Summer lovin' had me a blast!


Advertisement
Australia's flag
Oceania » Australia » Victoria » Melbourne
March 25th 2010
Published: March 25th 2010
Edit Blog Post

504 days on the road now. Life is good. Life is sweet. I feverishly type away in our large cosmopolitan house; the shell of a former restaurant nestled in a predominantly Jewish neighbourhood. The property houses two other “dwellings” each weighing in with over 10 backpackers a piece. On first impression one would think this place yields a storm of parties, but the multitude of French, sprinkle of Israelis and splatter of internationals are quite tame and responsible in comparison to my old house. “Surely a welcoming change to the last seven week blur of life at the old Wellington house”, I think. Should I embrace the quiet? Is it the right time for the parties to stop, the time for serious work and saving to begin? I don’t have much choice and inevitably choose quiet and so does my liver.

Leaving Queensland, and my love Brisbane, was like saying goodbye to that old school friend you met out in town last weekend. You had a great chat about the old times, but the DJ just dropped a banger and you had to hit the tiles. Summer was the banger, Melbourne the tiles. In mid November after an on-off relationship with Brisvegas I boarded a bus for the infamous Byron Bay. The exhilaration of trading my mundane office job for a surfboard was growing but subconsciously quenched by the fact that I was officially travelling solo. For in June last year my travel partner and friend Marcel, cashed in his chips and departed for the emerald isle. When my bus sped to Byron Bay life that Sunday evening, I left so many good friends behind but brought with me so many good memories. The office life however was not something I envisaged myself doing while travelling the world. The road lay before me and I was determined to eat it up.

The first night travelling on my own found me in Byron Bay hugging my laptop for companionship. ‘Refresh Facebook’. ‘Refresh email’. ‘Refresh Facebook’. The second night I befriended a smiling face from Luxembourg. The third night, a intelligently witty Austrian guy and on the fourth I was back; surrounded by good people and good times. Byron is a backpacker mecca. The home of the Australian hippy. The home of good fortune and good times. A buzzing beach town two hours south of Brisbane, this enclave of sunshine, music, sand and surf will suck the days from your visa, leaving you without worries or cares! I arrived at the ‘Arts Factory’ hostel with a reservation, a map and a plan. By day three I was living in their campsite, hanging my washing from trees and drinking cheap wine until the crickets ceased their nightly chorus. After 14 days of embracing the inner hippy, sharing stories with people who have probably haven't called their mother since 'Mothers Day' 1998, I quickly packed my tent, dusted off my shoes and made for the next bus south.

A brief stop at 'Spot X', a surf school nears Coffs harbour, saw me ride my first wave. After unsuccessful attempts in Hawaii years before on my J1 visa, I was ecstatic to finally stand atop a rookies foam board, before ending up legs to the sky and ears to the sand. At night backpackers and tourists sat around log fires and exchanged stories over endless various vessels of cheap wine. At 'Spot X' I befriended the lovely Nike, an Austrian with whom I would meet up with again in Sydney. In these days however, time was of the essence. The Melbourne summer beckoned. With a quick pit stop in Sydney to catch up with some old acquaintances, I shunned Kerouac and took a flight to Melbourne arriving to a sunshine laden Christmas.

MELBOURNE. A city who name carries weight, and rightly so. Voted the world’s most liveable city umpteen times by some highly qualified judges somewhere. The city deserves every aspect of this generous accolade. The entertainment, culture, diversity and general way of life of this metropolis would have you jumping through fiery hoops of Immigration nonsense for a sniff of residency in the red land down under.

In early December last year, I happened upon a three star hostel on the edge of St Kilda, Melbourne’s backpacker ridden suburb. At first sight I must have appeared unfriendly to my fellow room-mates. Stereotypical Irish backpackers infiltrated every hall of the building, with their loud antics, county chants and leary behaviour. I had spent the last few months mingling with so many foreigners, that the conversation of how “bleedin rapid it is down here in melbs, bud!”, snobbery or not, just wasn’t my cup of tea. The extent the backpacking Irish here live up to their stereotype of debauchery makes you cringe like an Emo at a Daniel O'Donnell bake sale.

By new years I had blagged employment with a local bar and restaurant and gained my first experience in the hospitality business. I lived with two Irish guys who kept to themselves and (stereotypically) mixed with mostly Irish and friends they had from home. If it wasn’t for Tom and Leigh I could have had a mediocre Melbourne experience. I met Leigh last June in Brisbane. An enthusiastic young English lad with the ability to incite fun in any backpacker, he reminded me of mates from home. The ever energetic and charismatic Tom came in toe as Leigh’s inseparable partner in crime. Our best sober decision together came as the idea to move into 74 Wellington Street. This house proved to be the downfall of it all but in time, the architect of so many great memories.

