Between work and vacation, I have flown to a least half a dozen countries since the pandemic started, mostly in South America. My first trip was for work to Chile in February of 2022. I had to upload my vaccination card to a government portal website weeks before my flight for it to be verified. I had to carefully time getting a test within 48 hours of my departure flight and my return flight. I was tested in the airport upon arrival and had to quarantine in my hotel room until I got my results. Things were complicated, and requirements could change at any time. No one knew what they were doing, and I had to be prepared to quarantine for two weeks wherever I was going in case I got sick. Having a layover in one country on my way to another came with its own special set of requirements and paperwork.
I navigated all of these trials and tribulations successfully, never missing a flight. But it was in December, trying to get to Australia of all places, that I encountered my first major setback. It must have been hubris. All government websites are trash, that is standard. But I had misunderstood Australia’s visa requirements and didn’t realize I needed a tourist visa.
I arrived at the airport and the first woman at the ticketing counter wouldn’t even give me any follow up information. When she asked for my visa and I said I didn’t have it, she just looked at me with disapproval for wasting her time and literally walked away. I was coming down from the high of a months-long self improvement and relaxation project that included meditation courses, yoga retreats, and soaking in hot springs in Iceland for hours. But if anything was going to bring out the bitch in me, it would be LAX.
A kinder, younger Delta employee, or maybe one who just hadn’t been in the game long enough to hate everyone and everything yet came over and took pity on me. She showed me the website I needed to apply for the visa, and assured me that they are usually approved immediately. I was filled with optimism, a rare occurrence for me. This came crashing down to my standard pessimistic-realism when I received an email a few minutes later stating:
This system performs checks required by the Australian Government. In a small number of cases, we cannot immediately issue an ETA. Your application is one of these cases. It has been referred to the Australian immigration authorities for further assessment. You will receive a second email notification within 12 hours with your final outcome.
Within 12 hours? Further assessment? What time was it even in Australia right now?? I accepted that I was probably fucked. Luckily, I had gotten to the airport extra early and I still had a few hours before my flight. I decided to grab some Panda Express at the food court, practice my breathing, and wallow in self pity. Exactly 50 minutes later, I received a second email letting me know that my visa had been granted.
I stepped off the plane after a cramped nine hour flight and stepped into the warm, sunny air infused with eucalyptus. Feeling jet lagged and bedraggled is an understatement, but I could already tell I was going to like it here. I spent a few days cultivating a sun burn at Bondi Beach, visiting the Sydney Opera House, and strolling through the lush botanical gardens. I would later discover that absolutely stunning public parks are a dependable and delightful pattern in cities across Australia.
I left the city for the Blue Mountains. It was easy and inexpensive to get there by train. I stayed at the No. 14 Lovel St Guesthouse, which was one of the few times in my life that I didn’t regret staying at a hostel. It was actually very charming and walking distance from everything in the small mountain town of Katoomba. At first glance it appears to be a typical small town. A place to get away and do nothing, or maybe to grab lunch on your way to somewhere else. But walking just a short way down any number of foot paths leading from the city center reveals what I had come to see: miles and miles of hiking trail with a seemingly endless panoramic view of the canyon below.
Hiking, especially solo hiking, is my most fundamental spiritual experience. It is something that grounds me and connects me to myself. It is something I rely on in my darkest moments. When I first receive the news of a friend’s sudden death, or some other tragedy. The ones that are less personal but still hit me straight in the gut. I use it for the smaller things too. A painful breakup or even just a shitty day at work. I know I can take a walk and feel at least a tiny bit more ok in my own skin, even for a short amount of time.
I spent three weeks in Australia but I could have easily spent three months. I was surprised to discover that Australia is more than just beaches and the Outback. It is full of beautiful forests, and for me, someone that loves mountains, the Blue Mountains were some of the most beautiful I have ever experienced. Being there brought me back, though temporarily, to that fickle, effervescent inner calmness I had been trying to cultivate for the past year. It is something that I manage to grasp or come close to in fits and starts, but never seem to be able to hold onto. And regardless of your own relationship to hiking and mountains and cultivating a mindfulness practice, if you find yourself in Sydney, I highly recommend you make time for the Blue Mountains as well.
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