Adventuresam

I had heard it was going to be complicated to get to Burma but for over a year it had been my dream destination. “The people”, Seth said, “you must go”.  So I found a Burmese Embassy to visit in Kuala Lumper (on mainland Malaysia), and planned a time to purse the ministry in order to attain the document which would allow me 30 days of travel inside that majestic country.

The visa, a loaded words like abortion or taxes — Your paperwork must be in order, it’s time consuming, expensive, there are multiple kinds depending on where you’re from and how much money you have, and it’s wildly tempting to hire an expert instead of doing it yourself.

I allotted 3 weeks to court the consulate.

My train from Singapore arrived in Malaysia at 7am where, after spending several hours trying to exchange Australian dollars (which no one there had heard of) into ringgits (which everyone there had heard of), I headed to the embassy where I showed my ID, spent more time waiting than anything else, filled out paperwork, waited, presented paperwork, waited, left for the night, came back, took pictures, photocopied documents, printed documents, bought lunch around the corner, handed over my passport, paid, smiled, and waited.

Shockingly, the entire process took only 3 days and I gained approval for entry. I was elated!!  I felt like I had taken a dip but somehow managed to stay dry.  I decided to use the rest of my weeks exploring (and eating in) this Muslim country before heading to the land of Golden Pagodas.  I packed my backpack and my precious passport.  Here are a few pictures from my journey:

hot, sweet, traditional dessert.

Also, it was mango season. For those of those of you who know what that means to me.

Cool(ish) air, great outdoors, and all the tea leaves a girl could want.

I settled in the Cameroon Highlands for almost a week, hiking, writing, picking strawberries, catching bugs, running in the rain, learning about tea plantations, and visiting a moss forest (!).

White, green, and black tea all come from the same plant — the difference is when and how the leaves are harvested.

I hitchhiked to a remote (read: overgrown) rock climbing spot, stayed in Kota Bharu, Malaysia’s most socially conservative city, dressed like a local but still didn’t fit in, caught a ride with a brave, single woman teaching maths at the local University, toured around with a friendly bloke who bribed a police officer to get out of a ticket, met the sweet, talented, champion yo-yoer, KJ in KL, (shout out to our link, Kim!), and showed off my Burmese visa for anyone who showed interest.

Yes, there has been a lag time posting this blog, I’m working on remedying that.

Adventures are forever,

‘mi

Because I’m not Canadian (or any host of other nationalities) I am unable to extend my visa in Australia.  No fruit picking, no farm work, nothing.   I have to leave.  It’s tragic because I’ve grown to love this country.  Mostly the accents and a couple of the people.  I’ll be back but I don’t know when, visas make things complicated.  I am going to keep traveling for now — off to Asia next. If I have been lucky enough to meet you during this epic year long journey THANK YOU for the impact you have had on my life — I am grateful for your friendship. Except for Jeff, Australia rocks.

In conclusion:

Bars are called hotels

1 in 10 Australians can trace their direct lineage back to a convict.

Get amongst it

Emus are scary as.

Rocket > Arugula

Yurong is the name of the street I lived on and always/often/occasionally how we feel about union members.

It’s Sydney, bitch.

I finished The Art of Uncertainty and understood it all. It was about boys, right?

You can surf with Australian money. It’s waterproof and rip proof!

Why do we call all peppers peppers in the US?

Kilometres go by faster and thus are more fun.

The Capricorn Caves are worth visiting.  Ghost Host James is not.

Barramundi is an aboriginal term. Those fish are born males and turn into women later in life and IT’S ALMOST TIME FOR NATIONALS!

We carry around fishing rods for fun.

Pretty Faced Walabee is the actual name of an actual animal.

I think the reason people drink so much at sporting events (cricket) is because you can’t understand anything that’s going on anyway.

In a country that’s famous for abbreviations, why do they pronounce ever letter in IGA?

ALWAYS expect a train at a train crossing.

Australia Day is freaking great

Can you walk? Stop complaining.

Wait.  IS there a boat ramp over there?

Homemade Pavlova tastes like marshmallows. —  I’m feeling Hun-ga-wee.

without attitude you’re just the bait.

