New Zealand is going much too smoothly - everything is slightly too easy. It's making me uneasy.
Take my check in at Wellington airport: all done myself, and then I dropped my bag off on the carousel. No naffing about with a person, no stupid questions, bang, done. Pardon the bad taste pun. There's a security thing at each gate so you don't stand around waiting for half an hour, and because its an internal flight I barely have to hang around. Too easy indeed!
The Air New Zealand safety video is totally worth flying with them for too. At the moment, to promote this year's rugby world cup there, the video features the All Blacks messing about on a plane. I've never encountered a funny safety vid before so something feels amiss, especially when a female passenger needs air because she rubs up against of the the heftier (and to be fair, mad sexy) players.
"Tighten your seatbelt around your waist. Not tight enough to make your legs go numb, but snug around your hips."
"If you need to exit the plane, you can find your way to the doors even if its All Black by following the lights on the floor."
Amazing.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Freq Awesome
In my hostel in Wellington I had some wicked roomies - 2 hilarious frat-boy-esque Kiwis, a British girl and 2 Canadian kids. After somehow frittering away a couple of hours just chatting and laughing, I politely declined an invite to go to a strip club with the boys and headed out to see Freq Nasty at the brilliantly-named Sandwiches.
It's been forever since I paid to get into a gig so handing over the $30 cover was a bit galling, especially when the warm up act consisted of a hipster dude DJing in a mouse hat and his dick of a mate going "sheeeet" every 5 seconds. It was all totally worth it though when Freq, with his mental hair, had to play a hiphop mashup of Black Sabbath's 'War Pigs' 3 times because he couldn't get Serato working. Classic.
The gig was actually fantastic, me crunking away there on my own to a surprisingly amazing show. He moved from a metal start through electro, breaks, dnb and dubstep and ended with a crashing 20 minute jungle outro. I was happier than a pig in junglist muck, especially when he played a dub-grime version of Welcome To Jamrock, which is a favourite tune of mine even before its been ripped apart and smashed together to resemble a sonic version of the Iron Man suit. A travelling highlight for shizzle.
The day after I got myself some brunch and listened to a very telling conversation between 3 doctors behind me. Apparently one of them felt very dodgy dealing with a corpse because he couldn't be sure it was the right person:
"He looked like he did when he slept, and you never see people asleep - he looking completely different."
Also
"Grandpa was Grandpa, Mum was Mum and Dad was....something else."
I had to stifle giggles over my parfait.
It's been forever since I paid to get into a gig so handing over the $30 cover was a bit galling, especially when the warm up act consisted of a hipster dude DJing in a mouse hat and his dick of a mate going "sheeeet" every 5 seconds. It was all totally worth it though when Freq, with his mental hair, had to play a hiphop mashup of Black Sabbath's 'War Pigs' 3 times because he couldn't get Serato working. Classic.
The gig was actually fantastic, me crunking away there on my own to a surprisingly amazing show. He moved from a metal start through electro, breaks, dnb and dubstep and ended with a crashing 20 minute jungle outro. I was happier than a pig in junglist muck, especially when he played a dub-grime version of Welcome To Jamrock, which is a favourite tune of mine even before its been ripped apart and smashed together to resemble a sonic version of the Iron Man suit. A travelling highlight for shizzle.
The day after I got myself some brunch and listened to a very telling conversation between 3 doctors behind me. Apparently one of them felt very dodgy dealing with a corpse because he couldn't be sure it was the right person:
"He looked like he did when he slept, and you never see people asleep - he looking completely different."
Also
"Grandpa was Grandpa, Mum was Mum and Dad was....something else."
I had to stifle giggles over my parfait.
Well-ington
Having got thoroughly sick of Auckland and said a bittersweet goodbye to big Tom I boarded a bus to drive through the beautiful north island, which made me wholly jealous of the aforementioned dude's trip through the same country, but much slower and with more exploring. I hope you're having fun Thomas!
