Australia

March 25, 2026
Two kayaks on a calm lake, with mountains and cloudy sky in the background.

 The yellow pilot boat is approaching. A pilot will be brought onboard to guide our ship through the harbor. As we progress, a stretch of islands pass us on the left then, the coastline, on both sides. Sailboats, white triangles against the dark blue water, shine in the distance.  Cliffs drop sheer from the pastureland to the tan beaches. Dark green groves fill the crevasses. We cruise along under the dome of the sky. Soon we will be docked at Port Melbourne, Hobson's Bay, Australia. 


 Living life onboard, traveling around the world, I feel like a spirit watching the living as they go about their activities. I am a temporary exhalation, undetected then gone. But their doings remain in my mind. Humans are so very busy, especially the young adults. It takes significant aging to bring on stillness and reflection. My obscurity can make me sentimental. I feel a general affection for anyone who passes. I saw a baby watching sea gulls eat the French fries that someone had tossed to them. I imagined her forming her own impressions of  everything around and not yet named. I wished her well and hoped that the war would end soon.

Two people paddle a wooden boat on a body of water.

I want lives to continue, plans and hopes to be realized. I want her to be spared the knowledge of war. People are just starting to get used to their new connectivity in our Worldwide Web. (Or is it even called that anymore?) They are learning quickly from each other and can amuse and educate each other from great distances. All the economies are linked now. A string plucked in Australia can be heard in Canada. We wear, use and eat things that come from thousands of miles away. We are just getting to know each other, to be interested and adjusted to other solutions, other ways of living. We know we don't want wars. Even the nation's leaders, so far, are refusing, at this time, to get involved. “This is not our war.” 


 The ones who want to break things are very loud. They jump onto the Internet using anger and insults to get attention, temporarily disorienting society. The expression of interesting thought, occasions for useful discussion that can enforce agreed upon law, these are more scarce, take time and frustratingly they follow in the rubble of destruction. It is easy to break things, putting them back together takes a long time.


 There is a lot going on. For the most part the profound structuring that International Economics has accomplished, over the past 100 or so years, is not understood by most of the population, but its results are clear to everyone. Approximately 20% of oil flow, stopped at the Strait of Hormuz, raises oil prices worldwide. It is a fair trade item. The companies that control the price per barrel are not humanitarians. They are opportunists and not expected to behave compassionately. The subject of oil is discussed in all the news. The Strait of Hormuz is controlled by Iran. Oil is the blood of the Economy. Everything that is manufactured, transported and traded country to country has been disrupted. “What can we do?”, “When will this end?”, “How will it end?” These are the questions asked, over and over. Is this war building to a third world war? Are nuclear weapons being considered? How unhinged has this all become? No one was consulted. The decision to go to war was made by a handful of people. We are stopped in our tracks, hesitating, looking around nervously, like a silent herd of deer. But one important thing that we all can see is that the International Economy is stronger than any country or leader. The final result, that no one can predict, is quietly resolving itself, alignments are moving into place, responding to the demands of the market, the demands of economics, and meanwhile we are adjusting. A pattern has not yet been finalized, but nothing will look like it did before. At this point in history society is starting to understand that the Economy is our World Government.

Children playing near a boat, next to a wooden building. One child jumps, others sit or stand.

Money works as an organizer. If distributed equally, it can result in a shorter work week, less production for profit only, more renewable energy, an emphasis on efficient basic needs production and distribution. Humanity would benefit, Nature would benefit. AI can help, robots can do menial work. Job sharing, and remote work would be the norm. But presently money is elusive, running like water, out of your wallet, out of your bank, always being called back to its source. And no one can predict the timing of these movements. It is constantly mutating toward where it finds profit.


 I see the effects of 16th to 18th century colonialism wherever we go, in the design of the governments, the architecture, the religious options, education, healthcare, what is for sale, what you can buy, their commercials, their food and their shelters. International economics has continued this trend by enforcing a kind of Worldwide Colonialism. Its for profit emphasis encourages homogenization and enslavement that encompasses anywhere and everyone. Any dictator, colonialist, president, prime minister, king, emperor, etc, who thinks he or she can control this is mistaken. 


 I can't help seeing that people suffer. I have watched the freedom and grace of young skateboarders under a bridge in the knowledge of how short this exhilaration will last.

Making a living is our powerful necessity and distraction. It occupies us through most of our lives. The suffering is more obvious in the poorer countries, less hidden. People sense that they are rushing past something; something valuable, fleeting, maybe wonderful. This is a silent loss, and takes a toll. Most people can't stop making a living, instead of living, until they are too weak to work. Very few have the free time a monetary legacy at birth would bring. Free time should be everyone's birthright. It is where innovation, creativity and philosophy are developed. Things that help society mature and survive.

