​The final country that I visited on my world tour was Ecuador, specifically the Galápagos Islands. I traveled there with my parents, brother Vince, and his wife Rachel. The Galápagos was their first destination on a longer South America trip. For me, it was a standalone 12-day trip.

It might seem a little counter-intuitive to go all the way to the Galapagos without visiting anywhere else in the region. There were three main factors at play. For one, mainland Ecuador is unfortunately experiencing a period of violence and political instability. In January, an armed gang stormed a TV station during a live broadcast. Government crackdowns have escalated into a war against the cartels, leaving locals in fear. Spending time in mainland Ecuador was nixed early in our trip planning. A shame, because there are so many beautiful places like Cotopaxi and Mindo, which I had the chance to see in 2014.

The second reason for the short trip was a happier one – I had already spent 3 months in South America during a summer abroad in Santiago, Chile. The other places my family was going, including Machu Picchu, the Atacama desert, and Iguazu Falls, were places I had ventured in 2015. The third reason was more  practical: I had already been on the move for a year, and didn't feel a need to extend the trip further.

So why go at all? For one, it was a destination high on my list. From a scientific standpoint, it was a place that frequently came up in my biology courses. My brother had studied abroad in Quito in 2012 and visited the islands with his cohort, bringing back stories of sea lions and sleeping white-tipped reef sharks. Plus, going there on a family trip also had sentimental appeal. During my months abroad, my parents had been supporting me and sharing my adventures vicariously. I liked the idea of overlapping for a chapter in South America and making travel memories together as a family. I figured having another Spanish speaker would help my family ease into the metaphorical waters of Latin America. And as it turned out, seeing the Galápagos involved a lot of time in the ocean – so I got to help with some literal easing into the water.
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After just one week in California, I was headed back to the southern hemisphere. But this time, instead of going southwest towards Polynesia and Australia, I was flying southeast to Ecuador.

It was a grueling process of getting from Point A to Point B. It started with a 5:00am flight out of SFO. Then came a 7-hour layover in Houston. We arrived in Quito around midnight. The pre-arranged taxi was too small and had to call another one. We spent the night at an airport hotel, in a dead neighborhood that didn’t feel very close to the safety of the airport. A quick breakfast of eggs and mora juice was a pleasant surprise. I was able identify the juice from the taste, drawing the word “mora” (blackberry) deep from my memory bank. Fruit juices in South America just hit different.

At the Quito airport, we had to register for a special Galápagos TCT entry card and send our bags through biosecurity prior to the normal airport check-in. By 10:30am, we were back in the air on an Avianca domestic flight. The plane didn’t go directly from Quito to the Galápagos. It briefly landed in Guayaquil. During the stopover, the cabin crew was very strict about what activities were permitted. Going to the bathroom? Missed your chance. Left on your seatbelt? Take it off. Using your electronics? Not while the plane is refueling. It was all very strange. At least the flight from the mainland to the islands was a merciful 1.5 hours.

When we stepped off the plane onto the island of San Cristóbal, I couldn’t believe we were actually in the Galápagos. Not only was it a long journey, but there were several setbacks in the months prior. Our first set of flights on Jetblue had been partially cancelled, then fully canceled. Our second set of flights on Aeromexico were also canceled. We finally found a third set with United that worked. We suspect the drop in tourism to mainland Ecuador was a factor in the cancellations. If so, our third flight may have been saved by a coincidence – the Copa America was being hosted in the USA during our trip, drawing Ecuadorian tourists the other way. Another lucky break was the Galapagos entry fee. We paid $100 upon arrival, but in a few weeks, it would increase to $200.

All of the taxis in the Galápagos were white pickup trucks with room for a driver plus 4 people inside. This posed a problem for our group of 5. Thankfully, in most cases we were allowed a passenger riding in the back with the luggage. Rachel was the first to volunteer on our drive from the airport to our AirBNB. There, our bilingual host who now lived in Colorado, gave us a tour of apartment.
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The apartment on San Cristóbal was comfortable. It was on the second floor and had a lovely balcony next to a flowering tropical plant. There were three bedrooms, so I was lucky to have my own. The walls were decorated with posters of Ecuadorian hummingbirds, including the comical sword-billed hummingbird. It had a few quirks. A questionable choice of decoration, a 3D holographic shark with its mouth open, stared up from the dining room table. The plastic-wrapped door stopper looked like a brick of cocaine. But hey, that's part of the AirBNB experience.

There were, however, a few legitimate challenges. One of the two toilets didn’t flush well, even after the host took a second look and thought it was fine. We had to be mindful of food scraps, due to the aggressive ants. And the kitchen was bare bones, to the point of being negligent. Cooking in a place where the tap water isn’t safe to drink is already hard enough… you have to boil or use bottled water for everything including cleaning dishes. Yet the kitchen lacked a tea kettle and microwave. To boil water, you had to manually light the stove using a measly box of matches that was barely up to the task. Few of the pots had lids, prolonging the time to reach boiling. Even a basic pasta and veggie dinner was a nightmare. I accidentally burned my hand on a pot handle, further adding to the frustration (there were no potholders, and maybe one dish towel). But we still succeeding in having some basic hot meals, like black bean burgers.

The main town on San Cristóbal, called Puerto Baquerizo Moreno, charmed us all with its waterfront and laid-back pace. There were piers, parklets, and murals with native animals. Instead of big chain stores, there were mom & pop grocery stores and specialty hardware stores with boating parts. It also felt safe, which I honestly hadn't expected.

Our first big adventure was a full day tour called San Cristóbal 360, a boating trip that circumnavigated the island with snorkeling stops. We started at the company’s storefront, conveniently just down the street from the AirBNB, where we tried on wetsuits, masks, and fins. (Compared to some of our later tours on other islands, the San Cristóbal fitting experience was a breeze.)
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Our nature guide for the day, Jonathan, walked us down to the pier where we took a water taxi to the main boat, the Coyote II. There was one other family aboard, of Ecuadorian-Puerto Rican origin, who spoke a mix of English and Spanish. Seating options included sitting at the very back by the motor, which was more stable when bouncing over waves but didn’t have a back support, versus inside the cabin which was bouncier but protected from the wind.

​The first stop was snorkeling at an imposing rock formation called Kicker Rock, located off the northern coast. From a distance, the two halves of Kicker Rock looked like a giant shoe. The steep cliffs visible above the surface continued deep into the ocean. Swimming around the outer perimeter was swimming next to an underwater wall... a little disorienting at first but incredibly unique. There was also a shallower channel that cut through the two halves of the rock. The bottom was visible within this natural breezeway.

​The initial entry into the water was a moment of apprehension. We were armed with wetsuits and floating life vests, but were up against the cold and open ocean. There was no ladder – we swung our legs over the side of the boat. My mom was the first one to bravely take the plunge. Soon we were all in the water, acclimating to the initial temperature shock. The void of the unseen depths was a little scary, but there were plenty of distractions like a sea lion swimming below.

​The rock wall was full of delightful details. Spiky sea urchins with thick needles filled the crevices. I spotted a hieroglyphic hawkfish blending in with the mottled surface. The fan favorite was the “chocolate chip starfish," a fitting name (or maybe we were just hungry).

The ocean waves threatened to drive us into the rock wall, so we had to be careful not to get too close. Meanwhile, the tides lifted and dropped us by an amplitude of a few feet.
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In the shallow channel, there were schools of creolefish, king angelfish, yellowtail surgeonfish, and parrotfish. They nibbled at a current of continuously flowing particles, drifting with the current themselves. We were hoping to see some hammerhead sharks, but they weren’t around. Overall it was an amazing place to snorkel, and a highlight of the islands.

​We climbed back into the boat and warmed up. The boat continued on the 360 route, stopping for a photo op at Cerro Brujo ("wizard mountain"), a neighboring rock formation that looked like a sideways face with a pointy hat. Then we parked in a protected bay for a mix of beach time and more snorkeling. The water here was a bit murky, but we still got to see turtles in the shallows.

​As we passed the halfway point of Punta Pitt, the boat crew cast two fishing lines. I guess it was meant to be a demonstration of low volume sustenance fishing, but they didn’t really give any context. The Galápagos is big on sustainability, including limits on commercial fishing. The catch of the day was a wahoo, which was dramatically reeled in and stored in a cleaning area by the motor. Later in the afternoon, the crew served wahoo sashimi, which was fresh and tasty. We didn’t finish it all, and the crew casually tossed the scraps back into the water. Guess the sharks were having sashimi for lunch too.

​Throughout the day, there were many interesting ocean birds. The frigate birds were large, black scavengers with sharply angled wings and a scissorlike tail. In fact, their Spanish name “tijeretas” is derived from “tijeras,” meaning scissors. The male frigate birds have a bright red throat, which they inflate like a giant balloon to attract mates. There were also blue-footed and red-footed boobies. The red-footed ones hunt farther away from land, so this tour was our main chance to see them. (We later saw blue footed boobies up close… more on that next time!)

​The final stop was at Bahia Rosa Blanca. We took a small pontoon boat to the land and started a short hike. Galápagos conservation efforts focus on leaving the landscapes untouched, so the “trail” was a field of raw, sharp volcanic rock. Since my dad’s balance and depth perception are limited, this was a challenge. My brother and I held his hands for support while he took each step carefully. Rather than going all the way around the lagoon to the normal launch point, we convinced Jonathan to let my dad use a closer launch point, even though it was bending the park rules. Vince and Rachel stayed with my dad, while my mom and I went ahead with Jonathan. Once in the water, I swam back to help my dad into the water. A shark swam past right as I was approaching! The two of us reunited with the group in the water.

