Rehearsing a liveable future - PART 4 - The return journey... slow journey AU to EU/UK to save carbon

Working away… June & July

After arriving in Europe on 11th June, I was busy. I enjoyed the network plenary IETM meeting in Sofia, a great event made particularly special by the host organisation Toplocentrala, a contemporary performance space sitting in the middle of a city park in the centre of Sofia. This newish institution was formally activated during the IETM meeting in Sofia in 2014 where the dream of a new venue was strategised. Now the network is back to celebrate this success and it feels like a meaningful reason to be travelling to this place. I attended a board meeting, facilitated the green working group and met some wonderful people.

A small group of us then travelled to Varna for a post trip, a smart Bulgarian town on the Black Sea, where Varna Dance Theatre and the local contemporary performing arts scene are following Toplocentrala's lead and campaigning to get their own venue. Its wonderful to spend time by the sea and learn about the local scene. I joined a delegation to meet the Mayor of Varna who promised one of the potential sites we'd visited at the port, a fabulous derelict storehouse, full of potential.?

From Varna I travel via Bucharest to Budapest, Hungary. En route I meet a Welsh family forced onto trains because their grandfather, an avid diver, had gotten the bends while diving in the south of Turkey and, diagnosed with a heart condition, was banned from flying. He'd been collected from Turkey by his daughter, her husband and their kids. With such good humour their epic family adventure, slow travelling across Eastern Europe, was blowing their minds with all the countries and cultures they were experiencing. They offer a fine example of how flying and cheap tourism stops people from appreciating different cultural realities.

In Budapest I conducted a creative climate action workshop for a small group of artists and cultural workers at SIN Arts. This is continuation of collaborative work I’ve undertaken with SIN. I was the consultant on Sustainability in the Arts, a new game they’d created with partners in Portugal. This group is really engaged and alive to the challenges of t6he Climate Crisis, slowly waking up to the possibility of collaborating with other concerned citizens outside of the arts. For me, this in person workshop is a rehearsal for the From Creative Practice to Climate Justice Action workshop symposium I am on my way to deliver in London.

I try dashing Budapest to London across a very long day, thwarted by a major delay on the Austrian/German train services. This tickled and annoyed. I’d only experienced minor delays while venturing across the whole world from Australia and now delayed in wealthy western Europe, in countries who once prided themselves on high performing punctual services. Now stuck in Frankfurt, missing my connections to the Eurostar, I finally catch a train to Brussels, hours later than planned, find a hostel and rebook Eurostar for the morning.

Relief comes with a 10 day stay in London and the focus of our workshop symposium. Colleagues Henrietta Baird, a Kuku Yalanji artist from Far North Queensland and Deborah Hart of Climarte in Naarm arrive from Australia, and we share a small ex-council house in Woolwich, a traditionally poorer part of London that is undergoing massive development. Being near the mighty Thames River, where so many ships departed to colonise the world, brings space for reflection as we stop here together for the week. It's a wonderful haven to digest all the ideas we are exploring and reconnect them to home.

From Creative Practice to Climate Justice Action was a beautifully regenerative event with exceptional workshop leaders and 80 participants across the week and contributions from some incredible artists and climate activists. The purpose was to put the creative practices of the performing arts at the centre and comnect them to urgent converations in the Climate movement. I have to thank my collaborators, especially Professor Jorge Lopes Ramos and Fariha Ahmed at University of Greenwich for their trust and patience with me when much of the producing work had taken place while on the road...literally. Gabrielle Moleta is a dear friend and her movement direction informed by deep observation of animals is worlde leading. I took a risk on this event and so many rose to meet the challenge. I'm gratefful to Julie Forchhammer Sita Brand Laurie Sansom Tracy Durrant niamh dowling David Evans FRSA Tim Laning Humanity Summit 2024 - G20 Social Official Event Victoria Burns Bridget McKenzie Tangled Feet Theatre ZU-UK Dr David Hockham SFHEA Dr Myrtle Emmanuel SFHEA, MCIPD, CMBE for all their enthusiam and creativity. Also grateful to all the participants who want to see more Climate Justice Action. With thanks to supporters Culture Declares Emergency Julie's Bicycle Creative Australia and Create NSW who funded different parts and enabled independent artists to be paid for their work.

Short film about it here!

