There is a phenomenon that has crept into everyday Melbourne life and taken the city surprisingly by storm. You can breathe a sigh of relief that, upon confirmation from my London buddies, it appears that this saga is yet to have made it’s way over to England and remains a token issue purely for the Aussies around the Melbourne vicinity.
The last outbreak was a few decades ago however this new wave is now almost impossible to avoid and once spotted leaves you with deep mental scarring. Experts have informed me that it requires just one exposure to this situation for the victim to be severely confused by what year we reside in, often assuming that time has reverted back to the 1970’s. Once in this state, there is no going back and certainly no cure for the desire that leads you to shop in second-hand shops, wear silly glasses and immerse yourself in the strange world that this situation occupies. Unfortunately the mysterious growth that I am referring to has been reported as closely tied to the Northern areas of the city with speculation that it originated in a hipster coffee shop, that naturally is so cool it has no name. Residing in Brunswick, it is only a matter of time before I encounter the phenomenon myself and I strongly urge everyone to stay away or risk exposure. There are some tell-tale signs that can be noted as forewarning before an imminent crisis that everyone should be wary of. Firstly Fitzroy, Brunswick and Northcote are high-risk areas, any organic and vegan shops should be entered at your own risk and the number of bars and unusual clubs that line Fitzroy should be visited cautiously - especially Gasometer. Alongside the growth, victims will usually be sporting small 90’s glasses, perhaps a turtle neck or some wavey designer brands and a study has shown that almost 90% can be located in a smoking area drinking craft beer - as it calms symptoms. What is this growth I hear you ask? What have the Australians developed and is there any cure? This phenomenon that is taking the city by storm is 'The Mullet'. And although you thought you'd seen the last of it from a picture of your dad back in the day, I don’t think the hairstyle is disappearing anytime soon.
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Finding farm work and being arrogant about it.
It goes without doubt that you should expect setbacks when it comes to travelling and I have just experienced a major one myself. The farm work that I had so meticulously planned to allow for both the adventure of travelling the circumference of the country whilst also earning money and qualifying for my visa has completely and utterly fallen through. Long story short, I now join the majority of backpackers who are in the dark about where to look and who to contact to secure farm work. The conundrum that faces me is the need to continue to earn and save a decent wage whilst also completing my 3 months of work. However at the same time I am realising that my English degree (which I spent 3 years slaving over) didn’t teach me any of the required farming skills and I am thus left severely under qualified to join farm employment. This doesn’t however mean that the opportunities are not there for the taking. In the last few days a number of travellers have linked me with contact details for farms that hire backpackers for fruit picking jobs. The majority of these roles are tied to hostels that find the work for you as you live - for the extortionate fee of $200 pw - in ten person dorms. Though I am under qualified, having worked since I was 14 in an array of jobs I have also developed an air of arrogance about the work that I think I am worthy of doing, and I’ll be damned if I take the easy option, join the majority of backpackers at these labour camps and spend 3 months picking strawberries. Not only can I do better than that, if I am to commit 3 months of my life to an unusual job, I may aswell find one that I can atleast learn something interesting in. And so the hunt begins. To start with I narrowed my options down and got creative. As Melbourne eases into winter which on some days can mirror England, I began searching for a position in the warmer northerly state of Queensland. Alongside the Great Barrier Reef and geographically close to Indonesia and Papua New Guinea, the state welcomes a tropical and humid climate with rain forests and an abundance of tropical fruit farms. Acknowledging that Gumtree, Seek and the other generic search engines would be full to the brim with job-hunting backpackers alike, I also quickly realised that in order to secure a fun and interesting position I would need to think outside the box. I began by googling Camel Farms. And after a long search lined up an array of farms, wrote my appeal and contacted them each directly through their email. Then I contacted the Ostrich farms and even a Crocodile farm - because why the hell not. From there I began reaching out to mango and avocado farms, a boat that dives for pearls and any other obscure and unusually interesting position I could find. Finally I contacted cowboys, or the businesses that run cow herding through the outback and pitched my argument to them as well. With each email I established myself as an athletic young English speaker who recently came from climbing mountains in the Himalayas and grew up in rural England surrounded by farms (which is ever so slightly true as you