We were invited as a small group to visit the ship's bridge. That place where all points are taken into account, the depth under the hulls, the satellites above, our speed, our course, other ships out there, distance to land on port and starboard, the effects of weather, the balance of the ballast, the leap of our bow and the disappearance of our wake. A brilliant young woman described the functions of the instruments that record and announce these things and we all felt well taken care of and safe afterward. All is well on our good ship Odyssey, for now.

We generally stay 2 or 3 days at each port. Just long enough to get an impression. Like the joke about the blind men trying to decide what an elephant is by touching only one place on the animal's body, I try to form an impression of each place. What is surprising is how similar they are! I can extrapolate from my experiences and observations during my own long life. I recognize familiar things and begin to understand the human behaviors and evolutions of the environments that I am seeing. My gut feeling is that we will make it. We will go beyond war, we will not need so much oil in the future. We will have shorter work weeks and more free time. And I'm not even an idealist!



 The lines are being thrown to the hands on the dock. We have arrived in Melbourne.

May 8, 2026
Our arrival on the island of Waingapo is welcomed with a red carpet. The carpet leads expectantly to where several men wait, holding 11” by 14” laminated photo narratives of tours they can take you on and tell you about with three word comments in English. Past them chairs, also covered in red, have been set up under an awning for our “dignitaries.” Beside these are a few tables with souvenirs. Several young boys wait on either side of the red carpet to perform for the passengers as they disembark. Many local people are also waiting in the growing heat for the Exodus of the passengers. Ours may be the first cruise ship that has stopped at their island. One passenger finally emerges and avoids the carpet and the boys. They are shocked. Eventually a group does come out together and allow themselves to be greeted and entertained. They have selfies taken with the boys. Then return to walking and looking into the screens of their phones, bowed over them like they are praying After exiting the port area there is a long walk through parked cars, trucks and taxi drivers out to the crumbling asphalt of the main road. It is lined with vendors, a gauntlet of drinks and snacks. A ferry is unloading, people and motorcycles are streaming out. These are the customers the vendors are waiting for. A large number of motorcycles are parked on either side of the road waiting for their owners. We make our way between the crowds of people and vehicles to the hot uphill slope of the road that goes somewhere, which is hidden from sight by bunches of dark green trees. Shortly we are defeated by the heat and start back. Access to other parts of the island that are considered appropriate for tourists require a taxi, negotiations for price and where it will go. Generally we try to avoid this and are most interested in what we can observe and who we can meet by walking. We talk to a motorcyclist on our way back who says he has access to local Royalty. Jeff describes the Parallel Currency concept to him and gives him our website card. I am also able to pick up some interesting scraps of paper from the garbage that lines the road. I use their patterns and color to create abstract images on postcards I make to send to friends and family. In the end this has turned out to be a very satisfactory walk. There are very few palm trees here, which is remarkable. A different ecosystem than Bali. The mountains are low, flat topped and shelved. They define the spine of the island. Bunches of dark green trees patchwork the slopes getting denser as they approach the water. The water is blue/green and clear, fishing boats are high prowed and the smaller boats have outriggers made of bent PVC tubing. It is now early evening and the sun is low. I am walking around the outside deck of our ship taking in the 360 degree view and the sounds. On the starboard side a band is playing on shore and a singer starts up a contemporary tune. As I round the bow a chant drifts through the dusk, the Muslim evening prayer. This dominates the port side then at the stern blends with the music on shore, which dominates on the starboard side. Round and round as I walk they alternately blend and retreat, blend and retreat. I notice as I look out over the port side that the tide has gone out and long flats of seaweed, rocks and soil are exposed. People have walked out onto these surfaces to harvest edible sea life, gathering them into plastic buckets and bags. I feel like I am watching history.
May 4, 2026
We dock at the port of Bali. It is too hot and far to walk anywhere, so we hired a taxi driver for the day and invited our friend Wido to come with us. He is Indonesian, his home is in Jakarta and this is his first visit to Bali. Indonesia is a country of 17,508 islands. There is a governor on each one who communicates with the central government. Few Indonesians have visited every island. What strikes me immediately as our driver, Budi, finds his way through the dense traffic, is the careful weeding of the center island between opposing lanes. This is exceptional because of the extreme heat. No one could be doing this during the day. People must come out at night, when it is cooler, and meticulously pull the weeds. It becomes clear as the day passes and more and more of Bali is revealed, that attention to detail and extreme patience is a characteristic of the Balinese. The traffic is a dense mix of motorcycles, cars and trucks.
April 28, 2026
