Two heads. Webbed feet. Snaggle teeth. An assortment of unflattering body parts that supposedly separate inbred Tasmanians from the rest of Australia. However mercilessly the Mainlanders may laugh at the island, locals shrug it off with a stoic pioneer spirit. During my six months here, I’ve realized that they’ll gladly trade a little laughter in order to keep secret the paradise that is their home.
Neighbors could hold the sympathetic comments, like “Guess it’s what you grew up with,” and “Just have to make the most of it.” I hoped their beach barbeques broke down and their post-celebratory hangovers lasted through January.
There’s something about opening a map in a fresh space and carefully unfolding each square in the center of your vision. It’s the same feeling I get when I unpack […]
To look at the frozen bloody stump that once propelled Australia’s icon across the Outback is to seriously consider vegetarianism. And that’s a dramatic statement, given my current location. Down […]
Two years ago, daily lamentations filled up the journal I had carried to an isolated mining town in Western Australia. Against all good advice to “make the most of it,” I hated Newman. The bugs, […]
Australia’s architecture is determined by the tyranny of its distances. 4,100 km (2,547 m) between coasts create a country of stylistic opposites. From the colonial domes of Melbourne’s Flinders Street Station… […]
Below the knee, Greg Wilson looks like a cowboy. From the waist up, he could be an urban hipster: patterned scarf around his neck, an orange Penguin softcover tucked into his […]