The Flippening: The City and the Bush

The northern expanse of Sydney is noted for its steep, hilly terrain, and extensive wilderness. As on the Central Coast and indeed the Illawarra to the south, the rugged topography impeded the region's development, but thankfully preserved its natural environment. Consequently, protected, interlocking conservation zones abound, among them the Ku-ring-gai Chase, Berowra Valley, Garigal and Marramurra National Parks as well as Muogamarra Nature Reserve. They are sliced by freshwater streams, and studded with Aboriginal carvings (if you know where to find them). Black cockatoos screech across the canyons with their mournful, wailing cries, while bush turkeys scratch around the undergrowth. In winter, fog crawls out of deep gullies and cloaks the genteel settlements on the ranges.

Occupying much of that is known as the upper North Shore, the Hornsby Plateau is part of a larger geographical feature, the Sydney Basin, and it includes any number of gorges (for example, the nearby Galston Gorge). The deeply incised landscape creates microclimates, with exposed ridges being more subject to extremes than the sheltered valley sides.

Berowra Creek, on a hot summer day (Australia, 2025)

In pre-colonial times, Berowra Creek is believed to have marked the boundary between the Dharuk and Kuring-gai tribes, and, as such, the surrounding Berowra Valley probably played an important role in ceremonies in which both groups participated. In fact, as the Guide to Elouera Bushland Natural Park reported: "‘Berowra’ is a word in the Dharuk Aboriginal language meaning ‘windy place’, ‘south-west wind’, and ‘place of many winds’. There is speculation as to what the word ‘Berowra’ really meant. Aboriginal languages did not have the sound ‘ow’ as pronounced today..."

With its leafy streets and manicured lawns, Berowra (33 ° 37' S 151 ° 09' E) today has an "old money" feel. You could imagine that many of the kids around here attend private schools, such as Riverview or Pymble Ladies' College, or Asquith Boys High. When they finish high school, they enroll at Macquarie University.

It's obvious that this district is more affluent than the adjoining Central Coast by the price of specials at the local RSL. They actually do offer a "tradies' special" here, but it costs AUS$18, and the patrons who eat it are often not real tradies. They are generally well-spoken, educated and chat about middle-class issues (certainly not the appeal of Pauline Hanson!)

Jet lining up to land at Mascot, as seen outside Club Berowra (Australia, 2025)

Berowra Waters Road leads from the Old Pacific Highway to the creek, which is even more prestigious. Degustation menus are frequently served down there, some of them prepared by Michelin-starred chefs. On the way, you transit through Berowra Heights with a shopping center, pizzeria, and a tavern. Jack Smith established a boatshed at Berowra Waters in 1898. The road was completed in 1900 and extended to Arcadia in 1902.

BEROWRA ATTRACTIONS
Berowra Waters Holidays: Various Locations. Phone: (0405) 565 256. Website: website here.

A suite of exclusive accommodation options is available along Berowra Creek, including studios, cottages, houses and apartments. Many of them have a motorized tinny, kayaks or fishing rods included in the price. You probably need a boat to get around some of these remote stretches of the river. A seaplane might come in handy too!

Club Berowra: 997 Pacific Hwy, Berowra. Phone: (02) 9456 1844. Website: website here.

I was hoping that my Mounties Group card from Wyong RSL might allow me entrance to this venue, opposite the railway station, but unfortunately it wasn't accepted at the door. I had to do a manual sign-in instead, before eventually becoming an official member later in the week. Inside the club is not at all flashy, ambient lighting is dim, and the appointments dated. One evening when I was there, the VB tank went dry, so I had to switch to their house beer. That said, the staff are friendly if a little slow. 

Entering the greater Sydney sprawl, in Nanna's Tesla (Australia, 2024)

Berowra acts as the terminus of the North Shore line, which runs via Hornsby and Chatswood to Central Station. The freeway (M1), meanwhile, blasts through dynamited Hawkesbury sandstone past Mount Colah and Asquith to a fork at Wahroonga. From there, the Pacific Highway proceeds to Sydney via Pymble and Artarmon and the airport. If you keep on the road, which now takes the name of the Cumberland Highway (A28) you will soon reach Normanhurst, 22km northwest of the central business district.

Approaching the Pacific Highway turnoff, on the M1 (Australia, 2024)

Entering Mount Colah, we are now part of the greater suburban Sydney sprawl. Blocks of flats become more frequent, obviously not as gargantuan as those in the outskirts of Tokyo or Beijing, but you can tell the population density is increasing. Living in apartments is not a typical trait of Australian culture, although it might appeal to Koreans or Chinese.

Mount Ku-ring-gai Track, marching to Berowra (Australia, 2026)

If you prefer more indigenous, oldschool forms of transportation, the Great North Road is your highway. Constructed by convicts between 1825 and 1836, it traverses over 260 kilometers on an absurdly roundabout route through thick bushland from Sydney to Newcastle. Mount Ku-ring-gai (sic) Track is but one tiny fragment of this epic route, linking Mount Kuring-gai Station (note the small difference in spelling) with Apple Tree Creek, and then Waratah Bay. The journey to Berowra Station takes 4 hours, passing by Cowan Station.