I think there’s a boat following us

Everything is AWEsome! ! !

I’m going to to miss you, New Zealand!

bloody oath,

‘mi

Singapore is perplexing because it is the name of the only city inside of an entire country that shares the same name.  Also, it’s disconcertingly easy to wind up inside of a well air-conditioned shopping mall.

I found “The Irish” right away.

75% Chinese 10% Indian 80% Dutch and 100% intelligent, good, kind people

Gardens by the Bay was hard to appreciate with that humidity but Google images removed that discomfort.

It was a short stint in this modern, paved, best-airport-in-the-world metropolis and my favorite part were the Couchsurfers.  I’d come back just to visit you guys.

Serious face

adventure and romance,

Uncle Sam

My year in Australia was almost over and I needed to cull clothes, choose which ones were going to make it into my 10 (!) kilo backpack as I prepared to sling it over my shoulders and continue traveling around the world.  I find it easier to make decisions regarding my changing threads whenever I see them being worn by my permanent best friend, Molly Dworsky.  We had talked about what she should bring before she arrived, “contact solution and underwear”.  And then, during her trip we had a handy euphemism for any and all things we were underprepared for during her stay — “Zero pants.”

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Its called the Australian Open because there are so many open seats.

Our inconsistent ability to attract sport and exercise into our lives made it a surprise when we found ourselves in downtown Melbourne during the Australian Open and, on a whim, we bought tickets to the event.  Through a series of restrictions we weren’t allowed into the Rod Laver Stadium (where the only people we had ever heard of were playing). So instead we had a semi unforgettable experience procuring ice and eating the sushi we had stowed in our backpacks.

The next morning was a relaxing run towards Andrew, our guide on a private food tour — that’s hilarious — and then scored free hats which were too good to be true as we quickly found out they were advertisements for a brothel. So we bought more hats which also turned out to be too good to be true but for an entirely different reason:  They would not fold up as we packed and repacked our bags and boarded a plane bound for Tasmania.

Can you find Tasmania?

The Cranky Penguin is the name of a 40km mountain bike race in Cradle Mountain that Molly and I literally had no business being involved with. One of those situations where we were so underprepared we didn’t even deserve to say the words “The Cranky Penguin”.  Here’s what I mean: The day before the event I was calling every single bicycle shop on the entire island of Tasmania trying to locate our bikes.  I had failed to store the rental places’ number or write down their name, they was were no longer in my call history, they hadn’t charged my credit card, and the manager had not been in contact.  A “zero pants” situation.   In serendipitous fashion, 24 hours before the race we were back in touch with Damien at Rockey Mountain Rentals: “Yes, your bikes will be there.”  Shucks, that would have been a great excuse.

We had hired a car and the night before we drove as close as we felt comfortable to the start of the competition, parked our house next to blackberry brambles, and ate our prerace we’ve-obviously-never-done-this-before dinner; a block of cheese, a box of crackers, and a tub o’ jam.  We slept in the car, got up in the middle of last night, and looked for a signal that light was still on the payroll.  “This is the closest we’ve been to this race being behind us!” Molly said, still retaining her chipper smile which was hours away from decaying. We met Damien at the timing tent and he gave us our bikes, helmets, and numbers.  He asked us if we’d like to take our bikes for a test run. “Nah. What’s the point?  We’re gunna be on them for a long time anyway.”  Damien laughed and asked how we’d heard about the race (in a recent Mens Health magazine) while echoing several other people by saying he “didn’t think we were going to complete The Cranky Penguin”. We shrugged and asked him to root for us anyway.

Molly and I kept a steady last place by periodically getting off to walk.

What the heck else did we have to do all day?? It was Sunday.  We were determined to finish. The Sweeps kept us company which we didn’t like because that made it hard to eat our inappropriate-for-a-bike-race snacks which consisted of canned food and suckers.

About one hour into the race (or 4 kilometers, for those of you keeping track) we saw the contests’ first victim — a fit, 20 something male shaking uncontrollably with blood gushing down what I swear was his eye.  The paramedics had to hike over 2ks on rough terrain to bring him a stretcher.  We found out later that 9 ambulances were called throughout the day for the less than 200 people that had entered the race.