The water was murky, but the guide found a few white-tipped reef sharks that were resting on the bottom. They were just dark blurs from the surface, but I was able to swim down and get a closer look. One of them stirred as I approached. They were much bigger than the black-tipped reef sharks I’d seen in French Polynesia and therefore a little more intimidating. (While this was a good first impression, we had even better white-tipped shark encounters on Isabela, the third island.)
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We switched from the interior lagoon to the exterior bay for one more round of snorkeling, trading the sharks for sea lions and sea turtles. It was my first time swimming in close proximity to the playful sea lions, and loved the way they lazily spiraled through the water. In the mix were a few enormous turtles, an astounding sight. They must have been the size of a truck bed, with a fin-span of a few meters. These lumbering dinosaurs slowly browsed the algae on the rocks, seemingly unfazed by our presence.

​Getting my dad back over the lava field, into the pontoon, and aboard the Coyote II was a success. Unfortunately, while we were enjoying our sashimi and pineapple snack, the rocking of the moored boat caused him to fall on the open deck. Thankfully he walked away with minor scrapes only, but it was a reminder that swaying boats were just as hazardous as the rocky terrain.

During the final leg of the boat journey, an enormous pod of bottlenose dolphins put on an acrobatic show for us. They rode the wake of the boat, raced alongside us, and leaped above the surface, sometimes higher than their own body length! Talk about showing off.

​We made it back to Puerto Baquerizo Moreno, and tipped Jonathan for a good tour. He humbly tried to disappear without giving us an opportunity to tip, but intercepted him. Afterwards, my parents and I decided to find a happy hour drink by the waterfront. We passed a beach that was taken over by sea lions, and a road with sea lions passed out in parking spaces. Mojitos were procured, and from the bar, we watched the movements of the boats and birds in the harbor. On the walk back to the AirBNB, we saw a maintenance team removing huge clusters of coconuts from a palm tree, evidently defusing a ticking time bomb.

In the evening, we watched Ecuador play in a Copa America game against Argentina. Ecuador managed to score a tying goal, forcing a sudden death shootout. We could hear cheers and screams of excitement from the street. As the spectacle unfolded, I munched on a bag of tostones with tajin seasoning, the perfect Latin American snack food. Unfortunately, Ecuador lost the shootout, snuffing the locals’ hopes.
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The next morning, we visited the Environmental Interpretation Center, a museum with information about the island’s history and ecology. Like other volcanic archipelagos, the Galápagos are the peaks of underwater mountains, spread out by the easterly motion of the Nazca tectonic plate across a hotspot. Our current location, San Cristóbal, was the oldest and easternmost island. Our trip would end to the west in Isabela, where the volcanic activity was stronger.

The Galápagos is biologically rich in part because it sits at the convergence of several major ocean currents. The Humboldt Current brings cold, nutrient rich water from the south. The Panama Current brings warm water from the north. The Cromwell Current brings in more cold water from the west. These currents brought seeds and plants to the island, but only hardy plants like cacti could take root.  Similarly, the native animal species, like marine iguanas and land tortoises, were all reptiles durable enough to survive the journey on rafts of vegetation.
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Darwin’s visit aboard the Beagle in 1835 continues to be the islands’ biggest claim to fame. His observations of the subtle differences in the finches and tortoises across the archipelago helped shape his theory of evolution. A map of the Beagle’s route showed that Darwin too had enjoyed a 360 tour of San Cristóbal.

The museum had an exhibit comparing finch beak morphologies to different types of tools. My favorite unusual finch incarnations included the woodpecker finch that digs up food by wielding a twig in its mouth, and the vampire finch that sucks the blood of other birds.

The history section of the museum described various attempts to colonize the island, including whalers, pirates, and a failed utopian prison colony. Human settlement, both past and current, seemed to be limited by a paucity of freshwater sources. The absence of a pre-colonial indigenous population struck me as a rare thing to find anywhere in the world.
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The museum was also the start of a path to the pretty Tijeretas Lookout. There were indeed some tijeretas (frigate birds) circling the skies. The trail descended to a funky Darwin statue with oddly proportioned features and a platform where snorkelers could enter the water. We saw turtles, pelicans, and even a marine iguana swimming. An aggressive but cute sea lion hopped up on the platform and made it clear our time was up. Their bite is worse than their bark, so we scurried up the stairs to get away.

​We found the most wonderful spot for lunch, a restaurant with a set menu called Muyu. We loved the quinoa soup, fish entrée, mini dessert, and vegan substitutions for Rachel and Vince. The tableware was made of volcanic rock, including the bowls of aji, a staple chili sauce in Ecuador. A hidden gem like Muyu was one of the perks of seeing the Galápagos “DIY” style, versus an organized cruise.

​In the afternoon, Edison (the taxi driver we met when we first arrived) took us into the highlands to visit La Galapaguera, a tortoise sanctuary. On the way there, I sat in the passenger seat and chatted with Edison in Spanish. I learned that tourism numbers had only bounced back to 70% of their pre-COVID numbers. He pointed out different fruit trees, and told me about his favorite spots in mainland Ecuador.

​The sanctuary could only be visited with a nature guide, and ours was a bit of a tortoise himself. He was wise and spoke slowly with deliberate words. We learned that some of the tortoises were over 100 years old! They were surprisingly mobile despite their bulky shells. Our group walked through the grounds, stopping wherever the tortoises happened to be hanging out. A nursery with protective chicken wire kept the little tortoises safe from predators. We learned that the tortoise breeding program had been so successful that it was no longer active on San Cristobal. Fun fact, the name “Galápagos” is a reference to these tortoises – it’s a Spanish word for "saddle," alluding to the saddle-shaped shells.

On the return to town, I rode in the truck bed and soaked in the greenery of the highlands. It was misty and cold at times, a microclimate within the island, with funny glimpses into country life. One truck going in the other direction was full of black dogs, looking back at me. A person standing in the shoulder was holding an upside-down pig with its feet tied up.
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It was our last night on San Cristóbal. We walked to Playa Mann to see the sunset from this popular viewing beach. The makeup of the crowd was about half people and half sea lions. One baby sea lion searched the whole beach for its group, briefly considered joining ours, then found the right one. It was a great atmosphere.

​San Cristóbal was an excellent introduction to the archipelago. Coming up next post: our visit to the island of Santa Cruz, the biggest population center.

​In the final chapter of the Moorea wedding week, the scene shifted from the mountainside AirBNB villas to the oceanside Sofitel hotel. Here, we spent two nights at the peak of French Polynesia luxury – in the iconic overwater bungalows. The cost of accommodation was covered by the bride and groom, which was an extremely generous gift to us family members. We knew how special it was to stay there and savored every moment.

The bungalows were ready for check-in, meaning we could get our first peek inside. I stayed in a bungalow with my mom and dad, which turned out to be the very first one as we walked down the boardwalk. The other three bungalows were a little further down.

In the middle of the floor, a small square window offered a view into the water below. There was even a special light switch to turn on the light below the bungalow.​

​Everyone’s favorite hangout spot was the back patio, which had a comfortable wicker chair and overlooked the lagoon. It was the perfect place to enjoy a Hinano beer from the room’s fridge.

​From the patio, a concrete staircase led directly into the water, meaning we could launch a snorkeling expedition from the room itself. The hotel had a dive center where we borrowed fins and masks for the duration of the visit.

​It was amazing to be this close to the aquatic world. Instead of bird watching, I spent time fish watching. We saw a long, thin fish that Google Lens identified as a houndfish. Where else in the world do you get houndfish in your backyard? I had never even seen a houndfish before, and yet there I was watching one from the hotel room.

​Dinner was with a smaller group, as a few folks were exhausted from the busy day (and past week!) Bucking the seafood trend, I tried the Sofitel's roast duck. It was served with a crispy almond coating, a rich tangy sauce on the side, and pureed sweet potatoes. I savored each bite of this meal that channeled the “French” in French Polynesia. Also of note were the hibiscus gin and tonic, and unusual dessert with lime and chocolate.

​The next morning, the breakfast buffet was staggering in scope. There were typical American, European, and Asian breakfast foods, plus tropical fruit and a crepe station. I had everything from dumplings and dragon fruit to bagels and banana juice.

​After sleeping above the water for a night, I was excited to get out into the water. One didn’t need to go far to encounter beautiful coral and fish. The support pillars underneath the bungalows were teeming with life! A small black fish, likely some kind of cleaner wrasse, would even nip at our legs while getting in and out. There were schools of long-nosed fish floating in the shadows of the boardwalk, tiny blue fish nibbling at the columns of coral, and an occasional feeding frenzy when food mysteriously appeared from the heavens above (i.e. someone throwing food into the water from a patio). The vertically mounted coral was like a natural art gallery, vibrant and eye-catching.

​The snorkeling at the Sofitel had some of the best animal sightings of any snorkeling I’ve ever done. There were plenty of old friends like the banded triggerfish, raccoon butterflyfish, clownfish, and parrotfish. Some new friends included a large school of convict surgeonfish, their jailbird stripes mesmerizing en masse, and an enormous titan triggerfish picking up coral fragments in its mouth.

​We swam alongside sea turtles at close proximity, matching their unhurried pace. The water was clear and calm, with a current going towards the bungalows. Eventually the turtles latched onto the current and were whisked away.

​I was stunned to spot a moray eel. At first, it was swimming completely exposed above the reef, enormous and billowing. When it saw me, it retreated into the forest of coral, where it was extremely well camouflaged. I eventually located its head within the bramble, its jaw slightly agape in a stereotypical eel grin. I normally think of moray eels hiding in a rock hole, so seeing one in the open reef was unexpected and lucky.

​Arguably the star of the show was the spotted eagle ray. More diamond-shaped than the rounded stingrays, the eagle rays were fast and hard to keep up with. Kicking with all my strength, I was able to follow one going at a leisurely speed. Suddenly, with a flick of the wings, it doubled its speed and disappeared. There several eagle rays that we all got to spend time following them. It was incredible to see them in the wild. Many years ago, I had a fantasy baseball called the Eagle Rays, or E-Rays for short. At long last, I got to meet my official mascot.