On the edge of the national park, at Mount Kuring-gai Station (Australia, 2026)

Leaving Mount Kuring-gai Station from the western exit, meanwhile, a hotspot for Aboriginal art is said to be in very close vicinity, although I didn't manage to reach it myself. Despite being just a few hundred meters north of the station, the trip seemingly entails walking treacherously along the highway into the face of oncoming traffic, and I chickened out after the first bend. Hiking the World, however, made it to this site and this is what he recorded:

"We clambered up onto the rocks and saw a mundoe – which is a spirit footprint. Then we saw a male and female figure with a boomerang. I think this represents Baiame and his wife. We explored the area trying not to step on anything and found lots of mundoes. In a drawing in Nathan Tilbury’s book 'Man made the city but god made the bush' I saw there was another wife on the other side of Baiame but was almost impossible to see in the light that I had. The mundoes seemed to lead to Baiame so they were likely his prints as the book suggested."

STAYING IN MOUNT KURING-GAI

Mount Kuring-gai Motel: 705 Pacific Highway, Mount Kuring-gai. Phone: (02) 9457 9393. Booking: book here.

The cactus logo at the entrance suggests that this facility was once a Mexican-themed roadhouse motel which is now turning Oriental. This suspicion is intensified by the Asian stone lanterns placed next to random cacti in the garden. Indeed, the owners appear to be Chinese and although they speak with Australian accents, they proudly display Chinese watercolors and pottery in the foyer.

Like Brookyln Motel where I sojourned last year, the decor in the rooms is on the dark side (possibly it is an 1980s touch, as Jimmy Ray proposed when he viewed their website). Ruby-red and dark timber, that seems to be the vibe. Unlike Brooklyn Motel, some of the paint on the walls is peeling. The view from my door of a transmission tower was hardly inspiring, too.

Hardly a stellar view, but it is what it is (Australia, 2026)

On the plus (light) side, there is a work desk right next to the window which I initially found quite convenient, before realizing that it exposed me to cars with bright beams pulling up outside in the middle of the night. That was too much intimacy, too fast. It was raining on the first evening of my planned two-week outstay and the air-con felt warm and cozy. Paradoxically, the dark and earthy tones created a warm and cozy atmosphere. On subsequent, non-rainy nights, the din from the highway overpowered the white noise of the air-con, and triggered my anxiety. In fact, there was a lot of noise, not just from the highway (B83), but the freeway (M1) too, as well as the railway tracks.

Dark and earthy tones, inside the Mount Kuring-gai Motel (Australia, 2026)

As always, it takes time to adapt to a new home away from home, and I did adapt to the decor, somewhat. Unfortunately, the chronic, incessant traffic noise defeated me. I could deal with it in the daylight hours, but not at midnight, when I was trying to sleep... and those Flare ear plugs only filter out so much. It is also possible that the dark walls were making the room feel more claustrophobic. I never considered claustrophobia as a potential panic trigger before, but there you go. The walls were closing on me. And so it was, with great reluctance, that five days before I was due to check out, I pulled the plug.

Feeling a bit haggard and ragged, on my final night at Mount Kuring-gai Motel (Australia, 2026)

For those undeterred by my obviously "anxious" review and are willing to give the motel a shot, the owners operate a garden restaurant kitchen cooking generic but supposedly excellent Chinese meals, to be delivered to rooms (between 6pm and 7.30pm). Apart from this kitchen, there are evidently no other dining options in the entire suburb. Mount Colah down the highway at least has a McDonald's and a Liquorland barn, and there is another Liquorland and KFC further on, in Asquith. Asquith is home to my psychiatrist Suresh Goripati, and also a prestigious golf course, on Lord Street.

ASQUITH ATTRACTIONS

Asquith Golf Course: 2-46 Lord Street, Mount Colah. Phone: (02) 9477 1266. Website: website here.

One of the best-known golf courses on the North Shore, with a buffet bistro and live bands. Belmont Parade swings by close to the fairways on its way to Bobbin Head, passing the Kalkari Discovery Centre with its kangaroos and wildlife. Bobbin Head also boasts a marina and picnic ground.

South of Asquith Station, there is no doubt that we are in a major city. Almost every piece of land is developed or being developed, and there is no shortage of cafes or somewhere to eat. Peats Ferry Road branches off to the west while the highway continues straight. If you stick to the Pacific Highway (now called Jersey Street North), you will quickly come upon the Hornsby Maintenance Area, a huge railyard housing numerous Sydney trains under repair.

A development with a troubled history: Asquith Rise, near Asquith Station (Australia, 2026)

One train stop south of Asquith is Hornsby Station, accommodating 20,000 passengers per day. Disembarking from the Peats Ferry Road exit, it appears that every second shop or restaurant is Chinese. Meanwhile, every third business is Korean or Vietnamese. There are also a few Nepali restaurants on this road, and an erotic massage parlor or two. Supermarkets sell exotic products like prunella vulgaris and star anise.

Tonyon Chinese supermarket, on Peats Ferry Road, in Hornsby (Australia, 2026)

HORNSBY RESTAURANTS

Cafe Talk: 282 Peats Ferry Road, Hornsby. Phone: (02) 8924 1545. Website: website here.

