"Alabama, Arkansas,
I do love my ma and pa not the way that I do love you." I gave her my rain pants but her jacket was cotton and her shoes were soaked. I was pulling Athena with my head down and my eyes on the few feet ahead of me, avoiding the rain on my face. She began singing and as I looked over at her she held her head upwards towards the sky catching the thick raindrops on her chilled face. Without looking at me, she said, "Join me, Angela. You know this song. You be Jade and I'll be Alexander." Then she slowly peered over at me as a grin grew on her lips and leapt into the air with excitement at the prospect of a duet. I sing in the shower and in deserted areas when I think no one is around. But B had already busted me when we met and if I hadn't been singing we might have never met. The wind upped it's force and the rain followed suit as I gripped harder on Athena's poles. "Ok, lets start from the beginning." We sang the Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zero's hit "Home". Bella would fill in the blanks when I forgot the lyrics and giggle at me when it was our third round of practicing and I still blanked on the same phrases. Bella was the first Australian Woman to walk with me. She walked a full day and camped with B and me for a night. Bella's mother lived close by and brought us a home-cooked Indian Curry, which was heavenly to my taste buds as I was starting to crave something other than B's spaghetti. We laid out on the tarp and collected constellations like seashells. I learned how to find the Southern Cross and identify Scorpio. Bella left that morning but returned two more times for a joint walkabout with me. It was the second visit that I discovered her love of singing and her hunger for exploring life. She had just graduated from a University in the U.S. and met me during her short return home for a family visit. She memorized spoken word as easily as a favorite song and performed them both with guttural passion. When we sat at the campfire I would watch her hands move and wiggle, as the energy pulsing through her body was vibrant and ached for a way to move through her. She would often have to stand, stretch and move about to assist in the aliveness of her dancing energy. She worshipped the sun. She never missed a sunrise or sunset while walking with me. Her hunger for life infused me with a raw and youthful wonder. She was like a swimmer poised on the diving board ready to jump off into a graceful exhibition into the unknown of tomorrow. Although I am walking a decent distance everyday, I haven't always been spontaneous or gone with the flow of situations so easily. I found her willingness to feel joy in the unknown refreshing and inspiring. She has flown back to South Carolina where she will begin a road trip across the U.S. We shared a mutual love for the South, with it's fried but homemade cookin', bluegrass, banjo's and friendly waves to passing neighbors. Our mouths watered as we talked of corn bread and collard greens. We continued singing as we approached one of the markers B had given me in his cryptic directions to find him. B had gone a day ahead of me as I waited in town for Bella to join me. I knew it was time for me to go on without B and get back into my solitude and rhythm. I asked for two days to learn the last bits I could from him and it landed on the same timeframe that Bella would be joining me. The rain slowed enough for me to take another look at the directions B had given me: Yellow sign. 60 Zig Zag. Floodway. T on side. Right turn dirt road. Grid of metal. River mouth on right. Water birds on left. See Ocean. Whistle. Meditate till I approach. We were doing well as we were approaching the metal grid across the dirt road. The dusty path was turning to sludge as our shoes were singing along with suction as they sank deeper with each step. We could see the ocean as we walked up the hill. We had reached the end of our instructions as the rain pummeled and challenged the volume of our voices. We began singing a new tune that consisted of two words. "We're meditating!" We giggled at ourselves in our poorly poncho'd clothes as the rain persisted and we were more than ready to be taken to the safety of camp. With his characteristically calm stride, B walked out from behind a tree and waved us in his direction. He had brought an umbrella but we all knew it was useless at this point. "The rain's about to get worse. We'll have a little break long enough for you to set up your tent. It will take about 15 minutes to walk to camp. Bella, try to walk in my footprints. Angela, you pull and I'll push Athena. Follow my tracks to lead you to camp. You ready?" He placed his hands on Athena's handlebars and we all began a fast-paced hike into the soft sand. We weaved deep into the sand dunes till we reached a steep hill where B's tracks seemed to stop. B proceeded to give us the run down of what was about to happen. It entailed lifting 100 lb Athena off the ground and walking through the edge of the hill in the grasses in an attempt to leave no tracks behind. Already soaked and out of breath, I looked at Bella with an apologetic glance, "Sorry, you probably didn't know you were in for a weekend of survival training. He's not paranoid, he's trying to show me things that may help me in the future." I grabbed the front wheel while B and Bella took the back wheels. When we reached the well-hidden encampment I quickly got to the task of putting up the tent. Bella and I squeezed into the tent with wet bodies and had lost our enthusiastic rendition of Singing in the Rain by the time we collapsed on the tent floor. But the lighthearted laughter returned as we attempted to change out of our skin-tight soaked clothes. We waited in the tent for the rain to cease, but it never did that night. We shared memorized poems and sang through the night till the suns light woke us. Bella jumped out of the tent and ran to the ocean for the rising sun. The last time I saw her she had made a surprise visit before her flight to South Carolina. I was already a week and a half walk north of where she lived, which was a four and a half hour drive one-way for her. She brought me roasted vegetables she made and lamb chops from her mom. She also threw in my beloved cappuccino and a beanie she picked out to keep my head warm in the evenings. There is depth of love and familiar connection that I know we will cultivate from distant continents while on our own great adventures. Before she got back into her car I asked for a favor, "Enjoy some corn bread and collard greens for me. We'll share this together when we meet again." We began our duet of "Home" as I walked away and she drove off. Keep Shining, Bella. "If you're determined to get heat and sun stroke, do you mind not adding dehydration to it? It makes my job more difficult."