I'm particularly proud of this video reel that I made using my GoPro footage:

There were multiple ways to enjoy the lagoon that didn’t involve snorkeling. Roy and Gri rented a paddleboat. My brother tried to sneak up on them from the water, but the paddleboat was faster than he bargained for! Cheryl rented a kayak, while Rachel paraded on a stand-up paddleboard. The lagoon could also be accessed by a public beach. I would definitely return to the lagoon even if I wasn’t staying at the Sofitel.

We continued to eat our way through the Sofitel’s lunch and dinner menus. There were some tasty tuna bowls, noodles, ceviches, and burgers. The burger orders were met with some uncalled-for snark from the waitress (“you came all the way here to have a burger?”) but otherwise, the wait staff was friendly. We occasionally were approached by a charming orange cat, which the wait staff scooped up and relocated.

​Being with a fun group really elevated the stay. We played a raucous game of ping pong, made more difficult by the dull ball and the players’ consumption of alcoholic Tahiti drink. We also debuted a brutal card game called Uno: No Mercy, provided by Cheryl, in which players are knocked out by reaching a 25 card limit. There were some dramatic eliminations, cheeky smack talk, and a final showdown that had everyone on the edge of their seat. It was an instant favorite.

From there, our group divided once again, with four people continuing their vacation in Bora Bora, and the other five of us returning to the US. Those going home checked out in the morning, but stayed at the Sofitel property until it was time for the ferry. We had a light snack at a nearby beach hut, also run by the Sofitel. The wraps were delivered from the main kitchen via golf cart. A rainstorm arrived, which made us appreciate how lucky we got with the weather on our activity days. ​
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It was time to leave paradise behind and once again face the woes of transportation. The rain had picked up and it was a Saturday afternoon, both contributing to the chaotic scene at the ferry terminal. People tried to keep their bags (and selves) out of the downpour, while large groups became bottlenecks at the ticket gate. But the chaos had a lively, local energy. People with musical instruments found a corner of the cabin and had a jam session.

It was dark by the time we reached Tahiti. One of the forklifts, carrying three luggage containers, nearly lost control of the stack. There was no Uber on the island, so we waited at the taxi rank. The taxis weren’t big enough for 5 people with luggage, so we had to take two. In our taxi, Rachel had a great conversation with the driver about different islands in the archipelago. As we drove through the city, there were Olympic banners on display. Since France was the host country for the 2024 Olympics, the surfing events would be taking place in French Polynesia. The games were just a few weeks away – the driver seemed excited.

Vince and Rachel had warned us that security could be strict at the Tahiti Airport. Sure enough, I was pulled aside for an extra screening. When I picked up my checked suitcase, it had an inspection card inside, though I could tell it had been opened from the way my stuff was shuffled around. At security, they even took some of the group’s souvenir jams, which was a bummer.
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Boarding the flight required crossing the tarmac in the rain. The agents handed us umbrellas at the building exit, which was a nice touch. Soon, we were in the air, headed to San Francisco.

​After 8 months, I finally set foot in California again. Though even the last leg of the journey was an adventure. With a little ambition and persuading of a skeptical driver, we squeezed 5 people and all of the luggage into a single Uber XL, riding with heavy suitcases on our laps.

However, the world travels didn’t end there! The visit to California was just a transition week. While I did enjoy the comforts of home, like a burger and shake at In-n-Out burger, the week was focused on Vince and Rachel’s local wedding celebrations. We went to SF City Hall for their legal ceremony and hosted a gathering of friends at the local swim club.
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My dad, an avid swimmer, found returning to the pool to be quite disappointing after the amazing fish in the Sofitel lagoon. His comment underscored what a special time we had in French Polynesia. I’ll never forget the eagle rays, turtles, eels, and tropical fish that were just a staircase away.

​After the wedding, Vince and Rachel organized a trio of tours to showcase the best of Moorea. We had already gotten our bearings on the Francky Frank 4WD truck tour, which gave us a geological, botanical, and cultural introduction to the island. Now it was time for the adrenaline-pumping adventure sports. I’m talking driving ATVs on dirt mountain roads, cruising the lagoon on jetskis, swimming face-to-face with sharks and stingrays… bring it on!

​All of our tours began at the Moorea Activities Center, a short drive from the villas. The first activity was ATV-ing, which I had never tried before. We donned hairnets and helmets, paired up two people to one vehicle, were given a brief explanation of the controls, and jumped right into the drive. The controls were a little challenging, mainly because the accelerator was a thumb-controlled switch on the handlebar. The guide warned us that thumb fatigue could be a limiting factor. There was no power steering, so it was an upper body workout trying to turn the handlebars. But the real kicker was the interaction between the steering and accelerator. Trying to hold constant hand pressure on the accelerator while torquing the steering system required skillful muscle group isolation. Which I did not develop in the 2.5-hour session. Due to the muscle groupings, it felt like the steering response was different for left vs. right turns.

​The journey started on normal paved roads, where normal sized cars suddenly looked a lot more intimidating. Soon, we turned onto a network of dirt mountain roads and stream crossings, where concentration was required. Since I was an ATV novice and had Mom on board, I wasn’t planning on breaking any speed records. Even at a measured pace, controlling the ATV wasn’t a walk in the park. At one point, the guide went up a slope onto a parallel trail, and I tried to follow suit. The bump steer pulled the accelerator out of my grip, and the ATV didn’t have enough momentum to make it up the hill. It was a scary moment of trying to regain control. But in between the rugged sections, I got to enjoy the open fields of pineapples and breadfruit trees, plus views of the volcanic ridges.

​We made a few stops to enjoy the scenery, including a return to the Belvedere Lookout. However, the most memorable stop was to see the blue-eyed eels. These enormous eels were able to swim upstream through shallow water, towards the feeding area where guides offered a snack. A significant portion of the eels’ backs were exposed, making quite a splash as they slithered against the current. I was invited to feel one – it was incredibly soft and incredibly slick. What marvelous creatures.

​​My brother kindly offered to let me ride as a passenger, so I could fully enjoy the last leg of the journey. At the end, we stopped at local store for a jam tasting and blended juice drinks. Overall, I'm glad I tried ATV-ing, but it didn't strike me as the safest sport. I'm content to get my adrenaline elsewhere.

We had a short lunch break between tours. I joined a group going to Snack Mahana, a local restaurant by the beach. Their generous portion of tuna sashimi was fresh and tasty.

​The afternoon tour was a boating and snorkeling expedition. We tried on masks and fins at the Activities Center, and then were off. The boat started by taking us from Opunohu Bay to Cook’s Bay, passing by a mysterious luxury yacht with a helicopter and the Hilton with the overwater bungalows. We spotted a pod of dolphins, unusual for the afternoon (they are more active in the morning). From this lagoon perspective, we could even see our villas on the hillside.

​The first snorkeling stop was a perfect warm-up. The lagoon was protected and shallow, so we could stand on the field of coral debris while we adjusted our gear. Moving as a group, we followed the guide into the reef. Along the way, the guide swam down to the bottom and found a few show-and-tell items, like an enormous pineapple sea cucumber with big gummy spikes. In some places it was deep, and I practiced diving down without the snorkel to get closer to the fish. In other places it was shallow, requiring extreme care not to accidentally kick the coral. Back in the boat, we hydrated with juice, and in some cases, with alcoholic Tahiti drink.

​The second snorkeling stop came with a catch – we would not be swimming, but instead riding along with a strong current. We had to jump in at the same time to avoid getting separated. Looking down 20 or 30 feet to the bottom, we could appreciate how fast the current was moving us. It was like being immersed in an ocean freeway. Towards the end, we spotted a group of well-camouflaged turtles hanging out on the floor, including one that surfaced for air.

​Sharks weren’t the only cartilaginous fish in the lagoon. A dozen stingrays were also waiting by the boat! The stingrays were large, round, and not afraid of people. They brushed their wings against us as they swam past. We were a bit nervous as they were “armed” with stingers, and we didn’t know their intentions. But it turns out they were accustomed to humans, as the guides were giving them food. The rays would even turn themselves vertically and poke their mouths above the surface, surrounding the guides with flapping and splashing wings. It was a delightful and totally unexpected sight. We all had the chance for plenty of ray petting (and hugs) as there were so many around us. We later learned the term for a group of stingrays is a “fever” – and this was most definitely a fever of rays! I’m already a big fan of rays, and it was the kind of memorable encounter that won over the rest of the group too.

​It was our last night in the villas, and we went for a group dinner at the Holy Steak House at the bottom of the hill. The table was livened up with pina coladas and frozen daiquiris. After so much seafood the past few days, many of us were craving hamburgers, but the restaurant didn’t have enough for everyone. Only on a remote island would a steakhouse run out of burgers. The chocolate dessert was delectable.

The next morning was logistically a bit tricky. We ended up moving our jetski tour earlier in the day, so we could return to the villas for checkout and for one group to catch a taxi (the small rental cars didn’t have enough space for everyone plus luggage). There was a little scrambling but it all worked out.
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It was my first time operating a jetski, and I was wary after the ATV experience. As it turned out, having the accelerator on the handlebar wasn’t an issue because the steering the jetski required less torque, and there was no bump steer from the ocean. Still, there was a learning curve. Going at slow speeds in the harbor, it felt like the jetski was fishtailing, but this impression faded at higher speeds. Leaving the harbor, the wakes and waves caused the jetski to pitch side to side, which was a little discombobulating. The guide’s suggestion was to go faster, but I found the jetski stability was most improved by steering in a gentle S-pattern. I think having the handlebars straight allowed for passive steering from the ocean. The gentle turning seemed to get rid of the slop.

