Postcards from New Year’s Eve
Introducing a bit of time travel to you! After all, isn’t that what a postcard is — apiece of the past that’s made its way through time to your present?
Happy New Year from Tasmania!
I’ve neglected to share updates from the beginning of my move to Australia — although I don’t count Dec 2024 as such since I was only in Australia for two weeks (one of which I was in Tasmania) before flying out to Southeast Asia for yoga teacher training — and want to share postcards from New Year’s Eve, where I celebrated in my favorite place in the world: the mountains.
I’d booked a last minute trip to Tasmania to spend time with Kazu, his family, and Satori. I first met Kazu and Satori in Kazakhstan and we ended up crossing paths multiple times across multiple countries, becoming good friends along the way.
Hanging out at Honeymoon Bay, Tasmania
New Year’s Eve was magical. I hiked in Hartz Mountain National Park with good friends, watched the last sunset of 2024 from the top of Hartz Peak, and greeted 2025 surrounded by chosen family. Looking through these photos brought a smile to my face - how lucky I am to have forged lasting relationships with incredible people during my travels abroad. This was one of my favorite New Year’s - celebrating the turning of time, sending out the old and welcoming the new, in a way authentic to who I am and want to be, hopefully setting the tone for the year to come.
Favorite Aussie treats
One of the most delightful things about spending time in a new country is learning and trying their unique dishes. In (northern) Thailand it was khao soi; in (northern) Vietnam it was pho; and in Australia it is…
Fairy bread!
Fairy bread is a quintessential Aussie treat for…children. Heh. It is sliced white bread spread with butter and topped with hundreds and thousands (also known as nonpareils, tiny round rainbow sprinkles, to the rest of the world). Fairy bread typically cut into triangles, with the bread sliced diagnonaly. While the term “fairy bread” was first used for this dessert(? breakfast?) in a 1929 Tasmanian newspaper article reporting children at a tuberculosis hospital celebrating their birthdays with this treat (odd), apparently Australians have been buttering their toast and covering it with sprinkles long before them.
And let me tell you, it is absolutely delicious.
Well, the gelato version is.
Gelato Messina is an Australian gelato chain that, in my opinion, has the best gelato in Sydney. They are artists in their craft and have creative control over the entire gelato making process, from the dairy (they own their own dairy farm!) to the chunks (they have a team of pastry chefs making brownies, cookies, and the works!). Their stores sell 40 flavors at one time with five of them as specials that rotate out after a week in stores.
One of this week’s specials was fairy bread, and since I had not yet bought myself a loaf of white bread and hundreds and thousands, I knew I couldn’t pass up on this opportunity. Messina’s version is toast and butter gelato with hundreds and thousands crunch - it is phenomenal. So much so that I think I might order a fairy bread gelato cake from them for my birthday. Take note, friends!
Oh and my next at home baking project? Buying a light, airy brioche loaf; rich, salted grass-fed butter; and colorful, delicate hundreds and thousands to make the most exquisite gourmet fairy bread ever. Delicious.
Don’t be so jelly
Dearest gentle readers,
Welcome to round two of dangerous Australian creatures that aren’t deadly but severely uncomfortable, whether that’s for your mental or physical health (need I remind you of the Huntsman spider or shark?).
Today’s episode brings you…the bluebottle jellyfish!
Aww, you might say. What a cute and pretty name for a jellyfish. And in fact, look how pretty it is washed up on the sand.
Photo credit: Kyle Hovey; Flickr
Fun fact: The bluebottle jellyfish actually has another name that you might be more familiar with — the Portuguese Man O’War, which you’ve most likely heard before.
Bluebottles are apparently not uncommon on Sydney’s beaches during the summer, a fact that was news to me in my second summer here in Sydney. Despite their tiny size they give off a disproportionately large and nasty sting, which can cause intense pain for a couple of hours and a lingering rash for several days. They like to linger near the surface, floating and bobbing on top of the water without a care in the world.
Most of the beachgoers at Bondi, the beach I’d decided to explore today, sat on the sand — and I’m assuming — enjoying the view of the ocean, turning faces up when the sun deemed to show us mere mortals its presence, chatting unhurriedly, Unworriedly while waiting for the lifeguards to give the “all clear” to go back in the water.
Oh, didn’t I mention? There’s a sign for every type of dangerous water situation out here.
All those blobs in the sand? Hello bluebottle jellyfish!
What’s wrong with Australian chips?
Old habits are hard to break.
I look at the sad solitary row of chips on the convenience store shelf and make some quick calculations.
The Smiths have a cheddar and onion flavor but that seems like an odd combo. The Ruffles are sour cream and onion — ooh a fave — but they have an import sticker so they’re sure to be exorbitantly expensive, and don’t get me started on the sticker stock of Cheetos. There’s Lays but they’re flat so won’t have enough crunch. Okay let’s go with The Smiths since they’ll be the cheapest.