"I'm drinking plenty of water, thank you!" I reply with a little sass in my voice. "Well, if you start seeing stars, you know the whistle. Then sit down in the shade and I'll be to you soon." The day I met B I learned that when you think you're alone in the desert, you're probably not. I had just put my headphones in and began singing along to a Cranberries song when I noticed two men walking out of the bush towards me. My heart leapt at the same time my hand leapt to my walking stick. They were both shirtless, barefoot and had a black dog in tow. They were most interested in Athena and my solar panel. "Are you the woman walking?" one asked me with a friendly smile. "Yes, well, I'm walking." I replied. "I heard about you a little south of here. Was interested in your rig set up. Looks nice." They both seemed genuinely kind and the dog, named Taz, nestled herself in the shade of Athena. They were both heading up North, one on a bike and the other in his car. They offered to share a camp for the night a few Kilometers up the road. I was definitely hesitant to agree to go off into the bush with two men that I've only spent ten minutes with but it felt safe and I began drooling at the thought of lamb chops and steamed veggies. We decided that they would choose the camp, set up and cook for us. That night I ate myself stuffed, drank red wine and slept next to the fire that B kept going throughout the night. B travels by foot and bike. He carries very little with him and the only time I've seen him wear anything on his feet is when he's pedaling. He rolls and smokes a cigarette every twenty minutes and enjoys white wine with water once the fire is lit and the food is cooking. He stands several inches over 6 feet, his skin is dark and weathered perhaps making him look older than he is. He has many traits similar to the Aborigines like the wide nose and dark skin color but he could easily pass as a sunburnt German. He doesn't ask many questions and prefers not to be asked many. B offered to show me a few things about the bush lifestyle before he continued to go north on his own. I know he could see how little I really knew about living on the road, my somewhat poor diet of yogurt bars and muesli. He kindly gave me two weeks of support and bush experience without busting my confidence bubble. Once B found our camp for the night, he would place an orange flag under a stone on the ground to notify me of his location. I would give a whistle in three tones so he knew I was entering camp. He rarely chose a place that had a path or trail. I often had to pull Athena over dead trees, spinifex, sand and puddles. The first night I arrived to camp I was a bit apprehensive about how we would work together. B had seen me coming and waited for me at the entrance of the trail, staying somewhat camouflaged behind a tree. He put his hand up as if to stop me. He pointed at his eyes with two fingers and then at the North and South, the direction the cars were passing in. He was trying to tell me to watch the cars and wait until there was no one on the road before entering camp. Once silent from passing vehicles, I ran into the bush towards B. He grabbed Athena's handles from me and with wide and steady strides he pulled her quickly behind him as if she were no heavier than an empty wheelbarrow. I had to run to keep up as I attempted to push her from behind. He had a fire lit and spaghetti noodles boiling. "I've put up my tent for you so you can rest under the mesh to avoid the evening mozzies. I'll get dinner ready." With gleaming joy that someone was going to take care of the necessities for the night, I cuddled into the tent for a sunset meditation. He began heading back towards the road. "Where are you going?" I asked. "To cover our tracks. I'll show you that tomorrow. You rest for now." This was the beginning of learning to move unseen. _________________________________________________ LOST IN TWILIGHT It seemed as though our camps grew further from the road each night, dropping us deeper into the wild. He deliberately chose to take me through stages to make it more comfortable for me. Our last few days together we had gone as far away from cars and people as possible. After racing the sunset to set up my tent, B invites me to see the landscape. His hardened bare feet walk over branches and sharp stones that hurt my feet even in my rubber-soled shoes. He walks as surely as someone with steel-toed boots. We bob and weave until we reach a large are of exposed red earth. "Does this look like a good camping spot to you?" he asked pointing to the middle of the polished earth. "Sure, my stakes would go easily into the ground and it's flat and smooth." I replied with a bit of confidence thinking I was relaying my knowledge of choosing a good home for the night. He walked into the middle of the patch, pointed to a small hole the size of a tadpole and began thumping his foot next to the hole. He then walked back towards me as I watched thousands of ants pour out and head in our direction. He grabbed my hand and led us around the patch so we could watch them. "We call these bull or meat ants. They will bite you and it’s extremely painful. You lay your tent on their home and they will bite through it to get inside to you." He began walking again as I watched them scurry about with an air of angry defense. The hole was small with no signs of a typical anthill that I'm acquainted with. “Don’t put your tent near them. Thump the ground first.” He walks off again and I follow. B stops at a gum tree and shares a bit of its uses and history. The sun is no longer visible and the stars are waking up. B turns to me and says, "Now, take us back to camp." My eyes got big as I realized I wasn't paying attention to our surroundings as much as I would have if I were alone. I explain this to him and he responds