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Showing posts from 2011

Occupy Melbourne

My city is textured. Every street and corner, every skyline, every space, it seems, brings to me a memory of another event or time that was violent or emotional enough to imprint itself on my consciousness. I walk past a tram stop where I once sat watching for cops as my comrades hung a banner from an empty building. I see from the window a street that I used to skate along on my way to Uni classes. I shiver as I remember punches and arguments thrown in a park. This week I have added a few more memorable moments to my mental map of Melbourne. And after Friday I will never look at the City Square in the same way.

A Concrete Holiday, part 1

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I like airports. It's the sense of their potential, alongside their transitory emptiness that makes a strange poetic harmony. They are waiting to be filled with meaning. Which gives you the sense that anything is possible in an airport, that every choice you make has significant effect on what comes next. It's usually with hindsight that we identify the moments or spaces where our lives change. It's hard to be inspired by these moments because seen in retrospect this is where possibilities die, where futures are locked into place and where unchangeable reality is formed. Everyone has played the 'what if' game at some difficult point in their life, but at some level we all know that it's an unhealthy exercise. The events which have led to a situation can't be changed, although the readings of them can, so generally it's better to accept the present and focus on planning for the future. So what do you make then, of a situation where the present could

Waiting room of the soul..

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(This is an old post from around the 20th of May. It originally appeared the day after I got refused entry from England. A few days later I ended up in quite a lot of trouble in Turkey, more posts on this to come, and my family had to take it down for fear of it influencing events. In the interests of keeping this blog as a record of my travels this year, I'm reposting it so that the chronology remains true. On another note it now seems desperately ironic that the English wouldn't let me in for fear of me being a trouble-maker, given the horrible eruptions of their fragile society and the pissed off underclass in the last few weeks. Serves em right.)

Shades of Grey

While travelling across India and Iran I have been trying to observe the life, history and politics of both countries from the perspective of locals, partly from a desire to understand their cultures as they relate to long stories of struggle and national identity, and partly to give myself a better perspective on the life experience of being born in Australia – a new nation, yet one with opportunity to develop in many exciting directions. So far while learning, meeting people and asking questions, the dominant theme of my thoughts has been the tension within Iran and India between traditional cultures and the pull of globally accessible information about modernity and consumerism in the West. This is particularly felt by Iranian young people living in cramped, repressive situations, but it also expresses itself in the rise of the ambitious and modern Indian middle class, something which seems incongruous or unfair in a country where traditions and also poverty are so vividly visi

After the Revolution

There is a cold wind blowing along the long boulevard, as i disembark from the bus which has brought me to the far western suburbs of Mashhad, one of Shia' Islam's holiest cities. The streets are wide, with scattered shops and barred windows. It is a friday, the holy day in Islamic countries, and naturally nost businesses are closed. I stand on the corner and zip my leather jacket closed to the collar, waiting for my friend made from a tenous internet connection to arrive as promised. He soon appears, leading his little brother by the hand. He has invited me for lunch at his parents house, and we make out way through streets populated by undecorated yellow brick buildings, sparse winter trees, and grey skies. I feel that i have somehow entered a different Iran from the bustling city centre of Mashhad, or maybe this is in fact the true face of the city, just as the outer suburbs of Melbourne can give you more perspective on the demographics of a place than it's urban heart.

Getting Risky in Rishikesh

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I think one of the best pieces of advice that i've ever received came from a Circus Oz rigger. We were 10m up in the truss above the stage, discussing equipment, safety and techniques of clipping on. My questions must have either been tiring or amusing, because after some time the rigger turned to me and said that yes, safety equipment was important, but; "Just don't let go". I feel that i've carried this brave and possibly naive piece of advice well. When in dangerous situations, take all possible precautions against accident, but at the end of the day - just don't have one.

Indian Highlights

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Mum and Dad left early this morning, marking a neat month since i first landed in India. Sitting in a dirty dive hotel in the mayhemic (sure it's a word) Pahar Ganj district of Delhi, with a cold beer, i thought i'd compile a quick list of my favourite moments so far. So to go with it there are also some of my favourite photographs. Yes, photographs! Mitch - 1, Technology - 0, hahaha. So without further undulating delay. My father Clive has also been tiring of the constant attention that we attract in public places. One afternoon as we were walking through the metro station, a middle aged business man had craned his neck around so far in wonderment, while still walking forwards, that he walked into a wall. Dad and I started clowning when another two young guys were checking us out. Dad preens his moustache and swings an imaginary handbag, like a predatory prostitute sizing up a beat. I comically slip over on the stairs and bang my head on the handrail. Later on the packed

"Made Like a Gun, Goes Like a Bullet!"

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So after my slightly smug dissertation on India's traffic system (or rather on it's decentralised lack of coherence), i felt that it was time to get on the road and eat my words! mmm chrome So first in Pushkar, and then in Udaipur for Dad's 63rd Birthday, i hired a Royal Enfield Bullet, and took to the hills. Royal Enfield was originally a British marque that made motorcycles and lawnmowers. They were associated with the Smalls Arms factory in Enfield, hence their name and motto - "Made like a Gun, Goes Like a Bullet!". Through a confusing series of licensing agreements, Enfield' Bullets were also manufactured in India from 1956, and the marque of "Royal Enfield" was bought by the Indian manufacturing company in 1995. Thus the Enfield Bullet, at 75 years, is the longest consecutively made motorcycle of all time! To test the virtues of this bike, i first had to find a willing and cheap hirer in who had one available in the colours that i liked.