In the interest of sticking to my budget ($350 spending money for 6 days in NZ) I'd set myself a challenge to only spend $20 on the day of my big bus trip. I totally managed to keep to it, spending $9 on a pad thai, $4.50 on a chai (somewhat frivolous, but worth it), $1.50 on a gingerbread man and $2 on the bus. I can't remember the last time any bus anywhere in the developed world was $2, so I was rightly stoked with myself, if a bit hungry. I hung out at the botanical gardens and explored Wellington, taking photos and loving the city. I saved the chai gelato for the next day and it was well worth the wait.
Having proven myself to no one in particular, I decided that $50 a day could work from then on, so wasn't quite as stringent with myself.
The bus trip down the island had been amazing and I met some great people: yet more lovely kiwis, a really interesting American girl who, for her first term of her geology degree, sailed from Hawaii to Tahiti (jealous), and a Samoan girl who kept asking me if I needed anything and searched me out at the rest stop to make sure I wasn't lonely.
She also taught me how to say a few things in Samoan, including "palangi" which is what they call tourists. This translates to "heavenbreakers", which can mean the people who come from the horizon (literally 'breaking' the heavens) or the people who have come to change their home, depending on what your view is. Very telling.
Wellington immediately felt like a massive city compared to Auckland, which totally failed to live up to its status as most-visited city in NZ, and like an actually cool capital city, unlike Canberra, which is a fucking ghost town.
After a well-deserved rest, dreaming of food, I headed to Te Papa, Wellington's national museum - and possibly the coolest museum I've ever been to. Hands on, all-ages and covering all manner of topics, Te Papa ("our place") taught me heaps about tsunamis, volcanoes, earthquakes, fault lines, the ocean and all those other things that I should have learned about in school when I was too busy ogling the arse of my fine science teacher (ah Jez, you sexy devil). They have the world's only colossal squid on display there, and it's sufficiently disgusting. Before you get to thinking that it's just a massive squid, take a look at the wiki page and the google photos. These bastards have hooks which turn 360 degrees on each tentacle, to completely incapacitate their victims, as well as eyes the size of footballs and a giant beak - yes, that's a beak - to eat their prey. Gross.
I had noticed in Auckland that compared to Sydney, the city had a large population of indigenous people, and in Wellington I found the same to be the case - about a quarter of people seemed to be Maori or of Maori descent, and I found this to be a refreshing change from Australia, where Aboriginals are confined to the Block, or the streets of the CDB. The way NZ treats its indigenous people is, in fact, exemplary; not only have they given a third of the land back to the Maoris and rented it from them, they have embraced the culture, having signs in the language and teaching it in schools, without (from my POV) exploiting it for the sake of tourism. Sure, you can go to commercial 'haangis' and other such things, but these are presented more as a celebration of the occasion than anything else.
Anyway, after Te Papa I headed to the Wellington City Gallery which was a gorgeous surprise. They had an exhibition on named 'Roundabout' which was a private collection of 2 Americans, of works from around the world. These were all culturally or socially very relevant and included Gonkar Gyatso's 'Shambala of Our Modern Times', a Buddha image painstakingly recreated from corporate logos and newspaper headlines, and Sung's 'Toe Nails' - a gorgeous child-like painting of a girl painting her mother's toenails. The morbid twist is that the toenails are at the girl's eye level, and we take it from the position of the body that her mother is hanging above her, having committed suicide. I couldn't take my eyes off it.
It's become a habit (and by 'habit' I mean the only thing that I want to do) when I am in a new city on my own to wander round, read, have coffee and cake, meander through galleries and take photos. It's been this way in Singapore, Brisbane and now Wellington - I totally love it. Wellington afforded me the great opportunity to do all these things and for that I shall love it forever.
Incidentally this is exactly how I see myself growing old and fat in Paris; the happiest old, fat Parisian there ever was.
In the interest of sticking to my budget ($350 spending money for 6 days in NZ) I'd set myself a challenge to only spend $20 on the day of my big bus trip. I totally managed to keep to it, spending $9 on a pad thai, $4.50 on a chai (somewhat frivolous, but worth it), $1.50 on a gingerbread man and $2 on the bus. I can't remember the last time any bus anywhere in the developed world was $2, so I was rightly stoked with myself, if a bit hungry. I hung out at the botanical gardens and explored Wellington, taking photos and loving the city. I saved the chai gelato for the next day and it was well worth the wait.