with raised brows and a sly smile. I then understand he had planned this. B begins, "You must always pay attention to your surroundings no matter the company you're in. Twilight is the most dangerous time to get lost. Start by pointing in the direction you think we came from." I feel pretty confident and point to the South East. We began walking. He stops me to look back so I can draw a line from where we came from and see if we're walking in the same direction I had pointed. I hear a car pass and I knew we weren't too far from the road. I keep walking in the direction I had set out on until we reach the highway. I feel a bit defeated. I was sure I was walking straight to camp. "Not bad. You could at least get help on the main road. But look to your right." B points over his shoulder and I squint through the trees making out a hint of orange. Athena is the only thing that gives away the campsite. As we head back B finishes our evening romp, "Pull out your reflectors whenever you leave camp and place them as high in a tree as you can." _________________________________________________ CAMP OF THE SEXES B sets up his camp, which consists of a tarp, a mat and a sleeping bag. He builds a fire, starts boiling water for dinner, sits down on the earth and rolls himself a cigarette. His is the men's camp. I set up the women's camp. Unpack Athena. Put up the tent. Inflate air mattress. Unroll sleeping bag. Change into leggings, wool socks and shirt. Braid my hair. Refill water bottles. I pull out my foldable camping chair and place it next to the fire. I slowly collapse into it, nuzzling my bum till I find the right spot, take a deep sigh of relief then look over at B with a face that says, "Ok. I'm ready." B simply smiles and stirs the pot of spaghetti noodles. In the morning when B wakes he relights the fire, rolls a cigarette, and pours cold water and instant coffee into his plastic Cola bottle. Then he sits and begins his fire gazing. I wake up, release the valve on my air mattress, and start packing up my sleeping bag and the tent. Refill my water bottles, get dressed, eat a yogurt bar, heat up water for my coffee, and begin packing up Athena. B just sits and sometimes watches me as I wriggle and writhe throughout the camp. He never laughs or yells at me. But when I leave to start walking for the day, I think it's possible he gets all his giggles out. ___________________________________________ SKILL “Show me how you use your nulla nulla.” B stood up from the morning fire as I was getting ready to leave camp. Already a bit defeated by my inability to get us back to camp the last thing I wanted to do was show my limited defense moves. A Nulla Nulla is an Australian Aboriginal war club made of wood. I’ve heard an Australian say that most men know not to mess with a woman carrying a nulla nulla. I reach for my stick, place it firmly in both hands across my body, bend my knees and ground into my image of Uma Thurman in Kill Bill, ready to pounce. He just stares at me. I keep my stance. I wait. My eyes look around me like there may be someone ready to attack me from behind, which would be a real skill since it’s just the two of us in the bush. Confused, I ask him “Are you going to attack me or are you wanting to see my air moves?” He folds his arms and continues to stare at me. With an air of frustration building in me I drop the stick from one hand and firmly planted the base of it on the ground. My hand loosely gripped the wooden knob while my other hand rested on my hip. “Ok.” He says and walks off. Later that night, still holding a bit of anger about it, he tells me “How you use your nulla nulla is shown in the way you hold it and walk with it. The way someone picks up a gun will tell you if they’ve ever used one before. You must always wield your nulla nulla with confidence.” In two weeks I learned a lot about living in the bush but nothing near what it would take to survive in the wild. When we parted ways, B walked me to the road, embraced me and said "I can't bare to watch you leave so I'm going to walk away now." He turned and I stood there watching him disappear back into the bush. I placed my hand over my heart and bowed in his shadow. COFFEE BREAKTHROUGH
When I walk, I know I am not alone. I can feel the pulse of support from all of you, the surprising gifts of food, water, shelter and donations from those who pass me on the road and nature cheering me on through a crow's song to sunset or a butterfly dying in the palm of my hand. It's still dark when I wake in my tent and as I breathe, I detect nuances in the air that are different from the place I slept the night before. I can feel life coming into expression. The stillness in the movement of my surroundings is something I've begun to feel in my body, as if there was a faucet being slowly turned on. I feel thoughts beginning to form. And then when my body asks for water the reality of a day full of non-stop walking hits me and is immediately depressing. And there's a half-second that I think I could just curl up and give up. The hunger for breakfast wins every time. Once I'm up and moving, a routine of packing up ignites excitement to move forward. And if I'm close to a gas station (or roadhouse as they call it here in Australia) the thought of a hot coffee has me salivating from the moment my eyes open. Coffee, the initiator of the meltdown and the first thing to go missing. I bought two coffee's as I left Perth, knowing there wasn't another place to get food, filtered water or a coffee for at least six days walk. One in a regular paper cup and the other in my insulated Kanteen, which had it's own cup holder. In a hurry, I clipped the Kanteen carrier to the side of my cart. I sipped my paper cup coffee and not taking in the delight of the moment, I was thinking about how cold the coffee had gotten and