I miss the south
When I was 20 and 21 I lived just under a year in Australia. I lived mainly in the Western Australia outback, working in mining camps and aboriginal communities, putting in very rudimentary satellite systems. Everything I owned was stained rust-red from the dust.
After 10 months there, I spent three weeks going back to the US. CU Boulder had accepted me to enter as a junior, to rejoin the other world. The one I was from.
My trip back spent a good deal of the money I had made. I don't think I intended that, but I don't think I cared; it was a journey. I went to New Guinnea and hung out with a friend of a friend. Then to the island nation of Nauru. Then to the Solomon Islands, where I simply didn't know what to do. I rented a car, and they told me it could not be driven on dirt roads. I found out there was only about two miles of pavement on the island. I broke the rules (and I got a flat). I remember lush lush lush green, and rusting pieces of WWII still visible in the vegetation along the beaches and in the water. And geckos, by which I was fascinated.
My last stop was Majuro, in the Marshall Islands, where I spent all but two dollars. I timed my hotels and meals and drinks so that penury coincided with departure. What did I care? I was one flight away from the US, and $500 I had in a bank there.
I arrived at the rudimentary, open-air airport building to find that there was a departure tax of $20, and no discussion about my stupidity for having only $2 left in my pocket.
Wandering around trying to think of some solution - anything but a desperate telegram home - I came upon a .25 cent poker machine in the bar, like the ones you find in Vegas. In the hour before my flight would depart and leave me behind, I gambled my $2 into $25, got on the plane, and ended up in Honolulu at 6 a.m. with just enough for a bus ride into Oahu. I sat in front of the bank until 10, when they opened, and took out enough to stay two nights.
And all this comes about because I just saw a thing on Slate about harvesting worms in Samoa; looking at the houses and the trees, and the grass - everywhere in the south pacific the grass was as coarse as soda straws - and it took me back.
That was a while ago.
After 10 months there, I spent three weeks going back to the US. CU Boulder had accepted me to enter as a junior, to rejoin the other world. The one I was from.
My trip back spent a good deal of the money I had made. I don't think I intended that, but I don't think I cared; it was a journey. I went to New Guinnea and hung out with a friend of a friend. Then to the island nation of Nauru. Then to the Solomon Islands, where I simply didn't know what to do. I rented a car, and they told me it could not be driven on dirt roads. I found out there was only about two miles of pavement on the island. I broke the rules (and I got a flat). I remember lush lush lush green, and rusting pieces of WWII still visible in the vegetation along the beaches and in the water. And geckos, by which I was fascinated.
My last stop was Majuro, in the Marshall Islands, where I spent all but two dollars. I timed my hotels and meals and drinks so that penury coincided with departure. What did I care? I was one flight away from the US, and $500 I had in a bank there.
I arrived at the rudimentary, open-air airport building to find that there was a departure tax of $20, and no discussion about my stupidity for having only $2 left in my pocket.
Wandering around trying to think of some solution - anything but a desperate telegram home - I came upon a .25 cent poker machine in the bar, like the ones you find in Vegas. In the hour before my flight would depart and leave me behind, I gambled my $2 into $25, got on the plane, and ended up in Honolulu at 6 a.m. with just enough for a bus ride into Oahu. I sat in front of the bank until 10, when they opened, and took out enough to stay two nights.
And all this comes about because I just saw a thing on Slate about harvesting worms in Samoa; looking at the houses and the trees, and the grass - everywhere in the south pacific the grass was as coarse as soda straws - and it took me back.
That was a while ago.
posted by C at 8:35 AM
1 Comments:
nice story
-the guy with soon to be 6 names
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