The Smiths suck. The flavoring is almost non-existent — it tastes like plain chips with a sprinkling of seasoning. And it’s not the first time I’ve reacted this way when eating Australian brands’ chips. They are usually decidedly bland: once the chip hits your tongue the flavor goes away after a couple of seconds until you’re left wondering why they bothered to even come up with a flavor in the first place. What is up with the flavors here? if you’re telling me this is cheese and onion chips, then they very well better taste like artificial cheese and give me onion breath.
I only tried one flavor of Lays in Vietnam (beef pho), but it too was disappointingly bland and decidedly not flavorful.
I knew I should’ve gone for the American brands — it’s only in America where we really layer on the flavor and make the taste buds go wild with the perfect combination of salt, sugar, fat, and crunch. Food scientists have mastered that equation to literally make our bodies crave and be addicted to these tastes and feelings (Michael Moss’ Salt, Sugar, Fat is a fascinating, and a bit alarming, read). America is the king — no, scratch that — the overlord of warping tastebuds to no longer recognize the more subtle profiles of appropriately seasoned produce.
Good quality and sufficient length of sleep have eluded me this past week, and the lack of rest has finally caught up to me, causing me to instinctively reach for “comfort”. It’s funny how my body still associates salt, sugar, and fat with tiredness: I begin to crave the intense punch of artificial cheese (gosh the leftover cheese powder post-Cheetos is delicious) and the powerful crunch of textured foods (nothing more satisfying than the explosion of a Cheeto - or is the singular still Cheetos? - in your mouth) when I haven’t slept enough. And this association still exists despite a month and change, likely eight weeks total if you combine it all, of detox from artificial sugar and processed foods.
To be fair, I’ve built up that association (tired = reach for salt, sugar, and/or fat) over the past twelve years and only relatively recently, let’s say the past five, have I really consciously started to break apart that association — eating disorders are hard to fully “get over”, and in my case it’s fortunately morphed into infrequent episodes of disordered eating rather than remain a full blown eating disorder. And hey, before the association was tired OR stressed OR sad OR angry OR lonely OR any negative emotion = salt, sugar, and fat rotation overload. Now it’s merely tired = salt, sugar, and/or fat, with an occasionally rotation and/or overload.
In any case, I’ve learned my lesson. If I do reach for the chips, the solution isn’t to buy the chips, it’s to go straight home and go to sleep. And if the urge is overwhelming enough to still buy the chips, then at least buy the goddamn American brand.
What’s in a story?
I had a realization today during my run (which was also a motivating reminder of why I run - running is a moving meditation, a chance to clear my mind so that a-ha moments can finally make their way in).
I love stories that tell stories. Okay I know that sounds obvious, but hear me out.
I love stories used as a medium to explain or comment on something deeper, something that is less tangible than the story itself and requires narrative as a vehicle to examine that deeper concept, like identity. It’s why I’m drawn to memoirs, personal narratives, and fiction: they tell stories but it’s not really about the story — it’s about the bigger themes and ideas that are slowly drawn out over the course of the narrative, so expertly woven into the narrative that you are able to slowly come to the realizations that the writer wanted you to have, to more deeply examine whether the story is just a story or about something more.
This is why I love to travel and why I took an intentional break from my career: I use the world as a lens to more deeply examine who I am and to better understand the people who coexist with me in this world that has a beautiful diversity of cultures, backgrounds, and histories. After all, our entire lives are based on human connection, whether that’s building a local community or growing a global business. For me, connecting with people and understanding how their worlds drive and shape their beliefs, actions, and dreams is critical to satisfying my curiosity. I’m obsessed with understanding people and learning their stories - not just absorbing their story but also reflecting on how they tell it, understanding what experiences shape them to who they are today and what insights drive who they’ll be tomorrow, what core beliefs are woven throughout their story and maybe even reflecting that back to them.
For me, travel is a method to more deeply examine and understand people. I use the world as a lens to understand not just who I am and what I’m made up of, and my identity, but also what makes up others, using travel as a way to better understand myself, my story, my heritage, my future, and a way to observe, examine, and mull culture and humans.
Maybe this is why I love reading so much. Despite having already traveled extensively, I know I’ll never be able to explore all of the world in its entirety and understand its millions of individual people and stories, so I turn to stories. Books that will transport me to places and fill me with experiences I might not be able to create on my own, get to understand more people’s perspectives and ways of thinking, broaden my view of what is, what has been, and what is possible. I’ll dedicate hours of my day to reading, voraciously devouring books on the train, in my bed, and even while walking on the street. I’m constantly adding books to my TBR (“to be read”) shelf and it actually deeply pains me to know that I’ll never be able to read every book I want because more and more come out each year.
Recently I’ve been recommending a book called Counterfeit by Kirsten Chen. It’s a fictional novel that takes place in modern-day America and is about two Chinese friends, one ABC (American-born Chinese) and one fob (fresh off the boat), who build a counterfeit empire. They purchase designer handbags from brick-and-mortar stores and import realistic fakes from China at a fraction of the designer price, then return the fakes to the store (getting back the money, so they’re at net zero) and sell the legitimate handbags online at designer prices (pocketing the revenue). It’s entertaining and easy to read, and it could be easily be misconstrued as “just a beach read”, but it’s so much more. Counterfeit is also a commentary on what it means to be American and what it means to achieve the American Dream.
