To the LMC community,

I have managed to visit North Stradbroke Island before moving north towards Cairns, as much for the sake of the project as it was to have a day of transition between my calmer life in Brisbane and the transience of hostel to hostel crawls. At least, that was the intention. Turns out, a visit to Stradbroke Island, as with a visit to many islands, is a path down the rabbit hole to an adamantly slower pace of life. In a world where thousands of travelers fly the approximately 8,000? miles from Los Angeles is Sydney and trade one rat race for another, it's remarkable how much more one can "travel" to a different habitas just by taking a 20 minute ferry to your local island.

So I made it to Stradbroke, jumping off the ferry and directly into a graveyard. A short walk through it will bring you to the city center, but in the meantime, you gather from the locals that this is a place of early Australian history now often overlooked. The brochures say there's 60,000 people buried there, but most are unknown. The area is tiny relative to that number. Perhaps only 100 actually have headstones left.

As one man told me, the town of Dunwich just discovered that even three old American Civil War vets are buried out there. He asked me, "You have a holiday to remember that war don't you? Every year they put American flags by the old veterans gravestones on that day." As he said more, I was trying to remember any such holiday, and I was afraid to mention that if there was a specific Civil War holiday, that I was ignorant of it. Perhaps he meant Veterans day. In any case, the respectful and long-memoried citizens of Dunwich took good care of our fallen.

I had come to the island to explore the significance of two lakes on the island. Today, they are called Brown Lake and Blue Lake, but they have much more longstanding names from the local Aboriginal nation that still lives here. It's highly likely that their new names stem from the fact that Blue Lake is characteristically clear, and Brown Lake is characteristically a muddy color (due to contact with neaby trees, rather than any poor quality of water).

They are something of a geologically anomaly in that they are naturally fed from underground springs that are the termination of rivers that flow down from the mountains of mainland Queensland and then trickle into subterranean canals, pass underneath the ocean and then surge back up to create modest lakes on this coastal island.

There are subsequently many islands and lagoons on Stradbroke Island, but as the history goes, these two were the most sacred. Brown Lake, with its unusual colored waters, was recognized for its healing powers, but was exclusively for women. It was also guarded by the spirit of what is now called the Black Carpet Snake, which is commonly seen even today. Blue Lake, on the other hand, was for the men, but was a lake that demanded respect, for which significance I believe has something to do with a serpent, but I still need to confirm this from the local Elders.

As it stands today, however, Blue Lake has been turned into a small National Park, and has been a recent source of local tourism. Due to some of the walkboards falling into disrepair, it was closed at the time I visited. Brown Lake used to have several trees along its shorelines, but due to a recent bushfire, many of them had burned down, scarring some of its aesthetic.

In any case, I find the lakes as fascinating as the pacified residents of the island. One man, Ken Stubblety, lived next to a storybookish fig tree, and had turned his house into a gallery of his uniquely colorful paintings, sculptures, and pieces of mixed media. We struck up comfortably-slow conversation over India, Indonesia, island-life, mythology, life, the number 23, and shells, the latter of which he gave a few to me for my journeys.

After this experience, it has been a bit of a rough transition from my gracious hospitality from the Russoms back to the hostels. The top bunks have bars on the side so you don't roll off the side and sue them. Considerate, yes. Reminiscent of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, yes. Comforting, no.

Tomorrow, I move on, possibly for a stop at Fraser Island. Is it in the cards for me? Mr. Stubblety, with his Tom Bombadil domicile, often puts playing cards in his artwork to symbolize the vast factor of chance in our lives. I'm learning to enjoy, once again, the surprises of both ups and downs. Let it come.