can see the Pennines from my Manchester terrace house). In a last ditch attempt I also contacted a number of magazines and newspapers that specify in writing on ‘The Outback’ and asked if I could write for them about my farm work in exchange for them providing me with contacts for reputable farms. With each response I received, often declining, I pushed further and asked if they did know any farms they could refer me to, leaving me in the current limbo position of waiting for my perfect farm job to arise. The saying Go Big or Go Home stuck in my mind when it came to my search, and still remains my key guideline as the responses flood in. The main factor that I can play with here is that I have given myself ample time to find the right job and arrange my travel there. Unlike the majority of travellers who leave their farm work till the last 3 months of their visa, I am only 5 months in and carefully developing contacts in order to secure the perfect position - even if I may have had to exaggerate my previous working experience. Through such careful planning, I will hope to eliminate the chances of falling into a terrible farm and avoid the exploitation that you often hear on the traveller route - the kind of exploitation that leaves you so desperate that you put up with it. Day by day, the lust for adventure increasingly creeps back into my mind. And as I endure a job that I no longer enjoy in the city and spend my wages on partying at weekends, it takes just one look at my travelling pictures to send me reeling back into the idealistic mindset that had me climbing mountains, breathing fresh air and not checking social media for days on end. Melbourne had ensnared me (and still is) although I know that all it takes is my inner strength to tear myself away again. It is through my idealistic and optimistic vision of my time in rural Australia that has sent me on this wild sheep chase in job hunting - I can’t wait to see what I end up doing. Melbourne's Day Parties
In the world of the 9 to 5 worker, Sundays are the day of rest. You might enjoy a lie-in and spend the day recovering from your Saturday night antics, whilst leaving the evening to relax and cook hearty food as you mentally prepare for your dreary Monday morning commute. In the world of the 9 to 5 worker the party is over as you anticipate the week ahead and face the reality that you’ll be working later than 5pm most evenings anyway. But of course in the realm of the creatives/fully trained bartenders here in Melbourne, we don’t follow that routine. We may work late nights and have less of a structure in our weeks, but we do religiously allocate Sunday as our time to let our hair down. Enter Daydreams. In a small unassuming venue called The Gasometer, a line circles around the block as people eagerly await to gain entry to this party. With a retractable roof, you can hear the music happening and as it’s only 5pm you can even catch a warm evening ray or two from the dance floor. Locally run Daydreams is a free day party that offers some of the best Melbourne DJs into the early hours of Monday morning. The eclectic crowd welcomes all into the fold and whilst on the dancefloor you can spot an array of interesting fashion trends that can allude to anything from 90’s Hacienda to an 80’s disco floor and certainly beyond. This Sunday I even spotted a guy questionably wearing nothing but briefs and trainers as he raved away in the evening sun. We spend most Sunday afternoons here. Listening to good music, pushing past crowds of people and weaving our way in and out of the hidden staircases that you can find in the venue. A mist of water sprays over the crowd and jugs of beer are $12 ensuring that the dancers keep cool and also hydrated. Hungry? They have that covered too and as the headliners take to the decks you can take a break from drinking to enjoy some tacos. The best thing about Daydreams is that anything goes. You will not be judged on what clothes you turn up in (I say the more outrageous your expression the better) and the chances are you will bump into the series of regulars attending the Gasometer every week. Did I also mention it is free entry? Though there are cheap drinks and good music, this place is also yet to be ruined by the handbag techno hipsters who are desperately trying to blend in with Melbourne’s cool kids. The trick is to make sure to arrive before 6pm however because once the queue begins outside, it is very impossible to get into the venue due to its popularity. And so as you order pints on a late Saturday night and feel a little sorry for the bartender having to work into the early hours, or buy some clothes and smile as the retail assistant comments from behind the till how nice the weather looks outside, just know that Sundays in Melbourne aren’t for the faint-hearted. We’re the party goers who make the party, keep Sundays alive and spend our Mondays hungover. The labour day weekend in Melbourne was a pretty big experience (even though I’ve never experienced this public holiday before). With Monday being a bank holiday, many left the city to enjoy their extended weekends at the beach or in the mountains and of course I wasn’t about to miss that boat. This weekend was also home to three large music festivals around Victoria and on Friday as the freeways filled with weekend getaway traffic, we slowly made our way to Golden Plains Festival.