Straight after that joyous week, I have the privilege of accompanying my friend and colleague Henrietta on her first journey to Glasgow, Edinburgh and the stunning Isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides of Scotland, exploring ancestral connections between Gaelic and Kuku Yalanji cultures. The Country is absolutely stunning and we fill our long days as twilight in the north goes on till almost midnight. We meet Gaelic speaking Elders and artists, learn about suppressed languages and Celtic cultural histories, swim in icy waters and attend Highland Games in the Highlands.

This month of work finishes and I have a couple of weeks with my partner, visiting family and friends. We include a trip to Dublin and Cork to visit the widow of a close friend and former colleague who’d died in Ireland in February, a profoundly important mission. I feel like I'm living a version of touring from the before times, making best use of the resources needed to get across the world with so many different plots and missions.

Too soon it is time to turn my attention to getting home.?

AND BACK – Dublin to Sydney

The prospect of setting off again on a long journey across the world is a little dauting. It’s always exciting travelling somewhere new in a new way. In anticipation, the return journey brings drag, and I race ahead of myself, longing to be in my own bed, onto the next thing.

In the days leading up to the first journey, I have little ‘flights’ of fancy, to stay with my partner, jump on a plane, just do part of the epic overland thing. They aren’t real and I share them here to demonstrate that even a determined activist intent on change can long for the old ways and all the associated glamour of airport lounges, convenient flight times and speedy travel. People kept asking incredulously if I am really going back the same way, almost the same.

We are living in a Climate and Ecological Emergency, I can not go back to those habits. I've broken my addiction and thanks to Instagram, have some dedicated followers who are a great support in dark moments. Deep down I am committed, I like to walk my talk. which spurred me on to take up the challenge of naysayers who claim this overland practice is too expensive and takes too long…?

OK, faster and cheaper, watch me go!

Dublin to Holyhead to Chester to London to Paris on route to Cannes - Day 1

An early start, driven in our dear friend Maria’s 1983 leather lined orange Mercedes, to the Dublin port to board a ferry to England. The Irish Sea is fair and kind, this is another smooth crossing. The Sunday train across Wales is packed. I say goodbye to my partner Mike in Chester as he heads north, and I head south to London.?

Boarding the Eurostar, which claims to be one of the greenest trainrides in the world, I sit next to Ellen, on her first trip to France to stay with her partner who has been working on the 2024 Olympic Games. This is the closing night. Ellen recently graduated from university with a degree in criminology. She lives in a small village in Sussex, works in a pub, loves the community but is unsure about how to apply her studies or plan her future with the world unravelling into war and climate disaster. We debunk some myths and share a few laughs as we disappear under the English Channel and emerge into the browning green fields of France.

Eurostar left London 40minutes late and I have a mad dash across Paris to catch my connection to Cannes, not knowing how the last night of the Olympics is going to impact local transport. Thankfully the conductor on the Eurostar sells me a Metro card, so waving Ellen goodbye,?I am first off the train at Gard du Nord, dashing down to catch the train, surprising quiet, and ten stops to board the sleeper to the south of France.

Cannes to Venice - Day 2

This train is also late but I have a bed and after a peaceful night the morning ride along the Azure Coast is absolutely stunning. Leaving France, Monaco flashes by and Italy is as stiflingly warm. The train becomes more packed with holiday makers. It is August after all, hot and slow. I change trains, passengers are fiery cross with so much luggage clogging the carriages and too few seats.

We arrive in Milano very late, and I have to get a new reservation to get to Venice. The Italian railway staff are charming and issue a new ticket without question.

And a moment of delight was conjured by the Gelato salon in Milano station. It’s decked out with gorgeous coloured cones and two stylish queer attendants swirling, scooping and adorning each cone as they sculpted delicious works of art. This gorgeous performance lifted my weary spirit and with a weakness for ice cream, this gelato did not disappoint.

Venice - Day 3

I was determined to get to La Biennale di Venezia, largely because Bigambul and Kamilaroi artist Archie Moore had wowed critics with his work Kith and Kin, presented in the Australian Pavilion. The work features hundreds of documents composed of redacted copies of coronial reports on the deaths of 557 Aboriginal people in police and prison custody since the findings of the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody were delivered in 1991. On the walls in white chalk is a vast hand-drawn family tree, which covers the entire pavilion and maps Moore's ancestry over some 2,400 generations. This work is impossible to do justice to here. It is a powerful presentation and moves me deeply.

