Day 3

To the Edge of the Southern Continent
Drifted down Port Campbell. The gate of Antarctica.

Finding my first Xmas carol in the south.
Port Campbell, CBD, Victoria, Australia

Day 3 | Port Campbell Day 2
Victoria, Australia
Itinerary

The year is 1840. The area has Aboriginal inhabitants and some early European settlers.
A few small boats occasionally pass by, tring to navigate their way along the treacherous coast or in search of whales and seals to hunt.
Seeking refuge from rough seas in 1840, Captain Alexander Campbell from the Port Fairy Whaling Station sheltered here. Port Campbell township had found its beginnings. It become established as a fishing port in the 1870s.
Fierce storms spring up quickly here. This bay is the only sheltered refuge between Warrnambool and Apollo Bay.

Light rain again this morning.
I walked to the only “cat-like” local grocery store in the village. It’s a place where souvenirs and daily bread sit side-by-side. I bought some bread, sliced cheese, and milk—the essentials for survival. I also grabbed some classic ginger cookies that looked promising.
The young girl at the register noticed I had no bag and quickly fashioned a small cardboard box into a custom carrier for me.
“Thanks for the lovely box!” I said. A small, genuine exchange to start the day.

The Great Ocean Road stretches west toward Adelaide. Today, the rain dictated my route. I decided to head further west first, hoping the skies would clear by tomorrow for the famous “Twelve Apostles” area.
On the way to Adelaide, the landscape changes. It’s just one long road slicing through a vast, elevated plateau of cliffs. There is nothing else.
I let my Outlander glide through the majestic scenery, occasionally buffeted by fierce winds in the drizzle.
Whew. Pure, raw geometry of nature.

What caught my eye were the bushfire warning signs everywhere. A fellow traveler on the plane had warned me: “Watch out for the UV rays down there.” This land is beautiful, but it carries a silent, fiery tension.

The sun suddenly broke through. I immediately switched gears to trekking. I wanted to get as far south as possible—to get even an inch closer to the Southern Cross.
I found a trail across the river from the bay. After crossing a suspension bridge, I climbed a steep cliff and followed the rugged coastline.
Here I was. The southernmost point I could reach. The closest I could get to the Southern Cross, even under the bright sky.

I found a sign detailing the history of Port Campbell’s founding.
Alexander Campbell, 1840. A whaling base.
Whaling… as a Japanese person, I felt a momentary flick of caution, wondering if I’d be unwelcome. But then I remembered: It’s okay. Here, I am a Kangaroo.

The narrow trail, which felt like it could lead all the way to the heavens, finally reached its end.
From here, the entire formation of the Twelve Apostles was visible. A masterpiece of a view. To the south, there was nothing but the deep blue sea leading to Antarctica and the vast blue sky.
It finally happened.
In the limited timeline of my life, this might be the first and last time I stand here. I have arrived.

The boy comes to mind—the three-year-old self from a distant past.

Finding the door locked,
he climbed into a discarded cardboard box left on the porch,
as if he were a small piece of merchandise waiting to be picked up.
Inside that dark, cramped space,
he existed like Schrödinger’s cat—suspended in a superposition of being “found” or “lost,”
holding onto a tiny, flickering sliver of hope.

He held onto a tiny hope.
Too restless to remain unobserved,
He eventually hopped on his tricycle,
And his very first solo journey began.

By evening, in a neighborhood he didn’t know,
He was peering through the window of a stranger’s house,
Watching a family’s dinner scene.
“So, things like this actually happen.”
The world was full of things he never knew.

He was eventually found at someone’s house in a town far, far away.
At that moment, he was playing the piano.
And, come to think of it, no missing person’s report had been filed for him.

He knew it from that moment.
This is what it means for humans to be animals.
In other words, that included himself, who was born into this world.
Still, at that time, something was lit within his small heart.

That fragile hope kindled in that small heart so long ago—it has finally been fulfilled today, within my lifetime.

Further than anyone. Farther than anywhere.

I couldn’t build a physical place, but at least I can release the “logic” of my life into the wind here.

For a while,
Looking up at the azure sea stretching toward Antarctica
And the blue sky reaching for the Southern Cross,
I wonder how much time I spent in “static.”

No one was there.
Yet, I met the lady at the pub—the first Japanese person she’d ever known.
I felt, even for a moment, that my life could end right here.
Was I truly allowed to have such a luxurious moment all to myself?

I felt an overwhelming gratitude for every friend, colleague, and teacher I could remember across space and time….
Those who surpassed me and fulfilled their dreams,
And those who had already become stars in the sky.

Sometimes I turn them into melodies,
Sometimes, like a leaf, I let myself be carried by the wind.
When the sunlight filters through the trees,
I’m occasionally found, and they slip away.

Memories drifting through the “sea of digital,”
Fading into the distance—
I prayed they wouldn’t vanish from this world.

But it’s too late; there isn’t enough time left to start over.
I’m sorry. But this is my limit. This is my terminus.

What I can do now…
Is remember those who are also on their journeys waiting on the other side of the planet next week.
Shoot, I haven’t even finished my homework yet.
It’s time to head back.

Along with the wallabies hiding at my feet,
I decided to return to where those sharing the journey just for tonight are waiting.

Back at the guesthouse, the rain returned with a vengeance. It’s below 10°C. “Summer Christmas,” they say?
Well, that means it’s beer time.
I shared a drink with the landlady—the one who had never met a Japanese person before.
We did a comparative tasting of Kirin Lager and her craft brews.
“You have to let me pay for this!”
“I’ll have one more just to be safe!”
“I’ll pay with my Magic Suica Card!”
I faked a move to pay with my Suica—the iconic Japanese transit card. But the real magic is that this card is a hybrid, integrated with a credit card. It’s a tiny piece of Japanese engineering that works anywhere in the world.
Drunken, nonsensical, wonderful talk. The night deepened in the best possible way.

Late at night, the rain stopped for a moment. I went out to the pier, but the clouds were too thick to see even a single star, let alone the Southern Cross.

• Day 2, Day 1 Port Campbell
• Index
• Day 4, Day 1 CBD, Melbourne