Having proven myself to no one in particular, I decided that $50 a day could work from then on, so wasn't quite as stringent with myself.
The bus trip down the island had been amazing and I met some great people: yet more lovely kiwis, a really interesting American girl who, for her first term of her geology degree, sailed from Hawaii to Tahiti (jealous), and a Samoan girl who kept asking me if I needed anything and searched me out at the rest stop to make sure I wasn't lonely.
She also taught me how to say a few things in Samoan, including "palangi" which is what they call tourists. This translates to "heavenbreakers", which can mean the people who come from the horizon (literally 'breaking' the heavens) or the people who have come to change their home, depending on what your view is. Very telling.
Wellington immediately felt like a massive city compared to Auckland, which totally failed to live up to its status as most-visited city in NZ, and like an actually cool capital city, unlike Canberra, which is a fucking ghost town.
 |
| Te Papa's main hall |
After a well-deserved rest, dreaming of food, I headed to Te Papa, Wellington's national museum - and possibly the coolest museum I've ever been to. Hands on, all-ages and covering all manner of topics, Te Papa ("our place") taught me heaps about tsunamis, volcanoes, earthquakes, fault lines, the ocean and all those other things that I should have learned about in school when I was too busy ogling the arse of my fine science teacher (ah Jez, you sexy devil). They have the world's only colossal squid on display there, and it's sufficiently disgusting. Before you get to thinking that it's just a massive squid, take a look at the wiki page and the google photos. These bastards have hooks which turn 360 degrees on each tentacle, to completely incapacitate their victims, as well as eyes the size of footballs and a giant beak - yes, that's a beak - to eat their prey. Gross.
I had noticed in Auckland that compared to Sydney, the city had a large population of indigenous people, and in Wellington I found the same to be the case - about a quarter of people seemed to be Maori or of Maori descent, and I found this to be a refreshing change from Australia, where Aboriginals are confined to the Block, or the streets of the CDB. The way NZ treats its indigenous people is, in fact, exemplary; not only have they given a third of the land back to the Maoris and rented it from them, they have embraced the culture, having signs in the language and teaching it in schools, without (from my POV) exploiting it for the sake of tourism. Sure, you can go to commercial 'haangis' and other such things, but these are presented more as a celebration of the occasion than anything else.
Anyway, after Te Papa I headed to the Wellington City Gallery which was a gorgeous surprise. They had an exhibition on named 'Roundabout' which was a private collection of 2 Americans, of works from around the world. These were all culturally or socially very relevant and included Gonkar Gyatso's 'Shambala of Our Modern Times', a Buddha image painstakingly recreated from corporate logos and newspaper headlines, and Sung's 'Toe Nails' - a gorgeous child-like painting of a girl painting her mother's toenails. The morbid twist is that the toenails are at the girl's eye level, and we take it from the position of the body that her mother is hanging above her, having committed suicide. I couldn't take my eyes off it.
It's become a habit (and by 'habit' I mean the only thing that I want to do) when I am in a new city on my own to wander round, read, have coffee and cake, meander through galleries and take photos. It's been this way in Singapore, Brisbane and now Wellington - I totally love it. Wellington afforded me the great opportunity to do all these things and for that I shall love it forever.
Incidentally this is exactly how I see myself growing old and fat in Paris; the happiest old, fat Parisian there ever was.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Auckland gets bizarre
On my way back to my hostel last night, to drop my bag off before heading out for some free d&b action, I noticed that Auckland had taken a strange turn once the sun had set: it had turned from a pleasant if somewhat sleepy town to one teeming with yelling, fighting, hammered idiot teenagers. They were on every street, screaming at each other and getting ango with strangers. It was wierd.
I headed out to the free dnb and at just after midnight there were 12 people there. I stayed about 20 mins then snuck out.