Another treat is meeting with Mary Ann DeVlieg, former secretary general of @ietmnetwork. Mary Ann was born in the United States, has lived in Europe most of her adult life and in Venice for many years. The summers are hotter than ever. I learn more about her work with Artists at Risk. Artists are at risk all over the world with growing crises leading to greater danger for artists and truth tellers. We are both in a support group communicating about the atrocities taking place in Palestine and in almost daily contact with Marina Barham, a director who runs the Al Harah Childrens theatre in Bethlehem who keeps us updated on conditions in Palestine. The Israeli Pavillion at the Venice Biennale is closed. The artists and curators of the Israeli national pavilion announced their decision not to open until “a ceasefire and hostage release agreement is reached” in the conflict in Gaza. This courageous position is posted on the pavillion doors, protected by two security guards.

I spend the day, intensely hot, feasting on all the extraordinary artwork from around the world. So many artists are discussing colonisation and links to ongoing resource conflicts and environmental disasters in their work. The elephant in every room, is the amount of carbon and ‘cheap flights’ propping up this extraordinary, globally sourced presentation. The artworld may be hiding in plain sight but Venetians are fighting back, protesting aggressive tourism. Now cruise ships no longer moor in Venice. A small win for locals but not for the planet – they’ve simply found another port.

Full of art and ideas I wander back through the narrow streets lined with beautiful glass, masks and trinkets, to the train station where I board another train.

Train to Budapest – Day 3-4

After disruptions in Saltzburg and a long night to Vienna, I finally arrive in Budapest where I stay a night with my friend Aniko Racz from Sin Theatre and we reconnect on all the themes of this long trip. How can we live differently and transcend the current challenges to create a better world. We start talking about travelling residencies, to encourage more people onto the slow journey to rehearse this future.

Overnight Budapest to Videle, Romania - Say 5

As I wait for the train in the dilapidated beauty of Budapest Keleti station, I spy an older woman in extraordinary costume (bustle skirt, around 1870) and follow her into a part of the station sectioned off for actors all dressed in costume, relaxing as production crew rush about, busy with clipboards. I’m filled with joy at seeing creativity disrupt and enhance the comings and goings of travellers through this wonderful country, struggling with an authoritarian government, forces we are seeing rise across the world. The train leaves a little later than scheduled, no surprise there. I am in a sleeper carriage with separate compartments and a long corridor. As we chug towards Romania most of the carriage line up along this corridor to witness the most gorgeous evening light as the sun sets over fields of crops and flowers. Language and cultural barriers are overcome in the light of beauty. This is something I promise myself to remember.

Romania to Bulgaria ?- Day 6

Next morning we are dropped in Videle, not far from Bucharest. I find myself waiting for the next train with Nedji and her fiancé Thibaut in Videle, Romania. They are on their way to visit family in Bulgaria. I sew up their broken bag with my trusty travel sewing kit and we chat about travel, cultural tensions and the joy of interactions with strangers. It’s a lovely interlude on a long hot journey. Then we clamber onto the Istanbul train that lolls sluggishly through the Bulgarian countryside. I don’t have a booking for a sleeper but the guard finds me a spare place and I pay up, saving my final day of Eurail pass travel for the following day in Türkiye. I should perhaps explain at this point that this homeward journey has not been as meticulously planned as the outward one, and I am doing more bookings on the run. Its August and holiday time so its not always what I hope for. This time I am lucky.

Türkiye - Day 7

Another long night interrupted by border controls between Bulgaria and Turiya where we wait on the platform at 1am for a good hour, I activate my last Eurail pass day of travel and arrive in Istanbul at Halkali station and from there caught a new Metro line connecting Halkali to the new Istanbul Airport, that I won't be visiting this trip.

There is a lot of new rail work happening in Türkiye A new privately owned Pasifik Eurasia will transport freight across Bulgaria, Romania, and Hungary, strengthening economic ties with Europe. According to the Ministry of transport, the plan is to transport up to 750,000 tons of cargo annually, equals 22,000 trucks and will help reduce carbon dioxide emissions. Sixty trains per month, or 600 per year, will operate along this route.

I arrive at Istanbul S??ütlü?e?me station to catch my onward train to Ankara only to be told that my booking is not correct and there are no available bookings until the following Tuesday. Its Saturday and there are long lines of travellers. After pleading with a fierce faced woman who has no time for my missing connections, I find a flixbus to Ankara, leaving in 45minutes and grab a cab to get to the terminal, just in time. I arrive in Ankara with 2 hours to space, eat an omelette in one of the terminal cafes and board the bus to Tbilisi.

