For conversational purposes, it's convenient that I had something in common with each of the people who gave me lifts when I hitchhiked north from Auckland. (With minimal thumbing - the waits for my three rides were two tripod photos, a couple bites out of a Snickers, and half an hour, respectively.) One was an electrical engineer and another was an American film executive visiting the set of a movie shooting in New Zealand. No, I'm not in "the industry", but the movie's a coming of age story about three kids' search for D.B. Cooper's stolen cash - set in Oregon, of course.

Yes, the Northlands of New Zealand look quite a bit like home, with the addition of prehistoric ferns and flax. For even more refinement of the mental imagery, cross that with the 15-to-1 sheep-to-human ratio and a touch of the Shire. It's that lush, and the whole country's Tolkien-crazy. The world premiere of the Return of the King is happening right now, and I'm not in Wellington. That's by design. I'm here to see the country, not to celebrity-spot or relish my proximity to the shooting locations of the best movies ever. I'll keep telling myself that until I somehow stop peering into bushes hoping to meet a hobbit. Or Peter Jackson.

Speaking of Kiwi movies worth seeing: Whale Rider's shown at my current hostel about twice an evening. New Zealand backpacker residences feel more like B&B's than dorms. Worth spending time in, unlike Australia's norm of industrial barebones lodging. Alex and I shunned last night's viewing to jam together 1000 jigsaw pieces. He's an 18 year old from Minnesota, but could easily pass for my ripe old age. I'm not sure if the traveling he's done before college caused his maturity, or the other way about.

FYI for my comedian friends - Kiwi improv has nothing on the Chicago scene, or even the Nashville one. Not quite poop jokes, but I just couldn't muster a chuckle during the three minute Nazi saga into which they sunk when Germanizing a sketch. Apparently a reliable way to act American is to develop both a drawl and homophobia. And people say that Bush isn't doing anything for our international image...

Stir frying's an art I really should develop when I get back home. Easy, creative, nutritious, and unfortunately out of my price range at the moment. Like the US, most vegetables are too blasted expensive, so it's easier to fill up on tacos. Here, the tacos are actually meat pies, but it's hard to tell the difference sometimes. Fortunately, the ramen here is simply to die for. A tongue-tingling five flavor packets are to be found in the instant Mie Gorang - Kyle's favorite Indonesian dish.

The third person to give me a ride when hitchhiking was in fact chronologically the first. A delightful Maori woman, she deals blackjack at the Skycity Casino in Auckland. The Sky Tower itself is the tallest in the southern hemisphere, and a spitting image for the superstructure of Cloud City in The Empire Strikes Back. Anyway, Kyle and I'd been on the observation deck of the casino studying this very blackjack dealer the night before. Though we didn't figure out a way to beat the game, it was noteworthy as part of our last evening of traveling together. I managed to find out the answers to some of our rhetorical questions of the evening, Kyle. Dealers make NZ$15 an hour, training lasts three and a half weeks, and no, they're not nervous while their supervisors crane over their shoulders. Apparently it's one of those jobs where your boss is on your side. I can't imagine those types are as fun to gripe about as our bosses in the hotel were.

The two of us tramped a long road since that brisk Nashville night fifteen months ago when we decided we needed to see the world. Not as substantial was the realization in Vietnam that any English phrase can be effectively turned into a closing salutation. But the latter's the sort of conversation that made it damn good to have you along. From the code-one on the North Shore to our aimless walks through darkened Australasian streets, you kept me company when we were in the same town. We put our heads together on purchases from high-tech Ex Officio underwear to the expensive dead weight of the water pump. You're an unbelievably talented guy, from your photographic skills to your ability, no matter what currency, to only have bills of the largest and least useful denomination. I'll miss you - unless you managed to sneak into the premiere in Wellington today, in which case I'll still miss you but be frightfully jealous at the same time. Have a safe trip home tomorrow.

We'll always have Poi Pet.

Now, I arrived in New Zealand only an hour ago, so my statement here may be premature... but I'm never leaving this utopia. Mom, I'll let you know where to forward my mail once I settle down. Thanks.

I'd also consider it a personal favor if you don't inform the NZ immigration office of my name or intentions. In exchange, you're all welcome to visit me.