​Cruising across the protected lagoon was spectacular. The shadows of the coral were visible through the blue water. It felt like gliding over a highway of glass. The greenery of the mainland and the occasional motu (small island) added to the atmosphere, and a pod of dolphins made an appearance. I was much more comfortable on the jetski than the ATV, and made it up to the max speed of around 60 km/h. There were some moments of bumpiness, but it only added to the adrenaline rush.

We made a snorkeling stop, dismounting from the jetskis and exploring a small reef. The guides offered us scraps of food so we could feed the fish ourselves, and I gave it a go. I loved being surrounded by the colorful schools and seeing them at eye level. Most fish were content to chase the scraps I let loose with my right hand, but a few smart fish went straight for the stash in my left hand. This was one of the few snorkeling trips where I had left my GoPro behind (I wasn’t sure it would stay onboard the jetski) and it was refreshing to simply be in the moment. However, I had to release the food early because a large stingray was approaching, and the guide didn’t want us feeding the rays. While rays may not be the most emotive animals in the world, I swear that ray looked disappointed.

​My brother’s destination wedding in Moorea was one of the original “anchors” of my world tour. Before I had a detailed plan for seeing New Zealand and Australia, I knew the ANZ trip would ultimately end by flying east to French Polynesia in mid-June. It was a small, family wedding with just 13 people. A great chance for the two families to build lasting memories together, while also getting to know the island of Moorea, which was special to Vince and Rachel. And could you think of a more beautiful place to celebrate their love? It was magical.

​As with many travel stories, the process of getting there was anything but magical. I started with a redeye flight from Melbourne to Auckland, where I endured a 12-hour layover. It was a haze of McDonald’s flat whites, napping with a beanie pulled over my eyes, and browsing Kiwi souvenirs for the nostalgia hit. When I flew from Auckland to Tahiti that evening, I crossed the international date line, and time traveled backwards a day. It was now my second June 15th, after already having a substantially long one in Melbourne. This only contributed to the sense of perpetuity.

Most of the wedding group had arrived in Tahiti an hour ahead of me and found their way to the airport hotel. Despite their written directions, it was a nightmare finding the entrance to the hotel. It was dark, the signage was poor, I had a bulky suitcase, and I had already sweltered for an hour in the immigration line. I lugged my suitcase up multiple hilly driveways, only to find none of them connected with the lobby, which was tantalizing visible at the top of the hill. A group of local teenagers carry fishing rods called out to me in a language I didn’t understand. I wasn’t sure if they were trying to harass me or help me, but eventually they caught up. In the end their intentions were good, but they certainly got a laugh out of my predicament. They confirmed I was going in the right direction; soon I found the right driveway. Out of an entire year of traveling, this stressful experience was up there.

​I shared a room with my parents, who I finally saw for the first time in 8 months. A happy but groggy reunion. In the morning, I got to properly see (or meet!) the rest of the group. We took taxis to the dock and awaited the ferry to Moorea, the social thrill of conversation superseding the lack of breakfast. The tall mountains of Tahiti, the largest island in French Polynesia, were impressive now that they were visible in daylight.

​On the ferry ride, I had a light breakfast including a pineapple filled pastry, my first taste of French-Polynesia fusion food. The ferry ride was smooth and pleasant. As we approached the shores of Moorea, we spotted outrigger canoe teams racing around the bay.

The rental car agency was disorganized. We waited our turn in a courtyard with some chickens. Unfortunately, it turned out our reservation was with a different company on the other side of the bay. Thankfully the second agency was more organized, and we soon had keys for 3 cars.
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The first mission was buying groceries before the main store closed, just 30 minutes after securing the cars. It was a desperate shopping trip, trying to find comfort foods in a foreign store with foreign brands. The fruit selection was disappointing, with papayas and bananas that never ripened. The only reliable fruit were berries imported from the US. We cobbled together bags of croissants, peanut butter, coffee, yogurt, and charcuterie, and checked out right as the store prepared to close.

The second mission was getting ourselves to the villas on the other side of the island, where we’d be staying for the first four nights. The cars were stuffed with suitcases, groceries, and we tried to balance navigators between the cars, as cell reception wasn’t a given. Thankfully there was only one main road on the island, so the hardest part was knowing when to turn into the villas’ driveway. Along the way, there were many palm trees and stray dogs, lingering precariously close to traffic.
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There were three villas, all independently rented AirBNBs within the same complex. They quickly developed nicknames based on their occupants. At the top of the hill was the California Villa, with my parents, grandma, and uncle. (It was also known as the Party Villa as it was the location of the wedding reception.) The middle villa was the Vegan Villa, with Vince, Rachel, and Rachel’s sister and mom. The third  villa was mine, the International Villa. My villa-mates included Rachel’s cousins from Germany, her dad, and her Argentinian step-mom. These four were the only four I hadn’t met prior to the wedding, so it was nice to have extra time with them.

​The villa was luxurious, with a small pool, a balcony with incredible views of the lagoon, a kitchen, a spacious living room, 3 bedrooms, and 2 bathrooms. I slept in the room with no AC, but the two powerful fans kept it to a reasonable temperature. The tall, latticed roof and sliding panel doors added to the sense of grandeur. I joked that the kitchen layout came with an island – because there was a small island visible off the coast. We suspected it was the private “motu” (small island) where the wedding would take place. The villa came with a few critters too. The tiny ants were very resourceful at finding food scraps, so most food was tucked in the fridge for safe keeping. There were also many geckos, decorating the walls and windows at night and adding to the tropical soundtrack with their chirps.

​After such a busy morning, we were eager for a late lunch. We went to a local restaurant called 02 Coco for the first pina coladas and poisson cru of the trip. Poisson cru is like a coconut milk ceviche, featuring tender raw fish and veggies, and is a typical dish in French Polynesia. The waiter was a charismatic fellow who infused humor and bravado into every step of the ordering.

​Later in the evening, we drove to the Hyatt for a welcome dinner alongside the sharks and rays. The restaurant was located on the same boardwalk as the property’s overwater bungalows. After enjoying seafood crepes (and a dessert one too!) we looked over the railing and watched the underwater show.

​It was nice to have an unstructured morning for everyone to settle in. After a good night’s sleep, I went for a swim at the pool, and met up with my parents, uncle, and grandma who were finishing a morning workout of their own. The five of us picked up some poisson cru from a local mini-mart for an efficient lunch before the afternoon activity.

​A private 4WD tour with our guide “Francky Frank” was a great introduction to the island’s geography. The two 4WD vehicles were trucks with modified beds, including benches, railings, and a cover. The first stop was a viewpoint called Magic Mountain, accessed by a very steep track that consisted of two parallel rails of concrete.

​On the way up, the jungle scenery and glimpses of the mountains were an appetizer, with the best views awaiting at the top. We could see across Opunohu Bay, named for the stonefish, a venomous and well-camouflaged peril of the reef. The guide explained the geology of French Polynesia. Moorea was middle-aged compared to its noteworthy neighbors: the older Bora Bora, and the newer Tahiti. Each island formed as the tectonic plate moved relative to the hot spot below, similar to Hawaii. Over time, the volcanic mountains were sinking into the ocean, forming a ringlike atoll. Hence, the older Bora Bora has a smaller peak and a larger lagoon. In the case of Moorea, the volcanic ridge was not a perfect circle but more of a C-shape, as the lava flows carved a path like an asymmetrically melting candle. In the shallow part of the crater were two bays, Opunohu and Cook, separated by Mount Rotui. The shape of Moorea is often described as a heart-shaped, so perfect for a wedding!

​The second stop was at a black sand beach at the tip of Opunohu Bay. This was one of the deeper harbors, where a freshwater river met the saltwater ocean and caused a gap in the reef perimeter. One of the guides demonstrated a conch shell bugle call, used to announce a peaceful boat arrival (or advertise the catch of the day). As a transmitter of information, the conch was deemed worthy to play by mouth. However, Polynesian instruments for aesthetic purposes are traditionally played using the nose, like the nose flute.

The third stop was at a vanilla plantation, which was starting back up after a few years of lower production. The vanilla plants had a T-shaped trellis that allowed them to grow up, fall down, and grow up again – the vanilla pods tend to form on the downward vines. Moorea isn’t the biggest vanilla producing island, but generally speaking, French Polynesian vanilla is considered extremely high quality and fetches a premium price around the world. The plantation had examples of other tropical fruits, a friendly cat, and a café with delicious sorbets.

​The fourth stop was the Rotui juice and Manutea rum factory. Many people probably haven’t heard of Rotui, as all the juice is produced for domestic consumption! Specialization (and inter-island trade) are an important part of French Polynesia’s economy, given its small population and isolated location. The tasting sampler was all over the place, from sweet coconut rum to grassy Rhum Agricole that was so difficult to get down, it required a juice chaser. Vince and Rachel recognized the bartender and found a picture with him from a previous visit. A separate French family tried to elbow their way to the crowded counter, got into a rude argument with the bartender, and left in a huff. The gift shop had lots of treats. I thought it was funny that the non-alcoholic juices were guarded behind the cashier while the alcoholic bottles were easily accessible on the main floor.

​The fifth stop was a pineapple plantation, with the cutest little pineapples forming in the middle of spiky bushes. Yes, they grow on bushes – not on trees! Moorea is famous within the archipelago for its pineapples. At the wedding reception, mini pineapples were used as table decorations. And were also delicious as leftovers.

​The sixth and final stop was the view from Belvedere Lookout, which included Mount Rotui and its two bays. The jagged volcanic peaks and lush greenery were beautiful at sunset.

​Dinner was in smaller groups; I went to the steakhouse just down the street from the villas with my parents, grandma, and uncle. I had a pina colada, a fish fillet with vanilla butter sauce, and we shared a crème brulee in a coconut shell for dessert – yum!

