With a sigh, the traveler made himself get up from the leather chair. The VIP lounge was nearly empty, making it all the more a desirable place to be in the busyness of Vancouver Airport.

This is going to be a long night, the man thought.

The night was still young, not that the man felt very connected with the night from inside the glass corridors of Vancouver’s International Departures.

“Once you go in, you cant leave” the security guard had told him when he had seen how early that man was for his flight.

He hadn’t cared at the time. He had a VIP lounge to crash! But now the VIP lounge felt like a glass sarcophagus... then his time was up and he still had 3 hours still to go before his boarding time. And so, our protagonist, Kentron Zerbitron, settled into a less comfortable seat, beside a smelly woman who REALLY wanted to talk about aliens and conspiracy theories, and pulled out a leather bound book. The book was special, it had to be to have make it to his weight restricted pack. The book was a gift from a world he was leaving behind, the world of Canada, the world of teaching, the world of networks he had come to comfortably rely on.

Kentron took the leather bound book and placed it in front of him. The gear like clasp slid smoothly to one to side and, running his finger down the books leather stitched edge, Kentron finally opened it. The smell was strong. Satisfying.The smell of leather is a curious thing, the way it imprints itself into our brain, the way it is linked to items of sentimental and monetary value. Hand made things generally are.

Enjoying the sensory experience of the book, Kentron then pulled out an art kit packed impressively efficient and started to draw. He worked on those first two pages well into the flight working carefully. These pages were important. They were the prologue, the setting for which the rest of this book would vault from. He started with a map. And so begin the visual journal of Kentron Zerbitron’s journey to the place where water swirls backwards, to the outback, to the down under, to…. Australia. 

 Day 1: Kentron lands in Sydney and doesn’t miss a step.

From plane to train, train to bus, and bus to walking my mode of travel seemed to down grade. Kenton went on foot to his Hostel on Bondi Beach at 11 am. No time to settle in! he was changed and off in a jiffy excited to experience Sydney. But he wasn’t going downtown, nono! Kenton was going to the beach. Or rather beaches... he was going for an over 11 km walk that ended up taking 5 hours! The walk from Bondi beach to Coogee Beach was breathtaking… Kenton couldnt help smiling like a goon and deeply breathing in the ocean air. He also nearly ran into half a dozen pepole. Damn Australians and their walking on the left side of the walkway! Kenton saw many things on hsi self guided tour which included breathtaking cliffs, ocean pools, beach sepak takarah (cool sport… look it up), spiders, birds and a serene and beautiful ocean facing graveyard. Sydney was a Beautiful place and it was filled with beautiful people. Seriously! People were working on their fitness here! They are also enjoying their climate which is evident by their tans. Back at his hostel he had a much apprecaited shower and deep deep sleep.

Day 2: The crash course of Sydney

Sleep had some so easily to me the previous night and surprisingly I woke up rested and before my alarm clock… alot before my alarm clock…. like 5 am! No fighting my body though so I got up and was off. The plan was to visit “The Rocks”, Sydney’s historically LOADED downtown, see the Opera house then catch a ferry to Manly beach which is the local surfing Mecca. The goal was to pack in as much as I could because the next day I was taking off and i wasn’t sure if I would have a chance to see Sydney again. Ok, Sydney lets go!

Bus! Bus…. bus? Planning transit as a foreigner can be such a headache. Turns out you got to buy your bus ticket from a news agent. Yes, that’s right, a “News agent”. This is Australian for convenience store. I ran to the nearest news agent and got me a ticket. Step one down. Now…. where do I get off? Beats me! Thank you locals for your conversation and help. Little did I know there was a creepy man in short short shorts listening the whole time… this will come up later...

Regardless of what time it was Kentron was ready to take on the world. Unfortunetly, the world wasn’t ready for Kentron. Sunday morning at 7 am is hardly a time for shops, museums, art galleries and… anyone, to open. Giving my self a self guided tour I quickly got lost anyways and was actually enjoying it. I was finding all these cool nooks and crannies, sitting spots and views.

“ALBERTA BOY!” I nearly jump out of my skin! Who? why? how do they know me?Well, up runs short short shorts guy who was listening on the bus earlier. Is he creepier now? Surprisingly, he is not. He sees a tourist walking around before anything is open and suggests I walk the Sydney bridge. Off I go! What a view!

Once i get back now I dive headfirst into Sydney downtown called “The Rocks”, a place so bursting with character and history I want to steep in it all day. I get my fill spending a good time of time at the local museum learning via artifacts, sound clips, pictures and 45 min of short videos. The company that built the bridge went bankrupt and 16 people died making it! Did you know that Sydney used to pave its streets with wood?? How about that the Aborigines were treated even worse than Canada’s? I left the museum much informed and content with my walk about, site-seeing and museum hopping. I took a break by wandering down to the wharf where I took a seat and drew a picture of the Sydney opera house and the Sydney Harbour bridge. To tell the short of it I then walked downtown, bought needed supplies for the next leg of my journey and groceries for the next 36 hours. The walk back to the wharf to catch my ferry was long and when I sat down at the bow of the boat I put my poor aching feet up and befriended two Canadians who I ended up spending he rest of my day with. Manly beach was nice, but I never made it to the waters. Instead, my Canadian friends and I had a cold beer on the beach and hung out for several hours. We ferried back, I bid them farewell and ran for my bus then crashed into my bed back at my hostel. Day 2? Success! 

 Day 3:Rise and shine! I was off to the train station early. My train ticket didn’t really have any information on it so I asked for help from an person who worked at the station. He didn’t know shit! Excuse my language but neither did I so I followed his directions and ended up on the wrong train. And so I got to the small town of Lithgow 15 min late. The next bus? Leaves in 9 hours! So I went and bought some work boots and an akubra (basically a crocodile dundy hat). I then crashed the local library till I couldn’t stand the place any longer, then I went and toured the small town and ended up at the most enchanting church I have ever seen. But 9 hours is a long time to randomly amuse oneself.

On the bus I ended up talking to a young guy the entire bus ride till I got to the sad sad excuse for a town called Ilford where my ride picked me up. My ride was the man himself, Nick, the owner and teacher or Milkwood Permaculture farm. Being the busy man he is, it was quite an honour to be picked up personally. The following ride I will never forget because it felt just like a Hollywood Movie. We were flying down dusty back roads in the Australian outback at 11 pm, dodging Kangaroos in his 4×4 jeep. He talked the whole time in his Australian accent (and driving from the right side of the jeep mind you!) and I just held on and thought that never in my life did I think this would happen like this. We arrived at the farm late and I was serenaded by three guys with guitars sitting around the camp fire… they started speaking to me in Spanish and confused the shit out of me. The reason they spoke to me in Spanish, and thought I was from Argentina, is a long and funny story you will have to get from me in person. The night was a blur in my memory, and in the moment, right up to the moment my heavy eyelids closed.