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Winter Eggs
We wake in a pile of butter-yellow blankets beside a dying fire: me and three dark heads of hair. The world outside is a snowglobe – a beautiful rarity in 逗子 / Zushi / the half-mile beach where the sun was born. In the morning light, there’s a smudge of blue on the inside…
I Lost My Friend in Italy
You may think I was in love with her. You would be right. But not in the way you think. She was one of my best friends. We met in year 7 at school, but didn’t become close till after school had ended. We were linked in a way I wasn’t with anyone else. We…
Iranian Women Are Changing the Game
My third evening in the Islamic Republic of Iran lands me in an underground music gig in a hip café-cum-alcohol-free-bar in the capital, Tehran, where a special band is playing. The café swells with young tehranis, a small ocean of dark hair, streetwear and hijabs moving with excitement. Besides the bluish light illuminating the stage,…
A Universal Language
Stickiness glues every inch of my clothes to me. Blaring sun blinds me from all directions. Wine fumes leave no room for fresh air on this street. A bead of sweat slides down my face to land on my upper lip. It tastes slightly of stale wine. I turn a corner and can finally see…
I Travelled Spain With 29 Women
A love letter to my she-wolfpack This is an ode to the 29 women whom I just travelled with. 29 babes. The 29 femme fantasies, 19-to-29-year-old horny, but mostly hungry college co-eds; two-and-a-half dozen unapproachable beauties, the kinds that slack jaws when they walk in bars, make men gape agaw and bend over backwards…
Why I Only Lasted Five Days in Sri Lanka
“You are a woman. And you are from...” the first man said. “Norway,” I said to correct what I assumed to be his assumption of my origin. I had done this before, because most people do not grasp how an Indonesian-Norwegian traveller can be travelling. This was not this day and trip’s problem though. “Yes,…
Ladies and Llamas on the Inca Trail
Enormous clouds cling to the peaks of snow-capped mountains. Winking prickly pears and violet wildflowers greet us on either side of a path that looks as if it were opened up by the gods. It’s early afternoon, the sun is low in the sky, and our bellies are full to the brim with Peruvian avocados,…

Astray is 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.