Those of you who know me understand my affinity for team sports involving balls. That is, there isn't one. Wasn't one, rather. Rugby's gained a fan. According to Kyle and his trivia, it plays like the bastard child of the athletic events known as "American football" and "soccer". All of the violence, none of the padding - or the waiting! The clock just doesn't stop. In the 100-minute nail-biting Sydney-based World Cup Final match between the convicts and their homeland, there were about seven commercial breaks. Each lasting a tallied total of twelve seconds. Still, the crowd in front of the outdoor jumbotron screening groaned when they came on. Even at that frequency and duration, you miss bits of the match. The best part of the game came after the last-second loss to England. Vendors here discount food when it becomes apparent they won't sell it otherwise. That applies from fairgrounds to foodcourts. Sunset Grill in Nashville still has the upscale late-night discounted dessert market cornered, though.

Thai cuisine in Australia is as common as Mexican food in the States. And vice versa. Just so you know.

One way in which this trip's made me more patriotic: Our travel guides are better than Australia's. Posting this will probably kill my chances of ever becoming a travel writer - and might actually just kill me, once Lonely Planet's hired goons track me down. I had a useful Let's Go in Southeast Asia, but switched to an LP for OZ. Big mistake - and I say big not because it was horribly out of date or as dry as a AAA state guide, but because of the brobdingnagian size. That aspect assured that it'd stay put with my main pack every day rather than following me around, for fear that the gravitational havoc its movement would provoke could introduce earthquakes and volcanic eruptions to this tectonically peaceful island. So I'm now packing an imported New York pedigree Let's Go for New Zealand. With new Fiji section!

On the other side of the patriotism scale, we have Jonathan. I'd like to say that I was able to pick him out on the street due to his outrageous backwoods drawl or his tell-tale decade-old Nikes, but it was the Tennessee Titans jersey that actually clued me in to his origins. Nice guy, aside from his habit of being horribly, consistently, loudly obnoxious. Somehow he's gleaned enough knowledge in his week here to happily interrupt and contradict the locals who were trying to direct me to the climbing cliffs in Brisbane. No worries, Volunteer state - he's emigrating here. A permanent American emissary.

I've spent a month here. Still, the closest I've been to an Australian was in Cambodia. Yes, James and I spent many hours crammed into adjacent seats on a minibus, but I was actually talking about the level of our acquaintance. For some reason, the hostels are full of foreign backpackers. Perhaps it'll be easier to develop relationships with Aussies this afternoon. I'll be in New Zealand.

The kangaroo count went from zero to 120 in twelve bucks flat. Yes, I cheated and went to a wildlife preserve. But it was an old wildlife preserve, and I'm running out of time in OZ. Desperate times et cetera. It was like the outback, only smaller, watered, and friendlier! The big draw to Lone Pine is allegedly its koalas. I say you can play with your Furby when you get home instead. The little eucalyptus-munchers don't even look real. Each one's like a muppet on one of Jim Henson's bad days. The kangaroos and wallabies, though... Bred in captivity for generations, they're as tame as the flighty marsupials get. Started out timid, but (with the help of fifty cents worth of grass pellets) I was curling up with them by the end of the day. I still insist that it was a fully respectful communion with nature.

Life's certainly been more social over the last few days, and not just because Kyle caught up to me here in Brisbane. We used our combined powers to answer US-specific questions ("Yellowstone!") during trivia nights at hotels (the Aussie word for 'pubs that happens to have rooms for rent'). We also chatted extensively with a fire captain who was concerned about our loitering around his station. Phil is a marvelous emissary for his country and his city, though I still doubt his claim that his forefathers arrived in Moreton Bay in 1755. By my math, that puts them here thirty-three years before the first convict ship pulled into Sydney.

For those of you packing your bags for your own international excursion, visit Global Freeloaders and sign up. Offer your own place to stay (when you're home and available) and have the ability to crash with others - for the ripe price of free. Robert and Malcolm have been hosting me and showing me around for the last few days. Funny (and convenient) how standard, pleasant locals like Phil and them morph into knowledgeable tour guides when exposed to a curious American.