how wonderful to have a Kanteen that will give me a warm afternoon-caffeine-high for the rest of my walk. After a few more miles I was ready for a stretch and a sip of my piping hot latte. I unclipped my waist belt and I turned towards the side of the cart (pretty sure I had a child-like grin of anticipating satisfaction) to see an empty cup holder. No Kanteen bottle. No steaming liquid ready to massage my throat and fuel my tired bones. No brown-fluid-drug-of-choice smiling with equal pleasure and fulfillment to be consumed. I couldn't move. I stood there, with my legs crying for some space to breathe and rest, my mouth hung open and my eyebrows slowly moved into a furrow or sorrow. I was in absolute disbelief that I lost my Kanteen of coffee. The phenomenon of this moment for me is that this is the moment that reality set in. This is when I realized; I'm walking around THE world. What the F was I thinking? It's been raining every day in Australia but the torrential water came from my eyes. Still standing, I could feel the shake of my belly from my pelvis as it slithered, oh-so-slowly, upwards heading towards my chest and throat. My shoulders started gyrating as they attempted to keep my insides from bursting out and splatting onto the concrete (for a second a thought of recognition that my love for coffee will actually kill me!) and I gripped my fingers into my belly to support the efforts of my upper body. As most of us know, trying to "hold something in" doesn't last long and usually has to come out at some point. This point took only another four seconds and I buckled to the ground. The convulsions went from my pinky toes out the strands of my hair. Every part of Angela was shaking and if it had tear ducts or a way to secrete fluids, it was weeping. It was heavy. It was helpless, hopeless, defeat, despair, grief, loss, and heartache. It was loneliness, failure, unworthiness, ugliness and stupidity. It was everything I didn't want to feel but had been waiting for since the day I started walking. I already had a few weeps under my belt. I had cried as Shireen sang Unchained Melody before saying goodbye to my friends in Oregon. And when I made love for the last time to the man I spent two magnificent years with. When my feet ached and I couldn't walk anymore. When I waved goodbye at the airport, when I boarded the plane, when the plane landed, when I slept my first night in Australia, when I was packing Athena, and, well, probably at least once every day since I've started. There is a routine of an emotional journey everyday that goes a bit like this: sadness then grief then humility then contentment then delirious laughter then dignity followed by determination and topped with wonder and joy. Then it starts all over. I noticed a deep breath, mainly because the sobs were so violent that I wasn't breathing. In the midst of being on all fours, on the side of a road with a neon orange cart, hopefully adding some sense of cover from the oncoming traffic, I continued to let me entire body vibrate and purge all that I hadn't felt or allowed myself to feel. The body memory was as if I was regurgitating from a stomach flu. As I consciously let the emotions stream through my exhausted muscles I could feel a moment of rightness. How right it felt to be there, somewhere between Perth and Woodridge on Route 60, sobbing through the enormity of this challenging calling. The bigness of this walk, the bigness that is inspiring and expanding within me. The inability to hide as I openly walk pass cars, cyclists, homes with humans enjoying a sunset on their porch, birds searching above me for food, the news station asking questions, and a website to upkeep. It feels like I bought pair of fire-engine-red shoes and I don't intend on going unnoticed. As if when I'm walking there's a scream accompanying me. It feels loud. But through the bright neon of my cart, Athena, and the grandeur of a global walk, I can feel the stillness and quietness that is my true motivation. The breaths became deeper and longer. The snot from my nose had run it's course and the tension had slipped off like a silky nightgown. The rain started. A light drizzle, which before was a nuisance. I sat back and let my face revel in the sprinkles from the heavens and a smile grew from one dimple to the other. I nodded, as if to tell Spirit that "I got it. I hear you. I'm on board. I know you're with me and I allow you to guide my steps. Thank you. I love you." I stood up. I had a sip of clear and cool water (yet still consciously wishing it were the brown good stuff), stood up, inserted my headphones and walked towards an Australian afternoon downpour. An hour later, Margaret-Ann pulled her car in front me, after quickly viewing my website to ensure I wasn't a drug addict, and offered me a hot shower and a place to stay for the night. Hours after my coffee-initiated meltdown to breakthrough and some of the windiest rain I have yet to walk through, I was sipping Champagne in a hot bubbly bath. Each day is so vastly different. Each day has some kind of gift. And it's not that it took me walking to receive these gifts but it took me following this enormous, this challenging, this beautiful, this adventurous calling for me to never miss appreciating the tiniest gifts and miracles that are given every day. Oh, and Margaret-Ann gave me a new insulated coffee mug filled with piping hot coffee. A NORTH STAR IN A PARKING LOT It was a National Park Overlook and camping and caravanning was prohibited. I thought I would be the last (tourist). The sun was setting within fifteen minutes and I had nowhere else to set up camp for the night. I had spotted a picnic table that was nestled off to the side. I had always wanted to sleep under the stars without a tent between my gaze and the sky. I decided that I would stay there and