Today I met up with Thomas, who had seen that I was flying into Auckland on Jan 5th and decided that was so cool that he'd do the same*. Tom is about to begin a madcap and somewhat underplanned trip through the length of New Zealand on a bike. As he didn't yet have maps, cooking gear, or in fact a bike, we shopped a little before heading out to the pier to catch a ferry to Devonport, which turns out to the one of the most boring towns in the world.
The flyer had such praises as "one of the world's most beautiful villages" and promised that on our tour we'd be taken to 2 inactive volcanoes; when Ray the octogenarian picked us and the rest of the grey brigade up his minivan I started to have my doubts.
No so much a tour as a moving Neighbourhood Watch meeting, Ray's van took us through the sleepy town, pointing out all the features of the houses, marveling at the windows and even pulling over at a couple of estate agent boards so we could wow ourselves with photos of the insides. He tutted at a house that had been neglected and so 'ruined the neighbourhood', told us of his previous night's fish supper ("We didn't batter it, no.") and even pointed out a man buying a loaf of bread. It was like a horrible harbinger of old age.
On the bright side, the trip did provide much unintentional hilarity and we found an underground, disused milarity thingy with a creepy atmosphere and wierd writing on the ceilings, but highlight of the day for Tom was clearly enjoying a pint (an actual pint! None of this 'schooner' or 'midi' shit!) of local ale in the pub. I bought yet another pair of Sennheiser CX300s and we had a mad curry with some fantastic indian treats after so we were both happy enough.
Perhaps its become obvious that Auckland holds not all that much to do, if you have already bungee jumped and don't feel like drinking. We realised that we'd spent most of the day wandering the length of Queen Street and K road and not much else - but what else was there? I was starting to understand why my friend Claire hated it so.
One redeeming feature was the 2 free drinks and free pizza (one EACH!) we got from the backpackers bar, but us being old and, you know, not dickheads, we had to leave at about 9 when the tackiness got too much.
Its always a sad time saying goodbye to the wonderful Tom, but I sit safe in the knowledge that I'll be seeing him at Glasto, no matter what his cynical mouth says, and that our fairly ludicrous travel paths will no doubt cross again before too long.
Tomorrow, to Wellington - and not a moment too soon!
* This may or may not be true.
I headed out to the free dnb and at just after midnight there were 12 people there. I stayed about 20 mins then snuck out.
Today I met up with Thomas, who had seen that I was flying into Auckland on Jan 5th and decided that was so cool that he'd do the same*. Tom is about to begin a madcap and somewhat underplanned trip through the length of New Zealand on a bike. As he didn't yet have maps, cooking gear, or in fact a bike, we shopped a little before heading out to the pier to catch a ferry to Devonport, which turns out to the one of the most boring towns in the world.
The flyer had such praises as "one of the world's most beautiful villages" and promised that on our tour we'd be taken to 2 inactive volcanoes; when Ray the octogenarian picked us and the rest of the grey brigade up his minivan I started to have my doubts.
No so much a tour as a moving Neighbourhood Watch meeting, Ray's van took us through the sleepy town, pointing out all the features of the houses, marveling at the windows and even pulling over at a couple of estate agent boards so we could wow ourselves with photos of the insides. He tutted at a house that had been neglected and so 'ruined the neighbourhood', told us of his previous night's fish supper ("We didn't batter it, no.") and even pointed out a man buying a loaf of bread. It was like a horrible harbinger of old age.
On the bright side, the trip did provide much unintentional hilarity and we found an underground, disused milarity thingy with a creepy atmosphere and wierd writing on the ceilings, but highlight of the day for Tom was clearly enjoying a pint (an actual pint! None of this 'schooner' or 'midi' shit!) of local ale in the pub. I bought yet another pair of Sennheiser CX300s and we had a mad curry with some fantastic indian treats after so we were both happy enough.
Perhaps its become obvious that Auckland holds not all that much to do, if you have already bungee jumped and don't feel like drinking. We realised that we'd spent most of the day wandering the length of Queen Street and K road and not much else - but what else was there? I was starting to understand why my friend Claire hated it so.
One redeeming feature was the 2 free drinks and free pizza (one EACH!) we got from the backpackers bar, but us being old and, you know, not dickheads, we had to leave at about 9 when the tackiness got too much.