Like an exotic jewel set in the archipelago of Indonesia, Bali glitters and enchants. The Balinese have retained their unique community through intense social/religious bonds, hard work, exceptional talent and great sacrifice through the centuries to become a beautiful, gentle and inspirational community. Now, because of these unique qualities and accomplishments, finally and fatally they have become a primary tourist attraction that presently dominates 80% of their economy. The irony is that this may be the thing that destroys an incredible place and its people that hundreds of years of oppression and wars did not. If they don't soon diversify and return to the trusted systems that meant survival for their society over more than a thousand years Bali will no longer be a wonder of the World. Their unique form of Hinduism understood the root of survival when their irrigation system, subak, was first built. It was defined as a religious object to be venerated and protected with prayer, with temples and maintained by priests. Rooted in the Balinese philosophy, Tri Hita Karana, the principle of achieving harmony between humans, nature and the divine. It was the source of the staple food, rice. Water came from lake Batur, in the crater of the extinct volcano Kintamani, irrigated the hand cleared and formed terraces of rice paddies that descend in beauty and function to the sea. Seedlings hand planted by the women, sheaves of rice attached to the ends of poles carried across the shoulders of the men to the storage huts simple activities, carried out over more than one thousand years, that meant survival for a society. And the ancient kings of Bali also came together to sanction the subak. Agreement between religion and state. A rare thing in history and in the present. So what is happening now? How is tourism threatening the survival of the Bali we have come to know and admire? Aren't people coming to praise and enjoy? Isn't that a good thing? It is not the intentions of the visitors, it is the structures built around tourism that make tourism possible, they have become destructive. Why are they destructive? The answer is water. Because of the demands of hotels and resorts for fresh water, the water table has dropped by around 60%. Into the void presses the salt water of the sea. Not only is the amount of fresh water that feeds the subak compromised it is threatened by salination and made unusable for rice growing. This situation is sometimes referred to as being caught between a rock and a hard place. The government needs to step in and limit or freeze new construction of resorts till a sustainable balance is found. Also, water use needs to be prioritized and rationed for essential use, the subak system as a primary user. Finally, the income from tourism must be distributed back to the Balinese people for their dignified survival and flourishing. The dependency on tourism has created an imbalance. Men can be seen sleeping rough in the parks. There is desperation in the eyes of the women who sell clothing and souvenirs in the outside stalls. The main profession encouraged for children is hospitality work. The majority of profit from tourism needs to be returned to the people. They have earned it, they have built what we admire, they have carried in their hands and hearts the unique social compromise that has survived to this day against impossible odds and now it is being challenged by economic forces, more subtle but no less aggressive and destructive than war. Susan Caumont
April 17, 2026
Sea days pass differently than land days. At sea the ocean and the ship's passengers are the changing features. Land life has extra distractions, vehicles, shops, museums, temples, churches, gardens, bird song, dogs barking, taxi drivers, venders, airplanes, the full extent of human activity. During sea days I prefer to observe the ocean. I am aware of the passengers; like being part of an extended family or small village where you know most of the people a little and a few well. But the opportunity to be on the water for long periods is special. Sometimes, when the ocean is calm, a criss-crossing pattern may be seen on the surface, a delicate weave of vibration. I wonder if marine life is creating it, communicating. Other times the water heaves and agitates like an angry crowd is running here and there under a silk sheet. We sail six days from Adelaide to Fremantle, for the most part we encounter easy swells on this trip. The ocean lets us pass with tranquil, breathing heaves up and down. When we arrive there is an art festival in progress downtown. Crowds of people have traveled by train from the suburbs. We walk in. Some streets are blocked, making way for displays of crafts, performers, food venders and pedestrians. People are all around, eating, talking, buying stuff and watching the performers. Clowns, singers and acrobats compete for attention and overhead huge soap bubbles float, generated by the children nearby. It is a perfect day and everyone is out to have a good time.
April 7, 2026
Our stop in Melbourne was only for a day. There are plans to return after we visit Tasmania, which is just south of Melbourne. When you look at a map you can see where the island broke from Australia, a ragged triangle torn from the continent. England brought their convicts here to establish a penal colony in 1803, (convict transport ended in 1851, 50 years later) the colony eventually became Hobart, the capital city. Convicts were brought by sail. All the way from England around the southernmost tip of Africa, Cape Agulhas. A cape historically known to clipper ship sailors as a significant hazard, notorious for mammoth rogue waves of up to 30 meters (100 feet). What could these unlucky people have done to be banished on such a dangerous trip and so far away to an “uncivilized” island? Turns out prostitution and unwed pregnancy was enough to get sent there if you were a woman. And being an orphan, if you were a child.
March 12, 2026