sleep under the stars. I was brushing my teeth while I walked over to the bin to throw away some built-up trash when I saw his SUV approach the parking lot. Quickly after arrived a car of two young girls looking to see the sunset over the “Turquoise Coast”. They left as quickly as they came. He wandered about as if looking at the local flora and fauna while engrossed with his phone. And he walked about then stood close to my chosen sleeping quarters, looking at his phone. So, I took a walk to the overlook so I would pass him and acknowledge his presence and get a feel for his intention. He never looked up at me but I passed on a “hello”. As the sun was setting he got into his car. And sat there. And sat there. And sat there. I was not willing to set up my bed for the night until I saw him drive away. I remembered from my defense class being taught to “let them see you see them”. I had staff in hand as I moved, somewhat shyly at first, into view of his SUV. Where I could see him under the light of his console. A face I had practiced while walking was going to come in handy at this moment. It was “don’t even think of fucking with me” face. Which in reality might look like a completely relaxed gaze. When I try squinting my eyes to add a tinge of intimidation I can’t help but start laughing, it feels like I just need to pucker my lips to look like a Charlton Heston pose. I stood and stared for a good ten minutes before I heard his ignition start and he drove off. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath to I felt my shoulders descend and inhaled enough air I probably took in a few bugs. I knew there was a chance he could return but I had nowhere else to sleep and I was determined to nestle close to the moon and fall asleep to a nebulous lullaby. I set up my air mattress and sleeping bag, placed the staff on the bench and held the knife in my hand. I heard another motor approaching and was happy to see a Caravan in the lot about 200 feet from me. Although it wasn’t an overnight park, being Western Australia Day weekend and migrators heading North for the winter, I was hoping they would crash for the night. With a little tremor still in my belly, I recited Mary Oliver’s poem “The Journey” three times aloud to give me courage to fall asleep. Thumping of bass, loud voices, and a bottle being thrashed on the concrete woke me abruptly. Two cars full of young kids out and about on the eve of the biggest holiday for Western Australia. I looked and couldn’t see the Caravan in the practically non-existent light of the new moon. I clenched my knife, jumped on all fours like a feral cat ready to pounce. I flipped the blade open and watched the cars, which were still about 500 feet away. In that moment I felt fear but I wasn’t afraid to act. Then a bright light came on in the parking lot. The Caravan owners were still there and were now awake and perturbed as well. My body relaxed when I knew I wasn’t alone but kept the knife ready just in case. A few minutes later the two cars full of holiday-crazed kids drove off but not without defiantly honking and performing a few wheelies. The Caravan left their light on all night. It was like my North Star. As I tossed and turned through the night I could see the light, which felt like my protector and could ease back into my dream space. I woke the next morning feeling strong and ready for anything. Like somehow in the night I had grown more courage and response-ability. Which was a good thing because the next night my reactive skills would be tested. ICOGNITO OUT THE WINDOW When I began my walk I had no intention of racing time. Not interested in breaking a record, which usually means receiving a certificate of recognition to hang on my wall for some great athletic feat, I still inquired with Guinness World Records just to see what their criteria was for foot traversing the planet. They responded by telling me that Fastest Circumnavigation on Foot was up for grabs and the parameters for qualification. My response was “Do you have one for the Slowest?” Although I never want to feel in a hurry I am always in a tango dance with the sunset. Walking at night isn’t difficult and I would prefer it to the scorching sun that cunningly seems to find it’s way around my wide-brimmed hat. It’s more of a safety concern. I recently heard that some drivers make sport of hitting adolescent Kangaroo’s at night. With my rapidly neon pink lights at the rear of Athena, on the front of my waist and a red strobe light on my headlamp, I don’t fear being hit accidentally by a car but intentionally. I vowed to walk as little at night as possible when on a well-used road. Route 60 is one of two roads connecting the Southwest to the Northwest Territory. And it was a major holiday. I could feel a bit of anxiety setting in as there were no side roads or Parking lots, as it was getting increasingly dark. I knew it would soon be difficult to secretly set up my tent even if I did find a hidden spot. As the worry started to build, I began repeating a mantra, “I am guided and guarded by YOU.” Over and over and over. The sun was now asleep and it was me and my blinking lights ambling along. A car passed and honked. I couldn’t tell if they were the usual by-passers sharing encouragement as I often get through the day. Some thumbs-up, waves, honks and a few hang-loose signs. I’ve even seen a few trying to snap a photo while driving. Or they could known it would be frightening to be in the silence of dark night with an approaching car blasting it’s horn right next to me. I understand why they call their landscape the bush. From a distance it looks like rolling hills full of grass and occasional trees. But up close it’s waist-high bushes full of thorns and prickles. Finding a camp spot is not easy in this terrain. It’s not full desert yet where I can just find