In the evening, I hung out on the patio and chatted with Matteo, one of the German guests. Together we polished off a carton of Tahiti Drink, the boozy fruit juice with a hint of vanilla. Matteo and his girlfriend Kim had traveled around California with Vince and Rachel the week prior. The leadup to the wedding sure had a lot of moving parts!
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The day of the wedding had finally arrived. The women had an early start at the Vegan Villa for hair and makeup, while the men had a later start at the International Villa. I was among the first group sent to the motu, by a combination of a land taxi and a water taxi. It was an unexpected wet boarding, and our dress shoes were hastily doffed before stepping from the shallow water into the canoe, a motorized single outrigger. I later found out that Rachel, in her wedding gown, was lifted on board by the taxi driver! It was a beautiful boat ride across the lagoon, with the shadows of coral visible through the clear water. We even saw a turtle breach the surface, waving a flipper – surely a wedding greeting.

​The motu itself had a small pier and pathway made of concrete pavers. The path led to a clearing with a gazebo and chairs, set up right on the beach. Those of us on the first boat waited in a shaded picnic area. For the ceremony, we were asked to remove our shoes, but it turned out to be a rather sharp coral beach that was tough on the feet. At least the weather was kind, with a mild temperature, no rain, and sunlight during the ceremony. And our theory was correct: it was the motu we could see from the villa!

​Rachel and Vince arrived in the second boat, and looked stunning in their wedding attire. He wore a light blue suit, commissioned during their visit to Vietnam. She wore an elegant white dress, picked out in SF, that I don’t have the vocabulary to adequately describe, but I remember liking the minimalistic sleeves. Seeing them so finely dressed together with Moorea’s lagoon and mountains in the backdrop gave two differing impressions: of a picture-perfect movie wedding that shouldn’t be real, yet simultaneously, something so perfectly harmonious that my brain accepted it as an image that had always existed.

​During the ceremony, I was invited to share a little speech, including a poem that reminded me of their ethos as a couple. Rachel’s sister Val played the role of MC and unofficial officiant. (The legal wedding would occur a week later, at City Hall in San Francisco). The bride and groom shared their thoughtful custom vows. It was just perfect. After the ceremony, we stayed for some group photos on the beach. Then it was off to the Party Villa for the reception.

​The hospitality at the reception was simply phenomenal. We were met with cheerful flower leis that smelled like jasmine and live music from a singing and strumming duet. The server Pedro took very good care of everyone, bringing out tropical drinks and announcing the meal courses with warmth and sincerity.

​Chef Marc, who we later learned had his own brand of packaged food, impressed us with his creations from the first hors d’oeuvres to the final crème brulee. Some of the food highlights? The pina coladas were the best I had on the entire trip. As a seafood lover, the salmon sashimi, grilled octopus, and fish fillet were a real treat. The vegan options were similarly adored. And for dessert, the vegan cake was a bit of a celebrity. The only vegan bakery in the archipelago was on Tahiti, and so the cake had to be hand carried to Moorea aboard the morning ferry!

The parents all read speeches at the lunch reception, which were loving and sentimental. A photo album, sent by Rachel’s relatives in Germany as a gift, was another source of merriment. As tradition dictates, Rachel and Vince cut their cake and did an impromptu first dance.

It was the most idyllic afternoon, as close to paradise as one can ever reach.

​My visit to Australia, seemingly limitless in its runway, finally reached its conclusion on June 15th. In total, I spent 180 days in the country, just under 6 months. So much had happened since I stepped off the plane in Hobart, Tasmania back in December. I had spent 70 days traveling domestically within Australia, or 39% of my visit. The remaining 61% was spent living in Melbourne, the perfect hybrid of local living and city sightseeing. I became quite fond of Melbourne, and greatly benefitted from having an extended time to explore its CBD, suburbs, parks, and events.

While I’m in a retrospective frame of mind, it’s interesting to look back on the cost of the trip. Australia is an expensive country, and staying budget conscious was a recurring theme that shaped the way I lived my life there. Even still, the total cost of the trip was around $26k (USD). The domestic travels cost around $14.5k, which translates to about $208 per day. This includes flights, hostels, food, tours, etc. The stay in Melbourne cost around $11.5k, or about $103 per day. This includes my room rental in Carlton, going to events in the city, groceries, health insurance, souvenirs, etc. The apartment was the largest item, accounting for over 55% of my Melbourne expenses. While I wish I had found a cheaper place (or was able to break my lease early), the apartment was also a huge source of stability and peace of mind.

Before leaving Australia, one of my bucket list items was trying kangaroo meat. It’s considered a game meat, as it’s sourced from wild kangaroos rather than farmed animals. In the country, there are more kangaroos than people, so with some geographic and quota restrictions, it’s considered sustainable. Of course, it’s been a bush food for thousands of years (though some of the traditional cooking methods sounded less than appetizing). There weren’t many restaurants in Melbourne that specialized in native foods, but I read online that kangaroo meat was available from some chain grocery stores. To my surprise, I found a pack of K-ROO brand steaks at my local Woolworth’s.
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I cooked the steaks in a frying pan, following the instructions to sear it for 5 minutes on each side. The initial color was redder than beef, but the final result was very close to beef in both color and texture. The kangaroo was just a fraction chewier and tangier. There were lots of leftovers, which were useful for repurposing in other recipes. My last breakfast in Australia was a kangaroo omelet.

​I had the chance to say farewell to my friends from the furry community at the usual Tuesday night barmeet. I hadn’t seen JC, Sed, and Daniel in a few weeks, and it was good to catch up. Even Reggie made it despite having a long workday. Perhaps I will see them at a convention in the US someday. Since it was my last time at the bar, I made sure to visit the legendary sticker wall in the men’s bathroom. It was a running joke in the group chat, but also a metaphor for the way a tolerant space can foster community.

​Even though I was out of running shape, I made sure to savor a final run around the Carlton Gardens. Over the course of a few months, it had transformed from a summer picnic ground to an autumn wonderland. I’ll miss the relaxed recreation atmosphere of its tai chi groups, rollerbladers, basketball players, and tourist groups. The 96 tram ride past the Royal Exhibition Building was one of my favorite cinematic perspectives of the city.

In anticipation of my brother’s wedding, I went for a professional haircut at Buddy’s Barbershop, the same place I visited when I first moved to Carlton. As before, the stylist Jan was relaxed and engaging. It was a busy day, and while I waited, I overheard another customer venting about their daily struggles to another stylist, who was extremely supportive and validating. I suppose a barbershop visit can be a form of therapy.
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Following the gin tasting at Four Pillars, I was eager to try the whiskey at Starward in Port Melbourne. Gail, who always was up for trying a new local spot, was kind enough to join me. We actually walked to Starward from her house in South Melbourne, as it wasn’t too far away.

The space at Starward was a warehouse with modern trappings, like concrete counters and artsy lighting. It wasn’t very crowded, so we got a prime seat at a booth that was partially closed off by a chain curtain. The tasting flight was pre-empted by a “amuse-bouche” (mouth amuser) of a refreshing spritz. The three whiskeys were all finely crafted. One was aged in wine barrels from Yalumba, a winery I visited in Barossa Valley. Though I must admit, I couldn’t pick up any major differences between the three whiskeys. The cheese plate we ordered was also quite good, as were the whiskey-infused olives. Following the flight, we had some whiskey cocktails including a tasty Negroni and Old Fashioned with wattleseed syrup.

Since we were still a bit hungry, we stopped at a neighborhood pub for an extra bite and drink. The chips and calamari rings were hot and fresh, just what we needed. It was the perfect pub atmosphere, where a stag party ordering shots by the tray was perfectly at home alongside a family with a cute but mischievous dog who visited our table. Over the course of the evening, Gail and I talked about everything from footy to family, work challenges to writing inspiration.
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On June 15th, I had to be out of my apartment by 10:00am. I did a final sweep, said goodbye to the unsightly fish painting that was the only decoration, and locked in the keys. Down in the kitchen, I set my dishes free in the communal cupboard and left the usable ingredients for others to claim. Zachary, my flatmate who lived abroad in Spain, had left a sweet handwritten note on my door in case he missed my departure, but we ended up having the chance to say goodbye in person. Zachary was the only remaining resident that I knew. The old guard had cleared out. Dani the medical student had been gone a few days. Eirik the Finnish student had left a day earlier. Joaquin the Chilean student was leaving at the same time as me.  It felt like the whole apartment, already somewhat devoid of life, was going into full hibernation.

​My flight wasn’t until late at night, so I had a whole day to kill. I had brought my large suitcase to Gail’s the night before, so I just had a backpack of essentials with me on the final day. I decided to work my way down Lygon Street, getting a final taste of Little Italy. I started with coffee at King & Godfree, where I watched the street scene from a cozy counter.

​Next I headed to DOC Espresso for lunch. I convinced Ben to join me there, who was on call for work but hadn’t been summoned to repair any coffee machines yet. We sat on the patio, where a surprising amount of sunshine kept us warm. I had a delicious piece of lasagna. It felt like being at a charming European café. The fellow patrons wore colorful hats and thick rimmed glasses and held purse dogs. One of the head honchos from Ben’s company happened to be sitting nearby, and we exchanged brief introductions. After the meal, I went inside to pay using leftover cash, which was accepted with mild surprise in this contactless payment society. As I already knew, Ben was only going to be staying in Australia a few more months, before moving to Wellington in the new year. We wished each other all the best.

​Continuing down Lygon Street, I spent a little time at the reliable sanctuary of the Kathleen Syme library. Then I headed to Fossey’s Distillery for a mini rum tasting. It included their house Red Gum Rum (aged with red gum wood) and a Queensland rum called Nil Desperandum (“do not despair”) that was very good. The tasting kit included ice, tongs, and a special ginger beer as a mixer. It was a quiet day and the bartender even poured some of their coffee liqueur. I loved the cozy cellar ambience of the tasting room. In three consecutive days, I’d now sampled gin, whiskey, and rum at three different distilleries!

