ANZAC day in Mexico

While those admirable and able were braving a cold Melbourne autumn morning, waking at the crack’ to head to dawn services I rolled over in my bunk bed sweating with the sun in my face and the sound of 3 different languages around me. Shamefully this was he first time I’d be awake at the right time/in the right state for the dawn service in years and unfortunately I was on the other side of the world.

I decided to take a walk around Playa Del Carmen by myself in the blistering heat before stopping at a street stall to grab some breaky. I was pleasantly surprised when I opened Facebook at the amount of people finishing up at the service. Being a man of leisure these days I’m finding more and more time is being spent on facey and only last week became one of ‘those people’ I can’t stand. Some cyber war had started aimed at a local water company in Australia which had put out a warning to residents to boil their tap water until further notice. The complaints flowing in really had me in a rage; why don’t these people understand how lucky they are to have tap water in the first place? I took the bait called them all whingers and stated the above, not caring what the backlash would be for my keyboard hero attempt.

It’s not just tap water we seem to take for granted in Australia. The ability to so easily express ones opinion is simply non-existent in Cuba, along with wifi and easy access to anything outside their country. Every Mexican I’ve met in the last two months has told me tales of lost family and friends, all of whom meeting their maker too soon and too horrifically for many Aussies to imagine. High school friends chopped to pieces before graduation, uncles gunned down on their way to work, sisters being pulled over on the way to their wedding by cartels because her driver honked his horn at them.

Later that day I sat on a rooftop of my Israeli friends hotel as he showed me photos of the boys he knew who died during their compulsory service. “It’s sad because we all can’t wait to come here…” He says pointing at the view we had of the beach from the pool. Playa is full of Israeli’s at the moment all here after there 3 years compulsory military service straight after high school. No ‘schoolies’ for this lot. Three nights ago we were downstairs in their kitchen partaking in 2 minutes of silence at 3am, the sound of a siren playing through the Israeli radio. It was Memorial Day for Israel and I’m told the entire country stops at the same time(including the highway) for the whole two minutes.

Whilst being the first to admit I’ve not always shown adequate respect on ANZAC day in the years previous, it really saddens me to hear the issues we as Aussies get so hung up on. What does give me hope, is seeing snapchats from my friend Cheree, awake at whatever hour it was heading to show she cares. Or my friend Quinn telling stories about teaching her kids the meaning of such an important day. And the beautiful photos my old boss took of the trail of poppies down St. Kilda road, one comment saying the turn out was record breaking. There is no doubt in my mind that I was born in the luckiest country on earth and it has made my heart swell with pride seeing people all over Australia/NZ get together to show that they not only agree with me, but they say thank you to the ones who have given this to us. Lest We Forget.

How to NOT find a taxi in Cuba. 

I’m sititng in a park right now somewhere in Havana. Zag and Kim the kiwi girl from our hostel are sitting across from me on park benches with both their back packs and Tomas’ bags as well. The three of us have no idea where we are and no idea where Tomas’ is, he disappeared with our ‘taxi’ driver about 45 minutes ago to ‘get the car’ while we waited with the bags. A Cuban man stands before me attempting to practise his english which is difficult for both of us and can only go so far due to my complete lack of Spanish. Before continuing his walk through the park he asks me if I had any english reading material he could have but I’m completely distracted by our scenario to remember I have a copy of GQ (with Pharell on the cover) in my bag and he leaves empty handed. Its such a shame as he is dressed quite well for his old age and the image of him strolling around the streets with it in his hands is quite an amusing one. 
A man walks through the street with a vegetable cart and we’re in the process of buying a few tomatoes when the car pulls up and Tomas, the man who we are about to discover has stuffed us around and our actual taxi driver get out and begin loading our bags into a taxi. Its been about 2 hours since we left the hostel that morning and we still hadn’t left Havana yet. It was worse for Tomas, he had followed this guy on foot, bus and taxi to get to where the actual taxi drivers were. Yes, they took a taxi to go find a taxi. What a waste of time. I shudder to think how this process would’ve gone today without Tomas’. He’s from Hungary but speaks 4 languages fluently, including the same Spanish that they speak here in Cuba. He learnt in the Canary Islands off Spain which is lucky because I’ve spoken to several central/south americans who say that even they have trouble communicating with the locals! 
____________________________________________________________________________
The drive to the coast took about 3 hours. Magnolia, the host at the hostel, had organised for us to stay at Matanzas which is a town about 30mins away from the beach. We went for a walk around the town but there was sweet-FA to do in the town so we did what you do in Cuba when you have nothing to do; buy rum & talk shit. 