a sandy spot and pitch my tent. The roadside is elevated and the rocky shoulder is usually slanting into the bush. I saw a tiny flat spot just fifteen feet from the roadway. This was it. I quickly rolled Athena as close to the bush as possible and covered her with my camouflage tarp. Then began pitching my tent. It was not so sandy, in fact it was almost pure rock. My sand and snow pegs barely went in an inch. But determined to make it work I placed larger rocks on top of the pegs hoping it would be enough to last the night. I remember being advised when camping to be fully incognito that people couldn’t find you even if they were looking for you or to be as visible as possible to everyone. Tonight I would be visible to every person passing along Highway 60. Their headlights lit up the inside of my tent that initially made me question my decision of roadside encampment. And when I slithered into my sleeping bag the shadows brought back soothing memories of little stars being projected on my bedroom wall as a little girl. But after my experience the night before with drunk-happy youths out on the road, I needed a plan. I positioned my zippers on the tent door so they were easily accessible and touched them with my eyes closed to memorize their location. My staff laid in the Vestibule with the round wooden knob facing the door and my knife to the left of my bed. I practiced three times my routine so that if anyone approached I would know what to do without thinking about it. I knew getting out of the tent as quickly as possible would give me a better chance at meeting an offense than being inside the tent. I felt as prepared as I could be and hoped, as I drifted into sleep, that I wouldn’t freeze up like I had done the first time I heard a rodent outside my tent. It was fascinating to me to discover that I was a “freezer”, clamming up and hoping whatever is happening might just pass or go away. I experienced this in my self-defense class. For two days I was taught a simple three-step process for getting out of a choking situation. In slow motion, with no emotional stimulation, I had it down pat. I was feeling confident and ready to take on an attacker. My trainer was keenly aware of this, not just in me, but in most women, as our emotional bodies can be far more surprising than the attack itself. He grabbed me from behind during a break and I squirmed for a bit before I remembered to head-butt him and kick my heel on the top of his foot. He let go but as soon as I faced him, he pinned me to the ground and started choking me. I flailed about as my mind went blank and the frustration and fear bubbled out in screams and grunts. I couldn’t remember a thing: not the elbow jab to the throat, the knee into the belly or the face scraping he had taught me just hours earlier. I felt like a beached whale flapping around for water and feeling death approach. Now granted, this was practice, a drill, but it felt real particularly because he had surprised me. He was a skilled teacher and knew that the only way I could learn what it feels like to be attacked was to attack me. He saw me crying from inside his heavily cushioned armor suit. He yelled something at me that took three repeats before I could make it out. “EYES.” Aaahh, Yes! Go for the eyes. I curled my fingers into position and began scraping down the front of his plexi-glass face cover. He released and sat back. “If you remember nothing else from this class, remember to always go for the eyes.” I excused myself to the bathroom where I purged the rest of my tears of frustration. I walked back onto the mat and said “Round 2!” All the preparations I had done before falling asleep on the roadside made me feel better to meet anything that came. I offered a prayer of protection thanking Itus (the name I gave my tent after the Greek God of protection) and let the rustling from the wind on my tent lull me into a light sleep. I woke to a sound I feared most; a vehicle pulling up to the tent and the sound of men’s voices chattering. To my own surprise, and an inner script of “OH SHIT”, I unzipped my bag, grabbed my knife and staff and hobbled out to meet the four brilliantly bright lights set upon Itus and me. I couldn’t see anyone but perhaps they could see me shaking as I leaned on my staff. “What are you doing?” a male voice in an English accent asked me. “Camping. Can I help you?” I may have stuttered a bit. One man climbed out of the truck and as he approached I gripped harder on my staff, steadied my bare feet on the rocky terrain and had images of my “one-two” punches run through my mind. As he got closer I saw a neon green vest, similar to mine, which ensured he wasn’t riff-raff. “My name’s Officer Gill. Strange to see a woman camping on the roadside.” Because I quite a wild child this may have been the first time that seeing a Police Officer brought me a sigh of relief. I told him and his partner what I was up to and Officer Gill pointed his flash light up the road, squinted his eyes and smiled as he informed me there was a parking lot just a Kilometer up the road. I was going to stay the night, it would take way too long for me to pack up and set up in the dark again. They offered to check on me in the morning and bring me a cup of coffee. I could have made it to the Camping area but I didn’t. Instead I had the experience of testing my reaction skills with two Police Officers that gave me coffee and guided me to a Christian camp in Jurien Bay for two free nights stay. I am truly guided with every single decision, every single step. PHENOMENALITY George had few teeth left in his mouth but he had the brightest smile and disposition. When I entered the kitchen to make my dinner he offered me half his soup, a recipe his mother made of Rice, egg and lemons. HE was 86 years old, born in Greece and had traveled the world