Ankara to Tbilisi - Day 8

The overnight bus is crowded. This was another 24hour journey and at the Turkish/ Georgian border at around 3pm. There is a hold up. The sun beats down with few places to shade all the busloads of weary folk wait for their vehicles. Then a slow crawl along the Black Sea coast on a busy Sunday afternoon until we veer inland towards the Capital.

It was 10pm, 3 hours late, when I arrived in Tbilisi, and I am beyond tired. I dragged my case off the bus and say yes to the first taxi – barely haggling the price, knowing I am being taken for a ride in more ways than one. My booking at the Red Fox Guest house is solid, I’d been in constant contact across the evening and the charming land lady lets me into a small room. I lay down In a real bed and sleep long.

Tbilisi - Day 9

Check out is midday and I sit in the communal kitchen and tap away on my computer for a little over an hour. Two Russian women join me and chat together. The landlady host is very friendly and invites me to help myself to coffee. I have a late flight to Almaty so wander the familiar streets of central Tbilisi with my wheely case and buy some gifts. This is a first as I have been very careful not to spend time or money shopping but I find a shop selling artists good and am happy to buy a few small creative presents.

The flight leaves late and I catch buses to the airport, where food and drink are really pricey and the rich culture of the city becomes sterilised in transit mode. Then its a familiar shuffle through security, passport control and customs to the gate and the plane. I had desperately wanted to get overland to Kazakstan but Azerbijan, where the Climate conference - COP29 is to be held this year, is fighting on the Armenian border and the train from Georgia is suspended, there is no overland access. From the capital Baku I had hoped to travel across the Caspian sea to Aktau and then by train across Kazakstan. Instead I am flying to Almaty in the east, a little less air travel than on my outward journey.

Kazakhstan - Day 10

I arrive in Almaty at 3am and find a couple of seats in the arrivals hall to lie down and wait for the light. There were quite a few of us draped over seats and it felt perfectly safe. Arrivals swelled and shrank with expectant families and friends as passengers arrived, many dressed for a special occasion. Two dinosaurs were a highlight. I couldn’t check into the hotel until 2pm and didn’t want to get there too early. Around 9am I tried to find a bus into town but there were so many road works around the airport that I couldn’t figure out the system and resorted to a taxi. There were no seatbelts in the taxi! not for the driver nor for me. I was thrown back to the 1980's when as a child we visited the UK and my cousin's wife refused to wear a seatbelt, as they were being made madatory. Times and habits change.

My wonderful driver spoke in small English phrases that he repeated incessantly, ‘terrible drivers’, ‘roads are very bad’, You Aussie, love Aussie.’ He was joyful. Grinning all the way he drops me at the Five Seasons hotel, a family compound guesthouse hotel where my giant room could have slept an entire family. Too early to check in, I leave my bag and walk across Almaty city, orderly and green with wide leafy streets and large monuments, with a soviet vibe. I find the museum but sadly it is shut.? I walk more than 20 kilometres. This city feels easy, I may simply be in an easy part of it. I look for food, not quite sure about the local cuisine. It seems very meat focused. There are many different cultural food choices on offer, like those available in every city, pizza, burgers, rice bowls. Not Australian cuisine though, we have no recognisable culinary export that would fill a menu or attract foreign customers. Again, for reasons of invasion and channeling foods from other cultures, we offer a great diversity of raw ingredients and increasingly native foods are attracting more attention. Tired, I find a Japanese diner in a crowded house, trusting this will have a vegie option. Their spicy ramen feels nourishing.

Almaty to Zhargent to Horgos to Khorgas/Huoerguosi - Day 11

Very early the next morning I head to Almaty South Train station to catch a train towards the border with China. I’d researched a lot about how to do this new leg of the trip and booked a train to Kerimagash near the border. The train schedules are all in Cyrillic, Russian script, no subtitles and I can’t see the train on the board as I keep checking my translation app. Somewhat alarmed, I finally ask a rail guard and get ushered onto the adjacent platform and introduced to two women, both of whom speak a little English. They are surprised I am catching this train and even more surprised to hear about my journey. Then a positively ancient train with a huge engine pulling one carriage arrives into the station and 6 passengers board the train. My new friends are Zhuldyz and Dariga, both PhD researchers into locomotive services. We share stories with a little help from a translator app, about our lives, children and the culture we enjoy. They asked about Australian native foods. I tell them we eat kangaroo and they say they eat horse - both lean and fast moving! Our populations are of similar size and informed by invading cultures – for them Russia and China have strong influence while we have British and USA systems and structures. The pervasive forces of US and UK cultural imperialism feel very strong as they offer the strongest points of connection. I'm strangely shocked that Dariga's favoutite series is Peaky Blinders.