​My next goal was walking through the Botanical Gardens, but the whole thing was closed down for a nighttime light installation. Instead, I sat at my favorite spot on the edge of the Yarra River. The lighting was simply gorgeous – Melbourne was making my last day special. As I sat at a metal picnic table, a group of magpies started hopping towards me. One got uncomfortably close, just a foot from my foot, and staring up at me. Though nervous, I knew that magpies were too smart to attack unprovoked. I moved my foot aside, and the magpie gobbled up a piece of food that was hiding underneath. Phew! It hopped up on the table to hunt for scraps and pose for a photo, its orange eye still a bit menacing. Then, the trio of magpies continued working their way down the path, sweeping for food like an organized search and rescue team.

​I headed the other direction, following the river towards the CBD as the sun set behind the skyline. It was positively pleasant. I found a quiet food court and journalled while sipping on a boba tea. Stores were closing down surprisingly early, and I was lucky to get a discounted tray of Korean chicken before the store shut at 7:30pm. A few minutes later, the food court was flooded with footy fans, decked out in Richmond Tigers or Hawthorn Hawks scarves. A game at the nearby MCG had presumably just ended. The fans were similarly disappointed with the lack of food options and kept walking.

​Soon it was time to end my day. I lingered over the colorful lighting in Southbank and across to Flinders Station. Then I took my last tram ride, to Gail’s to collect my suitcase. Reggie picked me up and drove me to the airport, which was really nice. Unfortunately, they had been in a motorcycle accident earlier the day and seemed a little flustered. If I had known, I would have made other arrangements to spare Reggie the trouble. Still, I was grateful that Gail and Reggie both were a part of my final day. They were my true local hosts, and I’ll miss them tremendously.

​Despite having been to the Melbourne airport on 9 previous occasions, this was my first time seeing the international terminal. My bloated suitcase earned a “HEAVY” tag at the Jetstar counter. Thankfully the wheels I had manually replaced held up. When checking in, the staff had to verify that I had a flight out of New Zealand (I had a one way ticket to Auckland, where I would be switching to another airline).

​The duty free shops were chock-full of Tim Tams, so I picked up one last sleeve to go. There was also a Brunetti outlet with a respectable subset of their desserts. Nothing like the selection at Brunetti Classico in Carlton, but I still indulged in an opera cake and a tiramisu tart. There were only wooden utensils available, which felt like a crime to use on these elevated desserts.

​For once, my plane was taking off east. Since the airport was on the west side of the city, I caught my first and only glimpse of Melbourne from above. It was shrouded in fog, so I was prevented from hunting for familiar landmarks, a bit anticlimactic.

The lead up to my departure had been a slow build, but the physical act of leaving went by in a blink. I had a feeling that I’d be back someday, which made it a little easier to say goodbye.

In my final week in Australia, I had my eye on two destinations outside of Melbourne, both accessible by public transport. Ballarat is a gold rush town known for its historical theme park, Sovereign Hill, that brings to life the mining heyday of the 1850s and beyond. The other town, Healesville, is part of the Yarra Valley wine region. Its animal sanctuary was highly recommended to me, and a famous distillery called Four Pillars happened to be nearby, so it was an easy sell!
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Even though it was the off-season and the weather was cold and gloomy, both Sovereign Hill and the Healesville Sanctuary were large enough attractions to still have plenty of tourists, arriving on buses. Getting there on public transport required patience but was very much in my wheelhouse.

There was a direct train from Melbourne to Ballarat, which I was familiar with from my previous journeys to the Grampians and Castlemaine. I sat in the dedicated quiet car and edited a speech for my brother’s wedding, catching the occasional glimpse of a kangaroo as the hills and reservoirs rolled by.

An hour and a half later, I started my walk across Ballarat towards Sovereign Hill, admiring the grand brick buildings on the main streets. The walk continued on a creek-side bike path through a sleepy neighborhood. I encountered a few magpies near the intersection of Magpie Street and Grant Street. The layout of the theme park was a little confusing, but I found the entrance and bought a ticket.
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The first area that one encountered was a tent city, inspired by the beginning of the gold rush when miners and their families had just arrived. It was my first encounter with the costumed actors who brought the town to life. A chipper butcher offered me a choice of mutton, mutton, or mutton. It was a funny dynamic between the disoriented tourists stumbling upon a new place with new rules, and the actors who were in their element and accustomed to engaging with tourists.

​The park had a number of events and demonstrations, more than you could see in a single day. I started with an orientation tour that pointed out the key locations and event times. As we walked the main street, we had to step aside for a horse-drawn carriage that was doing laps around the town. It was such a vivid sight, with the hoof prints in the mud and the warm vapor of the horses’ breath.

​I scouted out some of the artisan shops, including a blacksmith, a bakery, and a print shop. Posters with “current events” were a frequent site around town, presumably from this very shop. I was delighted to find the printer was taking commissions for souvenir posters and got one for my dad. The printer showed me the process of typesetting, applying the ink, and pressing the paper down onto the letter blocks.

​I was the only one in the shop and continued chatting with the printer while the poster dried. He had relatives in the US and expressed concern about US gun culture. It turned out he was a gun owner himself, and described the details of his responsibilities regarding permits, storage, and inspections. The whole conversation was a little bizarre. Here I was in a recreation of a gun-slinging frontier town, talking about modern gun control with a printer in an apron. I told him I was ending my trip soon, and he encouraged me to look for engineering jobs in Australia so I could stay, even writing down the website “seek.com” on a piece of paper for me – a website I was all too familiar with from my working holiday job hunt.

​I continued exploring the town. There was a post office, a candle maker, a bowling alley, a lollie shop, and an iron foundry. The storefronts had beautiful facades and signs advertising their wares. Metal drums containing fire were the perfect place to warm one’s hands in the cold. On the side streets there were houses with gardens and animals like donkeys, Rhode Island Red chickens, and guinea fowl. There were a few small places to grab a bite, including a hotel pub with its own brand of beer on tap. I stopped by the bakery for a sausage roll and their signature vanilla slice, a tasty dessert that reminded me of the kremsnita I tried in Slovenia.

​One of my favorite stops was the wheelwright, a functioning workshop that uses traditional woodworking and metalworking techniques to maintain the site’s horse carriages. There were signs that explained the machinery used to carve the wheel hubs and spokes, bend the wheel rims, and press on the metal “tires.” I marveled at the intricacy of the component design, which despite relying on wood as a material, was extremely sophisticated. In particular, the way the profiles of the spokes were contoured to act as shock absorbers. A craftsman working in a cordoned area was happy to share more information. He showed me some of the specialized carving planes used to create the body of the carriage, tools that were probably 100 years old. He also pointed out a recently restored carriage with elaborate decorative linework, all hand-painted by a local artisan. It was inspiring: both the ingenuity behind these seemingly antiquated techniques, and the dedication to keeping these trades alive.

​Of course, the mining history of Sovereign Hill was an important part of the visit. There was a river for gold panning and a free underground experience with holograms. The holograms told the story of the Welcome Nugget, found near Ballarat, and the 2nd largest gold nugget ever discovered.

I also paid for a guided mine tour that went deeper underground via tram. It was just one of three options, showing how much depth there was at Sovereign Hill (literally!) During the tram ride, we were asked to remain in darkness and silence. I couldn’t see my hand held in front of my face. At the bottom, we regrouped in an antechamber. The group had around 15 or 20 people including a few Asian tourists who didn’t speak English well. The guide sternly told them to turn off their phone flashlights several times before they got the message. The guide (or perhaps his costumed character, hard to tell) was a strict military type, who was to be addressed as “sir.”

We followed a network of drives (horizontal tunnels) past decommissioned shafts (vertical tunnels). These were made during the later mining era, when individual miners had consolidated into corporations and heavy machinery was used to extract gold from quartz deposits. The miners descended in crowded baskets and used pneumatic drills instead of pickaxes. The quartz blocks were brought to the surface, where they were crushed and sifted for gold flakes.
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The most amazing part of the tour was an earlier mine that was rediscovered by coincidence. It was originally excavated by a small team using expert Cornish techniques. Dozens of wooden poles, jammed in to buttress the ceiling, were still in place. The guide told us that the miners had dug down from the surface until they struck a quartz deposit and then removed most of it. The miners were smart enough to leave some of the dense quartz in place to ensure the stability of the mine.

​Back on the surface, I attended a gold pouring demo where molten gold was formed into a bar. It was similar to the one I had seen at the Perth Mint, and just as scintillating. The gold pourer at Sovereign Hill was charismatic and went into good detail, even explaining the process of chemically removing impurities.

After the demo, I happened to see the gold pourer outside. I was surprised to hear that he had only been running the demos for a few months. He said that folks from the Perth Mint had visited Sovereign Hill and were impressed with the furnace used for melting the gold, which was state of the art. Within earshot of the conversation was the guide for the quartz crushing machinery demo. The quartz crusher showed the gold pourer some gold flakes that were produced as a by-product of the crushing demo. They reckoned it was worth around $20. Talk about some unusual day jobs!

​For the school groups, the highlight was surely the confectionery where boiled lollies are still made the old-fashioned way. The confectionery is considered one of the oldest continuously operating businesses in Australia, dating back to the 1850s. The confectioner melted and mixed a vat of hot sugar, then poured it onto a table where it was cooled and worked. The way the viscous mass flowed and congealed was mesmerizing (like it was alive!) Then a hand cranked press turned the sugar into a sheet that resembled bubble wrap. In a dramatic flourish, the confectionery slammed the sheet onto the table, shattering it apart into individual lozenges. To minimize the candy grabbing chaos, two trays were filled and handed out: one for the school group and one for the casual tourists. The resulting lollie was a tart berry flavor, and unsurprisingly, of excellent quality. (Side note: the use of the word “lollie” instead of “candy” was one of the few Aussie terms that I had trouble embracing, but it was somehow fitting at Sovereign Hill.)

