I’m not who I was when I started traveling fifteen years ago. I’m not who I was when I lived in a van three years ago. I’m not who I was before the pandemic started. It’s a process, it’s a change, and it’s a chance.
The branches pull free from their twists and whip me in the face and we curse loudly at the bushiest of the vines
I’ve moved into a working hostel in Northern Victoria – snagging a job in the brief few weeks that farms allowed new backpackers in before slamming their doors shut once more due to coronavirus spikes.
What no one had mentioned, yet what is all over the internet, was how ridiculous the weather is down here.
Somewhere along the lines I think my name blended into Alice, and I just rolled with it. Sawadee ka! I bowed my head to my pressed palms.
A year is not enough time. But oh, what a year it was…
Three sides to every story, see
What happened, not so clear
But each believes wholeheartedly
Tall standing, free of fear
I can’t wait for right now.
Kiwis are astounded that the US just got chips a few years ago and that it isn’t even common to have a PIN on your credit card chip yet – they’ve moved miles beyond that technology by now.
Instead of going south to camp, I turned north.