I've heard you all've introduced a new $20 bill in the States. With color and everything. Here's my advice on the matter, before you go much further down this road. Australian bills spend easier because they're somewhere on the neon scale between actual Monopoly money and a circa-1990 Trapper Keeper. Between that and the plastic windows, they don't have that greenback feel. It is easier to quickly check what your cash situation is, but the hue of the glow emanating from your waist pouch informs everyone else in the room about your finances too. In short: they're pretty, but do wear UV protection

Speaking of that money pouch, staying in a residence led me to drop my guard and take it off for a washing. It'd been strapped to me since August, and I've been active during that span. Life's undeniably and quantitatively better now. That reminds me. I remember being impressed when a patron at my bar mentioned he'd walked downtown that day. Maybe three kilometers. I've been doing much more than that, with no ill effects, for most of this trip. Note to self: Initiate grassroots campaign to change the US car culture.

In the meantime, Andy from Boston and I are starting an email campaign to bring Snickers Hazelnut bars to the States. Write Mars, 7-11, your congressional representatives - anyone who holds sway. Also, do what I'm doing. Send the confectionary world a message by purchasing as much Nutella as possible.

Platypi sighted: 1. Check.
Roos: 0. Bah.

I may have overused this adjective when describing municipalities, but Nimbin (Home of the 1973 Aquarius Festival!) is the most progressive place I've ever been. During my day or so there I visited the town's main industry - an alternative home energy thinktank/manufacturer/provider. Wind-powered 12-volt television to watch in your rainforest/climate-control room, anyone? When the equal-pay employees feel like meandering away from their jobs around midday, they head home to their permacultured abodes. They rotate the toilet/fertilizer tanks, check on the free-range geese, and root around amongst their multi-purpose lemongrass. Of course, you can't find alternative lifestyles without finding a truckload of marijuana. First time I've ever been offered pot by a woman with an infant in pram, or a man holding a large bud out in front of him - right next to the town's bustling one stoplight. (There actually isn't a stoplight, but it was as central as one can get.) There is a police station in Nimbin. It's at the far end of the road, and the hammocks are out back.

I'm currently being subjected to Lisa Loeb's "Stay" for the second time in four hours. I guarantee you there is no risk of this happening in Phnom Penh. On the other hand, there was that video. Hot women in glasses. They're even hotter that way. ahem. just a little hint to maria.

Once a year, many Vanderbilt students buy new North Face sleeping bags and camp out on well-manicured Alumni Lawn to show their solidarity with the homeless. I propose they spend those hours trying to nab some nighttime Z's in a desert bus stop shelter wearing only summer traveler's clothes while being wittily heckled ("Hey Mountain Man!") by the passing party-goers. That's real discomfort. I had no one else in mind, lest you think better of me for choosing such Spartan accommodation. I was just trying to save the twenty bucks that a dorm bed would have cost me. Scuba diving ain't cheap.

Did you know that 'traveling' and 'traveler' can both be correctly spelled with either one or two L's? This fact had caused me undue grief before I bothered to look each up.

Upon arrival in Brisbane, I performed the same ritual each town sees. Check into hostel. Slap on some SPF 30. Find the free museums and parks. I'm sorry to report that the Queensland Museum sucks and the Botanical Gardens need watering. Regardless, it seems to have much in common with Portland. The Rose Gardens there often need watering. Both consider themselves 'The River City', though mostly through top-40 radio station callsigns. Bland lil' skyline, but quite swell once you spend some time below it.

One finds contrast in life here. Take Australian toilets, for instance. There are two flush buttons on each porcelain instance, allowing the user to customize the flow so that it's appropriate for the receptacle's contents. This is good. What's not good is the urinals. They're long metal recesses along a wall with a drain at one end. I can't decide which is worse - having another man's pee gurgling past me, or vice versa. Perplexion takes over, I end up standing wide-eyed in the middle of the restroom, and everyone looks at me funny.

Worse consequences can be found when crossing the road incorrectly. Even if you complete the mental gymnastics required to look mainly to the right when first starting across, drivers will speed up and crush you. This only applies when you're not on the infrequent though well-lit blessing of the hashed crosswalks. Aussies must be used to my type attempting suicide by dashing out in front of vehicles racing down the left side of the road. That's why they've erected these crosswalk safe zones around which cars' brakes and drivers coordinate more efficiently than usual.