NYD

I’d be lying if I said I jumped out of bed this morning. The alarm went off and the familiar feeling when you’ve only just started to get to sleep and it’s time to get up hit me. I jumped in the shower and then tiptoed around the apartment trying to clean up but make as little noise as possible. Texted Zsuzsa “Wakey Wakey,” then headed downstairs for a ciggie.

There I was all chuffed with my ability to back it up at the ripe old age of 24 while the younger ‘kids’ were all still sleeping…until I caught my reflection. I looked 40. The snap back wasn’t fooling anyone and the sins I’d been committing in the final days of 2014 had caught up with my face.

Fuck it. I was too excited to care. Not just excited for today but excited about the whole year. In exactly one month today I’ll be on a plane headed for South America. Zsuzsa stumbles out of her room holding her naked breasts as I reenter the apartment. “I’m awake, I’m awake…I’m having a shower but I’m awake”

I’m awake too. Let’s do this.

Splendour on the Side of the Road

“This can only mean bad news…”

After copious amounts of time spent on the moshtix website and months of talking about it here we were….in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.

For those of you who have had the pleasure of driving to Bryon Bay from Melbourne, I hope you didn’t have the pleasure of driving through the snowy mountain region, and if you did you would know there was nothing pleasure-able about it. Roughly 2.5 hours into our trip our driver at the time decides that instead of stopping to get fuel at the main town that we just stopped in for dinner he would push on and fill up at the next town.

I don’t really know Cory that well but the fact that he has a stable job, awesome girlfriend and a mortgage, points me in the direction that he wasn’t really a risk taker. I stood corrected whilst Zag was in the front seat kicking up a fuss, I was in the backseat really enjoying myself.
“Let’s do this” and “Positive attitudes boys” I egged him on.

Two open petrol stations flew by in the main town and at the second one Cory even flipped on the indicator…if only we had known.

I couldn’t even tell you where we were exactly, but we had konked out. We were 2 hours in to a 22 hour drive and the back seat of the car, and all our weekend supplies, had now been mushed together into some kind of not-so-mobile pantry, as we waited for our friends to drive on to the next town and pick up a jerry can full of freedom. The phone rings well before they are due back and Zag’s words echo through the pantry “This can only mean bad news otherwise they wouldn’t be calling us so soon.”

“All the servo’s are shut, well they’re 24hour servos but there’s nobody there”

“Fuck”

“You idiot”

“Where the next petrol station?”

“Raid a few bins and fill up some empty bottles”

“Fill up your esky”

“How will we get it into the car if the petrol is in an esky?”

The ideas were a-flowin’

The conversation looped around and around as we googled all the service stations located in Orbost until finally our friends on the other line let loose a piece of information. The last one they checked was located across the road from a pub. For the first time on the trip this boy had a welcome piece of advice

“GO INTO THE PUB AND ASK!” I screamed from the backseat and slapped myself on the head. How had they not thought of this yet?

Whilst it didn’t suprise me as much as it suprised the other lads on this adventure, it turns out that the bloke who owns the pub also owned the petrol station across the road and the next thing you know ( aka 35 minutes of Zag, Cory and Tommy scaring themselves shitless in the car with Wolf creek stories whilst munchin’ on starbursts) here come our heroes with the massive jerry can full of fuel.