This is just one of several Nepali restaurants in Hornsby, and can be found on Peats Ferry Road near the station. During my stay at the aforementioned Mount Kuring-gai Motel, I planned to try their Buff Momo, delectable Tibetan style dumplings stuffed with buffalo meat, but unfortunately the venue was closed when I arrived there. I should have checked their website to learn that it opens daily at noon. Nonetheless, next time I am in town I will definitely dine here and along with the dumplings I might explore their other delights, such as a goat kebab style dish known as sekuwa, deep-fried potatoes, thukpa (noodle soup), keema noodles, savory lentil fritters, and even exotic looking beaten rice and tripe meals from Bhutan.

Oh My Pho!: 183 Peats Ferry Road, Hornsby. Phone: (02) 8407 9260. Home Deliveries: deliveries here.

As I was too early for Cafe Talk during my previous visit, I opted to lunch at this large, classic Vietnamese joint on the opposite side of the road. The menu on the table was book-length, which is often a bad sign when it comes to food quality, but my bowl of udon noodles with pork and blood sausage was banging enough, if just a little bland. I was so thrilled to be eating authentic Asian food again, in an authentic Asian environment. Who knows, I might make this place my regular haunt in the future!

Back in Asia, at Oh My Pho! in Hornsby (Australia, 2026)

It is remarkable how in just 11 kilometers, from Berowra to Hornsby, you progress from primeval wilderness to buzzing urbanity. There is involved in this process a dramatic "flippening" of the classic Australian polarity of "the city and the bush". As Hiking the World claimed earlier in this piece, man built the city while nature designed the bush, and for the past 14 years I have been confined to the peripheral backwaters of society, longing for some diversity. It took 14 years, but now I have finally escaped the Central Coast, and Sydney is within reach... in fact it is already conquered!

The real flippening, to be sure, is not the geographical passage from the bush to the city, but rather the cultural transition from scarcity to abundance, the provincial to the metropolitan, the monoculture to multiculturalism. The colonial to the post-colonial: meat pies to phở, McDonald's to O'Bombay. The quarter-acre block to luxury units in the sky. I can spend an afternoon in Bangkok at Doodee King near the Buddhist water pendulum clock in the mall, or follow a virtual Silk Road of cold and spicy noodles at Xi Bay. I could explore the world in miniature, an even more complete miniature world than that encapsulated by Singapore. After the sun goes down, I can resume my Asian dating odyssey at the likes of Hornsby 142. 

It's been altogether too long!

Heaven Rewards Diligence

I resolved recently to experiment with various kinds of massage, in myriad styles and flavors, representing the four corners of the world. Massage is massive in Australia these days, and every small town in the Outback has at least one or two Thai parlors, to complement their one or two Thai restaurants. Now some of those massage parlors might be derisively called "rub and tug" ventures, but most of them legal and legit, and at the very least they are servicing a need. As well as exotic services such as cupping, hot stone treatment, myofascial release, lymphatic drainage, and foot reflexology based on Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM), you can also find evidence-based sports physiotherapy, covered by Medicare. Even if you have to pay full fare, there appears to be no shortage of punters lining up for a spell on the mattress, beneath the masseuse's healing hands.

Ubiqitious Thai massage clinic, in Wyong (Australia, 2024)

Whether it is a side effect of my meds or an early symptom of Huntington's Disease, or simply run-of-the-mill anxiety, I often clench my jaws and grind my teeth when asleep, and wake up with a stiff neck. One of my Chinese students, Nico, suggested that I try acupuncture as a potential remedy. It has a 2000-year history in the Middle Kingdom, where it is credited for curing practically every malady or disorder under the sun. More specifically, benefits include pain relief, improved circulation, stress release, boosted immunity, and restoration of the body's original Qi (energy system). In TCM, it is believed that Qi must flow freely to maintain optimum health.

According to the Lee Massage website: "Acupuncture is an ancient Chinese medicine practice that involves inserting fine, sterile needles into specific acupoints on the body to balance the flow of energy (Qi). This treatment is used to alleviate pain, treat musculoskeletal disorders, reduce inflammation, and improve overall well-being."

In late February I telephoned my local Lee Massage clinic at Tuggerah Westfield, and arranged an appointment for their acupuncture treatment. Nico warned that it usually takes a number of sessions for results to appear. 

On the way to my first session at the ungodly hour at 8.30am, I passed by a rival Chinese clinic at the mall. There was a poster in the window celebrating Lunar New Year.

Not my acupuncture clinic, but in the same basic ballpark (Australia, 2026)

I strolled on upstairs, where I located Lee Massage's facility on the second floor. The manager accompanied me to a booth inside which they were playing Chinese classical music, whimsical and evocative. The scrolls on the walls reminded me of my life in Japan.

Motivational scrolls on the walls of my booth, at Lee Massage (Australia, 2026)

I later asked Chat GPT to translate that piece of calligraphy and this is what it said:

"天道酬勤
Tiān dào chóu qín
Heaven rewards diligence..."

Hard work is rewarded, in other words... and boy was it hard work, lying on that bench getting poked and prodded with minute needles by my male masseuse. Although the session was only supposed to be an hour, it seemed to drag on much longer. From time to time, the masseuse would twist or move the needles, and I would detect tiny, very peculiar electric shocks emanating from that particular acupoint. "Tight," he said, squeezing my neck and shoulders. Yes, tight and sore, indeed... that's why I was there. I sought solace in the whimsical background music, and the motivational scrolls on the walls.