They dissuade me from getting off at Kerimagash as there was literally nothing at that station and instead help me and a German Chinese tourist called Wang get a taxi, driven by one of the railway workers, who accepts our cash for the ride. We thought we were going to the Chinese border but he brought us to Zharkent for a bus to the border. And I remember, as I had experienced in Vietnam in May, border crossings into China are carefully managed. Wang and I purchase our tickets and board the border bus. This was a detour I hadn’t expected and I am now concerned about getting to Urumqi for the train the next day. Thankfully there is still time to figure it out.

Journey to China

As the bus approaches the Chinese border the dusty desert landscape is suddenly full of machinery and imposing buildings. I walk through immigration, this time without a visa as the Chinese Government relaxed the rules in July and Australians are now allowed to enter for 2 weeks without one. This seems strange and works like a charm. Several Chinese officials say 'tourist?' and nod me on my way. I leave Kazakstan and enter China through another incredible gateway of epic proportions asserting Chinese authority. In a sunny boulevarde adjacent to a large square, at least 3 busloads of people are waiting for their rides. Touts try and exchange money but I have Yen from my previous visit. I try to blag my way onto one of the buses heading to Urumqi but am unceremoniously refused. Of course my internet stopped working and the new VPN needs WIFI so I can’t communicate easily but I hail a taxi and the lovely woman driver figures out that I need a train. She drops me at the station where, fortuitously, a train for Urumqi is about to depart. I manage to get on and negotiate with the conductor to get a ticket to Yining. From there I already have a ticket to Urumqi – though I've missed that train. Then more confusion as that ticket is no longer valid so I pay for a new seat and everyone is happy. This new ticket is a third of the price I have been paying through the China Highlights website who have been super helpful.

The trains in China have many staff keeping the shared areas clean and rubbish is repeatedly collected and removed. There is hot water available for the pot noodles that seem to be a staple and many passengers have brought for food. This is an overnight train sitting up ahead of another long journey and I’m missing my bed stop in Urumqi. No matter. I am going to make the connection.

Urumqi to Kunming - Day 12/13

I arrive in Urumqi and head to the hotel where I was supposed to have spent the previous night. Thankfully I persuade the receptionist to let me check in for a few hours to rest, shower and get ready for my 37hour journey to Kunming in the south. This is the same hotel I’d booked into on the outward journey, and I know my surrounds a little. The three storey shopping centre in the next block, surrounded by rides for kids and street food stalls is still pristinely sterile. Locals dress up to visit the mall. Once again I am struck by the gross consumerism and sea of single use plastics. No longer surprised I am deeply affected by the scale of it. In fact everywhere I am, the amounts of rubbish littering my journey is breathtaking. When I have time to wander, I take a bag and fill it with rubbish from the streets, parks, verges and beaches, depositing in the nearest bin to practice care for Country whereever I am as I do at home. It feels futile. I do it anyway.

I find a supermarket to buy water and snacks as I know from earlier trips that food is a challenge. Vegetarianism is not popular in China and it’s hard to decipher food options offered on the train. Another couple of days of apples, dried fruits and peanuts isn’t going to kill me.

This Urumqi to Kunming train ride was very different from the 31hour journey from Beijing to Urumqi. One significant difference is that I’ve missed the chance to get a sleeper and am sitting up for 37hours. Another significant fact is that the train is packed. Not only is every seat taken but at any point on the journey there are up to 15 people standing in the aisles with their luggage. This makes moving about rather hazardous, the shared areas harder to clean and the toilets increasingly gross.

I am in the first window seat of the carriage, one of over 20, with my back to the engine, able to survey the sea of passengers. A young man who travels most of the journey who is perching without a seat takes a passing interest in me, obvious alien, and wants to know why I am in China, where am I travelling to, what have I seen. He explains that China is the best and most powerful country in the world, that the Japanese tried to invade. His interviews via translate take place over 24 hours as he sparks and loses interest, then resumes the interrogation in another bored moment. Where was my husband? Why don’t I speak Chinese? Where else am I travelling to and why not spend more time in China? His patriotism is quite charming and also alarming.