Later, discussing our snapchat re-dramatisation of the event we happened to run/bump/fly over the biggest wombat I’ve ever seen in my life and this was all before Zag took control of the wheel and lost his mind in road side-sign pun-central land. I’ll leave you with that for now but say that I had one of the best weekends/road trips I’ve had in my life.

TO BE CONTINUED….

Today I…

Woke up grumpy again. Get off me.

After an un-expected but amazing date night in Carlton watching Yves Saint Laurent we’d gone to bed – seriously SHUT THE FUCK UP HEAD MACHINE*.

Eli goes to work and I wake up in his bed again after pressing the snooze button 5 too many times. “I’m only working a day shift today and then I get to go to my screen writing course” I say to myself as I force myself out of bed and outside awaiting my taxi back home. Taxi comes and I get in, I tune out and pray that he isn’t one of those chatty drivers. I’m in luck he’s not and i get to listen to talk back radio all the way home until I stumble half asleep into my house. Past the lounge room I notice a yellow envelope on the bench with TOM written in black permanent marker. I get excited and open it to find an invitation to Bianca’s baby shower before throwing it on my bed as i’ve seen it before and the usual excitement of a baby shower is lost on me.

Checking the time as I get out of the shower I notice I’m running late so the pace picks up and before I know it I’ve stepped over my long overdue laundry and into ‘Coin Laundry’ my local cafe to pick up my “I’ve just missed my train and I have time to get a coffee, coffee.”

Arriving at work I hear the news about my managers heavy day the day before and also come to the realisation that I’m now working a double shift and will miss out on uni tonight. Devastated I rush downstairs in the middle of lunch service to send my lecturer and email joking about how the young bearded lad who says nothing in his class because he’s too scared to say anything won’t be there tonight. I make a point of letting him know how much I’m enjoying his class(highlight of my week is the exact describing phrase I use) and ask him to send me notes. Then out of desperation to escape I book flights to Perth..and New Zealand.

When your day starts off that rocky it can only get better. I had one of the best nights at work I’ve ever had. One of the guys called in sick and the whole team pulled together and helped each other out. I felt really proud of myself(I can’t lie) because every person running around that restaurant(except for one) had been hired after myself and to see they all have come so far, whether it had anything to do with me, or not…it was just pretty amazing to see how well they all worked together and helped each other out.

Its pretty horrendous when you take a snapchat selfie of yourself and realise that you haven’t put your phone on silent. Now I’m tipsy and in a taxi on the way to Brunswick. Howler to be specific, funnily enough it was really windy. Met up with Candice and Tania. Tania was back to her old self. I could see it in her eyes. We talk of art galleries and movies about fashion designers and long days at work and we hold hands. Its windy and the lights in the building reflect on to the trees and then the Irish bartender who we’ve made friends with tells us to get the fuck out in the best way.

The girls are in a cab and I’m getting a kebab. Mixed thanks, with cheese, garlic sauce AND hot sauce. Cabs fly by but I decide to get an Uber for two reasons. The first being, I’m not finished my kebab yet and the second being…its an uber.

Back in the south side, lying on my bed. Listening to music and trying to articulate my day. I text a few people and ask for their email address so I can subscribe them to this. Text Zag my drunken words of wisdom. Text Zsuzsa confirming my yoga session in the morning. Text Eli. Hit Publish.

The Best Plans

December 31st 

1999. 
 
It was New Years Eve and we spent the night driving around with Mum going from party to party. I don’t remember any of the parties except the last one we ended up at and the only part I remember clearly is when the clock struck 12, one of the adults at the party flickered the lights in the lounge room on and off and I thought what a lame way to bring in a new century. 

 
Safe to say that the 9 year old version of myself sitting on that couch in a strangers house would be proud of me to say the least. I definitely made up for the massive anti climax of that night over the years. It feels pretty weird that I’ve spend today working out, cleaning my house and napping. I had absolutely no plans up until 48 hours ago when Klinton announced that he would be hitching from country New South Wales around 9 hours south to Bendigo. When Lisa finishes work tonight at 6pm the two of us are jumping in the car with out friend Kitty and road tripping it to Bendigo. 
 