Heaven rewards diligence, and some lines from the I Ching (Australia, 2026)

The acupuncturist and his manager convinced me to return the following week, confirming Nico's suspicion that one session would not be enough. So I went again, and the second round of therapy was just as gruelling as the first. It was like there was increased electric zapping all through my body, even in places they hadn't even needled. Was that the mysterious Qi energy in action, I contemplated. Dining in the foodcourt later I had a dramatic jolt in my heart, which alarmed me. Jolts were also assaulting my jaws and cheeks.

After my third session, there was a tingling in my toes which shot all the way to my neck. In the school of reflexology, toes are connected to the trigeminal nerve, the largest cranial nerve, responsible for transmitting sensory information (touch, pain, temperature) from the face and mouth to the brain and controlling the chewing muscles. It has three main branches, the ophthalmic, maxillary, and mandibular nerves, that provide sensation to the forehead, cheeks, and jaw, respectively. 

Recalling my Vagabondic post on "rebellious Qi" being blamed for causing panic attacks, I wondered if my visits to Lee Massage were redirecting energy towards my feet from the upper regions of my body, where it has run amok for so long. On that matter, the Burong (ST-19) acupuncture point can assist energy to descend, and I think I have had a needle inserted there. Jianjing (GB 21) might also be useful in regulating Qi and reducing neck pain. I found myself urinating a lot at this stage, which is supposedly is a common side effect and cleanses the body of toxins.

Acupuncture can also be helpful for confronting Huntington's Disease. According to TCM, this disorder is an example of "endogenus wind".

After my fourth session, I had tingling in my fingers (Zhongchong (P9) point) and knees, although I didn't receive any acupuncture in these joints. I noticed some more tingling in my cheeks.

A few days later, I experienced what felt like an endorphin rush, a natural high. Is it possible that robust massage can get you high? If so, then I can't believe I waited so long before discovering it!

On April 18, following my sixth session, I remember wondering about what had happened to my familiar neck and back pain. Was it fading? I was also feeling slightly more energetic. Was this just a placebo, or a direct result of acupuncture?

Two days later, on the morning of my seventh session, I realized that I was getting (somewhat) accustomed to the early rising. The massage and needling wasn't as painful as it used to be, too. I was making progress, at last! As always, the masseuse and the assertive manager at Lee Massage urged me to return next week. I obliged them, but reluctantly. After all, I only originally wanted to try acupuncture once, to cross it off the bucket list you might say. I never imagined making it a permanent routine, costing me $120 per week.

So, I persevered for another month. Then reality finally hit: Bitcoin was faltering, leaving me running short of cash. Just as in 2022, the rebound of April had proven to be a dead cat bounce. On top of that, I was tired of getting up early every Monday morning for the massage. Endorphin rushes might be nice, but there are cheaper ways of obtaining them (such as teaching 8 lessons in a row on iTalki!) If acupuncture was truly working, then why did I need to go back again and again for more? I had given it long enough, I reasoned. It was time to end this experiment.

Another acupuncture place, Central Coast TCM, in Wyong (Australia, 2026)

Shortly thereafter, I embarked on a new experiment, thereby crossing another box off of my bucket list: I subscribed to a premium account on X.

2025: The Year of Wearable Tech

I made a vow back in January that 2025 would be the year of wearable tech. In between outstays and awaiting the Great Escape, I would strive to order, purchase and then wear a number of hightech items, and incorporate them into my daily life. On top of that, I would also need to get a few food deliveries too, from the Canned Company or Snack Affair, and somehow find time to run an advertising campaign for First Contact.

As the year comes to a close, I can report that I have not only met my goals, but exceeded them. I managed to cook spicy memraku ramen from Japan, some of the even spicier instant noodles from Nongshim, and savour exquisite tins of trout pâté enriched with port wine from Portugal. I also bought three items which could be considered wearable tech, which is to say, they are prostheses in various degrees of technicality. At least one of them was electronic!

As usual, I will unbox all the items that I received here, in the order that I acquired them.

Wearing the Muse headband, in the Halfway House Squared (Australia, 2025)

First cab off the rank were some Flare Audio ear plugs, which I ordered during my Toronto stay, and arrived at Robin's Nest in February or so (at a total cost of around AUS$95). These were not your typical disposable memory foam ear plugs mind you, but durable stuff indeed, capable of lasting for eternity, due to their titanium stems. I figure that I could use them staying in noisy hotels or at the Halfway House Squared when the lorikeets get too raucus, or the plumber is repairing the water tank. The only problem is that they are rather small, you could easily lose them as I almost did in the flash flood of May, when my flat was inundated (again). However, I can request replacement tips in the future if necessary, when they inevitably wear out.

Unboxing my new ear plugs with spare tips and a carry case, from Flare (Australia, 2025)

While the ear plugs could be called dampeners, Flare also sell amplifiers, which supposedly channel sounds more efficiently, in effect sending them directly into your inner ear. Products like Immerse could dramatically increase appreciation of music, either while worn under headphones or in an immersive environment like a concert or club. Imagine pairing them with a smart drug of some kind to make it even more magical! As with their other items, you can get free shipping for orders over US$65.

Happy for now with my ear plugs, my next goal was to procure spectacles, which might not be thought of as being hightech (although they are definitely polished works of technology). Since my eyesight started to falter a year or two ago, I have been forced to make do with generic reading glasses from the discount store, but they are not a viable longterm solution as they often don't fit properly, and break after a few months. As I was to discover, the pathway to obtaining proper prescription frames in Australia is to do an eyesight check at a company like OPSM or Spec Savers. I had an appointment with an optometrist at OPSM in April and within a week, my new glasses were ready for collection. They were the Versace Ve3350 model gilded with golden temples (the total cost was $388 plus insurance).