Logistical Observations - India

1. Traffic To an outside Western eye, Indian traffic is a life-threatening spectacle of unexplainable near-misses, complete anarchy, and confusing politeness. Cars, Buses, Trucks, Motorcycles, Scooters, Auto-Rickshaws, Cycle-Rickshaws, Bicycles, and Pedestrians both Human and Animal safely share wide stretches of tarmac, seemingly without following any obvious set of rules and yet without incident. How is this possible? To answer this, we must first analyse what it is that the Western eye has been taught to appreciate as the fundamentals of safe traffic management, and what this says about the societies in which these fundamentals exist. In Australia, we have a strong body of traffic laws, accompanied by signs and symbols which relay powerful messages subconsciously. STOP signs. Traffic lights coloured in Red and Green. Lane markers which definitively split the road into independant sections. And so on. The adherence to these directives/laws is of course ensured by the threat of pu

Initial impressions of India

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Street graffiti and Urinal, Delhi India! As my Hindi progresses slowly, my amazement at this incredible country grows, experiences setbacks, is misunderstood, gets engaged in conversation and taught to understand. Imagine every empty building site that you have ever broken into, or each abandoned warehouse that you silently stole through, enjoying the feeling of wondering at massive empty spaces, populated only by stains, broken piles of bricks, seemingly inexplicable holes dug in the centre of a floor, jutting outcrops of bent and twisted steel, precarious balconies, and twisting creeping greenery clinging to a manga tangle of electrical wiring. Now fill that space with a rushing wind of aggressive scents like the acrid smell of men's urine, the pungent aroma of hot spices, the smoking steel on porcelain of overworked brakepads, clouds of black polluted smoke rising from the fire made from cow shit and plastic waste, the raw sniff of melting steel from naked welding, the r

Thailand - Guns, snakes and gold teeth

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Isn't it funny how time can stretch and pull away from your comprehension depending on where you are and what you're doing. 9.5 hours on a plane seems like agony when you've read half a book, listened to a few albums, eaten two meals etc etc. In the same way ten days in a new place can stretch away from you like an odyssey of adventure, when every day holds a bright promise of fresh experiences. And then in retrospect it seems like you took a mere gasp of air in that place, and in your memory it becomes like a shiny bauble or trinket to ponder over and treasure, filled with wonder and kept close to the heart. Sam, with said palm fronds.. Thailand seems to have passed by in the blink of an eye, but really it was ten days of packed in activities and travels, and best of all many good conversations. Arriving in Chiang Mai was a very pleasant change from the overbearing concrete smog of Bangkok. I spent half a day wandering around town in the company of my new french frien

Gold Tooth in Chiang Mai

The sun sweats down out of an azure sky as i pick up speed down the superhighway on the outskirts of Chiang Mai. The grumbly hire bike looks imposing, but it's front tire is bald, and the oil is as black as it's tank. It burps, and backfires everytime i release the throttle, which smells like burnt peanut butter farts. With my cracked red ray-bans, my newly stencilled leather and a swag of bodgy tattoos i'm in the perfect mood to add to my already dodgy appearance. I have a date with the dentist. In 200six (f***en dodgy keyboard) Thailand's "medical tourism" industry was projected to take in 3six.4 Million Baht (around 1.2 Million Australian dollars). The rising cost of health care in first world countries, and the ease of international travel is driving this phenomenon, sending medical dollars to dozens of developing countries across the world. Me i just wanted a gold tooth, so i figured that Thailand would be a suitably warm destination. The clinic stand

Bangkok

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"You see, what people without facebook don't realise", the french man i have just befriended is explaining to me, "is that they worry about being monitored online, but they all have cellphones!" he throws up his hands and begins laughing, which turns into a cough and a hacking of phlegm onto the warm street. "Every conversation is recorded and kept for One Year. At least! That is why i like writing. With writing you simply have more control over your expression." I couldn't agree with my new friend more, (although some of his stories about his prolific sex life were more eyeopening than convincing) which is why i am excited to begin my first real overseas adventure story with these, his parting words. After a mammoth 9 and a half hour flight from Melbourne, i stepped into the muggy Bangkok heat last night a little bewildered, very tired and of course keen to get straight into it. Although I am worried about being so easily identified as an Aust

RIP - Jimi David Fairley, 01.12.1982 - 22.12.2010

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I 'm still shedding tears for you, my brother from a different mother. You were such an excellent generous man, and i aspire to live up to the words you left behind in your diary - "make time for everyone". We miss you. See you further on up the road. All my love and light, M

Melbourne

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There's something beautiful about comics - the way they freeze and crystalize moments of crisis like nothing else can. The spastic jump of objects knocked from a table as a body is hurled through a window. The look of awe on a face as something epic is revealed before it's beholder.  What is the way without artifice to capture the moments and places and scenes of life in this city that seduce with their temporary brilliance. It's difficult to avoid the (capitalist) logic of progress while documenting a time - the implicit idea that all things must/will develop and grow bigger, firmer, more exposed to the appreciation of a wider audience, so that we can look back with feigned respect to when they were small and "real". Appreciation here has a financial ring to it.  Placing a moment into a sellable capsule must inevitably starve and kill off the creative vibrant energy which made it burn so bright in the first place. Instead I seek a lasting means for admiring that