​The final pop-up event was about the evolution of mining detonator technology. An actor in a top hat pretended to be a salesman-inventor, demonstrating his new voltaic battery by creating a small explosion with a time delay. The actor was a talented comedy improviser, who bantered with the audience. He had previously approached me on the street, noticed my poster from the print shop, claimed I was an outlaw myself, and tried to convince a nearby police officer to arrest me! The detonator routine was a fun way to end the visit.

​On the way back to Melbourne, I stopped for in the suburb of Footscray for dinner. Footscray has a diverse immigrant population and is known as a foodie destination. I sought out something I hadn’t tried before – Uyghur Chinese food. The Uyghurs are a Turkic ethnic group in northwest China that are being oppressed by the Chinese government. Uyghur food was a bit like a fusion of Turkish and Chinese food, and the enormous menu at Karlaylisi was beckoning in so many directions – noodles, stuffed breads, and dumplings all sounded good. I settled for a tomato-based noodle stir fry and a pot of their house tea. The sauce and toppings were so flavorful, and the noodles were tender and chewy. The tea was a little too sweet, so I couldn’t finish the whole pot. The restaurant only had one other guest, which was a shame because it was so good!

​The train journey from Melbourne towards Healesville was going smoothly until I encountered the dreaded “replacement bus,” the bane of every Melburnian living in the outer suburbs. Instead of going all the way to Lilydale, the train stopped at Ringwood and I had to follow a bunch of confusing signs to an unmarked bus that would complete the journey. And at Lilydale, there were no bathrooms – it turned out the station itself was under construction. I managed to find a bathroom and catch the next bus to Healesville, which didn’t run very often and was the key connection.

The bus ride itself was scenic, journeying through the relaxed small towns of the Yarra Valley. At one point the bus driver pulled over and ran into a café. It was a misty morning on the beautiful country roads. Some roads were so remote that they lacked lane markers. I felt that a public bus had no business in such a peaceful backwater, but there we were, so I soaked it in.
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At the Healesville Sanctuary, I bought a flat white and set out to see some cute Australian animals. What can I say, I’m a creature of habit – these sanctuaries (and espresso drinks) never got old.

Not needing to gawk over the emus and koalas gave me more time to see the less common denizens. Away from the main kangaroo pasture, I watched a shy Parma Wallaby emerge from its private fenced garden. Its ears were quivering as if it was cold. I later learned this was a form of communication. I wonder what it was trying to tell me?

​One of the daily keeper talks was focused on the Tree Kangaroo, an endangered marsupial found in northern Australia and New Guinea. They spend their whole lives in trees and are adapted to jump between them. A lunch portion of leaves was brought to the treehouse, where the Tree Kangaroo largely stayed out of view. Their appearance was similar to a lemur. This Tree Kangaroo was part of a breeding program, and the keeper said that a joey might be on the way.

​The most stunning animal of the day was the Satin Bowerbird. As soon as I approached the edge of its cage, it burst into a loud song of robotic whistles and chirps, complete with sharp head movements. Its uncanny behavior was honestly a bit frightening. Its perfect impression of a kookaburra laugh, seamlessly blended into the routine, only added to my shock. No one else was nearby to witness the spectacle, and I wondered if I was going crazy. I later learned the Bowerbirds are known for building elaborate nests using blue objects. But their mimicry alone was unique enough to be memorable for me!

​The sanctuary had an excellent house for nocturnal animals, kept in darkness with red tinted lamps. One exhibit had several handsome quolls with spotted coats. In another, I was shocked to see a real live bilby – of Easter Bilby fame. It was a ball of energy, sprinting laps around the obstacles in its habitat. Its enormous ears were so cute! They also had a Mountain Pygmy Possum, a tiny and endangered marsupial with big black eyes, that adeptly climbed up some branches.

The flagship bird presentation had to be cancelled, as there was a wild wedge-tail eagle that had a front row seat to the ampitheater. Later on, when I was walking through an enclosed aviary with lorikeets and cockatoos, the same wedge-tail eagle did a flyover and sent the sanctuary birds into a panic.
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The sanctuary had a hospital area with glass windows. I circled through a few times, and on the third attempt, caught a procedure in action. A colorful Swift Parrot was receiving x-rays, while the previous patient, a wombat with diarrhea, recovered from anesthesia in the arms of a veterinarian. Nearby, a friendly staff member was more than happy to have an extended chat and answer my questions. She even had an echidna quill for show and tell.

​Towards the end of the route, I stumbled upon a lyrebird in the middle of an elaborate birdsong. A staff member explained it was the time of year where Apollo (named for the Greek god of music!) was giving regular performances, every hour or so. I loved the way Apollo fanned out his tail feathers like an umbrella over his head, and then folded them up when the song was done. I had previously seen wild lyrebirds browsing through leaf litter in the Blue Mountains and Ferntree Gully, but getting the full performance was a real treat.

​A dinosaur-themed wing of the park had enormous animatronic velociraptors and T-rexes posed against a natural backdrop of gum trees. Australia really does have all the most dangerous animals!

Unlike many of the other sanctuaries in Australia, the Healesville one didn’t have a kangaroo feeding element. However, the range of animals and quality of the infrastructure were top notch. It was a great way to say farewell to all my favorite species, the recurring characters of my Australia adventure.

After the sanctuary visit, I took the bus to Four Pillars Gin distillery. This brand was a staple at Australian bars, and I had previously enjoyed a cocktail made with their Bloody Shiraz gin.
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I started with a gin tasting that ended up being a private guided experience. The bartender explained their distilling process, with the equipment visible through a round window, and poured several tastings. Along the way, he introduced me to the botanicals used in their gin, conveniently sorted in glass cups so I could smell their individual aromas. There were staples like juniper, coriander, and star anise, plus Australian botanicals like pepperberry and lemon myrtle. The tasting covered their standard gin, Navy Strength, Spiced Negroni, Bloody Shiraz, and “Sticky Carpet” gin – inspired by the beer-stained floors of the Espy in St. Kilda. The bartender was kind enough to let me try some additional types, like yuzu gin and barrel-aged Bloody Shiraz gin. It was a fun and unique tasting experience.

​Afterwards, I headed to the restaurant-bar for a few gin cocktails. After having relatively little alcohol the past few months for budget purposes, it was the end of my trip and I finally decided to splurge. I started with their classic martini. Not my typical order but man did they nail it. The second drink was a Tiki style drink with gin and orange marmalade. During the tasting, I learned that the distillery uses fresh orange as a raw ingredient, and later converts the orange scraps into marmalade. I thought it was cheeky to then use the marmalade in a drink alongside the gin. Of course, as a responsible citizen, I also had some food and water. The glass water bottles were stamped with a hilarious and practical phrase – “NOT GIN.”

​There you have it. I really “struck gold” on these day trips to Ballarat and Healesville.

One of Australia’s public holidays is called the King’s Birthday. It was formerly known as the Queen’s Birthday and many people were still adjusting to the new name! It’s not actually celebrated on the monarch’s birthday, but rather is commemorated on the second Monday in June. (Sorry Charles.)
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The 3-day King’s Birthday weekend coincided with the beginning of my last week in Melbourne. Since many people were off work, it was a convenient chance to spend time with local friends before leaving town. I ended up squeezing in 6 different social engagements, including a footy game at the MCG!

The first was my usual Saturday morning Parkrun at the Kirkdale reserve with Ben. As usual, the race organizer asked if anyone was visiting from other cities or Parkrun sites. There were several runners from other Australian capitals, presumably in town for the long weekend.

It ended up being my 8th and last Parkrun. Even though it was a bit inconvenient getting out of bed and commuting to the park, I still grew fond of this Saturday morning ritual. I would see Ben again before leaving town, so it wasn’t goodbye to him just yet.
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In the afternoon, I finally had the chance to meet my Aussie-Czech relatives at a historic pub across from Flinders Station called Young & Jackson’s. They were visiting Melbourne from Gold Coast to watch footy with their kids over the holiday weekend. At the pub were two brothers, Jason and Danny, and two of their kids. We had a lovely chat over a few pints.