There's one area you don't see much contrast here. Those of aboriginal descent seem overwhelmingly unhappy. After apologizing and ducking around a girl who'd blocked my way to ask for a couple bucks, I heard "Then get the fuck off our land!" screamed at me from behind. I guess the U.S. is not the only place with unresolved racial tension.

On my morning constitutional to the lighthouse at the most easterly point of the Australian mainland, I ran into the following: one four-foot monitor lizard (AKA "a goanna"), several smaller ones, two bush turkeys, three pods of bottlenose dolphins, a humpback whale, and the five deadliest snakes in the world. Hmm... no, actually, the snakes were all at the oceanarium where I saw the shark and manta ray feeding. Safely behind glass. Still, OZ is starting to make up for the dearth of kangaroos. I'm going platypus hunting this afternoon, Steve Irwin style.

The best way to get adjacent seats to yourself on an otherwise full long distance bus is to book two tickets instead of one because of a server error. Become legitimately confused when you get to the station and they ask you where your buddy is. Get a refund for one of the seats. Sleep in relative comfort between Sydney and Byron Bay.

I applaud any town that uses public funds to build hanggliding ramps, but all the parties here scare me. Nothing stops me from sitting on the sand and journaling, but I hear there are towns in the back o' Bourke that are more naturally laid-back. Only one day on this gnarly surf, then. If the topless beaches lure me back, Byron Bay's not hard to find. That lighthouse I mentioned is one of the brightest in this hemisphere. If you find yourself on the wrong half of the world, wander around until you notice water draining in the opposite direction. Then remember that's a folk legend, and consult a map instead.

Sydney had plenty more to offer before I blithely ditched it and came north. As the most diverse place I've ever spent time, it exposed the ugly side of four-million strong melting pots: the sidewalks. Australians walk on the left. The majority of immigrants and tourists tend towards the right. I tried staying consistently on each side (and the center even!), to no avail. It's a constant defensive two-step.

The Sydney Opera House, while arguably the best building anywhere, is depressing to photograph. Too many people have already done too good a job, and here I am without a tripod outside of my journal. Fortunately Susanne (the sportbike-riding German biomedical engineering masters student) had one. It was her camera that was broken, but through the magic of burning multiple copies of my pictures, we're each going home with stabilized night shots of the palm-leaf inspired structure.

That journal I mentioned. In addition to its tripod duties, it's also served as pillow, lumbar support, and fly swatter. Occasionally I write in it too. If there's nothing snazzy to report (like my trip to the Blue Mountains), my brain will stick, and I'll end up with something like the following: "November 6, 6pm - Sydney - Hyde Park. Can one get journal writer's block? If so, I'm afflicted. There just isn't an enthralling method to write about sleeping in after staying up late chatting with other backpackers at the hostel with the internationally unlikely choice of the Playboy Channel on in the background. The only conflict experienced during my lengthy tour of (and nap in) the Royal Botanical Gardens was between the flies and I, and I'm pretty sure that was one-sided. I may have hung out at the Opera House for a spell, but I didn't see anything except for the box office, which provided me with one of the last tickets to a ballet performance on Monday. I guess I could inscribe that it happens to be backpacker-cheap and a great seat. Nothing too fancy about reading on the grass amongst strange antipodean fowl. Even lunch was a kebob, as usual, despite it being the best and cheapest I've had. Yeah, nothing to report."

Also from the "Life's Rough" file: That ballet was actually a trio of contemporary pieces performed in the main opera hall. I didn't know one could actually enjoy professional dance, much less have (appropriate) cause to laugh during a performance. The majesty of the setting hadn't worn off, but I can't attribute all of my glee to the venue.

The kangaroo fairy hates me. Three days and 4352 kilometers of rail journey across Australia, and I didn't see one bleeming marsupial. Wasn't for lack of trying, either. Befriending Trevor, the night steward, was a good start. The first dawn on the Indian-Pacific, he made to wake me because of the reputed hordes of pouched enigmas bounding across the scrub between the train and the sunrise, but he later told me that I looked too cozy to disturb. Only a rail empployee knows how a 6'1" dude can look comfortable jammed across two coach-class seats with only a Balinese sarong to shield him from the AC. Repeat comparably tragic scenarios over the following (gorgeous) sunsets and rises, and that's how the nocturnal bastards stayed out of (my) sight.