“Girl, you’re making that look so easy” said nobody, ever.

5 hours in and only halfway through, to the surprise of no one, Crash and Bam called it quits and hitched a very grateful ride to the finish line.

we had bruises on our shins much wider than the grins on our faces.

We licked our wounds with honey from the local honey farm, curled up in the car, and eventually made our way down south to the Tasman Peninsula where real beds and a family were waiting for us.  We brought with us a bouquet of wildflowers, which is all I’m going to say about that.

Rocky and Tynan, the hunters!

Jude!

The view from the Bartolo’s home was immediately breathtaking — most of the views in Tasmania are — but it was the people who truly made our stay remarkable.  Jude, Rocky, Jessie, Tynan, and we’re-mad-at-you-Jack welcomed us Australian style with fresh-caught octopus and delicious home-cooking which ended up being a major theme for the duration of our trip. Scrumptious pizza, American style Burgers, Kangas and Mash, the fun process of baking Chocolate Chip Cookies with Jessie!, cooking up Pork Ribs for days, Macaroni and Cheese, and Eggs Benedict nearly every single morning.  We had to dance to burn off some of those calories! Luckily it was Taylor Swift 24/7 and the girls made up the perfect octopus routine. See it here.

Molly and Jessie ❤

A BBQ with a heap of good friends was thrown and the hysterical Pam showed us all how to play the box game and the 10 cent piece game which will both stick with us 🙂

The Wooden Boat Festival was in town and while the rest of the family went to check out the scene Molly and I had what we had come to expect as a typical, unprepared 5 hour hike on the top of Mt. Wellington which included drinking water from any stream we could find and the strategy of wearing clothes on different parts of our bodies so as to unsuccessfully avoid getting sunburnt.  Sorry dad.

A Tasmanian Devil!

Personal Notes:

~”Well it’s a cup of meat and grapes. Just give me an ‘F’ and move on.”

~Brumby’s thwarted us more than once.  But like a kiss with a fist a cold meat pie is better than none, eh Brett?

~Giving meaning to Bush Tucker by “Tuckin it!”

~Mom/Mum! There were Salamanca markets in Tasmania and I went and I thought about how excited I am to see YOU!!!!!!!!!

A real dog lover

~rainbow socks and neon shoelaces

~Bubble Tea and The OC pilot

~February 2nd, celebrating Laughter Yoga’s Birthday at home.

~Going to the Honey Spot. Twice. And then The Bee Movie.

~Glamping or Flashpacking: Spending our first night ever in a camper van!  As we were setting it up torrents of giggles and fun was had “sam?” I heard.  “yeah?” “Should we get one?!”  Even when those metal bars fell on my head I reckon it only added to Molly’s joy.

111

~We went to two Mole Creek Caves: Learned that there is no such thing as a poisonous spider (only venomous), heard a fungus gnats tirade from our philosophical tour guide, and then Our Team made quite the impression when, in Old English, we spat Shakespeare off the walls.

~Freycinet fishing and Wine Glass Bay! We caught more fish in those few hours than in our combined lives. Molly screamed like a girl and honed Jew fishing – which is where you keep the bait.

~Perth’s Fringe festival!

~was it ever going to be popcorn time??

the rocks whispered secrets they shared with the bats.

Our trip ended much too quickly, as always.  We’re still in Love.

‘mi and ‘ly

PS: Hey Jessie, how many minutes did you do on the bike today??  You got this!!!!!!!!!!!!

Last year — two weeks before Christmas — I handed over a smile and my passport to a Japanese customs officer.

Moshi Moshi!

I had a very happy Christmas Day.  20 second link.

Even cooler in person

When I was small my parents got me a realistic animal book and the very first page was a herd of buffalo with their horns out, making a circle, protecting their young.  And the second page was essentially the above photo except that 18 years later that picture was taken by ‘mi.  After I spent the whole of December 25th, 2014 hanging out in a park with wild snow monkeys I realised that dreams can be hard to articulate but they make you restless and smell good and are always there.

