Originally written 19 May.
Three noteworthy people have transited my life in the last 24 hours. How much of some one’s personality can you consume in 20 minutes?
Michael is a hair stylist who cut my hair in Manchester. Covered in tattoos of stars his icebreaker was his astonishment over a shop assistance in Armani who directed him to buy a bag from T K Max. I guess I can relate to that, sure. He had a shaved head (for some reason this is popular in Manchester) and a thick ______ accent (I have no idea of the name), so over the buzz of the hair clippers around my ears I had to concentrate very hard to provide the other half of the conversation. There were still comments met by my clueless smile and robotic nod. I guess for me Michael represented a traveled Brit who was not from London – the importance of this was highlighted by the third profile in this journal entry. We discussed how our countries regard travel (there really isn’t that much of a difference between the two), such as how disposable Bali is to Australia, and of the UK’s many European equivalents that provide a very whitewashed holiday experience. Travel is the main thing on my mind, and hairdressers are so adaptable to conversation, we probably could have talked about anything.
Jason was the quintessential Australian backpacker I found chatting (up/to?) my sister in the hostel kitchen. Flip flops, board shorts, and a few months of facial hair. I always hesitate using the words ‘bogan’ and ‘dero’ towards Australian backpackers because they receive some credit for actually getting out of the country and into the world. Jason’s world was ticking off European cities and finding the cheapest alcohol in each. He was drinking a Strongbow and asked my sister if she could cut his hair. This was his second trip to Europe and had no interest in seeing other parts of the world. He was really friendly and energetic and loved giving travel advice and left the kitchen with as much energy to have a smoke.
The quirky nameless British lady we met in the line to check into the Dublin ferry. Orange tinted glasses, floral patterns on multiple items of clothing, she had lived in Australia for a few years (Alice Springs of all places) and loved to discuss cultural difference. Aussies overseas love to start their sentences with “In Australia…” so the conversation flowed without effort. She was full of advice, of which stuck with me the most – London is not England. Europeans have no sense of traveling distance when compared to driving across outback Australia, the smallest towns in the UK make the best tourist destinations. She used to be an opera singer. We never did find out where she was from, or why she was going to Dublin. In a few weeks however, she was moving to the US.
When you journal your travels, a lot of the experience is visualised as a fictional narrative. These are some of the characters in my journey.
Posted from Dublin, Dublin City, Ireland.
Originally written 19 May 2010.
Two nights in Manchester and admittedly, I hadn’t shaken my nonchalant attitude towards traveling. Hoping the fact I’ve lived in London for six months and only so far visited other UK cities is the cause. Being a blase traveler would be really robotic, but so far I’m not really in the euphoric traveler state of mind yet. Show me something new, big and revolutionary. I’m generation Y and get bored quickly.
Unfortunately Manchester didn’t help me out in that regard. In livability terms it seems great and I probably should have settled there instead of London. For the backpacker arriving mid week in the off season, not that much to take advantage of. Or perhaps I was in a nonchalant slump and didn’t look hard enough.
Apparently Manchester is the gay capital of Europe, apparently. Apparently Canal Street is where it’s at, apparently. And I write with way too much cynicism, apparently. But yeah I was let down. I don’t really know what I was expecting, but something with more depth than a narrow lane next to a tiny canal line with clones of the Court Hotel. The shallow water level reflected the hollowness of its neighbouring venues. Rhianna blaring to an empty dance floor flooded with cheap, tacky disco balls. For the gay capital of Europe. Please. I’m generation Y and require a shred of substance and a slight variation on the gay bars I was visiting five years ago.
I write with such passive aggressiveness, but really Manchester didn’t do me any harm. I’ve ticked it off, heard some new accents, and got a little bit out of it. My mind is elsewhere however, looking forward to small remote towns, and just about everywhere in Ireland. Perhaps I’m not just over London but over all English cities.
Posted from Dublin, Dublin City, Ireland.
Originally written 17 May 2010.
There’s been a gap in my traveling life over the last week while I sort, repackage and distribute my life back in reality so it can be shipped cross continent and be frozen, awaiting my return. But I’d rather not think about that right now. Getting out of London is just as hard as getting settled there, and it’s a true testament to the ferocity of the city that I was stressed to my very threshold until the very end of my time there. Moving from resident to tourist hasn’t seemed to have changed my views on the place so perhaps I’ll revisit my opinions later down the track.