It might sound crazy to some(especially people living in Bendigo) that we would leave the city on New Years Eve. Not even heading to the beach but inland to a country town where we only know one person. The 9 year old Tommy inside me is thinking ‘what the hell are you doing?!’ I say to him what I said to Klinton a couple of hours on the phone when he was excited trying to plan an itinerary for the night; Sometimes the best plans are no plans. 
 
Happy New Year! 

An open letter to Miss B.Conaboy

Dear Bridget,

Whilst walking down chapel street this afternoon I have compiled a list of things that you are not missing out on since moving back to Hamilton Island this week.

1. Nearly having your toe amputated by a soccer Mum in super high heels.
2. Multiple gangs of school boys who take up the entire footpath and stop randomly every ten metres, long enough for the rank smell of their BO to infest your nostrils.
3. Ugly boys riding skateboards.
4. The elderly attempting to break new records in slow walking.
5. Homosexual and/or heterosexual males who have mistaken the side walk for a cat walk (and you BEST get outta’ their way)
6. Finding 10,000 things you want to buy for yourself but its Christmas in a few weeks.
7. People speaking to you with your earphones in.
8. Missing your tram by 2.5 seconds because you’d stopped to admire the ‘sunny day on chapel street’ eye candy.

Regards,

Tommy.

How civilised of us.

To say that I’m getting over having my weekend during the week is an understatement. The motivation behind moving back to Melbourne was definitely not to enjoy four seasons in one day.
What is there to do on a Wednesday night you might ask?

Moroccan. Delicious Moroccan. I’d been meaning to check out this place in South Yarra called B’Stilla for ages. Totally worth the wait. Going out for dinner with Lise is always easy and enjoyable anyway. After her getting a few words in about work as we got into the car I spent the remainder of the car ride down to chapel ear bashing her about my boy issues. There was some short chit chat about Christmas through the car park(She was getting very h-angry at this point) and we  got there at about 7:30. Not having to line up for anything is a Wednesday perk if I have to choose one.

Debrief about the weekend. Beetroot Jelly and tea.
Weekend stories exchange. Duck Merguez (Sausage). Grilled batbout (Tumeric and Oregano) flat bread.
Discussions about the disappearance of our friend formally known as ‘Balls’. B’stilla(Fish pie)
When am I going to South America? Asia? Beef short rib.

I even had desert which is a big deal, we pretty much just talked about how full we were whilst stuffing our faces with Tahini ice cream and rose water flan. As awesome as it was tonight was my Saturday night and we both had two glasses of wine.

How civilised of us.

The Rules of Snapchat

The Rules of Snapchat.

It was Tuesday night and our TV was not cooperating. My two housemates and I were forced to
entertain ourselves the old-fashioned way….conversation.

After the three of us tired of our usual topic of conversation(boys), Briggs brought up a
interesting point about the app some of us, including myself, have spent far too much time on these past few months :Snapchat. When I first began using it, it was all about sending unflattering images of myself; hung over mainly, to my nearest and dearest. It was perfect.
I got to fulfil my urge to take photos of myself(selfies) and they got a laugh, for three to six seconds depending on the horror of the content.

As the app grew in popularity and the ‘nearest and dearest’ I spoke of earlier turned
into a less exclusive list (Basically anybody I knew with a sense of humor) it evolved into
something more. After receiving a Chris Lilley inspired dictation shot from a friend
of my housemate, Erin, I found myself giving what I like to call ‘snapgobbys’ on almost a
daily basis. inappropriate. Childish. Funny.

Rule Number One: Don’t snapchat your acquaintances.
Not only is it awkward for them to find out what a freak you are, but its awkward for you, when they’ve been ‘too busy’ to reply to your texts, but have plenty of time to laugh at you. 