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Japan is out of this universe.

Selfies.

The iconic Golden Pavilion.

Japanese people don’t jostle each other even during rush hour!   It’s a remarkably safe country and I felt comfortable acting like a tourist; mouth agape, bag unzipped, camera snapping.  Public and private bathrooms are amazing, clean, and all have heated toilet seats.

In Tokyo, a city of crowds, I stayed in a traditional Ryokan (a Japanese bath house) in the quiet, old district called Ueno.  I viewed the city from above, saw Robots in Shinjuku, walked the streets of Shibuya, and spent an entire day stalking Sumo Wrestlers. I explored temples in Kyoto, met generous Misaki on the street, cooked, and made life-long friends.

My favorite city was Nagano and it turns out that I like Osaka more than most.

Mt. Fiji at dusk

They told me this outdoor Onsen was the size of “470 Tatami Mats”.

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At The Tsukiji Fish Market things from The Sea had all been removed from their original context and juxtaposed incongruously amongst pavement and people and yet seemed perfectly in place. I  hardly recognised anything.

I pointed to sushi off menus that I couldn’t understand. Every storefront I saw looked like the outside of a yoga studio.

The Japanese don’t walk and eat so I sat down to eat my harf and harf green tea ice cream with beans.

In restaurants my order was taken last and on trains people tried to create space around me.  It could have been because I smelled like the food that I had eaten or because of a belief that foreigners carry diseases.

There were Japanese gardens made of gravel that no one was allowed to walk on and I laughed every time I saw a bouquet of flowers after a play I had seen that outlined just how skilled Japanese people are at making floral arrangements. Apparently it runs in their blood.

I got the feeling that San Ramon, Costa Rica was closer than ever.

I came to understand that it’s hard to sleep in an Internet cafe and not because of the lights, confined space, or cigarette smoke. It’s hard because of lightning fast Internet at your fingertips and included-in-the-price, caffeinated soft drinks out of a vending machine.

My weeks in Japan were delicious and memorable. I flew back “home” to the warmth of Australia on a New Years ticket.

“Fall seven times and standup eight.” – Japanese proverb

‘mi

Birthday girl.

I spent time in the Northern Territory trolling for crocodiles, being paranoid about aforementioned crocodiles, fishing, camping, laughing until I cried, and eating really well. I gained a bit of weight, like a bear getting ready for “winter” except that Monday was the first day of summer, and if I sleep for 20 minutes in someone’s hammocks they don’t film it and call it cute, they call the police and call it trespassing. I’m working on loosing it.

There is a lazy water monitor somewhere in this picture.

Do NOT skin carmel or caramel apples.

42 inches and my personal best!
Straight to the pool room!!!

I had the joy of eating the fanciest meal in Darwin with my hands! And the pleasure of watching someone else enjoy the same. And in Humpty Doo (where I spent most of my time), a different set of we’s cooked an entire meal based on “T” countries. Because having a “T”heme is important??

I had the confusing pleasure of hearing a woof woof bird every day, memorable nights out with friends, the incentive to record wisdom from a Discovery bouncer, learned how to take great care of Rebecca, loved on Hulk, hung out with THE Gingerbread man, and indulged in combustion bowls of cold flavor.

———– I’m totally fine but my heart goes out to everyone affected by the recent traumatic hostage situation in Sydney. ———–

The occasional Palm isn’t too bad.

Are the bungs in yet? I’m ready for another adventure. ‘mi

The unpredictably of death provides life with the necessary tension worth living.

My hearts with my dad. Get better soon!!

“

Tell that croc he’s dreaming.
‘mi

Anything good can happen at any time,
‘mi

There are some people who would find this a pretty dull way to spend Thanksgiving.

That’s Turkey, not bologna.

I’m sending love and gratitude to all my family and friends around the world,
‘mi

“Stop-me-if-I-volunteer-again Sam” has volunteered again. This time in Arnhem land Australia, a sacred, spectacular wilderness owned by abos who require non indigenous persons to obtain permits prior to entering. It’s often called “Where is that”?