settling in the Apex Campground in Jurien Bay. I shared a meal with him as he told me his stories of adventure and wound up alone with no family or children, which is why he lived in Margaret’s Backpackers accommodations. As I was heading back to my room he asked if I was hitching or riding my bike up North. I marched my feet as a reply. His jaw dropped so that I could see the mashed porridge on his tongue and he said, “You’re phenomenal!” With my hand over my heart, I giggled and said, “Well, I might feel like that later but right now I’m just sore.” I had mastered the art of deflecting compliments. He stood up out of his chair, pointed his finger at me, and with a mouth still full of his mother’s porridge sternly said “No! Not tomorrow, not some day, not when you’ve finished walking, RIGHT NOW YOU’RE PHENOMENAL!” I stood with recognition that he spoke from a place within myself. After walking through snow, mountain passes, torrential rains and under an unforgiving desert sun I still had a difficult time at understanding how people could be inspired or call me phenomenal. Even after all I thought I knew about receiving compliments and allowing others to recognize my light, my commitment to humility was being compromised by feeling less than my potential; to be phenomenal! I was just hoping for strong, brave, committed, even crazy would do. I never thought of the possibility of phenomenal. I stood smiling at George, with the porridge seeping out from the gaps between his teeth onto the outer edges of his mouth as he smiled and waved me off to bed. I nodded and said “You’re right, George. WE’RE PHENOMENAL.” I DON’T KNOW WHY I SWALLOWED A FLY Margaret-Ann, originally from the Isle of Skye in Scotland, had offered me a place to stay for the night in WoodRidge, just north of Yanchep. Her husband was Australian and they had just moved there from Scotland four years ago. She loved learning the local wildlife and native plants. She took me around her garden and gave me the official and slang names for all her plants. She had several chickens, which loved to be cuddled, and two resident Kangaroos named Jack and Jill. Jack had grown up with Margaret-Ann and would often feed from her hand. As we sipped coffee and looked into her garden she would also tell me the types of birds that frequented around her house. I only remember one and that’s because it has kept me company on my walk. The Willy Wagtail, a smallish bird, with hints of blue and a white belly that is constantly wagging its tail. It’s quite sexy and sassy. They have a pleasant little chirp that I listen for daily. A Willy will usually join me for about a Kilometer each day somewhere on my walk. I’ve gotten to the point that I actively keep an eye out for their visits. In a flirtatious manner, one will wait for me to meet up with it while resting on a bush, chirp at me, then fly several feet ahead and wait till I meet up with it before flying ahead again. I imagine it’s saying, “Come on, you’ve got this, keep it up.” Sometimes I’ll sing a little ditty of my own to them. Not sure if they like my voice as most of the time they don’t linger much longer after I’ve opened my mouth. I was belting out a tune. With no one around and few cars passing, I felt free to really let it loose. With my jaw opened wide, leading into my crescendo… a fly goes straight into the back of my throat. These are not tiny house flies, these are the size of bees. It was like it was waiting in the wind for a perfectly timed suicide. I leaned over and attempted to cough it out. IT was too late. It was down the esophagaus and heading for digestion. I peered over at Willy and had a feeling he had offered me dinner, his style. “Thanks Willy, but next time you might want to ask if I like Fly.” PUNCHING CANCER IN THE FACE I've had a few women respond to hearing about my walking mission with "You're so brave." I'm still pondering real bravado and will write more about it soon. But in the meantime, I wanted to share a friend of mine with you. One who expressed her bravery by shaving her head after a cancer diagnosis rather than waiting for all her hair to fall out. I dedicated my walk from Bend to Portland in her name. Praying, singing and dancing with her in my heart the whole way. She is lovingly, fiercely, brutally and compassionately punching cancer in the face. You can read her very vulnerable and inspiring blog here. The Road Behind MeBEND TO PORTLAND Traversed two mountain passes. The full route started and ended with warm sunny days, but sandwiched in the middle with hail, sleet and snow. My amazing friends in Bend picked me up and drove me out the next morning where I left off so I could walk freely without my cart. Some friends walked with me the first few days. (Thank you to those walked through the initial "fire" with me!) Camp was dry for two days and rained the rest, I'm growing webbed feet. Discoveries!When I can't walk anymore, I can still dance. What keeps me moving forward is the conviction of my calling- especially in the moments I want to quit. I'm enjoying not carrying a mirror. I go days without seeing myself and feel more confident. Ostriches don't bury their heads in the sand, they would suffocate. HighlightsA short note of appreciation to Lisa Ann McCall -for your support in helping me find ways to enjoy my walk and keep my Vibram five-fingers! Janine, Deb and Iris- for offering a place to stay, a warm meal and good conversations. Elyse, Chelsea, Josh, Matt, Kellie, Ryan, Shireen and Leah for making it out to Breitenbush for a hot soak and a song-filled evening. Your energy kept me going. And thank you to those who have donated already in just the first month. I'm able to send $100 to World Pulse. The Road Ahead of MeI'm headed into the most desolate part of my walk. Few people and fewer stores to restock on food and water.
