The Happy Isles of Oceania: Paddling the Pacific

The only cure for seasickness is to sit on the shady side of an old brick church in the country.

Even in Africa, I had never seen such a profusion of stars as I saw on these clear nights on Pacific isles - not only big beaming planets and small single pinpricks... but also glittering clouds of them - the whole dome of the sky crowded with thick shapes formed from stars, overlaid with more shapes, a brilliant density, like a storm of light over a black depthless sea, made brighter still by twisting auroras composed of tiny star grains - points of light so fine and numerous they seemed like luminous vapor, the entire sky hung with veils of light like dazzling smoke... they made night in Oceania as vast and dramatic as day.

You travel all over," the woman said. "Do you write about your travels?" I said, Yes, I did. Articles. Books. Whatever. "You must write Paul Theroux-type travel books," she said. I said, Exactly, and told her why.

just a short trip to any French territory in the Pacific is enough to convince even the most casual observer that the French are among the most self-serving, manipulative, trivial-minded, obnoxious, cynical, and corrupting nations on the face of the earth.

When France has succeeded in destroying a few more atolls, when they have managed to make the islands glow with so much radioactivity that night is turned into day, when they have sold the rest of the fishing rights and depleted it of fish (already Tahiti and the surrounding islands have been overfished), when it has all been thoroughly plundered, the French will plan a great ceremony and grandly offer these unemployed and deracinated citizens in T-shirts and flip-flops their independence. In the destruction of the islands, the French imperial intention, its mission civilisatrice—civilizing mission—will be complete.

I had wanted to see an ancient stone mound

You always judge a place by the last place you were in... It is quite easy in travel to project your own mood onto the place you are in.

These islands were so lovely that it was hard to be alone on them - it was no that I required company, but rather that I wished that someone else had been there to see them: I wanted another witness, someone to share them with. If the place had been miserable I would have coped.

The God-swanker never has to ask himself what is correct, he looks it up in the Book of Books. There he finds everything he needs...Whatever he plans to do, God will endorse it.

because - traveling - I often felt the lingering anxiety I was doomed...Traveling would kill me, I felt. I had always had the idea, and still do, that my particular exit would be made via an appointment in Samarra: I would go a great distance and endure enormous discomfort and trouble and expense in order to meet my death. If I chose to sit at home and eat and drink in the bosom of my family it would never happen.

The tide came in and went out. People died and others took their place, not even knowing the others' names. They sat in your chairs, they slept in your bed. And you were probably lost somewhere in the Pacific - gone and forgotten.

There was always the possibility of friendship in travel.

a journey can either be your death or your transformation

There is no good word in English for this hopeless farewell.

It is usually expensive and lonely to be principled;

Yet the Eastern brown snake—second most toxic in the world—was an unprepossessing reptile.

Australian inland taipan is the most poisonous snake on earth—its bite will kill you in seconds. But none of this ought seriously to deter anyone from confronting the outback on foot, or even on all fours.

There is a great fear of natural things in Australia. But no one mentions the drunks, who are everywhere and are a great deal more dangerous.

seem to have a very wide spectrum of readers in this country,” I said.

What most Australians seem to want in the way of a response is something funny and familiar, such as You bloody diggers are rough as pig’s breakfast, but that’s what I like.

Mormonism was like junk food: It was American to the core and it looked all right, but it wasn't until after you had swallowed some that you felt strange. I