Yeah so I went from here to here, popped into here and swung by there before I took a train over there to catch a plane here. Sounds easy. Simple. A cinch? It’s not. Continue reading ‘The Reprint: ‘Boulevards of Blur’’
Archive for October, 2008
Tall. Chic. Shifty. Schoolgirl. Metro. Tourist. Tourist. Schoolgirl. Scruffy. Shady. Beautiful. Dazed. Tired. Schoolboy. Plain. Thoughtful. Chirpy. Geeky. Trendy. Slick. Macho. Emo. Lonely. Engrossed. High? Self-important. Slim. Vain. Schoolboy. Weathered. Pasty. Tourist. Sleek. Smiley. Weird. Tradie. Queasy. Agitated. Flash. Kind. Cute. Snooty. Troubled. Schoolgirl. Schoolboy. “The next train to arrive at platform one, will be the seven thirty-nine service to Flinders Street. Please validate your Metcard before you travel”. The train effortlessly wipes the platform clean, renewing its concrete grey expression as if those people across the track were simple strokes of chalk upon my day. Before long, the relentless drip-drip-drip of somebody’s waltzing up the station ramp replenish my boyish fascination. Exhausted. Annoyed. Schoolboy. Clueless. Petite. Tourist. Terrorist? Obese. Joyous. Nonchalant. Casual. Classy. “The next train to arrive at platform two will be the seven forty-six service to Sandringham”. My own call to vanish. Continue reading ‘Strokes for Folks’
They peek at you, leap at you, and creep up on you to squeak at you. Some of them reek, while some of them leak but every one of them leaves you feeling - you guessed it - weak. They are the children of The Trail and collectively, they’re probably the biggest curiosity in my life. Continue reading ‘The Reprint: ‘The Little People’’
This week, The Reprint showcases the most unlikely insertion (pun intended) of words you could possibly imagine in a Lonely Planet Phrasebook. Continue reading ‘The Reprint: ‘Mandarin Moves’’
It’s a question I ask myself. It’s a question others ask me. It’s more simple than ‘where are you going?’ but more complicated than ‘where have you been?’ It’s a question I welcome, and fail to avoid. If I were asked ‘how long to go?’ I’d be, well, I’d be, you know, well I’d be - maybe I would anyway - you know, stuck for words, so it’s good that ‘how long?’ isn’t the question. I’ve been asked this question while I’ve slept. I’ve been asked it while I’ve been deep under water and far up in the sky. I’ve been asked it in a foreign tongue, and sensed it asked through silent eyes. I’ve discussed the question with a thousand people, and the only answer I agree with is my own and when I’ve asked others this question, I’m usually left confused. The question, is why. Why, do I travel? Continue reading ‘A Bedouin Breakfast’
Moscow was my first stop on The Trail, so it’s fitting that I start with a shot from this city for my new weekly feature, The Reprint. The feature will showcase some of my favorite shots from the journey thus far, giving you a glimpse of life on the road. Continue reading ‘The Reprint: ‘Amen to Tourism’’
Beep beep, beep beep. Auto snooze - nine more minutes. Beep beep, beep beep. Slide out of bed, kiss her cheek, and grab a towel. Turn the shower on, brush my teeth, and take a leak. Step into the shower, soak my hair through, sud the armpits, groin and face. Rinse off and grab the towel. Left leg, right leg, head, chest, arms, and back. Walk to the kitchen, and pop the kettle on. Pour some cereal, cover in milk and slowly eat. Twenty minutes to go. Finish eating. Find some clean pants, then some socks, then a shirt and bring it all together with some trousers. Grab some fruit. Twelve minutes to go. Shoes on. Sweep hand through hair. One more kiss, and click the door to. Arrive at tram stop four minutes early. Ride the tram to the train station and wait for eight minutes before riding the train for twenty minutes. Wait ten minutes for bus, then ride it for five minutes. Walk two minutes to work. Work nine hours. Walk two minutes to bus, ride five minutes to wait ten minutes for train to ride twenty minutes to wait five minutes for tram to ride ten minutes to leave an eight minute walk. Open door, pop the kettle on, kiss the girlfriend. Go to sleep. Beep beep, beep beep. Auto snooze - nine more minutes. Continue reading ‘The Week I Warped’
