The boarding pass in hand is for Defore.Buckmr from BNE to BKK. Exiting G78 at 22:10. I'm assuming that's me.

I've cautiously arrived way too early to the airport. Now that everything is packed up, checked in, organized in the carry-ons or organized into boxes to be sent around the world, I feel tired, having busied myself with these prepartions for the last full day. And all that's left is an hour and a half to reconcile and recount all the thoughts and emotions that have come with Australia.

Last I left you it was just before Christmas. In Melbourne, after burying myself into the task of researching the Bunyip, I decided to take it easy for Christmas, mostly because everything else was closed. So, with Santa hat adorned, I made the most of Christmas in something of a merry fezziwig ale kinda way.

India Meets Australia

The next day, however, panned out even better. An Indian man, Vijay, turned up at the hostel. Working in IT with Oracle databases, he in many ways is an example of the New India, technologically savvy and highly motivated. But in many ways he is also traditional, vegan by faith, meeting his wife through an arranged marriage at 20. And, being a cricket fan, he'd flown down from Darwin solely to watch the Indian squad face Australia for a test match. Both Australian and Indian, one country I have seen and one that I will see, his passions and paradoxes were an interesting riddle.

He knew Melbourne well, since he moved to Oz from New Delhi seven years ago. So I decided to continue our conversation and refer to his judgment for a restaurant. Sure enough, he picked a winner, a restaurant specializing in northern Indian food. As we continued talking, Vijay mentioned that he was sorry to say it so bluntly, but Australians were racist. "They think they're the only ones who can speak English." For me this was a debate that I had thought much about, for while some Australians seem even farther along in racial integration than Americans, there are a conspicuous few who make the whole appear backward.

Unexpected Guests

As we spoke of this, amidst waiting for our food, a rustle moved through the diners while a family sat down at the table behind me. I was in the middle of saying something to Vijay but it was obvious his eyes were glazed and he wasn't paying attention. I asked what was up and he said that two Indian national cricketers had just sat down behind me. Whatever the odds, there was Dravid and Kumble, not 3 feet behind me. I had seen a bit of cricket on television here in Australia, so even I recognized the high profile face of Dravid. Somewhat amusingly, throughout the rest of the meal, Vijay seemed preoccupied with watching his favorite professional athlete eat and converse with his family.

At the end of the meal, Vijay decided he was too shy to ask for an autograph. I offered to do it for him, but I was sure that I couldn't pronounce Dravid's name correctly. Compounding the issue, neither of us had a pen. Ultimately, Vijay overcame his shyness and decided to ask Dravid to sign his cell phone, which had a digital notepad. Cautiously, at the end of their meal, Vijay approached. For what seemed minutes he crouched beside.

Vijay returned like a dog with its tail between his legs, saying "He was not happy about that at all." With a bit of a shocked look on his face, he would repeat the statement four more times. I asked what was wrong. Apparently, Dravid did not care for the idea, and said that Vijay should get a pen and paper, but then begrudgingly signed on the phone. Vijay felt that he was very poorly treated considering his politeness and visible appreciation. A few minutes later he would sigh and confess, "Even in India there is racism," and pointed to his face. I looked back, and could barely perceive that Dravid was perhaps a shade lighter than Vijay.

I sighed and looked back at Vijay and then the rice on my plate. At the beginning of the meal, Vijay mentioned that Indians rarely mix their bread with rice - bread always comes first. That night I had tried to eat this way, but after that moment I gave Vijay a quick glance and then proceeded decided to mix them up like I had always done.

As we went to our dormbeds that night I asked who his favorite player was. He said he didn't know anymore. I fell asleep pondering the fascinating balance the changing Indian cultures, never more excited to go there myself.

Prototype Baseball

The next day I discovered plans had fallen through with another friend, so as consolation I decided I'd go with Vijay to the cricket match. The Melbourne Cricket Ground was famous in Australia, and I couldn't help but hold a glimmer of hope that the experience might match those wonderful futbol days of Argentina.

Unfortunately, there is no comparison. Cricket, in test match format, is a rigidly obselete prepstar prototype of baseball. What other sport still arranges itself around teatime breaks? And, as you could imagine, this incapacitates anyone unfortunate enough to be there burning up in the sun. Let me put it this way, if you're a heckler in Argentina, you're just like everybody else. If you smuggle in some flares and 20 meter flags, you're adding to the excitement. But here for cricket in Melbourne, if you bring in a harmless smoke-bomb, you generate the game's only exciting minutes.... before five or six police ferret you out and eject you. I couldn't help but laugh, having finally been given a definitive reason for why I enjoy South American sports matches over those of "civilized" and "developed" nations.

Yet, cricket still incites a passion for those who are nonetheless dedicated enough to attend five days of play to determine a winner. Vijay was one such person, though visibly wounded over last night's events. Yet it's difficult to end a patient obsession.

Kinda like reading me! Yikes, sorry that was so long. I'll exit, stage right... with just a few words in reflection to Oz. It has been hard reconcile this place as a travel experience after South America. There are simply too many similarities, and too many Pommies on holiday. Then again, just when it seems that all the cities are just like home and even the bums mumble the same incoherences as back home, Australia you will catch me off guard with the small stuff. "Faerie floss" instead of "cotton candy." And, around New Years, you've treated me to a wonderful band in Regurgitator. You know, these are small things I've come to appreciate; but please understand that traveling is often a time when broad strokes more overshadow the sophisticated ones. I'll keep that in mind when I consider you more. Thank you for the comforts, but thank you even more for the surprises.

Oh, and be careful not to assume you know your cockney rhymes when you really don't. You never know what they might give you. Or better yet, go ahead and make the mistake. Some are worth making.