The most important thing we have to do, now that we have re boarded our ship in downtown Sydney, is to increase the number of pages in our passports. Most countries will stamp a whole page and sometimes two. Our passports, though new, only had twenty eight pages. This will not be enough to get us around the world! So we made an appointment with the US Embassy, along with 50 other passengers, to address this issue by purchasing larger passport books which have 52 pages. The Embassy was new and modern, the employees good natured and efficient, considering that we descended on them all at once. We conducted our business in an orderly manner under the watchful eyes of the US President, Vice President and Secretary of State, whose framed photographs dominated the far wall.
February 23, 2026
After all our planning for Jeff's next operation and waiting out the days till we arrived in Cairns, Australia, we finally flew to the Sydney airport. It was evening when we got there and both of us were exhausted. We both thought why call an Uber, there are a bunch of taxis hanging around, just take one of them to the motel. That was a mistake. We ended up paying $100 for a 20 minute trip in no traffic. Uber would have been half, I found out later. Since then we have taken several Uber rides in electric cars. And they have been excellent experiences. Australia has been importing Chinese made electric cars. We got to ride in a BYD and Uber drivers like to talk. We conversed with a Japanese driver and an Indian driver, both men. Both had been in Australia about 15 years. They seemed to like being in the big city. Both agreed it is generally too expensive. The driver from Japan, his wife works in the hospital and they have children, he likes the flexibility of the job so he can be involved with school and activities. The Indian driver has a son and would like to return to India so his son can experience his homeland. We are resting at our motel and I am outside watching the wild cockatiels.
February 11, 2026
We have several sea days before we arrive again in Cairns, Australia. This means we will not see land for a while. The rhythm of sea days is very different from shore days. There are a variety of activities you can participate in. Almost anything you can imagine is being invented as a result of the variety of people onboard, some of whom want to duplicate the entertainments they enjoyed where they used to live.  This is a residential cruise ship so a lot of the passengers are onboard long-term, meaning many months or years or the rest of their lives. The longest stay, if you “buy” your cabin, is 15 years. When Jeff and I bought our cabin that was all that was offered. Now you can buy a cabin for 5 years. Each circumnavigation takes about three and one half years. We are going to try to stay onboard for at least one circumnavigation. Before the sea days began, we visited two of the islands of Tonga. At the first stop, people scuba dived over a reef right next to our ship
January 27, 2026
The float of cloud drifts and encircles a mountain leaving just the very top, a pointed witches cap poking through. These islands have the most magnificent mountains. They brood around the harbors, snagging the clouds that pass. No doubt they have inspired fantastic stories. The cloud shadows create chameleon-like changes on mountain surfaces, making them even more expressive than oceans that amuse themselves by hiding what they contain; mountains are hysterical by contrast. Always looking for attention. “Look. Look again!, what about this?” They may hold a pose for a while seeming docile, then you look up and they have disappeared. White mist covers just a grey suggestion, then suddenly black silhouettes like broken giant teeth rise defiantly. So much animation, millions of years after volcanic upheavals shook these mountains from the sea depths.
January 13, 2026
Medical emergencies all have a similar feeling. Intensity, urgency, a changed perception of time; only events and human encounters progress, time seems warped, unimportant. After several sleepless nights because Jeff was having difficulty peeing and he was beginning to have pain, he went to the onboard clinic to get catheterized. There were three attempts with successively larger catheters. This was painful and distressing for him, though he kept joking about it, “this is not good sex!” The attempts were unsuccessful. He was given pain killers and an ambulance met us at the dock for a 10 minute ambulance ride to the hospital. Jeff is an 80 year old man with an enlarged prostate so he normally has trouble peeing. But this time it stopped altogether and there was blood. We are waiting at the hospital for the urologist. Nurses and a general practitioner have spoken to us in English. Very kind, polite, casual and patient. The urologist arrives and talks with Jeff. He is going to get the operating room ready and put Jeff out. Then he can do the operation. We wait in our curtained off cubicle Jeff is lying on a bed. A woman who came with her husband, who has high blood pressure, is behind the curtain to the left of us. He had collapsed. She is reciting the Lord's Prayer and Hail Marys over and over in an emotional whisper. She is crying. A young man is in the cubicle to our right. He seems to have broken his arm. It is all wrapped up in white gauze. Earlier a man had been stung by something and ointment was applied. A pregnant woman has come in. This is a modest hospital, very basic, two floors. They have what they need. A few flies buzz lazily around, but most are killed by the electric device on the wall. A very slight smell of urine is in the air. We arrived here about 8:30. It is now 2:00. Jeff has had an ultrasound, blood pressure checks and an EKG. Now he is in a wheelchair waiting for the nurse to take him to an operating room. The waiting room has about 10 people waiting. About 50 chairs in all. Not terribly busy for a Saturday. Light and darker coffee colored skin, attractive, rounded features and large expressive eyes set apart the native population. They are only a little curious about us. There is no rushing here.
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