An Antarctic Reunion

I meandered to the train station at dawn, bleary-eyed after a night of drinking and three hours' sleep. I caught the subway to downtown Melbourne, then bought a cup of coffee from a 7-11. A couple of guys were still out from the night before, stumbling through the streets in search of a bathroom. A bus pulled up to the corner where I was standing, and out walked Craig Martin, the man himself.

Another Day, Another Continent

The sound of suitcases rolling past my head woke me. My flight had landed in Melbourne, Australia in the middle of the night. After clearing customs, I walked outside to get my bearings, then I quickly scampered back into the airport. I had flashbacks of my night in the airport in Miami, which I wrote about in 1000 Days Between. Unlike in Miami, I found a few other backpackers, sleeping in a quiet hallway. I blew up my air mattress, crawled into my sleep sheet and joined the others in their quiet slumber.

By 5 a.m., I couldn't take it anymore. The “quiet hallway” turned out to be one of the main corridors that led through security. It just happened to be closed when I first had seen it. But now it was open, and there was a constant chatter of over-caffinated travelers, dragging their luggage across the floor.