The Parallel Universe - Finding it, dealing with it, growing from it

In October 2003 I set off on a yearlong adventure, trading an autumnal London for, first, Australia via Singapore. You know you’re a foreigner when you’re walking down a street behind an old woman wearing a lamp shade and pushing a wheelbarrow twice her size and yet everyone is staring at you. I spent three months following the backpacker’s trail up the east coast of Australia, and the only time I saw Aborigines socializing with white Australians was when I stopped off in a town called Marlborough, in the outback. We (my best friend, Bryony, and I) walked into the only pub. The country-and-western music on the jukebox stopped and all faces turned to us. Famed travel writer Bill Bryson, in Down Under, describes the situation perfectly as a parallel universe where neither group acknowledges the other’s existence. I left Australia disappointed that I did not get a chance to find out more about what it means to be an Aborigine in Australia today.

After Australia and New Zealand, I was determined to see the real Fiji, to get a genuine insight into the lives of the locals. That would be a rare treat, as the vast majority of the islands cater to tourists. On the island of Melbravo, one of the islanders arranged for me to attend church with the locals. The church, located in the center of the village, was no more than a shack. Men, women and children dressed in their finest Sunday outfits emerged from other dilapidated shacks to attend services.

Suddenly, a blast of harmonious voices boomed from the eight-man choir. Church was in session.

I was struck by the discipline of the children. If one happened to forget his place, he would be reminded by a quick thwack from the fan of a large lady. The islanders ended their service with a Fijian prayer for my safe journey.

For the next three months I traveled through North America and Canada, then it was on to Lima, Peru. I was shocked at how one end of a street, with its well maintained architectural treasures, degenerated, at the other end, into decay. The contrast was unbelievable; the stench of garbage unbearable. I’d never seen poverty like this. I stood mesmerized at the corner of a main street, the road hidden under a mass of garbage. Women plowed through the mess with their bare hands, searching for anything of value.

I was suddenly very aware of how inappropriate my presence was. For a brief moment everyone stopped to take in this foreign figure in her Levi’s. Lima was a culture shock. It was the one place where I was anxious to be in the safety of my hotel before dark.

Heading east, I experienced many remarkable adventures trekking from Machu Picchu and the Bolivian Salt Flats to Iguacú Falls, one of the largest waterfalls in the world, located at the border of Brazil and Argentina. I finally found myself fishing for piranha in the alligator-infested waters of the Pantanal, one of the world’s biggest and richest ecosystems—it extends from Brazil through Bolivia and Paraguay—before heading to Rio de Janeiro.

In Brazil, as in Fiji, I fitted in, at least as far as my appearance went. Elsewhere, my Anglo-Afro Guyanese background intrigued people, and although their interest in my ethnicity was always friendly, it was good to be in a place where I was accepted as one of the locals. The torrent of outrageous compliments from the carioca (local) men soon became part of the city’s soundscape, along with the intoxicating rhythm of salsa. I went to a favella, made famous by the film City of God. The sound of gunfire, visiting toddlers at school, meeting the 14-year-old bodyguard to the top drug dealer—these are memories that will last a lifetime. The teenager showed me his bullet wounds while bragging about the constant efforts of the police to catch him. Then he flashed a silver gun.

In this short article, there’s not enough room to describe the breathtaking beauty of some of the places I visited. I could not believe the kindness of strangers. Their goodwill reinforced my belief in people. Looking back on my dream year, I see that I have changed, matured maybe. I’ve learned new things about myself. I’m no longer fazed by new situations or by meeting new people. The abject poverty I saw is a benchmark now for my own ups and downs, giving me a perspective that I did not have before.

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Jeanine Murray is an assistant designer at Brand Alliance, a women’s wear firm in London. She can be reached by e-mail at jeanine_murray@hotmail.com.

By Jeanine Murray