There's limited internet access but I will keep my eye open for a way to communicate with you! Thanks for being on the journey with me. Australia Beckons – Why walking around the world is not an insane thing to do (even if it sounds like it)
By Elizabeth Marino, PhD Human beings have been walking to Australia for 55,000 years. Literally. The very first fledgling migration out of Africa didn’t stop in the Middle East or Southern Asia. This intrepid group of wanderers didn’t flow into Northern Europe or rest in the balmy Mediterranean, but kept going, and kept going, finding their way to that distant island-continent that had little fresh water, low lying geography, and open skies. They stopped in the red clay, blue ocean landscape that had the space for a new start. It is fitting that Angela chose to walk through Western Australia as the first leg of her journey. Australia beckons – and has been beckoning for as long as humans have been walking out of one life and into a different one. When Angela first told me about this new adventure she had planned I thought she was naïve and insane. Another kooky vision, by another new age visionary trying to replicate some ancient tradition that she knew nothing about. A modern walkabout, I thought, how quaint. I distrusted. I scoffed. As an academic, scoffing and distrusting are the states of mind I traffic in. Then I reconsidered. In the daily grind that is high modernity – with it’s constant noise (coffee grinder, music, conversation, and traffic as I write this) and instant digital connectivity; with fast cars and faster trains and even faster minds; with checklists and calendars and the trying to get out of or invited to the party. With all the chaos and disintegration it actually makes perfect sense to me to bring all those seemingly inevitable facets and distractions of modern life to a screeching halt through the simplistic and original human skill: to start walking. For me Angela’s walk isn’t inspirational because of the scale of danger or adventure she’s embarking on (which will, no doubt, be significant) but because of its humility. As far as I know Angela isn’t trying to evolve, or become a sage or a yogi; she isn’t trying to tap into fame or enlightenment. She’s not trying to accomplish anything. She is just walking. In doing so she exhibits the revolutionary belief that it will be enough. In this way, too, Australia is a fitting place to start. The great anthropologist Wade Davis writes and speaks about the unique dedication that Aboriginal Australians have to resisting change and to maintaining the original landscape and histories that have been given to them from time immemorial, or the Dreamtime. Davis writes, When the aboriginal people reached Australia 55,000 years ago they went walking. They spread a series of song lines across the planet, the known world. The Songlines were the trajectories walked at the dawn of time when the Rainbow Serpent sang the universe into being. The Dreaming is not a sense of dream; it is a state of eternal now [my emphasis]. In not one of the 240 languages of Australia, or the 670 dialects, is there a word for time. There is not a word for past, present, or future. The entire ethos of the aboriginal life was the antithesis of the cult of improvement [my emphasis] that so captivated the Victorian mind. The whole purpose of life in Australia was to do nothing that would improve upon anything. The people weren’t in any ways victims of history; they were people who had defeated the very notion of history. … The whole thing was driven on the theme of stasis, continuity, keeping the world the way it was at the time of the dawning. For 55,000 years in Australia the world, just as it is, has been perfect. For Angela, slowly, the globe a step at a time, also testifies to a faith that the world is worth seeing and knowing just as it exists and without expectation. This is a radical departure from a modern worldview that measures efficiency and progress as the standard bearers of success. To eat, to breathe, to chat, to walk, for no other reason than because it is our birthright, is not an insane thing to do. On the contrary, it might be the only sane thing to do in the face of high modernity that tells us to “have it all” and “be it all” and “live it all”, all the time, right now, without “wasting” a minute – which in the end is as undesirable as it is impossible. It is the radical simplicity of Angela’s walk that inspires me, as I hope it will inspire you. "I am going to circumnavigate the world on foot." I thought my voice sounded surefooted but I could feel my shoulders clench upwards, giving away my lack of confidence in the silent moments before they responded to my whispered confession. I wanted to be bold, brave and even fierce in my declaration of this walkabout but I knew I was just as scared as the friend who was already beginning to worry about me while I staked my claim of earthly wondering.
The most common responses from my girlfriends were a range of "Wow. Holy shit! That sounds exciting. I'm so jealous. I want to walk with you in Nepal!" And the most common response from my male friends were "Have you walked long distance before? Have you camped alone? Do you have the equipment for this? Please tell me you'll consider carrying a gun." But there is one mutual question that comes up, whether its a friend or stranger, and thats "how did you have this idea?" I can trace the lineage of its sprouting, even an adventurous yearning, but it wasn't something I marinated over or even had an aha moment to toast to. It was a magical, adventurous and scary idea. And it was the first calling I had that wasn't formed by sticky-notes and business meetings with logic or an outline of my five-year plan (which is ironic since that's the estimated time it will take to walk). All of my professions were a result of me postulating, daydreaming, outlining, strategizing, practicalizing, and basically creating something out of necessity. After I overcame the initial excitement and shock that I was becoming more fully committed to this walk, I began studying and planning. I read all the books I could on women who walked before me and inspired me. The three adventurers that held me together when I thought all was lost in this venture were Ffyona Campbell, Rosie Swale-Pope and Robyn Davidson. They were the brave ones before me that took feet to earth and left their brick and mortar homes for one in the wild and within themselves. I can easily admit that if it weren't for immersing myself into their journeys I could have talked myself out of this idea. I could have raised the white-flag before even leaving home. But once it was there, it curled up in my lap like a purring kitten seeking a home, and I knew I couldn't walk away from it (pun intended!) I now walk to the coffee shop, through the grocery store, or the trails in my backyard with a new conviction. This is what I was made for. This is what I have always wanted. And even though I will go this alone, it will be my greatest attempt to connect and support what I love most: sisterhood. |
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