Trail of Ants

The Reprint: ‘The Victor’

Ant — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 12:25:40 +0000

“You miserable, mangey, manky maggot! I bloody kill you! How dare you come into my restaurant and make such demands of me! Beg! Beg for mercy you flake of feeble fuzz. I’ll crush you with my clenched palm and smear you over the window with my elbow. Now, run! RUN! What you still here for? RUN!“ (more…)

The Big Shift

Ant — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 12:14:57 +0000

Tramlines score the roads of Melbourne; thin white loaf tins heaving her people between the suburbs. During the morning commute I observe Melbourne’s schoolboys with gusto. Their uniforms are so far from kool, I feel embarrassed for them. Ill-fitting blazers hang off their ink-stained wrists, while a flash of knobbly pale knees peek out between their oh-so-boring socks and shorts. They gather like identical grey rainclouds, each given a dull dollop of curls to swirl above a pair of pinpoint eyes that ride the river of childhood over the bridge of their noses between the pools of pink cheeks. There are countless other characters and clans that board these trams; I think up a manuscript almost daily from those short thrusts along the trolley’s grooves, then as I skip down the short steps I become hijacked by some other scene. (more…)

The Reprint: ‘Me Ol’ China Plate’

Ant — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 11:27:40 +0000

Have you ever hitchhiked via tractor to a faraway mountain village in rural China, to dine on warm bee larvae and pollute the local culture with their first experience of iPods, Dire Straits and Jack Daniels? (more…)

The Incidental Artist

Ant — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 10:35:56 +0000

She sits atop a stool. Her plump figure appearing not unlike a pumpkin, ripe for pumpkin things. Like pie. Like Hallowe’en. Like my favourite risotto. Her heels clasp the bar, forming a makeshift desk with her hearty knees. She hunches, allowing her short dark hair to tunnel her vision through her simple glasses and onto her latest piece. Her round fingers grip a skinny biro whose sticky blue nose is buried in her scrapbook. She circles, stripes and speckles with that pen, so engrossed is Emily that she has no idea I have shunned the gallery of works around me. She’s dressed in security togs. White shirt. Navy blazer. Sensible shoes. She’s supposed to be watching me! The reason I watch her for this twenty second show, is because I realise Emily is the art. She’s animated. Real. It’s when I lay this over my life, that I realise Emily is why I travel. To see and meet my life’s artists, and to frame them how I choose. (more…)

The Reprint: ‘Boulevards of Blur’

Ant — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 03:57:48 +0000

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. (more…)

Strokes for Folks

Ant — Sat, 25 Oct 2008 01:00:04 +0000

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. (more…)

The Reprint: ‘The Little People’

Ant — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 01:00:30 +0000

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. (more…)

The Reprint: ‘Mandarin Moves’

Ant — Wed, 15 Oct 2008 11:00:07 +0000

This week, The Reprint showcases the most unlikely insertion (pun intended) of words you could possibly imagine in a Lonely Planet Phrasebook. (more…)

A Bedouin Breakfast

Ant — Sun, 12 Oct 2008 13:22:46 +0000

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? (more…)

The Reprint: ‘Amen to Tourism’

Ant — Wed, 08 Oct 2008 11:00:29 +0000

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. (more…)