Certain visitors to Western Australia had me wondering at the end of my stay there. The Perth Pride Parade (with plenty of proudly progressive participants) passed perfectly. It was no New York or Sydney, but still a good time had by all those who came out for it, and us straight folks who were there too. (Pardon the pun. And always avoid alliteration.) 'Twas only when one of my hostel dormmates took to massaging the thighs of sleeping men and playfully attacking our chest hair that one begins to get people kicked out of the room.

Back to the train journey - not all was a loss. Darned skippy overall, actually. The Nullarbor plain (the name's a poor Latinization of "no trees") proved just that. It encompassed the world's longest stretch of straight track - 478 km. Toss some 2-meter-wingspanned wedgetailed eagles out there, spin in some massive dust devils, and you've got yourself good railroadstering. The two vendors and one dead buzzard made desert/ghost town Cook a regular metropolis compared to Barton, population one. Eighty year old Ziggy is its resident. The count doesn't include his eight canine companions, all named 'Dog'.

Trevor's friendship came in (mutually) handy. I got to disembark when everyone else was asleep in the swingin' 1920's interior decor of the cars. He got a hand unloading the luggage of the crazy lady we were letting off in the middle of the outback. Her family'd come to meet her. The pitch blackness implied they'd traveled quite some distance to do so.

Sydney. Despite being larger than any town (outside of Egypt) that I've spent significant time in, it's still charming. Not only is every street named after a colorful character from the Australian histories I've read, but some of them have artifacts lying around. Like the anchor and a cannon from the Sirius, flagship of the First Fleet. I wandered across the Harbor Bridge, and several dozen pictures later I was at a loss for what to do. The gaping maw that forms the entrance to Luna Park is closed for dental work / renovation. Finding myself in a posh harborside neighborhood, I saw a placard for 'The Admiralty House'. Ah, a tourist attraction. Lush, gated grounds. As I tried to determine the passability of the entrance, an armed guard approached. He didn't appreciate my attempts to break into the private residence of the Governor General. Same same for the Prime Minister's digs at the Kirribilli House next door. Foiled, I chatted with the armed guard for a couple hours. Denney and I exchanged anecdotes - his backpacker days were a decade ago. They involved 35 US states and a bench-seat Ford.

Random Opinion Clearance Rack:

• The Imperial March ought to be performed with kilts and bagpipes more frequently.
  
• It's one of the world's great inequities that Snickers Hazelnut bars can't be found in the US.
  
• Ditto 24-hour kebob shops.
  
• OZ is full of machismo and bushranging types, so why don't they buy more SUVs? I thought they liked the environment here - haven't they learned anything from Hummer commercials? Even the pickups are built on fuel-efficient sedan chassis.
  
• Two-year-old Lonely Planets lie. Don't trust them.
  
• Every city should have Royal Botanical Gardens next to its Opera House.
  

It's safe to say that the next four months will be a pleasant blur of one quintessentially 'nice' day after another. Perth's beautiful. Scenic, artsy, progressive, multicultural. It's as easy to find a steaming plate of mie gorang here as it was in Bali. Even if there isn't a stall within walking distance, just take the bus. It's free. Bored? The museums are often pretty free too.

I celebrated Halloween by touring Fremantle Prison, built by convict in the 1850's, hangin' people until 1991, and spooky through now. Australians celebrate the holiday exclusively by asking the American backpacker they've just met about all the Grade-A costume parties that are rumored to occur in the States on the 31st.

Apparently "gaol" is homophonic (and synonymous, of course) with "jail". That would have been valuable information before reading a Bible-sized Australian book about penal transportation.

The conveniences of Western society (helloooo water - hot, pressured, and/or drinkable) are balanced out by the lousy value of the US dollar. I'm poor once more. C'mon, American workforce. Fix your economy so that lunch here costs me less than it would back home. $0.7AU to the buck just is not good enough.