A man with a wide worn face sits diagonally opposite to me and smiles often. He offers mandarins he’d brought with him and in a quiet moment, a sneaky beer. When new passengers join the train he proudly introduces me, although I can't understand what he is saying. Directly opposite me is an older woman, her tired face concentrates on the window. She and the man chat a bit. In fact there is a lot of chatting and very different cultural groups journeying together. There is a whole family of smaller darker skinned people with exquisite clothing that seems like a cultural costume and carefully styled hair. It strikes me that the diverse Chinese culture seems to encourage interaction. The carriage is positively rowdy at times but there are no really big groups, just general friendliness under cramped conditions. Of course I have no tools to read undercurrent tensions. The landscape changes dramatically as we speed across the continent. Nights are slow and uncomfortable. I too spend much time staring out of the window as desert gives way to farmland, wide rivers and tall mountains. There seem to be fewer citites along this line than in the East. By the time we were nearing Kunming, I am desperate to be out of this cramped seat and into some fresh air.

Kunming to Lijiang - Day 14

Kunming has a very different feeling to the three other Chinese cities I’d visited on this adventure. The vibe is easier, streets a little wider and a sense of – dare I say – Melbourne comes to me. Or is that homesickness calling. I venture out of the station with a couple of hours before my next train amd pass many lovely ladies selling flower cakes in a great variety of shapes and styles, a speciality of Yunnan province. I buy a gift box and some fresh fancies for the onward journey.

Lijiang to Kunming - Day 15

Due to some mysterious connections, I take this extraordinary opportunity to travel to Lijiang, near the Tibetan border, a lush part of China. Here I find creativity and environmental connection, a chnace to visit the stunning Lijiang Lashihai Wetland Park where many Chinese go for nature retreats. At 2440m above sea level this part of China is close to Tibet and I learn a little about the Naxi people, a minority ethnic group with rich culture living in this part of Yunnan province. I visit a Tibetan temple full beautiful paintings of gods and demons that remind me of India, some way over the mountains, and a salient reminder that stories and culture moves beyond political boundaries, and are shared by many. The creativity I encounter is utterly mesmerising. This 24 hour moment of rest and generous hospitality lifts my spirits as I board the train back to Kunming on a busy Sunday afternoon. I have a night here, find my hotel buried in a multipurpose tower adjacent to a lively street market, before the next few days of continuous travel.

Kunming to Vientiane to Nong Kai to Bangkok - Day 16

Another early start at Kunming South station on the new fast train to Vientiane in Laos, opened in 2023. It has all the bells and whistles of a brand-new service. At this station they want a paper ticket, which hadn’t been the case across China and I have been relying on my phone. The conductor waves me to a counter and I get my ticket and board without a hitch. Stunning scenery flies past and in about four hours we reach the border with Laos. Here is another visa gaff. Online I’d read that I could get a visa at the border but not, it seems, when travelling on this train. After a few perplexed looks and broken conversations I am told to get a cab to the land border with 90minutes to cross and reboard the train. AND GO….

This is intense. I race out of the station, find a cab and am dropped at the border where the orderly Chinese edifice processes me and melts away. I run out of China about 400metres to a low building, series of smoke stained rooms and counters to navigate, and a queue of people waiting to get into Laos. It is a chaotic scene of many folks trying to fill in their papers and find the cash to cross the border. I am one of very few women. I fill in the paperwork and deposit it through a window with my passport to a stern official. After what seems like an eternity, I get summoned to pay the costs. My research was wrong, there isn’t a free pass even though I will be in Laos for barely 6 hours, and I have no local cash AGAIN. In my hour of need I meet two Chinese Australians who notice my passport and say G’day. One, styled black hair and shades, dressed like Bruce Lee, in a Bruce Lee T-shirt and called, you guessed it – Bruce Lee, is in the same predicament and we determine to rejoin that train.

I swap Aussie dollar for Laotian Kip, pay my way and notice that both men must pay extra to an official on the way out. Bruce speaks Chinese which is a blessing, and he navigates the touts to find a cab, which, after a bit of pressuring, takes us quickly to the station. It appears the rail staff have been waiting. They rush us through security and back onto the train with minutes to spare. Phew. We made it.?

Bruce Lee is from Cairns, has business interests in China and is thinking of opening a bar in Laos. His ex-wife was in love with the country and as we continue on our way I can see why. Its lush and pretty and relatively undeveloped, with those steep pointy mountains I remember from studying Chinese painting. Bruce and I share contacts and grab a picture together and he leaves the train while I travel on to Vientiane. From there a bus to the border, an even shabbier shed for the border crossing, another bus across the friendship bridge and the Meekong River to Nong Kai. There I resist offers of transport and walk a little before dark, head to the station to catch the overnight train to Bangkok. They’d run out of sleepers when I got around to booking, so I am sitting up. It is very hot and full of tourists, mainly Europeans. I sit next to a shy girl from the Netherlands, bright scarf draped over her head to sleep in the dazzling electric light of the train for the penultimate uncomfortable journey on her way home.