Its always a sad time saying goodbye to the wonderful Tom, but I sit safe in the knowledge that I'll be seeing him at Glasto, no matter what his cynical mouth says, and that our fairly ludicrous travel paths will no doubt cross again before too long.
Tomorrow, to Wellington - and not a moment too soon!
* This may or may not be true.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
The land of the long white cloud and the big white sling
Aotearoa, or New Zealand, certainly made a sexy entrance into my life at 11am on January 5th. As we descended lower and lower over what seemed to be just an expanse of Pacific and I started to get a bit para about a crazy pilot or a faulty place GPS, the huge, straight, gorgeous coast of the North Island came into view and took my breath away. Turquoise glass gave way to white cliffs and crashing waves, which in turn gave way to green blankets and shimmering blue mirrors before we came to touch down. I was stunned.
Catching the bus into the city with my New kiwi mate Tor, I was stunned by the friendliness of, well, everyone. Smiley, at ease, chilled - I'd forgotten that people like this existed. I already liked it.
The night before in Sydney I'd managed to slice through my pinkie knuckle enough to expose bone and a lot of blood, and as I wandered around Auckland CBD I started to notice the blinding pain in my left hand; cutting off the bandage helped a little but an hour later, I was incapacitated and walking in the direction of the hospital.
Having been told by a kindly information lady that I would get free care there despite being British, I sat on the waiting room floor trying not to vomit everywhere and make a mess, holding my head in my hands and taking huge despairing breaths. They took pity - I was hurried through.
After some very welcome painkillers and a reduction of the massive swelling, it was decided that I'd not sawed through any ligaments or chipped any bones, but had been got by a nasty infection. The 3 doctors who crowded my room to make the decision were lovely, and along with my sling (for elevation) and anti-biotics (to make good) they threw in an overdue tetanus shot and some nice chats for good measure. The script only cost me $3, and I spent nothing else, not even on a drink. I was amazing and came out of the hospital practically skipping, though somewhat embarrassed by my be-slinged, pathetic arm which had been taken totally out of action by a cut not even an inch wide.
Body fail; NZ healthcare FTW!
Catching the bus into the city with my New kiwi mate Tor, I was stunned by the friendliness of, well, everyone. Smiley, at ease, chilled - I'd forgotten that people like this existed. I already liked it.
The night before in Sydney I'd managed to slice through my pinkie knuckle enough to expose bone and a lot of blood, and as I wandered around Auckland CBD I started to notice the blinding pain in my left hand; cutting off the bandage helped a little but an hour later, I was incapacitated and walking in the direction of the hospital.
Having been told by a kindly information lady that I would get free care there despite being British, I sat on the waiting room floor trying not to vomit everywhere and make a mess, holding my head in my hands and taking huge despairing breaths. They took pity - I was hurried through.
After some very welcome painkillers and a reduction of the massive swelling, it was decided that I'd not sawed through any ligaments or chipped any bones, but had been got by a nasty infection. The 3 doctors who crowded my room to make the decision were lovely, and along with my sling (for elevation) and anti-biotics (to make good) they threw in an overdue tetanus shot and some nice chats for good measure. The script only cost me $3, and I spent nothing else, not even on a drink. I was amazing and came out of the hospital practically skipping, though somewhat embarrassed by my be-slinged, pathetic arm which had been taken totally out of action by a cut not even an inch wide.
Body fail; NZ healthcare FTW!
Another goodbye
So finally my 14 month stint in Australia is up. This now annual torture of packing up my life, throwing half my shit away and saying au revoir to everyone I've come to love gets shitter every time, and leaving Aus was no exception.
It was a busy week or so beforehand leaving me totally unprepared. Upon getting back from Byron, Putin and I planned to go to the Peat's Ridge festival, as we had free tickets, our friends were playing and its a bit of a different new year's. We set off, bags packed, picnic cooked and festy hats firmly on and made it to Hornsby station, an hour's trip, to board the festival shuttle bus.
A while later I began to be suspicious about the lack of said bus.