Now I honestly don’t know if it’s a case of me having a sick sense of humour, or if nobody can come up with anything quite as funny, but in the past couple of weeks my snapchat inbox has been filled to the brim with what I’d now like to call snapcrap. I feel like I’m going through emails after somebody has subscribed me to a hundred newsletters, I don’t have any interest in. Sure I think your kids are adorable, gee that pasta you just cooked looks amazing and well done with your progress at the gym, but I have to be in a very particular mood to find any of that worth looking at and when I do;

Rule Number Two: Keep your dogs, children and lunch where they belong…
On instagram. You can’t sit there and whinge about the content of what somebody is posting that way….you CHOOSE to follow people on the gram. 

Much like facebook is all about ‘keeping in contact with friends & family’ aka Stalking your ex.

“I was just stalking my primary school boyfriend and accidentally liked one of his photos from like 2 years ago. god dammit! Now he’ll know!”*

and that cute guy you met Friday night….

“sometimes I’m looking at one persons profile and from there I click onto someone else and then someone else and then half an hour later I’m like ‘WTF why am I stalking this person? How did I even get here?”* 

I use snapchat when I only have a very short amount of time to communicate my current mood/situation with my friends and thoroughly appreciate the 5 seconds amusement I get when receiving a hideous reply. The disappointment, when I’m after a quick pick-me-up at the expense of someone other than myself and I get a picture of your lunch is soul shattering.
There are plenty of other ways to feed our need to broadcast ourselves so lets keep this one as lighthearted and immature as we possibly can, which brings me to

Rule Number 3 Fellas…keep your dacks on!
That’s what grindr/blendr is for. The only penis I want to see on snapchat is the one, poorly drawn on my friends face.

Please note; video messages which are completely ridiculous but hilarious are also acceptable.

Bitten.

The most exciting part about travelling has been the realisation I just came to.

Around two hours ago I was sitting in
a cafe with my three friends with whom I’d spent the last week with in Bali discussing our highs and lows. Our dinners on the beach, massages in the hills, the big night out in Kuta and bar hops around Sanur. Having a giant monkey throw a piece of corn at my head and drinking cups of chicken shit…(traditional Balinese method of making coffee). A week is such a short time but I felt like we had ticked so many boxes plus spent copious hours lounging by the private pool in our villa. Getting amongst the locals and learning basic phrases that you would never bother to remember had you read in a book but now came out so easy in the final days. Wayan our driver for the week laughed at Bridget with she said we’d seen a lot of Bali and this morning when I looked at the map and what we had seen then compared the size of Bali to the rest of Indonisia, I understood his amusement.

I didn’t feel even one ounce of sadness when Bridge and Shaneo jumped in their taxi shortly after lunch. I’ve said goodbye to the pair of them that many times over the last twelve months that I’ve lost count. There is no uncertainty in seeing them again it’s just a matter of when and what stories they’ll have to tell after their adventure. A short time after I stood at the gate of our villa and watch KatePOW depart in the taxi. Sometimes you don’t appreciate how beautiful your friends really are until you stand back and look as an outsider. I smiled as she drove off as the image of her attempt at Balinese dancing last night flash through my head.
‘See you in Melbourne in a few months!’ Lookout boys!

Whilst I had the option of kicking back by myself for the next 5 hours, I’m just not that good at keeping myself busy and the place just felt far too empty without my three hombres in it, so I packed and threw my bag over my shoulder, took one last look at the place and stepped out into the sweltering heat of the day. It was probably thirty minutes down the road when it came to me. I’d ventured out by myself to a whole other half of Sanur that we hadn’t even seen. Dripping with sweat, my bag getting heavier and heavier I just couldn’t stop walking around and taking it all in.

We hadn’t even scratched the surface.
I haven’t even scratched the surface….Not by a long shot and I can tell you right now it feels AMAZING. My whole body is pulsing right now. It’s not about ticking boxes at all. It’s about the excitement in realising all the boxes you haven’t ticked. There is so much out there and I can’t wait. I’ve officially been bitten by the elusive travel bug….what a rush.