The old Wellington house stood out proudly on it own, in the heart of the streets and in the mind of the community. The only rejected building on the street, its multitude of hammocks and forlorn couches in its unfenced garden would have your local noisy neighbour biting nails to stumps. Twenty seven backpackers were clocked on week one. French, Danish, German, Finnish, Taiwanese…all housed in a modest; ten bedrooms, two bathrooms and one paltry kitchen. Picture a frat house minus the testosterone, the cheesy one liners and add a sprinkle of pasty skin, laughs and cheap wine. Right of the bat twenty-odd new friendships were made. Half the house had no jobs, half worked irregular shifts; a silly concoction for late night mischief. Over the course of my seven weeks in the Wellington, to my recollection I worked approximately six days. When not partaking in my weekly Saturday night bar shift, the search for jobs became arduous and exhaustive. During these weeks the Wellington children shared many enjoyable summer days; Australia day, the superb St Kilda festival, the night markets, the beach days, city trips, Chapel St explorations and Tuesday night recollections.

To re-use an exhausted cliché, this good thing had to come to end. Our late nights did our neighbours no favours. The pad inevitably drew community attention, thus thrusting the lackadaisical council to our (open) front door. The health and safety act was the councils ace card. Our landlord had no cards, not even a clue! After a whirlwind
Team Dashiki!Team Dashiki!Team Dashiki!

Leigh, Tom and I acting the maggot on another crazy Tuesday
of petty disagreements with said proprietor, many regulars left for further horizons and ‘Team Dashiki’; Tom, Leigh, and I were abruptly forced to find other accommodation.

The story brings us to present day where we reside in the spacious and couch ridden, ‘Glen Eira’ abode. It doesn’t have the same heart as the Wellington but it yields days of hard work and early nights. I currently work for a hire company who are tasked with outfitting Albert Park with marquees, tents and all shades of gardening paraphernalia for the yearly Formula1 Grand Prix. To be apart of this event is a truly great experience. I worked in the pit lane as it was being setup. I drove the track numerous times in the company's pick-up. An applause must be given to the Australians who make a loss ($34 Million) at the event every year. The build, from city park to 5km festival, takes six weeks to setup; a laborious task for the big two hour Forumula1 fiasco. Today the Grand Prix started properly and working under a different guise, yours truly was behind one of the bars pulling cold beer for the masses. Go on my son!

At the moment though I feel trapped. Melbourne in all its glory sucks you in and spits you out penniless. Its laneways, suburbs, charm and culture grab your attention and take your wallet for a thrill ride. With Melbourne chilly winter setting in I am determined now to shift my focus to my original dream. When our 747 kissed the Sydney tarmac over 14 months ago I imagined a simpler life. Aboard a big old dive boat I would spend my days, punting excursions to suncream infested tourists while exploring the planets biggest underwater garden - the great barrier reef. My dream is now stronger than ever. The peak season in Cairns is fast approaching and I must make for the road as soon as possible. I killed it in an interview today with a Ski resort company and so funds permitting, I hope to encompass the west coast from Perth to Darwin via Broome before August. I expect to traverse 9,500km clockwise through barren landscapes and pristine beaches to arrive in Cairns on the north east coast. Half the dream I suppose lies in the road ahead. The other half lies with a rogue dive company up north hopefully complete with a skipper named Shankles McGee

Until the next time…

Australia Day Photos
Brisbane to Melbourne in Photos
My Photography



Advertisement



26th March 2010

epic
another epic installment of bazzer on tour... melbourne is a class city. I'd skip perth if you can but definitley checkout the west coast. the kalbarri (apt) ranges are supposed to be great, i regret missing them. we're in southern thailand... 30 degrees day and night. next stop chang mai.
25th April 2010

geeeeeeeezer
Yes! Yes! Yes! Love it!!!!!! "i shunned kerouac and took a flight" : nice. emo at a daniel o'donnel bake sale! aaaahahahaha keep up the good work Sir, i love nothing more than settling down with a beer in my hand2read these blogs, savouring every word! i raise a toast from Polskiland, M'Lord
15th May 2010

perth
heard about your coach surfing in brians! did you manage to catch rachels wedding on the church webcam! mad... next the pope will be setting up skynet to take over the world.

Tot: 0.145s; Tpl: 0.02s; cc: 11; qc: 57; dbt: 0.0777s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1; ; mem: 1.2mb