Another little while later I could be seen sitting moodily by the side of the road eating the home-made nepalese daal, fuming over the information that the shuttle buses stop at 11.30 am, a good 3 hours ago. What's shuttley about that?
Being a good hour's drive away from the festival and carless we went home, getting picked up by our friend James. He snuck in Putin in the back of the van on a mattress and a litre of vodka in the engine.
After an interesting an fantastical first day, we spent NYE daytime trying not to melt in the 42-degree, humid, breeze-less heat. This mainly consisted of sitting in one of the tents drinking iced chai or standing angle deep in the murky river. After Putin almost boiled from the inside we decided it wasn't worth it, hitch hiked home and fell asleep at 11pm, and couldn't have been happier.
NYD brought a 17-hour drum & bass event which was sketchy in places, downright terrible in others but voerall fun thanks to the usual suspects, and brought itself up rapidly at the eveningtime with a great set from Camo & Krooked which narrowly took the crowd for best performance of the day away from Break.
Jan 2nd didn't slow down - a dubstep/d&b garden party featuring Nero (amazing), Sub Focus (great) and Chase & Status (good but ultimately left us feeling that there were past their best). The massively rammed crowd took on an amazing vibe as the rain came down and the feeling was pretty euphoric from everyone. Then Jan 3rd was my leaving party, an intimate BBQ that became a lets-take-the-soundsystem-down-to-the-park-and-have-10-DJs-play even which in turn turned into a oops-its-raining-everyone-back-to-James' house party. Having not sorted out anything I was fairly emotionally unengaged from the goodbyes and felt like I'd be seeing everyone in a couple of days.
Jan 4th then, and a day before flying, I had to pack up my whole life and deal with those boring things like bank accounts, phones, flights, organising and saying goodbye to my nearest and dearest. A few of the tight crew came around to say proper byes, and sitting amongst a mess of earrings, clothes, posters and all that other miscellanous but sentiment crap you gather over a year, it suddenly hit me, and it felt rubbish. Lou, David, Tom and Tim, I shall miss you guys so much, and of course the countless number of other amazing people who've made my life so wicked over the last year and a bit. It may be the right time to go but it doesn't get any easier.
I snuck out of the house at 3am, jumping into a cab and saying adios Australia, and goodnight.
It was a busy week or so beforehand leaving me totally unprepared. Upon getting back from Byron, Putin and I planned to go to the Peat's Ridge festival, as we had free tickets, our friends were playing and its a bit of a different new year's. We set off, bags packed, picnic cooked and festy hats firmly on and made it to Hornsby station, an hour's trip, to board the festival shuttle bus.
A while later I began to be suspicious about the lack of said bus.
Another little while later I could be seen sitting moodily by the side of the road eating the home-made nepalese daal, fuming over the information that the shuttle buses stop at 11.30 am, a good 3 hours ago. What's shuttley about that?
Being a good hour's drive away from the festival and carless we went home, getting picked up by our friend James. He snuck in Putin in the back of the van on a mattress and a litre of vodka in the engine.
After an interesting an fantastical first day, we spent NYE daytime trying not to melt in the 42-degree, humid, breeze-less heat. This mainly consisted of sitting in one of the tents drinking iced chai or standing angle deep in the murky river. After Putin almost boiled from the inside we decided it wasn't worth it, hitch hiked home and fell asleep at 11pm, and couldn't have been happier.
NYD brought a 17-hour drum & bass event which was sketchy in places, downright terrible in others but voerall fun thanks to the usual suspects, and brought itself up rapidly at the eveningtime with a great set from Camo & Krooked which narrowly took the crowd for best performance of the day away from Break.
Jan 2nd didn't slow down - a dubstep/d&b garden party featuring Nero (amazing), Sub Focus (great) and Chase & Status (good but ultimately left us feeling that there were past their best). The massively rammed crowd took on an amazing vibe as the rain came down and the feeling was pretty euphoric from everyone. Then Jan 3rd was my leaving party, an intimate BBQ that became a lets-take-the-soundsystem-down-to-the-park-and-have-10-DJs-play even which in turn turned into a oops-its-raining-everyone-back-to-James' house party. Having not sorted out anything I was fairly emotionally unengaged from the goodbyes and felt like I'd be seeing everyone in a couple of days.
