The Journey of a Nomad

Ocean Blues

libertywickman — Sun, 7 Apr 2013 12:56:00 GMT

I sit hidden in the shade. The light breeze teases me, reminding me of cooler days. Green leaves dance overhead, creating brilliant, ever changing, patterns of shadows on the sand. Flies lazily buzz from here to there, landing on every surface in between. Occasionally a bird passes by, not caring to share where it’s going or where it’s been. I envy the freedom of flight; it requires no explanation of destination. Today, the sun is my slave, drying my clean clothes without ever being paid, but the strength of its presence has me bound to this spot in the shade. Time passes slowly without the tick of a clock. The rhythmic crash of the waves continues ceaselessly, playing the role of nature’s heartbeat. Crash… Crash… Crash… as I sit here, quietly listening, I close my eyes, wrapped up in its glory, I know that nature loves me more that I could ever possibly love it back. Nature presents me with ruby red apples and sweet delicate bananas. It offers me a cool place to enjoy my day while offering freshly photosynthesized oxygen. Nature has provided me with everything I could possibly need or desire and yet my people, my species, have betrayed the hand that gives. We have poisoned nature, cut into its delicate embodiment and stolen everything it as to offer. We’ve raped the purity and beauty that is nature’s identity. We have exploited and abused the resources it offers and we have filled its fresh, free air with so many toxins that in some cities, we’ve suffocated not only nature, but also ourselves.

Just beyond the shoreline, only a short distance into the blues from where I sit is a second surf. Small waves rhythmically swell and break over a dead coral reef, like the throbbing pulse of a bloody human wound. What few tropical fish linger among the debris of disaster have lost their glorious shining colors. Their once glimmering yellow and red stripes have faded to the same shade of ashen grey as the dead coral. Our pollutions have made nature sick, cutting holes into its protective ozone, intensifying the sun while also chocking the atmosphere giving our global climate a fever. Just like human brain cells begin to die with intense long lasting fevers, coral reefs and other fragile pieces of nature will also die.

Here I sit hiding from the truth of the destruction my species has caused, gazing out over the ocean, listening to nature’s heartbeat, admiring the melancholy blues of my unconditional lover. Only something as purely innocent as nature can remain so breathtakingly beautiful and peacefully tranquil after years of humanity’s greedy assault. Nature’s heart beats steadily onward, while the blue horizon stretches into the distance, and the leaves overhead continue to dance with the simple joys of life that we have not yet taken from them.

Photos: Medieval Magic

libertywickman — Mon, 1 Apr 2013 22:39:00 GMT

Bajardo, Italy Sunset

Medievil Princess

libertywickman — Mon, 1 Apr 2013 22:35:00 GMT

Once upon a time, I was a princess in a small, mountaintop, medieval village called Bajardo. Every evening the fog filled the valleys bellow and eventually crept through the damp, moss covered, eerily silent, cobble stone streets. I would leave my roof top terrace with its views of the valleys bellow and descend five flights of cool stone stair steps. The stone was so worn and loved by inhabitants of the past that smooth grooves were worn into each step from years of work as a trusted passage. After locking the thick, heavy, wooden door of my palace with a brass key as long as my hand, I would follow the fog and quietly tiptoe to the remains of a church in ruins at the peak of the village. Here, I would wait. As the temperatures slowly dropped, the fog would settle into the valleys and leave only the mountain peaks reaching up into the evening sky. My secret sitting spot on an old stone wall provided a private gallery of marvelous orange and red streaks of light painted across a canvas of fluffy white clouds that lay just below my feet. This masterpiece of nature was only present for a few long minutes as the sun slowly disappeared behind adjacent mountain peaks, it was a sight worthy of the great kings and queens of the past. I imagined myself stepping off my stony pillars, into the heavens, like Hercules joining Zeus and the other gods and goddesses. If my current reality hadn’t been so completely magical, I would have considered taking up residence in the clouds.

Photos: Bali is Beautiful

libertywickman — Mon, 1 Apr 2013 05:10:00 GMT

Photos: Oz and its Outback

libertywickman — Mon, 1 Apr 2013 04:46:00 GMT

Mountaintop Moments

libertywickman — Mon, 1 Apr 2013 02:10:00 GMT

I love the smell of the earth just after it’s rained. You can feel the heat and moisture in the air. The plants glisten with water droplets like stars in the light of day. You can almost feel the circle of life turning as the plants soak up the water and the leaf litter simmers in decomposition. The Australian bush with its sandy soil releases a different scent after a rain than the dark soils of Iowa, where I grew up, and yet I’ve come to associate both scents with the cleansing purity of new life.

I recently climbed to the top of Mount Tempest, which happens to be the tallest sand hill in the world and is located in the center of my island (Moreton Island). It’s 280 meters of pure sand reaching out of the ocean into the sky. Amazingly, plants are actually able to grow in the sand so other than the small white sandy switch back walking track leading to the top, the mountain of sand is covered in vegetation. I regret not having taken a flag to plant at the top so I could call it a giant sand castle and pretend to be a princess while standing on top of the world. I hiked to the top in the morning after a rainy night. As much as I love having company during adventures, I ended up being grateful that I had the opportunity to make this journey alone.