In the next leg of my travels it’s time to experience the rest of the United Kingdom. Bristol was described to me as “the Mandurah of London” and the complexities of life certainly are taken down a level. But it was still interesting getting a taste of a British town that hasn’t been pulled, teared, boiled and sooted on in the way London has. It’s not an immediate tourist destination, rather a university town. As I discovered it’s also a centre for the youth of the countryside to act out their sins on a Saturday night, away from the omnipotent eyes of their home town’s residents, I’m guessing. Visually the city is nothing unique over other British urban centres, but the ‘quiet factor’ was somewhat refreshing. Although watching all the shops in town close down at 5pm on a Sunday was very eerie after coming from the buzz and convenience of London. The weekend night life was centralised, student oriented and really reminded me of Perth – for the fact that the streets would spill out with inebriated teens, vomit and abandoned Primark shoes.
Through one of those natural bonding moments you find happening daily in youth hostels we ended up having weekend drinks with a troupe of English language students from Italy, Switzerland, Sweden and Saudi Arabia – courtesy of my sister’s dorm mates. (My dorm mates however, were introverted single travelers in transit who could only express a “hey”.) Everyone in the group was mindful of the world and had a genuine interest in other countries, which made the night that much more fun. Meanwhile the locals, or rather the regional lads and lasses, wrestled with their own slopping waltz of alcohol, overmodulated noise, braincell count and the cold scratchy pavement.
How ironic that backpackers travel the world to experience other cultures but spend their time with people from unrelated parts of the world, who share their apparent interest but never actually interact with true locals. It’s like the first steps towards expatriation.
Our time in Bristol included a trip to nearby Bath. It’s touristy, a little expensive, but a nice little slice of Roman influenced British countryside. The centre attraction is the ruins of an old Roman bath house and temple, and the remainder of the town is mostly built from sandstone, which gives it a clean and preserved look. I can’t really elaborate on the sights because I have actually been there before, but a nice day out anyway. Apparently there was a coffee festival, but no luck finding it.
Posted from Dublin, Dublin City, Ireland.
Originally written 5 May 2010.
This Saturday past I inadvertently became part of an immigration protest in the heart of New York. Expressing values in such a loud, public and forthright way is so typically American, but it was the passion, unity and intelligent discussion that defined it as a New York display. My week in this city has completely redefined my views on cosmopolitan living. Never have I experienced such a contrast of urban expansion held together by a common community spirit. Surely these forces would serve to seperate lives? As each distinctive neighbourhood rolls on into the next, it is tolerance and a friendly attitude sealing the fluid construction of the city. Its running is electric, and every time I saw a local ask a stranger for directions as if they were good friends, every time I said thank you and it was met with “you’re welcome”, the times I accidentally bumped into some one, apologised and was then complimented on my wardrobe (twice), and the witnessed road rage incident quelled within minutse by a troupe of reactive residents; these routine incidents drew a smile from me.
Standing amongst the protest crowd I was holding the fascade of being a New York resident, something that become increasingly enticing over the week. To be in amongst this diversity of exchange was addictive. I wonder why this hasn’t been apparent to me in London? It seems so stale in comparison to New York. British complacency the last thing on my mind, I was actually worried about my tourist status being discovered, so I dared not open my mouth. Australian accents seem to grate and ricochet around foreign ears. My stereotypical views of Americans already being rewritten by the protest group, my respect for New Yorkers took a lightening step as they collectively cringed upon hearing “U-S-A” being changed by a rival group across the road. It mirrored the patriotic cynicism within me that comes out every Australia Day. It may have been superficial tourist glow, but right then, siliently within the crowd, I felt united with the city. That is really what makes New York such an appealing place.
When you lift above the corner blocks of Manhattan, into the wider American media and political landscape, is when the US stereotypes so common in the minds of the rest of the world become apparent. While New Yorkers had briskly accepted and moved on from a potential Times Square bombing, CNN had rolling coverage of impending terror, interspersed with ads preying on fear. Fear of not having flood insurance, fear of dying without this asthma medication, fear of losing money if you don’t use this attorney. Fear of not reaching a sketchy and poorly defined ideal. It sat in the hostel living room not really believing what I was watching. CNN’s ‘random moment of the day’ was footage of a man being tasered on a baseball field without context. I’d rather be back in Union Square with the actual essence of America’s charm. It’s something I want to see more of, and not just within their country’s borders.
Posted from Dublin, Dublin City, Ireland.
Libra (Sept. 23-Oct. 22)
There was a time when you could eat anything you wanted and wear whatever you found lying around and still look good. (Some call it youth.) Nowadays it takes a little bit more effort to be at your sexiest. That’s okay. This is just one of the more obvious and concrete examples of what happens when you move into a different chapter of life. The story continues! Although it’s perfectly okay to think fondly of those supposedly carefree days, it’s important that most of your head is in the game that’s happening right now. Be where you’re at.
Posted from London, England, United Kingdom.