Jan 4th then, and a day before flying, I had to pack up my whole life and deal with those boring things like bank accounts, phones, flights, organising and saying goodbye to my nearest and dearest. A few of the tight crew came around to say proper byes, and sitting amongst a mess of earrings, clothes, posters and all that other miscellanous but sentiment crap you gather over a year, it suddenly hit me, and it felt rubbish. Lou, David, Tom and Tim, I shall miss you guys so much, and of course the countless number of other amazing people who've made my life so wicked over the last year and a bit. It may be the right time to go but it doesn't get any easier.
I snuck out of the house at 3am, jumping into a cab and saying adios Australia, and goodnight.
Another goodbye
So finally my 14 month stint in Australia is up. This now annual torture of packing up my life, throwing half my shit away and saying au revoir to everyone I've come to love gets shitter every time, and leaving Aus was no exception.
It was a busy week or so beforehand leaving me totally unprepared. Upon getting back from Byron, Putin and I planned to go to the Peat's Ridge festival, as we had free tickets, our friends were playing and its a bit of a different new year's. We set off, bags packed, picnic cooked and festy hats firmly on and made it to Hornsby station, an hour's trip, to board the festival shuttle bus.
A while later I began to be suspicious about the lack of said bus.
Another little while later I could be seen sitting moodily by the side of the road eating the home-made nepalese daal, fuming over the information that the shuttle buses stop at 11.30 am, a good 3 hours ago. What's shuttley about that?
Being a good hour's drive away from the festival and carless we went home, getting picked up by our friend James. He snuck in Putin in the back of the van on a mattress and a litre of vodka in the engine.
After an interesting an fantastical first day, we spent NYE daytime trying not to melt in the 42-degree, humid, breeze-less heat. This mainly consisted of sitting in one of the tents drinking iced chai or standing angle deep in the murky river. After Putin almost boiled from the inside we decided it wasn't worth it, hitch hiked home and fell asleep at 11pm, and couldn't have been happier.
NYD brought a 17-hour drum & bass event which was sketchy in places, downright terrible in others but voerall fun thanks to the usual suspects, and brought itself up rapidly at the eveningtime with a great set from Camo & Krooked which narrowly took the crowd for best performance of the day away from Break.
Jan 2nd didn't slow down - a dubstep/d&b garden party featuring Nero (amazing), Sub Focus (great) and Chase & Status (good but ultimately left us feeling that there were past their best). The massively rammed crowd took on an amazing vibe as the rain came down and the feeling was pretty euphoric from everyone. Then Jan 3rd was my leaving party, an intimate BBQ that became a lets-take-the-soundsystem-down-to-the-park-and-have-10-DJs-play even which in turn turned into a oops-its-raining-everyone-back-to-James' house party. Having not sorted out anything I was fairly emotionally unengaged from the goodbyes and felt like I'd be seeing everyone in a couple of days.
Jan 4th then, and a day before flying, I had to pack up my whole life and deal with those boring things like bank accounts, phones, flights, organising and saying goodbye to my nearest and dearest. A few of the tight crew came around to say proper byes, and sitting amongst a mess of earrings, clothes, posters and all that other miscellanous but sentiment crap you gather over a year, it suddenly hit me, and it felt rubbish. Lou, David, Tom and Tim, I shall miss you guys so much, and of course the countless number of other amazing people who've made my life so wicked over the last year and a bit. It may be the right time to go but it doesn't get any easier.
I snuck out of the house at 3am, jumping into a cab and saying adios Australia, and goodnight.
Links
If you're reading this you're obviously interested in travel, travel writing, or me. I doubt its the latter, so here are some great websites to check out from some of my brilliant friends.
Tom Anderson's travelblog
Phil Handley's photography website - check out the travel photos especially.
Jeanie's brother's site about cycling from Singapore to France. Amazing!
Tom Anderson's travelblog
Phil Handley's photography website - check out the travel photos especially.
Jeanie's brother's site about cycling from Singapore to France. Amazing!
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