It’s not just about the story, it’s about the story underneath the story. Stories, whether written, spoken, or filmed, have the power to move us. They transform us, cause us to question and examine, by revealing themes we may have already been thinking about but don’t have the words to describe or surfacing unexpected viewpoints we’ve never thought of before. Stories offer insights and understanding of ourselves and the world around us, often in the hopes that we’ll see ourselves and the world a bit more clearly and therefore have the courage to show up a little bit more authentically in our lives.
Welcome to Australia
The siren’s blare startled me out of a fantasy world, one that had been quietly woven in my head while I was engrossed in my book.
“Attention, attention everyone. There has been a shark sighting".”
I had heard stories of course, of sharks making their way to Sydney’s famous beaches. The joke is that everything dangerous lives in Australia - box jellyfish, venomous snakes and spiders, crocodiles, and sharks - I just didn’t think I’d ever come across this because well, hello… I live in a city!
I wonder if this is why Australians are so chill and carefree: so present and alive, living to live rather than live to work. Maybe it’s because they’re aware of the constant danger that lurks around them, making them aware of their mortality and thus more willing to pursue a life well-lived. Maybe it’s because they lose any illusion of control, knowing that these dangerous creatures are precisely not in their control, allowing them to live in the here and now.
The lifeguard’s announcement continued over the loudspeaker, “We ask that all swimmers come ashore. The beach will be closed for the next hour as we monitor the situation.”
I laughed. Wow, I really am in Australia.
This sign went up shortly after the shark sighting.
Postcards from Hanoi
I wasn’t prepared to fall in love or feel so at home in this city — many people I met on my journey to Vietnam warned me about the chaotic nature of Hanoi, but I absolutely loved everything about the city.
Hanoi felt like a good balance of East and West, the perfect blend for a modern city located in Asia. It’s a balance I’ve been seeking — and am still seeking — so it was fascinating to wander, explore, and examine Hanoi. There was the familiar sight of people who looked like me, familiar flavours that tasted like home, familiar characters written on buildings and streets, all which echoed my ancestral homeland. Then there was the comforting sounds of traffic beeping in the streets and comforting chaos of the people navigating the busy roads, reminding me of my home in New York.
I ate bowls of pho for breakfast in street stalls and sipped on delicious coffee in cozy cafes. I spoke to store vendors in English and chatted with locals in Chinese. I rode a motorbike like a local and took photos like a tourist. I was both at home and abroad.
Blues and the zoo
I’m feeling a bit lonely and sad today. It’s likely rooted in hormones (hello, period!) but there are also real feelings there too: I have to remind myself that even though Australia is an English-speaking country with a similar culture to that of the US, moving is still hard - building a new community when you’ve already built an amazing one back in New York, figuring out your career and finding a full-time role that satisfies your career goals (if you’ve even determined them), and trying to stay centered and present and here without running away into the future. Today is just one of those days. But, maybe I can also remind myself that I’d also have sad days no matter where I was, whether that’s here in Sydney, on the mountains in Kyrgyzstan, or back in New York.
In unrelated news, but related in that it’s related to Sydney, here are some pretty crappy photos taken from my visit to the Taronga Zoo this past weekend.
This is why I hate Australia
For all I talk about loving Sydney and Australia, I very conveniently forgot about the thing I hate most about Australia.
The FREAKING SPIDERS. And dangerous animals / insects. And scary looking spiders. Have I mentioned the spiders??
I came back from a walk with Oti (I’m dogsitting for friends) when I turned around, closed the front door, and shrieked at the sight that was in front of me.
PANIC!
This is a Huntsman spider. They are very big. And very hairy. And very scary looking. Apparently they are not terribly dangerous (sure…) and would rather run away from a human than run towards one (are you sure…) and like to crawl up walls (clearly). According to Dr. Google (I know, I know, I shouldn’t be using Google whenever I’m in a state of panic) a Huntsman is a sign of a larger pest problem because insects are a food source for Huntsman spiders. There have been more fruit flies than usual in the kitchen, but I think that’s due to the summer and the garlic and avocados sitting under the net on the counter — I’m working on it!
The other annoying thing about living in Australia is that most of my friends are not awake during my night time, leaving me limited options to send panicked messages of me freaking out. Luckily I have a couple of great friends who responded immediately:
One friend left me a voice note that started with, “May - do not panic.” 😂
Another friend responded that she still panics at the sight of Huntsman spiders (it’s so nice to know that I’m not the only one!) but now she will kill them so that her daughter doesn’t wake up to the sight of the big scary spider — becoming a mum brings out your superpowers, for sure!
I’m not sure if writing this helped with the panic or calmed me down; I still need to shower and my bedroom door conveniently opens to the above view. Yay.
Wish me luck!