I was heading towards

coastal dunes

red earth

termite mounds

water that will eat you

and

an invasive species of ANTs.

—-
Last month 11 independANT people from around the world (including ‘mi) signed-up to locate, bait, idANTify, documANT movemANTs, and provide control for a very specific group of illegal immigrANTs; the Yellow Crazy Ant (that’s their real name so even though I cAN’T be sure of their ANTcestory Asia seems like a safe bet.) I started making extensive plans for how I was going to lure these tiny ANTimals to me (a red and white checkered picnic blanket covered in sugar), signed my emails “The Ant Whisperer”, and rang my parANTs to share the news because my mobile service provider (VodaCANTfone-anyone) certainly wasn’t going to allow me to make any calls in the Dhimurru Indigenous Area.

a 2 day drive away

The Yellow Crazy Ants inhabit a sweltering hot part of this sun-burnt country. Flys, biting insects, flys, thorns, brambles, flys, and unrelenting heat are everywhere. Each person in our group was given a sexy high-vis outfit which offered moderate protection from the elimANTs. We also each acquired (a choir!) a bit of oriANTation including notable ANT facts: This non-native pest is ranked “top 100 worst invasive species” by (I’m not in a position to argue) a reputable source. And then we saw an example of the Yellow Crazy Ant which turns out looks exactly like….every other ant I’ve ever seen.
Gulp.
I silently rated myself a “4 out of 10” at Yellow Crazy Ant identification.

We were to start at 6am the next morning when, 2 hours later, I promptly plummeted to a “-1”.

“You’re trying too hard”, Dr. Ben Hoffman told me. ‘Overachiever’ was the word I was forced to define for english-is-not-my-first-language Noémie. I felt as useless as the extra “r” in February until Daisy suggested taking a break from arthropoda hunting and holding a Laughter Yoga session — which was sure to lift my spirANTs. A rousing success (wherein we used a tarp as our yoga mat) I fell in love, again!, with the art of connection through laughter. Tomorrow was a new day.

Opinion:
It took me 5 days to correctly ANTdentify my first Yellow Crazy Ant because my cerebral real estate was consumed by puns.

actually finding Yellow Crazy Ants is as clear as mud

Fast forward: I had seen a lot of ants. There are 7,000+ named species of ants in Australia alone and — good news: My daily ANTdentiy crisis had mostly been solved. I was an “8”; less like a dented can of cheap cat food and more like a dented can of expensive cat food. “Fancy Cat” instead of “Homebrand” and I credit one particular componANT. Smell. A similar looking ant — the sneaky endemic tyrANT — has physical qualANTies reminiscent to our transplANT but the native ant, once killed, has a defining, pungANT smell. I’d stumble across a pile of questionable specimens, smoosh one, take a deep ANT-y breath (different than an anti-breath which is probably suffocation), and know with certainty which type of ANTcounter this was.

The dreaded Green Ant.
Olive suggested teaching them a lesson by “biting each one who bites you”.

Here’s a breakdown of how our system worked: We put cat food down with a utensil, stuck a flag nearby, and repeated this activity every meter until we had each used our entire can of cat food and laid about 100-200 dollops, depending on whether you were Sammi or Hannah. We would then turn on our GPS’ and galavANT back to the start, identifying each ant that had now swarmed our fish and note any and all findings. I learned heaps, made friends, and traveled to parts of Australia that many Australians have never seen. — UnfortunANTely, the Yellow Crazy Ants are still out there. We did not successfully eradicate the beast #yet but we did succeed in feeding them hearty bits of protein.

Things I don’t want to forget
-To romANTicize ants, they’re fANTastic.
-ANTtelligANT (double!)
-The technique of naming your kid Aryan.

Our leader fANTasizing

-After Laughter Yoga when our effervescANTs marched for hours.

My first piece of art.

Eating turtle.

Hunting mud mussels.

My favorANT!

This post is dedANTcated to all ANTities who appreciate wordplay in writing and over a CB radio, future and past Conservation VolANTeers, Daisy, Hannah, Olive, Noémie, Daryl, Azza, the Bens, my group, and of course Charlie.

No wuckin furries,

SamANTha