Versace porn, at the Halfway House Squared (Australia, 2025)

The final item which I had my heart set on was a Muse Headband, literally a type of digital third eye which can monitor your brain activity, detect REM sleep and act as a meditation coach. The Muse S Athena unit conceals within its slender frame a SmartSense EEG and PPG heart rate detector, and can somehow also determine your sleeping position using a gyroscope of some kind! The device connects via Bluetooth to the Muse app, which will dutifully chart your progress in cognitive recharge, brain oxygenation, and other metrics, and alert you in realtime if you go off-piste. If you subscribe to a premium account you can also browse literally hundreds of audio guides, including a guy reading Alice in Wonderland. Steady. As well as choice of soundscapes, you can select session length, and goal (creativity, breathwork, mind relaxtion, heart health, even fertility support.) In one program, drums on the audio feed mimic your pulse rate. Using the magic of biofeedback, you are encouraged to try slow your heart through breathing or conscious control. Curiously, the simple act of meditation has been shown to reduce grey matter in the amygdala, the structure which governs emotions like fear.

Muse headband, delivered by Partners in Logistics (Australia, 2025)

By compiling and cross-referencing charts of the myriad cascading alpha, beta, delta, theta and gamma waves, I could establish a baseline of my anxiety at various times, places and situations, and see how that evolves in the future. I could experiment with the effects caused by drinking alcohol or caffeine, or even exercise. I could take an electrical snapshot of a panic attack!

All up the headband and accompanying carry case and charging cable set me back AUS$906, although I did earn back 1133 Amex points from the transaction. They say you can save another 10% by signing up to Muse before ordering, but for some reason I didn't seem to receive any discount from doing that. Never mind.

Digital Third Eye glowing after I removed it from the box (Australia, 2025)

Further down the track, the possibilities are endless: smart watches, smart glasses from the likes of Halliday which combine sleek design with advanced technology, VR headsets connected to Roblox or Google Streetview, Vagus nerve stimulators. Flashing eye masks to elicit lucid dreams. Robotic exoskeletons from China which could walk for me when my own limbs refuse to move. If they can carry me a few steps further on my mission around the world, then I will welcome them with open legs, and open arms. I will welcome them with an open mind.

The Fabled Gated Kangaroos of Morisset

Morisset (33 ° 7' S 151 ° 30' E) has a rather curious reputation. While local Australians might associate it negatively with the mental institute which opened here in 1909, more recently it became famous with foreign visitors attracted by the wild kangaroos that can be encountered in huge mobs on its grounds. Nanny State had the last say, unfortunately, and the hospital was sealed off with gated bridges to stop the punters from getting in. More fool Nan. As I previously mentioned, for close to 10 years I was held under virtual house arrest at my parents' property south at Lake Haven, on Budgewoi Lake. Even though Morisset was only 20km or so distant, I found it almost impossible to visit. In 2013 I had bravely caught the train which connects Wyong and Newcastle, and disembarked at Morisset. I sloshed around in the rain and mud, looking for a Buddhist temple which was supposedly existed around here. I was hoping it would be something like Nan Tien Temple, in the Illawarra, but it was actually fairly basic in comparison.

Cham Shan Temple, in Morisset (Australia, 2014)

It took almost a decade for my agoraphobia to recover sufficiently enough to allow me to return to Morisset, but this time I had my heart set on locating the kangaroos which had gone viral at the Psychiatric Hospital. As it turned out, this was a rather futile gesture, as the authorities had discretely put a stop to this unauthorized caper by sealing off all access roads to the facility. It is a pity because the hospital sounds fascinating in its own right. There is also reputed to a haunted ruins in the vicinity, with the rather ominous name of "Hospital for the Criminally Insane", and a cemetery containing many unmarked graves. It made me wonder: Wouldn't it be better to capitalize on your assets when it comes to tourism, rather than shutting the whole game down??? (For the full report of my defeat searching for the now gated kangaroos of Morisset, click here.)

Stumble on Baby Step #2

For every six hotels I stay at going forward, one will be like Hotel Gosford, and one will be comparable to the Bayview Hotel at Woy Woy, which I have just checked out of. Yet another will be like the Ocean Beach Hotel (Nightcap at Umina), my next step on the road, where I will still be staying in a pub, but at least I will have my own toilet. The Nightcap will be grade 3, while the Metro Mirage in Newport will be one step above, at level four. Hotel Gosford has been the grungiest of my hotels thus far, partly due to its location, as well as facilities and clientele. Bayview Hotel is just as cheap as Hotel Gosford, but has a friendlier vibe, and a sunnier outlook. That might be due to its location, and the demographics of the city. 

In Woy Woy the population is more gentrified, genteel, and geriatric. Local motorists stop for you when you are crossing the road, rather than beep their horn as in Gosford. There are a lot of zebra crossings... too many, in fact! I feel guilty holding up the traffic. My room was facing north, and directly opposite the Central Coast Ferries wharf on Brisbane Water, which is critical for my attempts to knock off the first two six baby steps out of the Central Coast. All things considered, it was quite cozy, though a little dated.