The air was so warm and damp that the plants felt like they were buzzing with photosynthesis and osmosis. White beaches in the distance create a border between a sea of blue and the golden green forest. The light blues of the sky melted into the dark blues of the ocean with while a sound track of native insects and bird played softly all around. There was a quiet energy in the bush urging me forward, leaving every step to be a memory filled with the scent of the earth.

When I reached the top, the blue sky disappeared beneath a fluffy gray cloud. Huge raindrops slowly fell creating a grey curtain of water, interrupting my view of ocean blues that stretched to the horizon in all directions. The cool water silenced the songs of the bush and replaced them with the sound of rain droplets rhythmically falling on leaves that are simultaneously being ruffled by the breeze. It was a peaceful natural symphony.

The Morning Chorus of Padang Bai

libertywickman — Mon, 1 Apr 2013 01:39:00 GMT

I am very aware that every time I turn over in my sleep, the entire bed shakes. With every movement, I’m silently apologizing to the English girl sleeping on the bottom bunk. As I roll over in the darkness for what seems like the millionth time, music starts to play. Loud chanting soon follows and in the darkness before dawn, the small village of Padang Bai comes to life. As the loud religious worship fades to a close, the sky begins to light with the rising sun and the roosters take the stage. For a full two hours, the hundreds of roosters in the village below cry out, making sure everybody knows a new day is beginning.

I crawled down from my squeaky bunk bed as the window begins to let light in. I silently apologized for the last time to the English girl below me, hoping I didn’t keep her up all night. Bali in the glow of the first morning light is just as beautiful as it is at all other times of day. I love how green and lush everything is. The red roofs of the Padang Bai contrast the green jungle in the hills surrounding the bay, The varying shades of blue sparkle in their own unique glory as colorful boats gently rock to and fro. I love it here.

Magnificent Masses

libertywickman — Mon, 1 Apr 2013 01:27:00 GMT

I was sitting alone on a sand dune, overlooking the northern bay of the third largest sand island in the world. No one would disturb me there, 98% of the island was national park and I had wandered off the only walking track on the northern half of the island. I was enjoying the quiet sunshine and soaking up the solitude with gratitude. I buried my feet deep in the sand so my toes could wiggle in the cooler grains below. The beauty engulfed me as I admired the peaceful silence. The soundtrack of bird calls was abruptly interrupted by what sounded like the boom of a firework. My eyes were drawn to the direction of the sound, but all that lay before me was blue ocean, expanding to the horizon. Then I saw one, a huge dark mass. It popped up out of the gently rolling water and lingered for a full second before it crashed back into the abyss sending a huge white splash skyward. One, two, three, four seconds later I heard the deep boom of the impact, like someone slamming a car door in the distance.

Humpback whales are magnificent. If I recall correctly, the man on the ferry said about 13,000 of them pass by Moreton Island each year in their seasonal migration. Currently, they’re moving south for summer. They winter near the Great Barrier Reef where they raise their calves in the warmer waters. To the admirer’s advantage, they migrate in pods so there is always more than one gentile giant to watch at a time. Tonight a playful pod slowly passed by the bay jumping and rolling along the way. At times, it seemed as though they were leaping from the water in unison - synchronized splashing.

Photos: An Island Lost in the Sea of Time

libertywickman — Mon, 1 Apr 2013 00:55:00 GMT

My Island, My home, My Life as a Light House Keeper

Catching a Moment - The Face of Chaos

libertywickman — Sun, 31 Mar 2013 18:09:06 GMT

Gaunt faces pressed against the red metal fence, thin arms extended through the holes, empty palms exposed, displaying nothing but need. Desperate shouts in a foreign tongue surrounded us while the scent of sunburnt sewage engulfed us. As we exited the protective red barrier distress swarmed and stalked us. Disaster driven chaos consumed the city.
Children’s small fingers snagged the edges of our shirts, like sharp thorns on a rose bush – sweet, innocent faces were attached to the penetrating stab of heartbreak. Bleeding compassion, our desires to help were imprisoned by an inability to feed the demanding.
We hadn’t embarked on our journey to deliver supplies. Our objective had been to provide physical support by building houses. We greeted empty hands with empty hands and our intentions felt all wrong. Our financial resources had been poured into purchasing construction essentials, not basic living essentials.
Our regret for not being able to do more was intensified as the children released our shirts, closed their tiny little hands and brought their fingers to their mouth expressing their hunger as if their protein deficient red tinged hair and malnourished bloated little bellies hadn’t been signs enough.
Every unfilled palm was connected to a fatigued human with a tragic story of loss and destruction inspired by the ground shaking event of January 12th, 2010. We pushed forward through the crowd as visions and shouts blurred together into a single grim memory.
The only faces I distinctly recall from our initiation to the desolation of the Port-au-Prince earthquake epicenter are those of the strangers in the crowd hugging that red metal fence. Their final hopes and dreams, their only recourse, their lives depended on us – the volunteers.