This two day event is situated a quick 2 hour drive away in a sleepy town called Meredith. The rural and picturesque spot is home to vast rolling hills and a natural amphitheatre that overlooks the Victorian countryside. Dozens of enormous wind turbines sit on the skyline adding to the peaceful vibe of the landscape that was about to be met by thousands of party goers and live acts. Although it took us almost double the time to reach our destination, with an ice cooler full of beer, we were ready to greet the long weekend and excited to see some pretty well known artists at my first australian music festival. Given the large distances and lack of public transport across the Australian countryside, the key difference between UK festivals and the Australian counterpart is that everyone can bring their car right into the festival grounds and use their vehicle as the campsite. Unlike Glastonbury or Leeds, with only one large music stage we tactically parked at the top of the hill that overlooked the performance area, grabbed a beer, turned up the speakers and settled in for the long weekend. Things quickly became even stranger as the campers began to roll in. Alongside the numerous crates of beer and camping equipment that cars carried, majority also towed in their living room sofas. Much to my surprise the household features were then unloaded and carried to the main stage leaving the hill dotted in hundreds of comfortable seats for groups to enjoy. As the music began on the first day and camp set-up was completed, many took to the hill to watch over the performances in the hot midday sun. Luckily the performance area is also lined with a number of trees so shade was plentiful at the only music stage and of course the rest of the afternoon and evening quickly turned into a blur as the music became louder and the acts became larger. With little sleep and a heavy head the entire campsite was up and awake by 8 am the next morning. This wasn’t surprising due to the scorching Australian sun making it near impossible to sleep in your oven-like tent as soon as the heat struck. And so, we were up and enjoying cool beers once again before the clock hit 9 am. The second day was naturally also a wonderful blur and as the night neared into a morning sunrise to the sound of bands such as The Specials and Neil Finn, and the hedonistic crowd danced in glittery costumes, the festival neared it’s end with the final act concluding at 7 am. By Monday the exhaustion and sunburn had taken its toll, and after spending an hour jump starting the car battery it was reluctantly time to wave goodbye to the festival lifestyle and greet civilisation again. Breathing (literally) a sigh of relief as we drove past a police van breath testing drivers, two hours later we were back in the city and straight to bed before mentally preparing to greet the next day in work with fond and hazy memories of the extended weekend. The alarm rings. Snooze. Times two. Times three.
The inner monologue stirs, ‘today’s going to be a sunny day’ and you pry open your eyes to the darkness of the surrounding windowless room. Your body is as tired as it was the night before, perhaps even more. A few stretches and bare foot you stumble into the daylight of the living room, past the piles of dirty dishes in the makeshift kitchen and into the bathroom. The harsh white light of the space revives something in you, energises you to greet the day in a way that only a splash of cold water to the face can do. And like a hypnotist might say, you’re back in the room. Apply the face, brush your hair - no don’t brush your hair (the look you were going for was ‘I don’t care’ anyway). Venture into the makeshift kitchen, avoid the dirty plates - they can wait - and reach for the elixir of the morning. The fresh drip drip of coffee fills your nose and barefoot you walk on the cold cement floor to the corrugated door that sits between you - and the day. Pry it open with a rattle, breathe the cool air, take a seat, light a cigarette, look out at the bright blue shade of the sky. Between sips of warm coffee and cool smoky cigarette air you cast your gaze onto the empty street and listen to the distant sounds of cars on their daily grind. And then it happens. Suddenly the cool morning sun breathes its first warm breath and it hits your face as you sit blissfully unaware of what today might unfold. You close your eyes and feel alive. Melbourne's Secret Beaches
