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An Ode to Arrivals
"And where are you off to, young man?" "Santiago," I replied. My questioner -- a silver-goateed, balding man of about 60 -- sighed. "Ah, Chile!" he exclaimed, resting his hands atop his belly. "I was there once upon a time..." And that's how it began: 10 years’ worth of stories to pass the time as we sat…
Crushed By My Holiday Crush
He was so handsome. Tall with dark chocolate skin and big brown eyes to match. He climbed in the minivan and took the last available seat next to me. Smiling, he revealed his perfect white teeth. I could already imagine kissing his plump lips. “Hello,” he said. “Hi,” my voice quivered. “Where are you from?” “South Africa,”…
Where Air is Water
I wish I had taken ballet as a kid. The pirouettes I force myself into, avoiding seemingly inevitable collisions with scooters and cars, on roads that have no sidewalks to speak of and drains wider than a cat is long, would make my grandmother proud. Add to that the scrapes on my hand and pride…
Stamps With a Story
Tracing the intricate calligraphy, an old Japanese man smiles and looks over at his granddaughter. He downs the last of his long neck Asahi Super Dry and lets out a boisterous laugh. “I can’t believe you’ve taken up a pastime beloved by elderly Japanese men,” he chuckles. I am sitting with my friend Yayoi in…
A Christian Walks Into a Strip Club
Bare breasts are in my face, the stripper’s top hanging loosely from the bar stool next to me. I feel like I’ve descended into hell. The room is bathed in a red glow, like fire is enveloping the place, while disco balls spin delicately from above, illuminating men who watch the main stage with fervent…
This Train is Bound for Tomorrow
On a late-night train, there was a girl. I faintly recall a scarf, round cheeks and bangs long enough that they caught on her eyelashes. Her hands fluttered to the cadence of her voice. Her leg was warm against mine. I don’t remember her name. One of the senior girls from Osaka University’s karate club…

Astray is a storytelling project centred on travel, place, culture and identity.

We’re run by a team of writers who mostly live, work and play in nipaluna / Hobart. With reverence, we acknowledge the Tasmanian Aboriginal people as the traditional and ongoing custodians of trouwunna / lutruwita / Tasmania: land that was stolen and never ceded. We pay our respects to Elders past, present and emerging.