to Koh Tao, an island known for diving and partying. By ten am, our journey had landed us again on land but for ten days cement became sand and highways became ocean. We piled into the bed of a pick-up truck and crawled down the beach to the dive resort that would be home for the next four nights.

Ever since I first saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, there are two things that I have always wanted to try in real life. First, I have always wanted fruit embossed wallpaper that tastes like whatever fruit you lick--genius. And the second scene I have wanted to reenact is the one in which Charlie and his uncle, in a moment of conscious rebelliousness, sneak off to sip the unknown liquid in the forbidden room, for in that room they discover a liquid that makes them rise. They sip and stare at each other in disbelief that the wonderful Willy Wonka has created something that does nothing. But within moments they begin to rise and the fun begins. Their adventure comes to a quick halt, though, as they near a fan that threatens to ruin their time. As they near their dangerous demise, they begin to burp and slowly, slowly the drift back down, their breath controlling their descent. This is what I thought of the first time I tipped over backwards off a boat and into an ocean where my breath would control me.

My dive course started just a few hours after we arrived. My instructor was an impossibly hot Swedish girl, dressed in a bikini and a tan. My class was a mix of of Israelis, a pair of Scots, a Dutch guy, a Brit and me the lonely American. We watched many videos, took quizzes, learned about the equipment, buoyancy and of course about the importance of breath. Our first dive was in the pool but by the third day we were suited up to dive in the ocean. It is an insanely surreal experience to jump from a boat, far from land, and knowingly sink yourself twelve meters under water, even strapping weights to your body to make sure you stay down. But alas this whole rig of oxygen and gauges and respirators proves its worth and you breathe underwater. You actually breathe underwater. You breathe as fish swim past and reefs live below. We sat in a circle on the bottom of the ocean and passed test after test--clearing our masks, replacing our respirators, and even following a compass out and back.

On the third of fourth dives in two days, we dove to eighteen meters, the max depth for an open water diver. We dove as a group but were close to many other divers, including Oded, who is an advanced diver and can go to thirty meters. As we neared sixteen meters, I saw a diver not from my group raise his palm with his thumb pressed against his forehead, almost as if he was going to give someone a high-five. We had learned a number of underwater signs over the course, but this one was clear to divers and non-divers alike--SHARK. Five meters ahead of me a bull shark shimmied its way through the water. It was two meters in length and an amazing sight. We also saw clown fish, groupers, and sting rays. With my fourth dive done, I am officially a certified open water diver. Great Barrier Reef, here I come!

As an island, Koh Tao is almost all divers and dive resorts and friends come easily here. We met a Norwegian duo--Martin and Horvald--and I immediately took to Martin. It may have been his jolly nature or his good stories but the cherry red Red Sox hat he donned may also have had something to do with it. We spent a night out with the two of them and two other Norwegian girls, fresh from high school and on an around the world jaunt. I am not sure how it came up but the two girls shared a confirmed Norwegian tradition that sounds like something to see--in the month of May in Norway, all graduating seniors are tasked with not only getting drunk but performing silly tasks that garner badges for them to tack onto even sillier hats that they are required to wear. For example, kiss a policemen and get a police patch. Throughout the month, they sleep in parks, rotaries, friend's backyards. They wear uniforms based on what they studied and apparently laundry is forbidden for the duration of the festivities. After seventeen days, exams commence and this class of Norwegians join the ranks of the country's adults--it's like a Bar Mitzvah on acid minus the Torah portion. We left Koh Tao on a speed boat, having made many new friends and loads of promises to visit and host and dive again soon.

To see photos of Koh Tao, please click me

Lady Boy Town

The plane to Bangkok was forty percent full of Israelis--a truly crazy thing. When you ask locals in Laos, India or Thailand how many people there are in Israel, they say somewhere between fifty to one hundred million. For a country of seven million respectively, they travel a lot. A short plane ride and a few new friends later, we all made our way to the Khao San Road, a vibrating hot mess that is home to all who backpack through Thailand and the rest of South East Asia. Packed with pad thai stands, t-shirt sellers, and young Thai boys who pull off hot pants better than most girls I know, the Khao San Road has all of the comforts of home. All night 7-11s, tailors galore, and every bit of food you could ever crave from calzones to Chunky Monkey. Less of a party than a passing through point, most people look as though they just peeled themselves off the beach. Braided hair and bikini tops pass as uniform here and Hebrew is to be heard everywhere, especially from the stall owners. Food is cheap, accommodation is decent, and there is everything to buy if you are in the market. Aside from the Grand Palace and an art museum, it is not a place to stay too long. It is like a zoo--at first you are amazed to see all the kids out in the wild but as the sun sets, the novelty fades as well. To the islands we go...


