Kristen Scott is often accused of living in another world. Most of her fantasies involve MacGyver and black fine-liner pens. Kristen has worked in Jakarta where her photography and articles have been published, and she has written news and weather scripts for Metro TV. She travels when she can save her pennies, usually to Asian places. She is currently editor of a health and well-being magazine in Melbourne, and plans to return to Monash to complete a thesis in the fields of ecocriticism and aesthetics. Below is a collection of her travel photography and observations.

Cairo, Egypt

“The sands run red
In the lands of the Pharaohs
Their symmetry gets right inside me.”
(From ‘Egypt’ by Kate Bush)

It is impossible to breathe a full-lung breath in the desert. The air is sultry – a gravitational sinking occurs in the chest, where sand and small bugs gather. Even the softest of sands stick to skin, like a protective glaze against the sun. The man in the picture, with his pot-belly and leather skin, told me that Egypt has many secrets and mysteries: “you cannot see them, but you can feel them," he said. I walked amid the labyrinth of dusty stones, following his feet, and held my hand up to ancient hieroglyphs. “What do you feel?” he asked me. With the swelling heat and stars collecting in my head, I was certain that I could hear running water. Later, with my legs straddling a camel, my guide said, “enjoy your massage and walk like an Egyptian.”

Wadi Rum, Jordan

“It was one thing to persuade a surveyor that a heap of boulders were the eggs of the Rainbow Snake, or a lump of reddish sandstone was the liver of a speared kangaroo. It was something else to convince him that a featureless stretch of gravel was the musical equivalent of Beethoven’s Opus III.”
(From ‘The Songlines’ by Bruce Chatwin)

The Jordanian desert knows silence. Cliffs like beehives and rocks textured like camel backs mark the horizon. Flying insects leave triangular prints in the sand and shelter among wiry scrub. It is an extremely sacred place, which is not surprising, considering it was once covered by water. Petroglyph figures weave ancient tales of ancestry, not unlike Aboriginal petroglyphs.

Desert Bedouins move camp often, drinking teas of flowers and spices, and herding animals. The moon is visible during certain times of day, pastel-coloured against the dusty sky, but at night when the stars come out, the moon casts a phosphorescent shimmer across the sands. The only sound for miles is a soft wind quietly breathing - out, in, out, in - like the circular rhythms of a shisha smoker.

Damascus and Aleppo, Syria

What are you doing to me Damascus?
How have you changed my culture? My aesthetic taste?
For I have been made to forget the ringing of cups of licorice
The piano concerto of Rachmaninoff . . .
How do the gardens of Sham transform me?
For I have become the first conductor in the world
That leads an orchestra from a willow tree!!
(From ‘Damascus, What Are You Doing to Me?’ by Nizar Qabbani)

The souks in Syria are endless paths of spices, nuts, figs and jewellery. There are voodoo medicines: tortoise shells, lizard skins, goat horns and dried starfish. Women dressed in black float swan-like and with purpose through the crowds of men missing teeth. Clothing stores sparkle with belly-dancing costumes and wedding night leotards with sequins and glitter, I suppose to highlight where a man can find a woman’s private flesh. Nipple tassels, merkins (not to be mistaken for gherkins), and leather whips: an Arabian porno paradise. But beyond the mayhem, there exists a ghostly fog in the air. Little specs of dust float down from old houses in cobbled alleyways. These houses are often lopsided, like crooked teeth built from old woods. As the first drops of rain fall, Muslim prayers creep through the streets with the omnipotence of a mass lullaby.

Goreme and Istanbul, Turkey

“Gobble, gobble.”
(From the Turkey before it became dinner)

Turkey is home to cats with no tails – they sit curled on antique rugs, murmuring like beetles, and kneading soft threads with golden paws. Silk kilms with tasselled edges hang on flimsy wires in the sun. Hand woven carpets and Kurdish rugs are piled high, collecting dirt from passing traffic. Each piece has its own history and fingerprint. After hours of searching and petting cats, I settle for a Kurdish tent hanging with diamond shaped material. It is decorated with beading and stains (could be baby vomit, could be spiced coffee. I like a bit of mystery).

I sit down at a local bar where a pregnant dog comes up to me, and nestles her head in my lap. Together we watch large birds catch thermals, and clouds of dust rise like little tornados.

Ålesund, Norway

“Throughout our lives, if we are lucky, we have few coaches to train us in various virtues. Some of these facilitators are easily recognised: the wise parent, the dedicated teacher, the skilful athletic coach, the best friend. Others are less renowned: the graceful chicken, the deep-rooted tree, the patient mountain, or some cooperative bees.”
(From ‘Stone-throwers With Excellent Aim: Waking up to an Environmental Democratic Vision’ by Mark Claddis)

Forget about trolls and Vikings. I’d rather meet a Norwegian fisherman in khaki gumboots. Norway is home to a striking topography of fjords, valleys, vegetation and valleys. On a walk through thistles and tall grasses, I came across the stillest of lakes. It perfectly reflected the surrounding mountains and liquid sky. Its depth became deceptive, almost like a mirror reflecting a mirror – it seemed to sink deeper and deeper and fold in on itself.

Close by was a fishing village with rusty boats and a glass-blowing factory. Fraying ropes and a captain’s helm stood covered in lichen: a shipwrecked womb of all things nautical. From an oval window I watched a woman make glass sculptures. There is something hypnotic about watching glass come out of a fiery oven and turn molten and malleable: its warmth creeps inside you. Norway also has tasty waffles.

Jakarta, Indonesia

Most of these photos have been taken at Bantar Gebang, Jakarta’s largest city dump. You can read an article about it here.