This week marks the beginning of Autumn here in Melbourne. Although the residents are trying to soak up the last of the summer sun, you can certainly feel a change in the air as the anticipation of winter is upon us. The city itself couldn’t possibly be more British when it comes to its weather, and with the typical Melbournian joke suggesting there are ‘4 seasons in a day’ here I will certainly need to admit defeat and buy a coat eventually - or move North. Nonetheless one of the last summer scorchers left me longing for the beach, but one that I haven’t been to before. Reluctant to succumb to the local southside beaches that have no waves and too many British backpackers I was left wondering where to plan my escape to. Looking on the map I chose the furthest possible beach that exists in the bay, packed my bag and embarked. My destination was Portsea. This sleepy seaside town is located right at the edge of Port Phillip Bay and is far away enough for me to be certain I wouldn’t bump into anyone I know there. The only catch is that the only method that allows you to get there is a train that circulates the entire length of the bay. I didn’t quite prepare myself for how long this train journey would take yet as the carriage rolled out of the city and into the suburbs, the changing window views at least made for an interesting background. It took two hours to reach Frankston (which I can only describe as the Australian equivalent of Ashton Town Centre / flailing business / chavs / general negative ambience) and then another hour on a local bus to finally reach the end of the road. The further we travelled, the more picturesque the scene became and by the time we reached the end we were literally travelling along the side of a pristine seaside overlooking the bay. With Melbourne City looming in a haze of warm smog in the far distance we now embarked off road to explore the peak of the bay. On the map this area is simply green and relatively uninhabited and our idea of adventure urged us on. Meandering around dirt tracks and in and out of bush land we quickly got lost - not a beach in sight. Suspicious signs revealed that this used to be an old training ground for soldiers and warned us not to stray from the path due to unexploded artillery (great!) and we pushed on. After what felt like hours we finally found a tower and reaching the top we unexpectedly discovered the most spectacular scenery imaginable. Ascending the stairs and embracing the sea breeze, you quickly become aware you are surrounded by ocean. On one side quietly sits Port Phillip Bay and it’s calm waters whilst on the other side is the dark blue Bass Strait with roaring waves revealing that it’s the true ocean - the contrast is astounding, especially as you watch huge ships sail through the tiny entrance into the bay. As the sun beat down and we continued to wander through vast bushland it was quickly assumed that we might not find a beach afterall (especially when on second glance we noticed that a beach wasn’t even drawn on the map). Yet as we pushed through the bushes and the path narrowed we began to hear waves closer and closer once again. I was having flashbacks of the Nepali jungle at this point - and almost about to turn back when I finally pushed through some shrubbery and was blinded by brilliant white sand. I stood amazed. In front of me was a vast beach with pristine white sand, turquoise water and not a person in sight. It was as if we’d discovered our own little paradise, our own island that was totally untouched by the rest of Melbourne civilisation. There weren’t even any footprints on the sand. Like a scene out of ‘The Beach’ we ran around in complete excitement and spent the afternoon exploring the untouched beach. I didn’t see a person all day. With golden sand between our toes we walked along the beach for hours as the sun began to set - and with still no people - we stumbled upon beautiful cliffsides with completely unassuming historic arches carved into them (and I have no idea what they were for)! Pushing on we were then met with eerie looking wooden army barracks, all with creepy abandoned rooms. As we ran around the empty barracks I couldn’t have felt further away from the busy Melbourne city and as the sun began to set on our very own private beach, I was reminded how many secrets a city has to offer - if you are willing to find them. At the same time however the entire day felt unusual and secretive, and the suspicious streak in me wondered whether some military practices don’t still occur there, or why the beach wasn't even on the map (I suppose I'd want to keep this beautiful beach secret too). Either way with one bus an hour back from Portsea town we decided it was about time to find our way back to civilisation and after an hour of retracing steps through bushland we finally made it to a road, onto a bus and en route to Melbourne. At the point I was reminded why this beach is so untouched - maybe it has something to do with a 4 hour journey from the city. |
Tamara DavisonNepal, China, Malaysia, Australia, Argentina. Archives
November 2017
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