Afternoon sun in the standard Queen room at the Bayview Hotel (Australia, 2023)

The only problem was that there was no table nor chair, so I was forced to sit on the floor with my laptop resting on the side of the bed for my lessons for iTalki. And while sitting on the floor might be comfortable in Japan, where homes and hotels are often built around this discipline, Australian accommodation is not as accommodating. Carpets can be dusty and unhygienic, with none of the spring of your typical tatami mat. After a couple of hours of sitting crosslegged I would get sore legs, numb extremities, even muscular spasms. I assumed that I would get used to it eventually.

That said, I ticked off the first of the my baby steps easily enough. To be fair, I was suffering mild derealization upon arriving at Davistown, after talking to the boy with the toy brontosaurus on the boat, and the Elvis impersonator at the bus stop on Paringa Avenue, near the shops. In retrospect, my anxiety level seemed to be about 1.7 Distress Units (DU). After that early success, I was confident and complacent (which is always a dangerous combination). Unfortunately, the second baby step to Empire Bay on the other side of Cockle Channel didn't go so smoothly. It was a stormy day, and I had foolishly left my raincoat in the hotel, thinking that it wouldnt rain until evening. As soon as I arrived at the wharf, it started pelting down... (For the full report of my setback on the catamaran to Empire Bay, click here.)

How to Escape the Central Coast (in Six Baby Steps)

If the Lake Haven epoch was ruled by the car, and my fragmented Gosford ages built upon the bus, the coming Woy Woy microlife will focus on ferries. During the two months that I hope to spend there, acclimatizing for the hop across the Hawkesbury, I must:

1 -- Cruise to Saratoga or Davistown on Central Coast Ferries (if I am too anxious for whatever reason, I can try to bail out at the first available wharf!)

2 -- Catch another catamaran to Empire Bay, the last stop on this service some 30 minutes from Woy Woy. I could then hike back to my hotel via Daleys Point and St Huberts Island, with their multimillion dollar views. 

3.-- Catch a Fantasea ferry from Ettalong to Wagstaffe Wharf, en route to Palm Beach, and explore the nearby national park.

4.-- Take the same ferry once more, this time directly to Palm Beach, before returning to Woy Woy. This will be a one-hour round trip over deep water, and my first landfall on Sydney territory in nine years.

5.-- Return to Palm Beach, and then get the bus to Newport, some 10km south, where there is a hotel that I can (barely) afford.

6 -- Stay at said Newport hotel one night, to see if I can handle it.

 

The Saratoga docking at the Central Wharf in Davistown, on Cockle Channel (Australia, 2022)

Each cruise will be a baby step in the escape from the Central Coast, and the migration to Sydney's Northern Beaches. I have a lot of mucking about in boats to do!

Rebellious Qi

I have read that in Traditional Chinese Medicine, panic attacks are blamed upon rebellious Qi, an uprising of that fundamental lifeforce also called "Chi" (or 氣) . This theory resonates with me as several occasions before my first attack, I suffered freak spells of dizziness and unsteadiness on my feet. One evening I was walking towards the Monolith in Shinjuku (新宿) when a sudden whoosh! of energy surged from my legs to my crown. A week or so later I had my first (official) attack, at the aforementioned tower. Whenever I moved my arm or turned my head, a powerful force would shudder through my body, with a reverberating din similar to the bionic sound effects in The Six Million Dollar Man. Time had slowed down, it felt, and every event was full of dread significance. As the attack progressed, I was startled to notice luminous sparks spraying up from the bottom of my visual field, like manic laser beams fired in an old arcade game... (For more on Qi rebellions and the herbs that can remedy them, click here.)

 

Deconstructing Cannabis

My world expanding, it is comforting how I inherit new windfalls all the time now, assets that I can use in my life right today, not in some speculated future. Long Jetty is in my orbit finally, Morisset is within my reach. Recently I was informed by one of my physicians that I could be eligible for a bit of the old medical marijuana, which is slowly being approved for therapeutic use in Australia. Cannabis supposedly has anxiolytic properties, although I will believe that when I feel it. In my experience, the only substance which reliably reduces anxiety is booze, and the doctors would never prescribe that. In fact, some of my first panic attacks were sparked by the wicked weed.

Call me a sucker for punishment, but it would be great to get back into pot, in spite of the possible anxiety it might provoke. Fortunately, the marijuana that they now dispense here has been stripped of its treacherous tetrahydrocannabinol (THC), the compound which gets you high, and suffused instead with cannabidiol (CBD), a miracle substance being investigated for its anti-inflammatory and neuroprotective promises... (For my complete deconstruction of medical marijuana and how it may help with panic disorder, click here.)

Reawakening the Tiger

I have been reading a few blogs about a trauma intervention called Self Regulation Therapy, or SRT for short, which is based on Peter Levine's book, Waking the Tiger. It sounds similar to CBT, but there is one crucial difference: in SRT the focus is on repressed energy in the body, rather than faulty thinking patterns. It is psychosomatic, rather than just cognitive, or psychological. You could call it psychophysiological, which is rather a long word, and difficult to pronounce. Whatever the name, SRT has resonated with me, because I have been disheartened with CBT for quite some time. Session after session, I have met with K.A. at Your Strengths in Wyong, or Dr Goripati, to receive their wisdom, and pretend that they are actually helping me. They keep stressing that the solutions to my panic attacks are cognitive, I just need to change the way I interpret my thoughts, blah blah blah. They say it over and over again, but I can't get it to work for me. They claim the thought comes first, then the fearful reaction, but in my experience it is the other way round. First I feel anxious, and then I cognize, and catastrophize. It has led me to believe that panic is a symptom of the hindbrain, the reptilian brain... the part of our anatomy that we share with the birds, and the beasts. I notice that whenever I disturb the lorikeets which abound in my parents' garden they shriek instinctively, empty their bowels, and then burst into flight. For them it is the equivalent of encountering a wild lion, but they do it every day, and they never appear to suffer from any mental trauma afterwards... (For my complete observations on SRT and how it may help with panic disorder, click here.)