Bangkok - Day 17

In Bangkok I’d tried again to meet First Nations dancer Amrita Hepi hoping she’d be in town, but she was away working. I had arranged to meet IETM member Phanomwadtth Watt (Tanawat), a creative producer who is working on some incredibly interesting cross regional projects to strengthen cultural understanding and connections. We talked about slow travel residencies, the politics of Thailand following recent unrest and the role of art to help unite and heal. Watt was so generous with his time and took me to his favourite restaurant for lunch, which was absolutely delicious. I’m so grateful for these local introductions and insights. Meeting locals makes all the difference. Watt drove me back to Krung Thep Aphiwat Central Terminal and from there I boarded an old style sleeper to Malaysia.

Padang Besar to KL to Jakarta - Day 18

The overnight train to Padang Besar is a gentle rumbling ride. I’m slightly worried about changeover as the train is supposed to arrive at 9am local time and I have to clear customs then get the 9.45am train to Kuala Lumpur. for a while I conveniently forgot the 1hr time difference between Thailand and Malaysia and believe I have loads of time. Then the train runs late and a fellow passenger is sweating by the door as we leave the Thai side of Pedang Besar for the Malaysian side. I start sweating too and we bolt, first off the train, then walking fast with extreme calm and poise through border control and security, to charge through the turnstiles onto the next train. We make it. The 6hr journey to KL was punctual and uneventful. I’d arranged to fly from there to Jakarta rather than take the train thru Singapore. It would have been another visa cost, another night’s Accom and a difference of 300km. ?

The flight to Jakarta is from the outskirts city airport. I hadn’t realised it isn’t served by public transport and had to take a taxi. Damn. I then realise that in all the rushing I haven't got a visa for Indonesia. Double damn. Thankfully the flight is delayed. I do a quick online visa application that seems to work. I walk off the plane and into Indonesia without a hitch!

Arriving in Jakarta late I collect my raggedy bag from the carousel. The less I am in airports, the stranger I find them. This airport is dressed with foliage and looking very green. Considering that flying is an intensive burning of fossil fuels producing carbon that is heating the climate and destroying the natural world, the current trend to green the flying experience and introduce nature into sterile transit halls is all wash to subliminally influence our impression of our impact.

I start dreaming, if we stop flying so much, what might these massive places called airports eventually become… holding camps for Climate refugees? Or better art centres that focus on intercultural exchange? I would love to start rehearsing this future.

Out of the airport and there are few choices to get across town to the hotel at this late hour except by taxi. It’s expensive and knowing the price of local transport in Jakarta, I reflect on the way that air travel has also been built on the idea of wealth and luxury that extends of many other services surrounding each flight.

?I arrive at the hotel close to midnight and realise I haven’t eaten all day.

Jakarta to Bali?- Day 19

Next morning the free breakfast buffet is a welcome treat, and I stock up, ready for the 24hour bus ride ahead. Once again google fails me as I head towards where it locates the bus terminal - nowhere to be seen. I'm advised to catch a local minibus in one direction only to be dropped and have to catch another back near to where I started while the drivers figure out the bus station's location. Luckily, I have enough cash and have allowed sufficient time for these adventures. I catch my bus. It’s full of Indonesian holiday makers.

This familiar journey, heading back to Bali, is pleasantly punctuated by meal breaks at many of the same halls I visited on the outward journey and long chats with my travel companion Adid to help him practice his English. He is 21, the same age as my oldest son and training in an accountancy firm in Jakarta. He is heading to Bali for the first time for a holiday. Adid has cool shades and suave moves for the many selfies documenting his journey. He loves American movies and wants to improve his English to better his job prospects. Maybe one day he will visit the US. I ask him about his own culture, the local movies, Wayang Kulit (Javanese shadow puppets) and epic poetry that I know are still practiced. He has little interest and is dismissive about the immorality of local arts but not, it seems, of foreign culture. That colonial aspiration just keeps on giving.

Bali - Day 20

Mid morning we cross the Bali Strait on another rust bucket of a boat, sea air relieving the stale feeling of so many hours in a bus.

