fbpx
Skip to content Skip to footer
A Beer in Bruges
On a cold, not-so-stormy night in the small town of Bruges, Belgium, my companion and I gallivanted on the rugged, cobbled streets, adamantly attempting to avoid any Christmas markets. Now, I feel obliged to provide context for the situational abhorrence of these festive, fleeting spaces – Vinayak and I were travelling around Western Europe during…
Polgahawela Junction
“Excuse me! Sir! What station is this?” the traveller yelled from the half-open carriage window. “Jaffna!” the stationmaster yelled back in a thick accent. “If you want to get off, must go now.” “When will the train get to Thandikulam?” “Thandikulam? Thandikulam has passed madam!” “Then where does this train line end?” “Kankesanturai.” The man’s…
When We Were Six: An Ode to My Youth
I was six, and we were the sun and the moon, radiant and bright. Riv had inky black hair, eyes like wet mud smeared across gold and an olive complexion, stars sprinkled across her flesh in the form of freckles. I stood next to her, hair closer to white than blonde, porcelain skin and eyes…
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,…
Mass Panic in Tokyo
To the last man standing. To the big night out. The party isn’t over if the music’s still playing. Who did I get that cigarette off? Did I steal your last sip? That’s my mate DJ’ing – I can’t stop yet. Sticky toilet floors… dudes can’t aim. Did you assholes forget how to flush? The…
He’s Not Your Fantasy
Kitsune, Kyoto. A sticky summer’s night. You’ve been drinking by the river in Gion-Shijo with your friends, Strong Zeroe’s from the 7/11 down the road, but they didn’t have the sour lemon so you’re sipping on grapefruit, wondering why this flavour even exists. In the club, you lose your friends in a haze of lights.…
The Magic Man
What a night. Thank fuck it’s nearly over. Olivia’s sat at the empty bar waiting for the rest of us to finish. Livs works across the road, but she’s new to Liverpool, and usually spends most of her free time in here anyway, whether we’re open or shut. It’s getting into the wee hours of…

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.