Jason Shankel


Australia 2018


 Picnic At Hanging Rock


After breakfast, we make for Hanging Rock. Sion and I both harbor ancient mystical reveries of the film. The trip reminds us of our common bond with Peter Weir and the numinous rapture that nature inspires in us not despite but because of acceptance of its unique, uncreated totality. We are not separate from this place. We are the transient eyes by which it knows itself.




The park is remote. A few tourists walk languidly up the summit pass, disappearing behind trees and blind tuns like Miranda, only to reappear like Irma. I take off my shoes and touch the rock.

Crows caw in the distance and the sound is exactly like the birds in Mad Max.


At the train station, we see a kind, elderly man in a purple hat. He says goodbye to young companions and shuffles back over gravel and cigarette butts to his car. A sign reads "No Smoking, Penalties Apply."


Tanzania travel article coming soon


Italy travel article coming soon