Halfway House (One Mile at a Time)

You know the deal: for years I have been quashed, sunk in quicksand. Since late 2011 I have been barricaded here at Breezy, the House on the Lake; like a convict have I been confined, with only the birds (and my parents) for buddies. Stormboy and his pelican, that has been my plight, stranded 'midst the sandstone scarps. Storms have come and gone, planes streaking across the sky, yet I have been steadfast as the stones, and just as sullen. Much as I yearn to passenger one of those planes which hourly pass by overhead, I remain trapped, saddled by my agoraphobia, and a lack of appropriate funds. It doesn't matter much that I have a job now, and savings are accumulating swiftly... Australia is a huge, expensive country, and I will need an awful lot of cash to traverse it. How much is an open question, the intersection of a number of sliding rules. Basically, the longer I wait, the easier it becomes. But I am so tired of waiting, and I would love to kick things forward, anyway I can. At the moment, any move would be a good one, even one which took me just to the top of the driveway. I would be at least one step on my way, halfway out of my hole. And once my momentum had recovered, that one small step could turn into a second, and then into a third...

The Garage.. aka the Halfway House (Australia, 2017)

A few months ago, my Mum decided to convert the garage, which sits on the top of the hill, into a granny flat. Well, it might be just a granny flat for her, but under my stewardship it could inflate into a pod, a Halfway House no less. Within a few months weeks days, I will be relocating up there, and living by myself. Even if it was my Mum's idea, I should not be too suspicious. For better or worse, I will soon have my own place, for the first time in six years! 

An empty space (Australia, 2017)

Granted, it is never going to be as nifty as my Shinozaki digs, with its programmable bath and explosive water pressure, but it promises to be nice, nonetheless. The days of watching my parent's British chatshows and murder mysteries are coming to an end, and that alone is something to savour, whether I end up with a wall-screen TV or not.

Insert window here (Australia, 2017)

My Mum has ordered an air-conditioner, courtesy of Kelvinator, and a kitchen where I can cook spaghetti carbonara (if I ever learn how!) Even as I type the kitchen is coming together, sink and drawers, red tiles on the walls, and a bench where I can remotely teach. I can look down at Breezy at the bottom of the hill, and contemplate how far I have come.

Kitchen in the works, in the Halfway House (Australia, 2017)

It is just a few short steps from there to the top of the hill, but for me at least, it will be an Armstrongian leap. Once I move in I will be able to order Indian food from The Entrance, and watch Viceland in the early hours of the morning. It will be as great a step forward as getting off Work for the Dole, or of getting off the dole itself. It will be like having an Absence every day of the year! And as the old expression goes, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Absence makes the heart grow stronger.

Cracking the Code

For many years, JavaScript evaded me. I wanted it for my website, I could see its potential for my life, but I just couldn't wrap my head around how it worked. It was a fruit I couldn't reach, a nut that wouldn't crack. I made a promising debut in the biz, you might say: I grew up with a Texas Instruments TI-99/4A, and learned BASIC at an early age. I even programmed a video game in Year 10 Computer Studies, a racing car simulation with sprite and treacherous track. That was in the age of the Commodore 64. When the Internet arrived, half a decade later, I fancied that it could provide the platform for a new kind of literature, an interactive, choose-your-own-adventure style of fiction. I started to write a novel which I hoped would be like the magic book from Neal Stephenson's The Diamond Age: a device that was more storyteller than mere story, bespoke but bewilderingly cuttingedge, an intuitive, intelligent machine. HTML was cool and easy to pick up, but it wasn't interactive enough for my goal. I soon realized that only JavaScript could deliver the desired dynamism. Unfortunately, computer languages had evolved since my TA forays, and this new lingo looked a hell lot more complicated than BASIC. What is it with these functions, attributes and elements? I remember asking myself, frustrated; what does object-oriented mean? Looking back, I can see that I had succumbed to the same misconception that scuppered my efforts to learn German in Year 11: I did not appreciate that every language has its own grammar. As language leaners know, grammar is the hardest part. Master the grammar, and the rest will follow.  


This breakthrough was 20 years in the making, but something miraculous has happened in the past few months... I suddenly get JavaScript! Of course, these days I no longer write fiction... I suppose you could say that fiction writes me. Life is a code (Baudrillard), a narrative (Lacan), and JavaScript is the interface which enables me to read this code, one line at a time...

We all have algorithms running in our minds at any time, unfathomable routines, an endless chain of signification (to put it in Lacanese). Functions waiting to be triggered, like samskaras lurking in the murk. The first step is to codify what it already there, conscious and unconscious, constructive and destructive. Then you can set about reprogramming yourself. Currently JavaScript can predict how far I can drive from home, estimate my tax due  (var taxdue = taxableIncome * .19;), and even tell me when it is time to move out. Piece by piece, my personal assistant is taking shape. The Grand Algorithm is here!