To see photos of Bangkok, please click me

Vitamin C--the universal cure

Groggy, dirty and in desperate need of a toothbrush, we made our way from the train to the town of Sapa. After looking through the plethora of guesthouses crowded one corner of town, we ended up at the Queen and up five flights of stairs. As I silently cursed Oded for choosing a room so high up, he climbed the stairs with a quiet confidence. We reached the top and he opened the door to the best room we have yet to stay in. For $6 total a night, we had hot water, a huge room, TV, two comfy chairs and an unending supply of boiled water to make coffee. All of this pales in comparison to the view from our window--mountains that truly deserved the title of royalty, crowned in a fog that was dedicated to cloaking its queen constantly.

We spent the next five days trekking through rice terraces, bamboo forests and local villages. From a distance, the landscape looks like soft green stairs, dotted with smoke stacks and a bevvy of animals from cows, pigs, and ducks to your run of the mill cats and dogs. When we were young, Jason and I used to play a game--we padded the bottom of the stairs with as many blankets as possible and then one at a time, jumped in the laundry basket and sledded down the stairs into the cloth mountain we had created. This terraces looks, from afar, the perfect testing ground for this game.

Our first trek began with a slow descend into the terraces, led by our guide Ha and a number of local women, decked in the black and red cloth the demarcate them as member of the Black Hmong tribe. The town itself is tiny but full of delicious food, beautiful treks and a relaxing atmosphere. The few streets are packed full of cozy restaurants, a pool hall and a daily market selling everything from fresh pineapple and pastry to roast dog. It is easy to mistake this town for somewhere in Switzerland, minus the local women and their wares. All of the local tribes weave--hats, pillow cases, scarves--and are constantly selling.

After Oded's friend's left us to explore the rest of Vietnam, we hiked from Sapa to the neighboring village, Cat Cat. Known for a beautiful waterfall and a moderate hike, we wanted to push past the tourist area just a bit. We climbed a path that weaved behind the waterfalls and led to a secluded lake area, where women did their washing and men fished. We climbed further and further, until we reached a semi-deserted house, a marker that perhaps we should turn back. The climb up was much easier than the climb down proved. As Oded turned back to make sure that I was OK, he slipped down the hill, skidding on rocks and mud, and ultimately twisted his middle finger. By the next day, the middle finger on his right hands was swollen twice its size and the knuckle was turned sideways. Our adventure for the day was a trip to the Sapa hospital. For a town where the main activity is trekking, the hospital was far from the center and not clearly marked whatsoever. We ended up finding a willing doctor but it took more than one try to find one who spoke English. The doctor looked at Oded's finger, confirmed that the finger wasn't broken, prescribed Vitamin C and some pain killers, and then asked for ten bucks. We gave over the equivalent of two dollars, thanked them, and ultimately paid a visit to the hospital in Bangkok a few days later.

To see photos of Sapa, please click me

Crappacinno*

After a day or two in Hanoi, we set out to spend time in one of north Vietnam's best known areas--Halong Bay, a set of limestone formations and fishing villages spread across emerald water. We gathered in the bottom of our guesthouse, a seedy but well loved place, and met our fellow travelers--a trio of Argentinian girls, a pair of Brits, and a lone guy of unknown origin, who was dressed as if it was 1968 and he was standing at the corner of Haight and Ashbury. A few minutes before we left on what was to be a three day trip to Halong Bay, our tour provider told us that our three day trip was being downsized to one day. Typhoon. It seems that the season lends itself to unpredictable weather and we were left with the choice to go for one day or not at all--we chose to go. We spent the majority of the day on a boat, weaving in and out of beautiful formations, exploring the largest caves I have ever seen and visiting local fishermen and their homes.

We made use of the extra time in Hanoi by visiting one of the many museums the capitol offers. The Museum of Ethnology features tons of information on the endless tribes in the northern part of Vietnam and included an outdoor exhibit of traditional tribal housing and communal meeting spaces. In general, Hanoi is loud and congested so we opted to spend our last days in the country by escaping even farther north. The morning that we left, Hanoi, two of Oded's friends from Israel joined us for our journey north. By evening, the four of us were crowded into the bunks of an overnight sleeper, prepared for a rough night's sleep but ten hours later we arrived in the small mountain town, rested and ready to trek.

To see photos of Halong Bay, please click me

*I know that the title bears no relation to the content of the text, but it was my favorite of many misspellings in Vietnam and I wanted to share it. xx