Quick refresher on the family connection. My great grandmother Marie, who moved from Czechoslovakia to New York, had a sister named Frances who moved to Tasmania. Frances’ daughter Eva worked as a dentist in Penguin, alongside her husband Antonin who was a doctor. Eva and Antonin had two children – Mark (who died young) and Dan, the father of Jason and Danny. Dan worked as a plumber and moved to the Gold Coast, where he built his own house. Jason and Danny had two older siblings, Nate and Nicky, who were born in Tasmania before the move. Nowadays, the whole clan was rooted in Gold Coast – the four adult siblings, their spouses’ families, and their kids. If things had worked out differently, it would have been delightful to meet everyone during my visit to Gold Coast in May. I was still so thankful that Danny and Jason happened to be in Melbourne and made time to meet with me.
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They were both personable and generous fellows. They insisted on buying the drinks. Later on, they had their kids bring money to the homeless man outside the window (the “Aussie way,” as they described it). Jason worked for a hotel chain that spanned from Hawaii to the Maldives and traveled a lot for work. He thought the Polynesian sense of hospitality was even more impressive than Australia’s. One time, Jason had visited the Czech town of Hluk, where our mutual ancestors were from. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much luck finding family as he didn’t speak the language. Danny was a yoga instructor and painter, working on a teaching credential. He spoke with an air of wisdom and gratitude, keeping a positive perspective on life’s hardships. He and his daughter enjoyed surfing, and while in Melbourne, they visited the UrbnSurf manmade wave pool.
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The two brothers had memories of visiting Frances and Eva in Penguin. They told stories that added color, like Frances being a whirlwind and giving one of the kids an ashtray as a spontaneous birthday gift. I learned that Eva was an unmatched host who ensured there was excessive food available. One time, the brothers visited Eva and deliberately didn’t notify her about the visit until they had already landed in Launceston, as they didn’t want a fuss. But as soon as they got off the phone, Eva (who couldn’t drive at that point) took a taxi to the grocery store and was back with food before the guests arrived. We also talked about their father Dan’s reluctance to talk about their Uncle Mark’s suicide, and how he changed to become a more active grandparent after his wife died of cancer.
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I sincerely hope to see them again, perhaps in the US! Danny had once visited California and Oregon, recalling times in Santa Monica and the Avenue of the Giants. And Jason goes to Hawaii regularly for work. In any case, it was great to make the initial connection. The mystery of these Gold Coast relatives had been a loose plot thread in my Australia adventure – a seed planted during my very first week in the country in Tasmania. Here it was, my last week in the country, and resolved in the best way possible.
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Sunday morning, I took the train to Elwood and met with Zeah for a coastal walk and a coffee. The sky that day was gray but peaceful. While talking, we strolled past expensive mansions and runners from a community event who were dressed as footy players. I mentioned I was going to see the Grigoryan Brothers perform a concert later in the day, and Zeah provided the insider scoop on their careers and styles. She mentioned teaching at an event in the Philippines, where the Spanish influence has maintained interest in classical guitar. The café she selected was modern and cozy.

When it was time to say goodbye, I thanked her for arranging the guitar I borrowed in Melbourne and for making the time to see me. It was so special to keep the Suzuki guitar network alive and spend time with someone who shared my admiration for the late Frank Longay, my teacher in California. At the same time, I couldn’t help but feel a sad sense that the golden days of the Suzuki guitar community had passed for Zeah. The financial pressures of teaching, fewer opportunities to travel to conventions, and COVID impacts on student engagement sounded like a challenging combination. I hope these gray skies eventually clear for her.

I needed to stop back at my apartment in Carlton for lunch and a change of clothes. There was a massive anti-Israel protest in the middle of the CBD that blocked both Swanston Street and Bourke Street, the two major tram arteries that I relied on. I eventually made it back, wolfed down some food, and hopped on the bus to the next engagement of the day.
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The Grigoryan Brothers, Slava and Lenny, were playing a concert at the Collingwood Town Hall. I had only recently been made aware of this Australian duet, a recommendation from my Servas host in Perth. One of their albums, This is Us, immediately caught my ear. It was commissioned by the National Museum of Australia in Canberra, which I coincidentally visited in March. Each of the 18 original compositions were inspired by an artifact in the museum, including one called Thylacine – the same preserved thylacine which I previously wrote about in this blog. I looked up the brothers’ concert schedule and found they were touring the country for their latest album, Amistad. I knew I had to see them!

The beginning of the concert was a set from Amistad, many of which were composed by friends of theirs. Hence the title, Amistad, meaning “friendship” in Spanish. One piece was by the well-known guitar composer Leo Brouwer, titled Blue Mountains. It was inspired by Brouwer’s visit there, but I liked the real Blue Mountains much better than the song. The middle of the program included some guitar duet staples, like the Suite Retratos. Their fast playing was a feat of athleticism!
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To my delight, they ended the program with two pieces from This is Us. The first was called Loven Token. It was inspired by the carved coins that convicts would give to their loved ones before being shipped away to Australia. Lenny read the inscription of the specific coin at the NMA that had inspired them – “Dear brother / When this you see / Think of me / From far away.” The two brothers wrote the piece during COVID lockdowns while living in different cities, giving it extra significance. The last piece was an energetic piece called Don’s Bat, inspired by the cricket legend Don Bradman. The backstory needed no introduction for this Aussie audience.

​The Grigoryan brothers concert felt like the cherry on top of my weekend. But the event I had been anticipating the most was still to come – an Australian rules football game at the Melbourne Cricket Ground. Abbreviated as the MCG, and further shortened to the “G,” this was the most hallowed sporting hub of the city, and maybe even country. It was a short train ride from Collingwood to the “G.” Outside the gates, I met up with Gail who had agreed to accompany me to my first footy game.

​Tonight it was the Carlton Blues vs. the Essendon Bombers. My newly adopted team vs. Gail’s team. A perfect match to see together. Gail had the equivalent of MCG season tickets, covering both cricket in the summer and footy in the winter. Our initial goal was getting into the MCC member’s reserve, which had a dress code. It required a collared shirt and no torn jeans, so I wore the nicest clothes I had in my limited wardrobe – my wedding khakis and shirt. A little out of place, but oh well. Even though we arrived several hours in advance, we didn’t get into the MCC section as it was popular on a holiday weekend. Instead, we ended up in one of the highest rows in the highest section. I actually liked having a panorama over the whole stadium, which made it possible to appreciate the scale of the venue. There were 88,500 fans in attendance that night!

​Before the game, we had roast meat sandwiches and beers in a crowded food court. It was elbow to elbow, but most people were glued to a TV screen showing another footy game. We wandered the halls, looking at sports memorabilia including a statue of Don Bradman, a painting of the victorious women’s soccer team, a tapestry of notable MCG history, and many other pieces.

​The two teams burst through their club banners and took the field for warm-ups while their club anthems played. Afterwards, a group of four brothers made an appearance on the field. They were all retired footy players, including one with Motor Neuron Disease (MND) who created a campaign to raise awareness of the disease and funding for research. The campaign was called the Big Freeze and was celebrating its tenth year. It was a beloved tradition of the footy community, and the stadium was filled with Big Freeze blue beanies. In the days after the match, the blue beanies were a common sight all over the city.

Then the game began! Aussie rules football gameplay is non-stop action. The players can dribble, toss, or kick the ball forward. The field is quite large, so there’s a lot of running involved. If a teammate catches a longer distance kick, it’s called a “mark” and they earn a free kick. Whenever there was a successful mark close to the goal posts, the crowd got excited about the impending shot on goal. Six points are awarded for the inner goal, and one point for the outer goals (called a “behind”). The box scores are reported with three stats: the number of goals, behinds, and total score (6x goals + 1x behinds).
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Carlton and Essendon are both suburbs of Melbourne, so there were lots of fans from both clubs. Essendon was the designated home team, and the stadium screens had celebratory animations when the Bombers scored. However, this match was a Carlton blowout. The Blues quickly accumulated a comfortable lead and maintained it the whole game.

The stadium was a lot less rowdy than an American sporting event. Sure, there were some groans of disappointment at players or referees. But there was minimal chanting or heckling, as the fans were too focused on actually watching the game, which didn’t have many breaks. Gail mentioned that a closer game would have been more tense and exciting, so perhaps that was the difference.

After the game, we had a drink on a patio with a view of the city skyline and watched the fans pour out of the stadium. Seeing a game at the MCG is something I will always cherish.

​Monday was the King’s Birthday holiday. In the morning, I went out for brunch with Reggie. The place was called the Pancake Parlour, an American-inspired Aussie restaurant. Fitting for an American-Aussie friendship. Reggie told me it was a childhood favorite, and it was nice to lean into their nostalgia. It was one of the few places in Australia serving bottomless drip coffee, a staple of American diners but unheard of in Australian espresso country. I ordered the tiramisu pancakes, which were decadent and amazing. Despite having a sweet tooth, I couldn’t finish them!

​We hung out near the State Library until Reggie had to take off. I wandered back into the State Library, which I had previously toured but not explored. I found a Lego model of the building in the basement, designed by the host of Australian Lego Masters. The high angle views of the octagonal La Trobe Reading Room were wonderful. I attempted to see if there were any newspaper articles about my Czech relatives moving to Tasmania, and got some help from a librarian, but eventually hit a dead end.

​That evening, I met up with my friend Gill who I met on the Kakadu tour. Gill was a fellow resident of Carlton, and had just gotten back from her additional week in the Northern Territory. We went to a movie at the Cinema Nova, a beloved Carlton institution right above Brunetti. Within the cinema there was an outdoor patio overlooking Lygon Street, offering a new perspective on this familiar place.

​The movie was a gripping documentary about Australian car culture, called Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga. Joking aside, Mad Max was a fun movie to watch in Australia, as it not only takes place in a post-apocalyptic Australia, but it was filmed in NSW and featured Aussie actor Chris Hemsworth as the main villain. It was good, over-the-top fun. On the way out, Gill commented it was neat to have a movie with so many Aussie accents. I hadn’t even registered this fact, after being surrounded by the accent for so long. The cinema had a message board where people could leave handwritten reviews, and Gill stopped to add hers.

​Afterwards, we grabbed a drink at a bar on Lygon called Good Measure. It had chic lighting, a DJ spinning records, and an edgy cocktail menu that was a little out of its depth. I ordered a babka-inspired drink with clarified milk that came with a piece of stale babka on a skewer. The coasters had a cute logo of a magpie-lark. Gill described it as a very “inner Northern suburbs” bar.

Gill had spent her whole life in Melbourne, studying and working in financial law. Even though Sydney is the country’s financial capital, she was pretty rooted in Melbourne, due to her family and owning a condo. We talked about travel and theater and other random topics. It was funny to think that despite living a few blocks apart, we had met in Darwin of all places.
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Even if I was largely an anonymous traveler in Melbourne, this social weekend had reminded me of the low-key but meaningful relationships that I’d cultivated during my time there. Ben, Jason and Danny, Zeah, Gail, Reggie, and Gill are all people I hope to see again someday. The long weekend was the perfect time to see them all.