Dropped on the outskirts of Denpasar, I gawp on the slow cab ride between Mengwi bus terminal and Kuta Beach, at the influence of ‘western’ culture, growing bolder with every kilometre. I’d not been to Kuta Beach since the 1980’s as a young teen travelling with my mum. We’d been upset then at the attitudes of Australians towards the locals, eskies on the beach, demanding massage and special treatment, emboldened by the power of the Aussie dollar. Now privilege is built into the avenues of shops, cafes and restaurants plying wares for tourists and full of Aussie families. I was interested to see a Jamie Oliver restaurant serving Italian food for the ultimate in British colonial export experiences. The culture shock of Kuta, after travelling with so many locals for so many hours and days was a substantial jolt to my sensibilities. I heard Aussie voices all around and studying the menus along the promenade saw very little local food; instead pizza, pasta and BBQ. I couldn’t help but wonder that we’d become so like the British on the costa del sol, travelling abroad to ignore culture in search of global ‘specialities’ that remind us of home. Past the fancy strip I stop at a small cabin on the beach to take a beer and watch the sunset. I meet a man from Perth, devouring freshly caught fish, who is busy building a house on Bali for his retirement, because he says he can’t afford to retire at home. What pressure does that put on local health services and other social infrastructure? I don’t ask.

One of the treats of this island is that you can literally walk along the beach to the airport and this was my last flight back to the continent I call home. Once inside I was again shocked by the intensity of the crowds flying to all corners of the world. I’d had to take a decision to fly to Cairns as the flights to Darwin were so expensive - sadly adding bit more carbon to my journey but I am running out of cash. Next stop Australia…

Cairns to Brisbane - Day 21

From the moment we touched down on Yidinji country in Cairns, I feel my system start to recalibrate to the familar smells and sounds of this wonderful country. Three and a half months away and now nearing home, I'm still three days away. In the first half hour I see a First Nations person disrespected by airport staff and buy a coffee that cost $7 in the airport cafe. I am straight back into the complicated realities of this stolen land experiencing a cost-of-living crisis.

The flight to Cairns was late and I miss my bus connection, quickly pivoting to finding a lift to catch it up in Townsville. A lovely British woman, Stacey comes to my rescue, and we exchange pleasantries as we speed down the highway and overtake the Greyhound coach. She is from Middlesborough on a yearlong adventure of a lifetime. Shocked by the prices in Australia she'd abandoned holidaying and, armed with a two-year visa, is now looking for work. She said many of her friends won’t travel this far abroad anymore, satisfying themselves with short breaks in Eastern Europe and Turkey. She’d wanted to see the Aussie wildlife in Australia and is horrified to hear the rates of extinction. It is strange for me to settle into local so quickly after so long away as we talk through the Climate Crisis. The connection between environmental crisis and travel had not really occurred to her and she waves me off with a fond farewell ‘you’re sound as a pound’. I laugh.

Boarding the bus on Wulgurukaba of Gurambilbarra and Yunbenun, Bindal, Gugu Badhun and Nywaigi land in Townsville, I sit up front near a cheerful driver who takes us through to the land of the Darumbal People, Rockhampton, around midnight. There we change drivers.?

Rockhampton to Brisbane - Day 22

At this moment we acquire two drivers, a lead and a trainee. This proves incredibly helpful as the night draws on this Sunday, the 1st of September. Unbeknownst to me there had been a truck crash on the Bruce Highway last Friday, that spilled ammonium nitrate on the road, triggering a major explosion. The Highway is still closed, and the coach has to detour onto smaller roads where the fog is so thick you can barely see 10metres ahead. I sleep fitfully, waking to experience the vehicle turned around by police because another fatality had closed this road too. We ran hours late, changing buses on Dja Dja Wurrung land in Maryborough, a forced change due to overextended driver hours. We get to Meanjin (Brisbane), home to the Turrbal and Yuggera people, after a stressful 28-hour journey.?

I am so happy to see my sister and crash, horizontal for the first time in days, on her couch.

Brisbane to Sydney - DAY 24

I stop in Meanjin for an important family anniversary, the tenth commemoration of my brother-in-law's suicide. It is good to be back in the heart of family as we reflect together. This feels grounding after such a big adventure. Then I continue the bus journey on Tuesday, arriving back on Gadigal land at Sydney's Central station early, catching the commuter train to Wangal Land, Ashfield. As I drag my trusty bag, that has travelled with me all this way across the world, I walk along the familiar sights along my street to my bungalow home and overgrown garden, happy to land in the rituals of daily life on a quiet Wednesday.

For all the stats - see the final post.