Bracing for the Jump (Take Two)

The quickening of Capricorn continues, and quite surprisingly I find myself working at a steady job, saving cash, and rolling to a 9-5 routine (but let's call it a 09-22 roulette instead). The Hard Native nightmare is coming to a close, and a Soft International morning is rousing all around me, radiant gold and fringed with birdsong. For the first time in years I feel like I am back in the saddle, finally able to spur my stallions into speed. Shangri-La is looming, and while it might seem a lonely place from this angle, it is nonetheless lightyears more agreeable than the limbo I have been locked inside for so long, that Cold Buddhist Hell of Immobility. Hell is warming up, and as the ice thaws, the contradictions of the Lake Haven Age emerge in their sordid gore, mammoths marooned in the muck, samskaras scorched into the sediment. It just goes to show that I was indeed in a Yin phase back then, a Shiva stage if you must... now Yin is yielding to Yang, Shiva shifting to Shakti, and suddenly the future is not just a futile fantasy, but a reality which must soon be lived. To quote an old song: the time to hesitate is through. But have I been mired in the mud so long that my wings refuse to fly? I know from experience that freedom is a habit, and muscles can waste from underuse...

On May 26 the Travel Fund passed the magic milestone of $4000. In former times this would have been reason enough to trigger a migration movement, a Jump into a brand new life. My original plan, fleshed out in 2011, was to fly to Cambodia, which I'd discovered was the cheapest nation in the region, and then just glide around for a while, propelled by affiliate advertising. Smoke some ganja perhaps aloft the ruins of Angkor Wat, shoot pool with beer gals and gangstas, strafe the straits of Vang Vieng. Play the Indochinese dating game. That was the plan, but then I lost my AdSense, and then my world collapsed. Even if I had the money for an airline ticket, I would not have been able to board the plane. I wouldn't have even made it to the bloody airport! Confined to a box, I decided to find freedom within that box, chasing the macrocosm in the microcosm. It worked, almost too well: I regained my sanity within that straitjacket, but in the process, alas, I misplaced my wanderlust. Since that time, I have spent every single day at my parents' house, on the shore of Budgewoi Lake, on the NSW Central Coast. Every day, and every single night, held captive... well, every single night, captive, except one. And that night is the subject of this account.

Rear shot of the Bridge View Motel, at Gorokan (Australia, 2015)

The Grand Algorithm contends: when one has been in the same place too long, inertia develops. Inertia is to vagabondism, of course, what rust is to iron, or fear is to Mind... it is the Mind Killer. Right now, inertia is the habit I need to break, the momentum I must quickly reverse. Indochina is out of the question this year, I get that; Sydney is too hard, too; but soon I will have the funds and the fortitude to conquer them both, and it is vital for me to get back into shape. For this reason on June 10 I packed my tiny rucksack with pills and a Samsung tablet and leaving my Mum and Dad watching murder mysteries at their home, walked up to the Bridge View Motel situated at the end of the street. My goal was to spend the night in that motel, monitoring my anxiety, and getting a taste for the Vagabondist voyage which will presently commence. You might call it a dress rehearsal, a trial run. I was feeling kind of weird as I made my way up Malvina Parade, suffering mild separation anxiety. Contrary to expectations, this wasn't typical agoraphobia that I was down with, just run-of-the-mill scepticism. I was doubtful, in other words, about the wisdom of this whole experiment, and worried that I had made a mistake by heading out here. The ground was soggy as I walked, and grassseeds clung to my trouser legs.  At reception I purchased a room with my credit card, and was presented the key to my door. The friendly owners had assigned me a downstairs room, right on the main road, positioned just behind the swimming pool. I was a little concerned about the location, and what isolation hid behind that door. As soon as I opened the door and inhaled that classic hotel aroma, my fears faded. All of a sudden I knew that I was on a holiday, 2km from home. And I thought to myself, rejoicingly: Why have I left it so long?

Plenty of room to stretch out in my cosy space (Australia, 2015)

There was a Bible by the bedside, little bars of soap in the bathroom, and soft pillows on the bed.

Too cold for a swim just yet, but the view looks nice (Australia, 2015)

There was a dead cockroach in the corner but, hey, that was better than a live one.

Freedom in the box: Stan Grant interviews Dr Cornel West, famous dissident, on Awaken, NITV (Australia, 2015)

After settling myself in and taking a short nap, I strolled over the road to drink a few beers at Wallarah Bay Recreation Club, our local establishment. I had some overpriced carbonara, then retreated "home", to consume a few beers more, in the freedom of my hotel room. I pumped up the aircon, and flicked through the channels on the TV. It felt refreshingly cool to be in control, setting the agenda, instead of being hostage to my Mum and Dad's viewing habits. Sadly, the cable library promised at the Bridge View did not prove to be as extensive as I had expected. It basically consisted of two sports channels featuring badminton and the like, and two lame movie channels. Free-to-air NITV turned out to be the best thing on. I watched some program about land rights in South Australia, an Aboriginal graveyard being excavated to make way for the railway. Observing this documentary, I felt distressingly aware of the size of this land, the huge continent I am fated soon to cross.

But do I have the guts to actually cross it?