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Hop, Skip and Jump

As it turns out, in NZ we live in a bubble, a good bubble. A paradise insulated by friends with similar views on conservation and democracy, access to organic wholefood and healthcare, not to mention our little home base with vegetables and fruit trees in the yard.

I recently left the insular world for a short stint in Indonesia. As I boarded the plane and flipped open the in flight magazine, the first thing to pierce holes through my perceived ‘normal’  was an advertisement for high heels for men. Shoes to make you ‘appear one to three inches taller’. I’d rather not wear shoes at all, thanks. With that and a deep breath I decided to embrace the outside world for the next three weeks and see how the other half lives; turns out it’s pretty scary.

Quick stop in Sydney, saw my two birth-givers for a coffee, took some photos, found a dollar on the train and picked up a used copy of ‘Even Cowgirls Get the Blues’ for the price of a cup-of-joe. Hop. skip and jump, Bali.

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Stanmore Station, Sydney

 

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